Saw that Fat Bitch rolling her mass down the road?

A few days back I saw red when someone insisted on making repeated snide comments about "fat women" that were excused away as jokes (supposedly) - now to me, that kind of a repeated joke is akin to racism or marginilising of any other sort, be it towards a particular race, community, social class or in this case, physical attributes.

While I accept the importance of staying fit and not being obese, I find it extremely devoid of taste, class, not to mention intelligence and basic etiquette when people make continual references to someone's "size" in a pejorative manner. More so, when the person concerned is really not "obese" but merely not in possession of the perfect body...my first reaction is an urge to slap the daylights out of the speaker! What aggravates me more is that these comments are inevitably directed towards women! Even more when the speaker happens to be a male with no perfect body to boast of. And like, why is it that women have to bear a greater social pressure of being "in shape" while if a man goes around town porting a big bellly, it's considered a sign of "happiness", "marital satisfatcion" (WTF?) and the best - "wealth"!!!

Yes, it is good if you're in shape. Yes having a slim and trim body makes you feel good about yourself. But incase you didn't notice, the rule is applicable to both sexes! The way I see it, any guy who expects to his woman to be in shape bloody well be in shape himself. As for the rest of the world with nothing better to do than observe whether someone's "meat-rolls" are spilling over from his/her waistband - Go get a life!

Related reading :- Obesity Epidemic?

House-Full

Good Friday, Holi and Easter – religious significances apart, it made for a long weekend, one on which both the earning male members of the family got holidays and were at home ;-) Made for a full-house this weekend. Add to that our esteemed guests for the weekend who blessed our humble abode with their divine (ahem) presence!

Kunu Baba, took the opportunity to come down to Pune for a relaxing, unwinding, de-stressing weekend, away from the worries of his high-profile clients for whom he scurries around town so they have the perfect home. It’s been a very long time since I had him to myself, so I truly cherished this weekend – somehow talking to him always puts things into perspective and makes me realize how trivial my moments and issues of angst, are in the grand scheme of things…and makes me a wee bit more sensible and mature. He has a good effect on me…*Absit Omen*

Friend from Pune joined us for dinner on Friday night, at Polka Dots – scrumptious meal was tucked away into our tummies – and then on Holi, for wholesome ghar ka khana. We went out for My Brother Nikhil and then for chai and refreshingly cool neembu pani at the Y-point in the University.

Last, but not the least, out adorable little canine guest of the weekend – Filoo. She was adopted by my brother’s colleague around a month back. When her “mummy” had to go out of town for the weekend, my brother happily jumped in and offered to baby-sit her for the weekend – so it was that Filoo came over. Trembling with fear for the first 10 minutes, she quickly threw off her mantle of fear and set about harassing our gentle Schnapps with her rather aggressive feminine wiles ;-) Some bitches start early! LOL – Schnapps who seemed to mature in seconds was rather harassed by her for the first 36 hours or so – he was also amazingly tolerant of the little scamp who’d hang on to his ears and run after him, dive into his food and water and generally refuse to leave him in peace.

By Sunday evening, he’d given up his gentle behaviour and started retaliating by shaking his head to free himself of the pesky little brat, playing back and indulging in a little gentle combat with the little one. She left this morning – Schnapps is dozing since then – recuperating from the weekend or missing his new friend and playmate? (Perhaps something more in the future?) ;-)

Positive outcome of this canine exchange:- We realized that Schnapps, who in the past 2 years has been the baby of the house and is an amazingly possessive, jealous and human dog, shall not react too horribly to the human baby that shall arrive in May. If handled with care and not ignored, he shall easily slip into the role of the baby’s fiercest guardian, protector and close friend for life, just as Tika was to me! *Amen*

Negative outcome of this canine exchange:- The humans of the Shrivastava clan were relegated to the back-stage as the canines took on main-stage. We were more like the extras on a film-set, who were around only to add to the canine drama, provide entertainment and nourishment for them and mop up after them! Puppies are nice, if only they came toilet-trained – hold that thought – babies are nice, if only they came toilet trained! LOL!!

My Brother Nikhil

My Brother Nikhil – I hardly noticed any publicity for the film, perhaps due to my rather decreased intake of television these days or perhaps because the movie isn’t really being marketed aggressively like most other films. I did hear good things about it, and wanted to see it, preferring saner movies to the typical naach-gana-Bollywood fare. So we went for it, after a rather satisfying and satiating meal on Holi. I expected to find hardly anyone at the Multiplex and was quite surprised to see the crowds – more so, when we got tickets only in the 2nd row from the screen, despite being there over an hour before the show!

The film, starring Sanjay Suri, Juhi Chawla, Lilette Dubey,Victor Banerjee and Purab is very sensitively made. Dealing with the issue of AIDS, set against the backdrop of a conservative, closed society of Goa in the late 80s and early 90s, the My Brother Nikhil has subtly but effectively pointed out to the ignorance of the public vis-à-vis AIDS, the ostracism and marginalization faced by the patients by society, friends and even family. What I liked about the film were the realistic portrayals of relationships, the fact that nothing was ridiculed or made trivial, the intelligent handling of homosexual relationships and the subtle dealing of the subject. Purab quite surprised me with his decent performance – the rest were good, as expected, by me.

Drool worthy – Both houses shown in Goa. The palatial house owned by the Kapoor’s (dealers in antique furniture) set by a river, decoated tastefully in old-world charm of antique wood furniture and white-washed walls, set off by the terracotta red roof and tiles and pillars was just so impressive. More appealing to the bohemian side of me was Nigel’s little cottage away from the main hub of the city, overlooking rice fields and a little run-down (or as Kunu would say, lived-in!) Tres nice, specially the room with lines from poems painted on the wall – one of them being “Rage rage against the dying of the light...” from Dylan Thomas’ poem Do not go Gentle into the Night. Also that poster of French films :-)

Disappointing – The crowd at E-Square, which was obviously too wrong for this movie – way too juvenile and too insensitive. They were laughing at all the wrong moments, sometimes at very sensitive moments, showing their complete abysmal lack of maturity and sometimes for no reason at all, making me wonder if they’re perhaps still suffering from the dose on Bhang in their Thandai! True, such a movie doesn’t appeal to most people – but then stay away from it. Why make it difficult for others to appreciate the movie? Me thinks it’s better if few people go watch the movie, as long as the ones who do, actually comprehend and appreciate it.

Bombay Darshan?

So what would you do if you had to introduce Bombay to someone who stubbornly resisted it and thought it to be simply a land of enormous crowds that jostled with you in your private space, a crazy city that seems to work round-the-clock without stopping for a breath, a metro which just seems to spill over everywhere and swallow up everything (and everyone) that comes in it’s path?

*Phew that was a long sentence, said in one long breath*

This is what I did. I treated the person to a gamut of typical Bombay experiences, ranging from Churchgate to Mira Road! :-)

We started off by grabbing b’fast at an Udipi joint then hopped onto a train to Churchgate. Next up – a taxi drive to Fort and then Colaba. Walked around a lot, ogling at those old, though sadly neglected buildings in Fort and later around Causeway (wish I’d stopped to pick up some good bargains – there were some awesome ear rings this time)…Mondegar so rocks! Right from the Caricatured walls, to the “No Smoking” sign that doesn’t prevent anyone from smoking, to the jukebox and the food ofcourse! ;-) NGMA had this interesting exhibition of works by Pakistani artists – some of which were really interesting, not to mention radical! Remind me to talk about this later…That walk down Oval Maidan – I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it – turning around and gazing up at Rajabai Tower just gives me such immense pleasure. Coffee at Gaylord’s before catching an A/C bus to the suburbs…

Midway across town, we hopped off at Bandra – the queen of the suburbs as some people would call it. Down crowded Hill Road to Jogger’s Park and then a long leisurely walk down Carter Road…spent some time there just idling time away till my friends decided to deign us with their presence. Went Café hopping from the CCD at Carter’s to the CCD at JATC – settled in at the latter for a longish period of time, by the fountain so it was nice, cool and breezy. Din-din at Lemon Grass – the food and ambience makes your forgive them for their rather sloppy and tardy service. I don’t think they’ve EVER served me the drink BEFORE the hors-d’oeuvres are over! Ah well, I still love that place and would gladly go there again, with yet another friend who’s not experienced it before. Dessert and wines at Mocha (and I was talking about quick service before, right?) – most nice. Though I think I prefer the Juhu Mocha – nothing beats sitting under the moon, digging into a Kahlua Mousse Cake/Vertical Limit, knowing you can skip over to the beach later for a Kala khatta Gola! :-)

Hopped ricks to the station, as the first one got into an accident in his hurry to get us to the station before I transformed from the Cinderella to Plain Jane ;-) I figured Bombay aint just about the South, or about the queenly suburbs, but also about those far-flung suburbs that are technically outside city limits, so off we went to Mira Road. The Virar local was actually crowded, even at midnight! The only bit in the day that I wished I hadn’t subjected my friend to – but considering the roof over our head for the night was to be in Mira Road, I had no choice…anyways it was quite interesting, what with the guy insisting on forming a protective circle around us to “protect” us from the men drunk on tharra. ;-) Surprisingly, the station market was very much alive when we got there at like nearly 1 am! Wrapped up the day with a session at my friend’s place, after we had spent some time with her adorable brother and even more adorable three dogs.

Friend actually admitted to having enjoyed himself - and thanked me for introdcuing him to Bombay! Score! :-)

Only regret about this trip was that I never made it back “home” – staying as I was away from my usual “adda” I couldn’t squeeze in a trip to my hunting ground. Though I had a wonderful day, followed up by catching up with one of my bosom buddies who’s just shifted back to B’bay from Delhi, I couldn’t help but feel that something was left incomplete. Next time…pakka!

Bombay v/s Pune?

Have been exploring Pune with my friend and guide these past few weeks – he knows some really charming places in Pune and has been dragging me there, willing and unwilling to open my eyes to the charms of the city – it’s his eternal quest to make me admit that Pune is better than Bbay. It isn’t, but yes, I’m beginning to admit it’s not a hell-hole either! Two stubborn Librans locking horns on this one!

Last week I was introduced to the charms of a Tekdi, just off Law college road – a short climb upto a mid-way vantage point near a temple (there’s no shortage of those in Pune) from where you can see the city spread out below you, and then a walk through some brush and trees up to a stone quarry, that made me think of Mount Vesuvius and the buried city of Pompeii – my friend of course disagreed and said the crater is too small for my line of imagination, preferring his own version of a fantastic land from the LOTR and some weird creatures scampering around unseen to the human eye. We didn’t quite see eye to eye on this either – so it was yet another horn-locking session! :-)

It was dusk by the time we started back, so we were treated to a most romantic sight – as the sun set and the night crept over the city slowly enveloping Pune in its velvety folds, the city’s lights slowly start twinkling in the growing dusk. I am totally in love with that place – can’t decide which is better, the tekdi or that watch-tower in a crater at the University…

I guess it’s time to concede a point – Round 1 goes to you my dear friend. But I haven’t abandoned the battle field yet. Wait till you see Bombay through my eyes and watch it if it doesn’t hit you with all its glory and that completely unique culture that can be best described as a palimpsest. Watching the sun set behind the Gateway of India, as you come in from Elephanta Islands, is a sight to behold and guaranteed to deliver a hard blow to your solar plexus. Top it off with a walk down Marine drive, hop into a cab towards Malabar Hill and watch the Queen’s Necklace twinkling back at you – you don’t need any inducement to drown in the sheer magic of the moment! :-)

Speaking of fantastic lands, I just posted my review of Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories on Literary Mosaic. Go read the book people!

Warli Paintings

Triangular human beings and animals with stick-like hands and legs dance in a loose, rhythmic pattern against an earthy background.

Warli paintings are popular because they are so alive, one can almost hear the drums beating and the tribals singing their folk songs.

Folk paintings from Maharashtra, they are traditionally done on mud, charcoal or cow-dung, using only white chalk powder made from rice-flour. The seasonal cycle, integral to the survival of the tribes, is a central motif. Circles are another motif of Warli paintings, representing the unending circle of life, and carrying forward this spiral movement that gives everlasting joy to the human race.

What you see above is my rather bastardised first attempt at Warli painting (not to mention quite decent first attempt at painting a wall!!) - if compared to an authentic painting (like the one you see here on Akshay's blog) it looks rather empty and spaced out, and well not authentic. But hell I'm so proud of it!

I'm fishing for compliments people! ;-)

A Glimpse into Anti-Semitism

That anti-Semitist sentiments have existed in the world long before Hitler, was something I knew (you can’t read The Merchant of Venice without realizing the extent to which Jews were disliked and prejudiced against – Shylock’s famous speech for mercy can be read at so many different levels, but that of course was the genius of Shakespeare), but I hadn’t realized that how many politically motivated movements against the Jews and Anti-Semitist writing existed nearly a century before Hitler was around. I came across a few while reading up for a French assignment last weekend...

In 1835, Arthur de Gobineau published his essay “Essai sur l'inégalité des races” (Essay on the Inegality of Races )which justified racism. Others who followed the same vein of thought were Alphonse de Toussenel who published “Les Juifs, rois de l'époque” (The Jews, kings of the era) and his disciple Eduoard Drumond. Drumond published "La France juive, essai d'histoire contemporaine" (The Jewish France, essay on contemporary history) and "Les Juifs contre la France" (The Jews against France), establishing the Anti-Semitist library of the newspaper La Libre Parole, which he founded.

And then there was the Dreyfus scandal:-

In 1894, a letter by a French official offering military secrets to Germany was discovered and soon after a Jewish official from Alsace, Alfred Dreyfus, Captain of the Artillery regiment attached to the Secret Services of the State was accused of treachery. The proof? Similarity in handwriting. He was condemned and publicly shorn off his status in the army at the Invalides in Paris, after which he was deported to the Devil Island in Guyana, on exile for life.

Dreyfus's degradation after his conviction: he is stripped of his braid and buttons, and his sword is broken. (Le Petit Journal, January 13, 1895. )

Efforts by his family and supporters to prove his innocence continued, and two years later the case was re-opened and a new suspect, Esterhazy was tried. However, he was acquitted and the President of counsel stated that “Il n’y a pas d’affaire Dreyfus” (There is no Dreyfus affair).

This political scandal ended up dividing France into two ideologies :- the Dreyfusards, who were in favour of The Rights of Man, a secular state and justice and the anti-Dreyfusards or those who following the principles of the old monarchists and Catholic conservatives were leaning towards militarism and nationalism. This was the first time France was being divided idelogically into two parties :- the Left and the Right. (The Socialist Party in France was officially formed for the first time during the course of this scandal that stretched for a decade, in 1901 by George Clemenceau, one of Dreyfus’ supporters.)

The Dreyfus Affair produced an enormous amount of postcards. This card uses the well-known anti-Semitic image of the treacherous Jew (Dreyfus) in the form of a snake. (From the postcard series "Museum of Horror," no. 6 : "The Traitor." )

While journalists like Edouard Drumont were writing anti-Semitist articles in leading papers like La Libre Parole (The Free Word), others like Emile Zola came out in staunch defense of Dreyfus and publicly criticized the government and courts of law for their slight in ruling. Zola, was sentenced to one year in prison after the publication of his “J’accuse” in a leading newspaper “L’Aurore” (The Dawn) – a paper run by Clemenceau. Zola’s open letter to the President brought attention back to the case and it was re-opned once again after the discovery of new proof of his innocence…only for Dreyfus to be sentenced to 10 years of prison on the basis of “attenuating circumstances” (sic) – it was ten years later that Dreyfus was finally absolved of all charges and re-instated into the army in 1906 under the government on Clemenceau.

It took La Croix, France's Roman Catholic daily paper, a 100 years to apologize for its anti-Semitic editorials during the Dreyfus affair. It finally did so on the 100th annversary of the publication of "J'accuse" in 1998.

What snagged my interest the most while reading about this, was one of the international repercussions of this scandal. A young Jewish journalist, revolted by the French anti-Semitism had concluded that it had now become essential to form a state for the Jews. And thus Israel was born in 1948.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you - Nicola...

With all this talk about Women’s Day and strong women going around, I thought I’d unleash Nicola on you –

“They knew her as Nicola. They called her Lady Nick. The feminine avatar of Old Nick – Nick the devil. She could reduce a man to a quivering mass of hormones ruled by his senses with a single slicing look of those sharp black eyes. All she had to do was set her eyes on the man and he was hers. “She’s had more lovers than I’ve had hot dinners,” was how they had introduced her in one talk-show. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the home-breaker. You couldn’t cross her without regretting it. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the ball breaker.”

She’s up there on Literary Mosaic – go get acquainted and don’t forget to let me know if you like her! ;-)

Currently:-

• Mulling over this statement I came across in a review of a new Franco-Israeli film, titled “La Fiancée Syriénne.”
  « ... Comme si l'espoir était devenu obsolète. » (...as if hope had become obsolete)
• Reading up about a political scandal that took place in France in the 1890s that led to the publishing of Emile Zola’s famous « J’accuse », a drastic evolution of the French press with greater liberty and criticism of the government being introduced, division of the society into two halves, the growth of the Socialist party in France, the first political anti-Semitist writings and the birth of Israel, as a country for the Jews. It’s interesting to say the least.
• Listening to Eagle Eye Cherry’s Save Tonight, off Jukebox Favourites.

Sauvez-moi Dieu! Il ya trop des idiots dans le monde!

I was under the rather wrong impression that only old people with nothing better to do go around finding unmarried young men and women and then harass them to get married. It seems this annoying hobby isn’t restricted to the elderly, as was proven by my rather exasperatingly frustrating conversation earlier this week with a classmate from AFP:-

Girl:- Ai, Geetanjali how old are you?

Me:- *Looking up from book* Hey, didn’t see you come in! I’m 23 – suddenly kyu poocha?

Girl:- So when are you getting married? I mean ab to umar ho gayi hai na?

Me:- *clearing throat* Excuse me? Umar ho gayi hai? Sweetheart est-ce-que tu as vingt ans ou quatre-vingt ans? (Are you 20 years old or 80?)

Girl:- No yaar 23 is the perfect age to get married…you don’t want to get married kya?

Me:- *wickedly* Na re I plan to take the vow of celibacy and join a sisterhood that shall have as it’s ultimate goal the re-establishment of the feminine sacred over patriarchy bring those men begging at our feet, forced to finally admit that women are the superior sex!

Girl:- *giving me a blank look* What all shit you people talk yaar. This is why I don’t read.

ME:- Weird, I thought you were doing French Literature and must be someone who enjoys reading…

Girl:- Accha so tell me, do you know how to cook?

Me:- Yeah. Like how do you think I survived in Germany for three months?

Girl:- Phir?

Me:- Phir kya?

Girl:- Arre, then why don’t you get married?

Me:- Duh! I’m afraid I don’t quite see the logic here. So I know how to cook, so I get married? Like knowing how to cook is the only qualification or something to get that oh-so-desirable job of a wife? *am getting irritated now*

Girl:- I’m sure you have a boyfriend…

Me:- *stifling the urge to throw the dictionary at her* Sure I do, more than one. But none of them are interested in tying the knot yet…

Girl:- *horrified* You are two-timing your guy?

Me:- Two-timing – let’s see now, with one guy in here in Pune, one in Bombay, another somewhere in Europe and…

Girl:- Ai don’t make fun of me! Tell na…

Me:- *smiling sweetly* I did. I adore each one of them and don’t waste a single opportunity to tell them that…

(Silence for a while, during which I go back to reading…)

Girl:- Arre you used to work na?

Me:- *thinking she finally got the message* Yeah, was freelancing as a copywriter for this design studio back in Bombay…but it didn’t work out.

Girl:- Why?

Me:- Ego on both sides, It didn’t help that I was doing this work just to prevent my brains from rusting and didn’t really see myself making it a career. Besides I’m in no hurry to pile up the green stuff in my account. Studying is what I do best – so I’m going to do that for a while longer, and then take up what I really want to do…

Girl:- You should take up a job in a call center. French. They pay well yaar.

Me:- I don’t find the idea of working in a call center attractive. Somehow it gives me the hibbie-jibbies, the idea of sitting with headphones and answering calls for hours at end, pretending I’m Georgia when I’m so not!

Girl:- No but if you do that, then you can work at night, study in the evening and still have time to cook for your husband, na?

Me:- Ummm? Sweetheart I thought it was established that I’m unmarried!

Girl:- Haan wohi to…get married!

ARGH!!!

GOD SAVE ME FROM SUCH IDIOTS!

Currently:-

• Listening to O Samba – a very good compilation of Latin dance numbers, sent to me by my adorable German friend.
• Excited about lunch – a friend, who’s been avoiding coming over to my place for over a month, has finally agreed to come today for lunch and I’m cooking. What’s on the menu? Nothing fancy – just some Onion soup, Veg-au-gratin, Stuffed Capsicums, Cucumber and peanut salad, served with French Bread. Banana loaf for dessert.
• Btw, I so don’t get it – why do guys have this problem about going over to their (girl) friend’s place? What’s with the “avoid parents and homes and anything remotely resembling family” attitude? Only Kunu doesn’t behave this way – but then he’s the most intelligent and mature guy I know, not to mention that he’s been coming over since he was 10...

Worth reading :-

• Observations from the Rooftop :- it’s a rather polemic blog, if I may say so, touching on issues ranging from the Party scene in Pune to the Nature of Love…

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

"I have climbed highest mountain

I have run through the fields

Only to be with you

Only to be with you

I have run

I have crawled

I have scaled these city walls

These city walls

Only to be with you

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."

U2 (Read complete lyrics here...)

Woke up early this morning - partly because I slept so badly last night, partly because I'd already set the alarm with intentions of practicising those grey cells before the sun rose over the horizon; something I used to be good at. I've always been a person who preferred getting up early to study, rather than studying late. But with this new lethargy I seem to have forgotten the pleasures of waking up early, listening to music of my choice on Rewind or on one of my old CDs...brewing my own coffee even while it's still dark outside and then sipping it slowly while standing on the terrace/balcony cradling my big yellow with blue trim mug in my hands...and then sitting and doing some mental exercises that kick-start the day and keep those grey cells active all day, not to mention keep the angsty emotions at bay, providing a sense of calm, peace and order inside my cauldron of a head....

This was the first song I heard this morning, moving onto other 80s classics and then some Blazing Drums and now it's Trilok Gurtu. It's 9.41 a.m and I can feel the weight on my heart lifting and a smile teasing at the corners of my lips, as the music takes over and weaves it's magic spell over me.

P.S A new story is up on Literary Mosaic - waiting to be read and reviewed! :-)

Cold

It's snowing in Kasmir - freak weather they say. It's snowing elsewhere in the world also, like never before. Temperatures are falling all over the world. It's cold outside.

And so am I. Cold from inside.

Just cold.

So cold.

Ruminations...

Friendships mean a lot to me. So much that sometimes I give them more importance than family relationships and that it is my friends who know me better than my family. I don’t open up easily to people – am extremely choosy about the people I associate with and befriend. Not being of the rude and blunt nature I often end up being nice to people I don’t think much of, and would rather they stay as far from me as possible, but these ‘acquaintances’ never become friends. So it is, that when I open my heart out to someone, it’s with complete trust that they will not hurt me. And so it is, that when they do hurt me, I feel the prick of the wound sharper than expected in normal circumstances. With almost every friendship of mine that has meant something to me, I’ve erred in expecting too much from the other person and at some time or the other, they have inadvertently hurt me. :-(

Someone recently said that relationships should not become a burden, a liability and a responsibility towards the other – wherein you fear hurting them or letting them down. That there should be freedom in a relationship – freedom to be who you are without the need to explain anything. Yes there should be. But does the freedom to be true to your own self imply that you have the right to be callous about other’s feelings? Does the freedom to be true to your convictions and beliefs and attitudes imply that you have the right to squash any other opposing thought and not even give it a fair hearing? Does an occasional compromise for the one you care about, really have to be such a pain?

Currently :-

• Planning the week ahead of me – it’s going to be a busy one with Dr.M in town with wife – so there are corporate dinners to look forward to, and the delightful role of the MD’s daughter to live upto! Plus I have to get myself back into the groove of studies.
• Disciplining my mind and body – started with the body a fortnight ago. Ab dimaag ki baari hai.
• Listening to Come Undone by Duran Duran – sexy song! Incredibly sexy!

Alzheimer's Disease

Alzheimer’s Disease.

To me, it’s the one of the most humiliating and crippling diseases to be afflicted by. To be afflicted by a disease that leads to the debilitation of the mind, is so much more painful than being inflicted by a disease that affects the body. Seeing your body rot away and being racked with pain day-in and day-out is a torture, but to not even know what “pain” is?

I finally saw Black this weekend – needless to say, the performances are superlative and if the actors don’t sweep away all the awards next year, it’s going to be a disgrace, for I don’t think anyone can top these performances for the next few years. I’d been told that it’s a heart-breaking and touching movie, but I didn’t expect it to move me so much. To say that I had tears in my eyes is an understatement – they flowed down my cheeks and at one point I was sniffling quite loudly. I don’t normally cry in movies so this left me shocked – either I’m more of a softy than I let on, or those oscillating hormones were at work again – I was pre-disposed to the mood anyway, so the movie seemed to just let the dam down! While most people have raved about the movie, there are some who have given it the absolute thumbs-down, which leaves me a little rattled. I don’t get it. I mean so the movie is “depressing” (I think “serious” is more apt) and doesn’t provide mass-entertainment by means of wild song-n-dance routines, but what about the treatment of subject, performances, direction? Does that not count?

In the movie, Mr.Sahay, Michelle’s teacher is afflicted by Alzheimer’s. For someone who has spent a lifetime teaching the blind and deaf the meaning of words, leading them to light, when all that surrounds them is darkness, there couldn’t be a worse fate. To forget who you are, what you are, to forget what words mean – I can’t even imagine it.

After the movie I was ruminating over this, and I remembered my post on Iris Murdoch, writer par excellence.From the mid-1990s Murdoch suffered from Alzheimer disease. First signs were seen on visits to Israel, where Murdoch, who always spoke slowly, had difficulties answering questions. Nissim Ezekiel, father of Modern Indian English poetry and a highly respected professor of English also suffered from the same till his death last year. It made me think about how an author/poet would deal with Alzheimer's Disease - how difficult it would be for them to face not being able to complete a sentence they started, suddenly not knowing what words meant and so on.

Iris, ofcourse is a movie that deals with this subject very well, interweaving the crippling effect of the disease with the biography of the writer. I’d strongly recommend the movie – apart from brilliant performances by Kate Winslet and Judi Dench, it has been made with great skill and feel for the subject.

And ofcourse – BLACK. It’s a MUST SEE!

C'est Moi

Riding the rollercoaster of life at neck-breaking speed should be fun me thinks sometimes. But it ain’t for me – I’ve always taken life one step at a time, cautiously, sensibly. The only time I tried to take large steps encompassing two tiles with each step, I exhausted myself and ended as drained as a dish-water rag once the job is done. That I felt like that, during that one year, used and ready to be tossed out of the window kinda added that essential ingredient in my exhaustion.

But I’m back to my take one step at a time – so I’m dog-headedly pursuing one thing, stubborn as a river intent on its destination. I may meander along the way, but I know where I’m headed. So what if the others think I’m just an aimless petite little thing who’s too frail and delicate for the real world, and needs others to make decisions for her. Ha. Little do they know how stubborn I am and who takes the decisions. Moi. Seulement moi. Personne autre.

I like to think they are mostly the right decisions and that when I err I learn from my mistakes. Once bitten, twice shy – yes that’s me. Not to mention my ego doesn’t permit me to fail, or compromise on perfection in goals yet to be achieved, in dreams yet to be realized. I shall settle for nothing less than what I first set my eyes on. Absit Omen.

So here I am plodding along steadily towards my goals – just took the next step towards it. For a while there was this huge hurdle, which I couldn’t remove from my path all alone – now it’s gone and am I pleased as punch! Wondering what I’m gassing about?:-)

Classes for Diplome Superieur at Alliance Francaise de Ponna finally started this week. Merci Bon Dieu! I was quite climbing walls in frustration – it’s all nice to be vella for a while, to indulge yourself in siestas, and lazy meanderings of the mind, to pamper one’s mind by giving it a rest, but believe me once the ennui sets in, little can prevent the eventual rusting. It’s inevitable. Ever wondered why house-wives have nothing to talk about but what they will cook for dinner tonight or what their neighbour wore to who’s party? It’s not because as a member of the female species they haven’t got the intelligence to discuss anything else. It’s not even because they do nothing – trust me a housewife’s job is the most tiring job around, not so much due to the physical/mental/emotional work involved but due to the thankless nature of the work. And that is what eventually makes a housewife feel she’s doing nothing worthwhile and then sets in the ennui towards the monotony of daily routines – and la voila la, the rust sets in.

That’s not going to happen to me. Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying I don’t respect housewives – home-makers, I think is less pejorative a term. Infact I sometimes think we women are lucky to have this choice – no one thinks less of us if we choose to stay home, putting our homes and our families first, instead of going out into the battle-field to fight for the daily bread. We can actually even do both – quite well, if we set our minds to it. The other half of humanity doesn’t have that one choice (the only choice perhaps that they don’t have, apart from that of giving birth) nor, is it capable of balancing the two worlds as skillfully as we are. But I don’t think I could sit at home and cook meals for someone who will come home fagged out at the end of the day and think that only he has had a difficult day – nopes that won’t happen to me. I know that I need to be gainfully employed in something that brings me a feeling of accomplishment and contentment and fulfillment. I need to important for the few people I am surrounded with. And I need to be able to be there for them, and do for them, what others can’t. I have no grand ambitions mind you. I don’t see my name writ up there with the immortals of humankind – but I don’t want my epitaph to read “She lived…She died.” In place of the elision, I’d like it to read “She lived her life fully. She died content. She won’t be remembered by the entire mankind. But we sure as hell will remember her for what she was.”

Ah oui, c’est moi. Egoistic petite little moi. And you know what? I quite like me :-)

• Current Music :- Beautiful Girl – INXS
• Current Mood :- Cheerful. Naughty. Wicked.

Ranting Bitch

Rant.

I want to rant today.

I’ve become quite accustomed to life in this hamlet, to the idea of living far-away from the main city (far by Pune standards) in an area where the roads are nearly non-existent for most of the year and rickshaw-wallahs disappear in the afternoon for a siesta so even if you don’t wanna risk your life in a PMT bus you really have no choice but to wait at the nukkad for the next bus going to Corporation. I’ve become accustomed to people arching their eyebrows in shock and disbelief when I tell them where I live in Pune, to rickshaw-wallahs laughing in my face when I ask them to go there after sundown and if I’m lucky to find one who’s willing to go, then to haggle with them over the fare! I’ve gotten accustomed to the utter peace and quiet of the colony, for once you enter in, you are quite isolated from the hustle-bustle of the outside world. It’s nice to fall asleep to the sound of the wind outside, hammering wildly at the windows begging to be let in so it can force my curtains to fly high up. It’s nice to walk into a colony kept clean by an army of sweepers, with plants and trees lining the long avenue that leads up to the bungalows at the end of the colony, nice to go for walks in the evening around the bungalows, wondering at the obscene amount of wealth people have that they can maintain Ekta-Kapoor-show-type bungalows and not stay in them!

But I have not become accustomed to the antics of the gaon-wallahs. I used to think noisy baraats were a custom of the rather loud and noisy Punjabis, and even though the custom seems to have pilferated into other communities, Maharashtrians still didn’t have this ridiculous custom. I was wrong. So incredibly, terribly wrong. For the Keshavnagar-wasis sure have very loud, very noisy and very long drawn-out baraats. And to make it worse, for some god-forsaken reason the Maharashtrians here don’t have weddings in the morning (as is normal in their community) but in the middle of the night. So their god-damned baraats are arriving in all their zor-shor close to midnight and they continue to revel in their noise till atleast 1 am. And it sure doesn’t help that they position of the buildings is such that all this noise ricochetes wildly and echoes like nobody’s business!

ARGH!

And oh did I mention that there seem to be way too many people in this bloody gaon, getting married, like perenially? The cacophony outside persists almost through-out the year. A few weeks of peace in January and it’s peak wedding season again!

GRRR!

Why can’t we Indians learn to conduct ourselves in a more dignified, sober manner and show some consideration for others? You wanna have a garish wedding, go have it – but why make my life miserable at the same time?

ICK!

• Current mood :- Grumpy as a sleep deprived bear. Tired. Thirsting for some blood and longing to sink my fangs into the next available victim.
• Current music:- Runaway Train – Soul Asylum. Listening to my favorites from the 80s and 90s – they made real music back then! :-)
• Current read :- Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories and Ill-made Mute by Cecelia Dart-Thornton. After a long time, I’m reading again and enjoying the sheer magic words can spin, c’est vrai, authors are magicians!

Furor Scribendi?

I’d like call myself a writer – a writer who has a way with words, a natural flair and a style that is unmistakable. Not to mention content worth reading – more than once. I’m nowhere near that today, I know, but one day I hope to be there. As of now, as a writer, I’m erratic. I can’t bind myself to the practice, for I bore of it soon if there’s an obligation to write. Yet at times I feel a ‘furor scribendi’ and what I must say comes out of me like an out-pouring of sorts, almost a cathartic vomiting. As for style – I can’t really say I have a marked style of my own. Like Pune’s voltage system it fluctuates like nobody’s business and is yet to grow and mature into something I can proudly identify as distinctly and quintessentially mine.

Lately I’ve been finding myself impatient and lazy with the words – I can’t bring myself to write anything remotely worthwhile and actually complete it. The year began with a bang that left me strapped to the bed, and then proceeded to race crazily down the track with no sense of direction and purpose. I thought a hiatus from the monotony of my purpose-less long vacation would do me good, so I took off to Bbay for a rushed trip, returning to Pune only to pack my bags and set off for Bangalore.

A week away from Pune did me some good, especially since I spent the time mostly ruminating and allowing the mind to drift aimlessly as I sat in my cousins’ balcony looking over the tree-tops at the clear skies dotted with pristine clouds. The sounds of quotidian activities would drift up to my ears keeping me connected yet not really jarring my reverie. It was a nice and pleasant break – anti social, for I didn’t meet anyone but my cousins with whom I stayed (had no choice there, did I? ;-) ) and Bua-Phuphaji who also stay in the Garden city.

The city has changed drastically since I went there in summer 2000 with Aprajita, transforming Bua-Phuphaji’s quiet, residential Indira Nagar into a bustling, active, very noisy and traffic-congested area that left me at quite a loss of words. As for the traffic in the city on the whole – they aren’t far from Bombay when it comes to mindless traffic jams. I still find the city nice in terms of weather, having experienced pleasant weather and sweet breezes during my stay, not to mention the usual Bangalore showers that brought back the breezes and forced down the rising temperatures.

And the shopping in the city never fails to please me – I stepped out just once to shop and visited just one mall (didn’t even hit M.G road/Brigade Road and the quintessentially Banglore Commercial Street, leave alone the much-famed new mall in Koramangala), yet I came back pleased with my purchases. Few, terribly so for my usual shopping habits, but good buys.

Creatively speaking the holiday was good, for I splashed some paint on my cousins’ wall adorning it with Berger paint (Rangoli – Brick Red) and then some Warli painting to add that dash of drama and ethno-chic to their living room. Apart from restoring my confidence in my ‘artistic’ inclinations, it also set free my rather dormant creativity, giving rise to a panoramic gamut of ideas and projects in my mind; enough to keep me and my brushes busy in the next few months. :-)

I came back several days ago, but yet that apathetic ennui dogs me – there is a disturbing desultoriness in my thoughts and ways, that I have resolved to break free off, before it worms its way into my system for good. Amen to that! :-)

We are Feminists...

Because
woman's work is under paid or unpaid &
what we look like is
more important than what we do &
if we love women it's
because we can't get a real
man & if we expect community care for
our family we are selfish & if we stand up
for our rights we are loud & if we don't
we are typical weak females &
if we want to get married we are out to trap a man &
if we don't we are unnatural &
because we aren't deemed responsible enough
to decide if, when and
how we give birth,
we are feminists

- Joyce Stevens (an activist over many years in the left, union and feminist movements, starting with her membership in the Eureka Youth League in 1942 and in the Communist Party of Australia (CPA) in 1945). This was written in 1975 for an International Women's Day broadsheet; the words which followed have been republished on postcards, stickers, posters and t-shirts in Australia and overseas. She has also worked for environmental, Aboriginal and mulit-cultural issues.

Waiting...

Waiting. Waiting to Exhale. Waiting. Waiting for Godot.

Well not really. I was simply waiting outside a gynecologist’s clinic, waiting for my sister-in-law and mother to come out, marveling at the number of pregnant, big-bellied women emerging from the seemingly cool interiors of the clinic. Quite eerie really – suddenly had this image of a dozen-odd women in labour screaming blue murder at their husbands for getting them into this position (I hear that does actually happen; it’s not just an urban myth, contrary to what I used to think)…and then remembered that quote by a radical feminist (Adrienne Rich, wasn't it?) who said that giving birth to a child is like shitting a pumpkin! (sic) *Giggles convulsively*

Cutting away from that, I’m going to indulge in some flashback – weekend was nice. Quite nice. Lazy Saturday, spent browsing my book of foreign phrases. Sunday, I spent with new friend, getting my ‘brain picked’ and talking myself hoarse. After a very interesting lunch (ahem), we went to the University where I fell in love with this place – there’s a crater kind of a depression in which monsoon water has stagnated, a few odd-weeds have sprouted and a charming watch-tower kind of a construction stands – nice and peaceful and oddly romantic. I was charmed. Totally. Some more conversation. And then I met my folks and we went for Chinese – decent fare at the Chinese Room. For a change I dragged my father away from his beloved Whispering Bamboos at the Blue D! :-) Nice day it was...

Was thinking later that night and I marveled at how many male friends I have today who I consider good friends – they aren’t mere acquaintances. They are people I share some of my deepest thoughts with, who are clued into my mood swings and craziness and form that core group of people who are my strength. Whoever said that you can’t be good friends (and just that) with someone of the opposite sex?

Haven’t been reading much that last few months and it’s starting to trouble me. The last book I read and devoured was The Handmaid’s Tale – since then I’ve started on several, but not gotten beyond the first 20 pages or so. Hmm...must fix this new malady. *Coughs*…once I’m over this nasty cough. For now it’s early to bed and late to rise for this dainty little creature ;-)

PS. I forgot to mention one movie that I saw at PIFF – Ben’s Biography. Nice it was. A funny yet serious movie about Ben who suffers from several hang-ups due to a rather traumatic childhood – a satire on conscientious bringing-up of children to make them into ultra talented/successful adults, on psychiatry, on academicians, on the Israeli army etc etc.

PIFF – Pune International Film Festival 2005.

PIFF – Pune International Film Festival 2005.
I first heard about it from the infamous Mr T***** (who I dare not name, out of the fear of being sued for using his name without due permissions et al) and then read about it on Akshay’s blog. The enthusiasm they both expressed more than did justice to it – a week-long orgy of movies, coffees, iced teas and sandwiches at ESquare later, I’m down with a cold from going in-n-out of A/C halls and have a husky voice from a sore throat (a la Phoebe of F.R.I.E.N.D.S) and a head that’s still buzzing with all those movies I saw and all that sudden input, some of which has made me curious about subjects and issues I didn’t think about earlier and of countries I didn’t give 2 peeps about…

The plan initially was to watch as many French films as I could, above all other films and catch a few interesting films in between. I ended up seeing 3-4 movies a day and almost lived at ESquare, except for the last 2 days when my brain and body started protesting and going on a strike – even when I was a couch-potato and television addict, I didn’t sit in front of the screen for like 7-8 hours a day. And this was a much bigger screen too ;-)

I had wanted and planned to put in a daily PIFF 2005 report, but I was returning home too tired to want to sit in front of a screen and type out my experiences – so here’s what I’m going to do (probably less winding and boring for you guys anyways!). Here’s the list of movies I saw and what hit me about them – be it the plot, photography, acting, concept, theme, treatment of subject; whether I liked it, disliked it, fell asleep while watching it, checked my watch every 15 minutes for how much longer I’d have to bear it…that kinda thing!

Day 1.
Ah Si J’etais Riche (If I was Rich) – France; Dir. Michel Munz
A light-hearted silly movie about a loser who hits the jackpot one fine day and how he first goes about blowing up his money all by himself, till conscience knocks on his door and the charm of being rich in isolation flies out of the door. Then begin the Samaritan acts and his life turns into prosperity and happiness lane. Nothing great. But not bad either. Funny. Enjoyable. OK I’m biased towards French films. So kill me, ok?

Day 2.
A La Petite Semaine (Nickel and Dime) – France; Dir. Sam Karmann.
A dark movie about some a bunch of guys, who hang out at a Parisian café called Chez Roger (one of the guys) and who have always walked the wrong side of the road – some have suffered the consequences and hopped over the divider, some are yet to learn the lesson. What I liked about it was the portrayal of relationships – between friends, between mother and a grown up son, between husband and wife… very real.

Love Stories – Poland; Dir Jerzy Stuhr
An interesting movie. For starters the director is in the movie, not a la Subash Ghai in a “special performance” but as the main lead, in 4 roles! The film revolves around 4 stories which are all about when love and the practicalities of everyday life become impossible to reconcile. A teacher finds out that one of his pupils is hopelessly infatuated with him; a priest learns that he is has a love-child who desperately needs his help, a colonel in the Polish army is torn between loyalty to his country and his passionate feelings for his Russian lover; and a convict finds he is unable to dampen the fiery feelings in his heart for the woman who put him in jail for seven years. Stuhr's message is simple: whatever the cost we may have to pay for it, we should love. If we cannot, we are damned.
The way he’s portrayed God and St.Peter is really cool – infact the whole concept.

Ring of Fire – Lebanon; dir Bahj Hojeij
Mr T***** chose this movie. *clears throat* I didn’t quite get the essence of the movie. It shows a professor in civil-war torn Beirut and how hi life hits rock-bottom after a scintillating incident with a female student, as they all take shelter in a dark room during shelling. What follows in a series of mindless incidents, that show how everything goes crazy and nothing makes sense at such times – innumerable cups of coffee and cigarettes later he breaks down. I, too, felt the same.

Day 3.
Jardin de Papa (Father’s Garden) - French ; Dir. Zeka Laplaine
A French couple goes to Africa for their honeymoon – an Africa that is taut with tension on the eve of the next Presidential elections. A series of unfortunate incidents follows suit – the movie is a wonderful metaphor for the oppressor-oppressed relationship, whether colonizer v/s colonized or man v/s woman. A disturbing movie, it ends on a positive note, as the two leading women, one black, one white, emerge as beacons of hope of equality and a better tomorrow.
P.S The guy was a total jerk in this movie – itched to reach into to screen and slap him quite a few times!

The Rose Seller – Columbia; Dir Victor Garcia.
Very disturbing. It portrayed the life of street children, in particular Monica – these kids who run away from home survive on the streets selling roses, sniffing glue, hanging out with dopes who peddle drugs to bigger dopes and sometimes end up prostituting themselves, all to buy new clothes and go dancing. It got too disturbing for us and we ended up leaving before the movie ended.

The Wind Bird – Sri Lanka; Dir. Inoka Satyangini
A story of a young Sinhalese woman who has come to the city to work – she finds herself pregnant, only to discover that her Tamil tiger boyfriend is already married and wants her to abort the child. A film that deals with issues such as female emancipation, life of single young women in cities, abortion and single motherhood, it was pretty clichéd and extremely depressing – what I liked about it was the photography. The most aesthetically pleasing scene has to be the one where she opens the window of her shack to find a cobweb hanging there. Gossamer fine, delicately spun by the spider it had trapped in its network a hapless insect – beautiful metaphor of her own position at that time.

Day 4.
Un Homme Vrai (A Real Man) – France; Dir Jean-Marie Larrieu
A satire on the concept of a real man (macho and indifferent, or sensitive and mushy) and on the concept of love and relationships – this was a very interesting, beautiful and aesthetically pleasing movie. The film explores several issues of a modern relationship between two people, yet retains a light-heartedness that makes you smile and laugh with each new turn the character’s lives take. The scene in the Pyrenees where they’ve captured the mating dance of the mysterious black grouse is breathtakingly beautiful!

White Noise – India, Dir.Vinta Nanda
Scheduled for release in March’05, this film starring Rahul Bose (deliciously talented) and Koel Purie (funky as it gets) deals with the life is young upcoming professionals in our crazy television world – as the synopsis said, the movie is a comment on love, marriage, family and Mumbai itself as the city of dreams – where expression and talent are often replaced by Ego and Judgement. (Ibid)

Rahul Bose is brilliant as always – I’m finally beginning to accept that there is more to Koel Purie than funky clothes that scream “Look at me” – she did a pretty good job at portraying a hysterical woman at the edge of sanity in some of those scenes. Question – why, at the end, when she finally finds peace within herself and realizes her dream, does she take to wearing everyday, boringly regular jeans and tee-shirt?

Le Coeur des Hommes (French Men) – France; Dir. Marc Esposito.
A story about four guys who’ve been friends since the time they played on the same football team in a Paris suburb – it tracks their lives – their work-lives and love-lives.A light-hearted cute film about friendships and love in general…

Bored in Bruno – Czech; Dir. Vladimir Moraveck
A crazy film about sex – I’m not kidding. It starts with the story of two young, mentally challenged lovers who are about to spend the night together and goes onto involve other stories in its ever expanding frame – a crash course on sex and sexual perversions! I was almost sure it was semi-porn – still can’t get over it. Outrageous to a limit, it’s an incredibly hilarious movie!

Day 5.
17 fois Cecile Cassard (17 times Cecile Cassard) – France; Dir. Jean- Marie Larrieu and Arnaud Larrieu
A movie that deals with the life of a young widow – how she can’t get a grip on life after the sudden death of her husband and goes away temporarily to Toulouse, leaving her son behind – it explores her raher numb life initially and how she goes onto to form new relationships...a rather disturbing film, which I couldn’t quite sit through for two reasons – one, I coudn’t figure out where it was going and two, Mr T***** messaged saying that if I didn’t get my butt to screen 5 ASAP he wouldn’t be able to save my seat for the next movie...so I abandoned and ran for...

Page 3 – India, Dir. Madhur Bhandarkar
We all know what the movie is about – the ubiquitous Page 3 socialities – an expose on the dirt beneath the glam of the high and glittering lifestyles of the rich and famous, it’s a comment on the life of those in power and how they (mis) use it, on the difference between life and lifestyle, on the invincible spirit of good ol’ Bombay – and yes, also a salute to the invincible spirit of the young journalist played by the extremely talented Konkona Sen Sharma.
Un peu clichéd if you ask me, but a good movie to watch – could be an eye-opener for some, though if you ask me, it kinda plays to the galleries.

Amu – India; Dir. Shonali Bose
It was a true test of Konkona’s talent to see her transform from a young journalist with your everyday aam-junta accent to an Amrika-returned Bangali young girl with a very real American accent in just 15 minutes! (And I’m remembering her very authentic portrayal of a Southie in Mr. and Mrs. Iyer) A story of a young girl who comes back to India from L.A to learn more about her roots, it takes a dark turn as she stumbles onto secrets buried long ago and starts to ask some very uncomfortable questions – uncomfortable for her adoptive family who doesn’t want her to know the truth, uncomfortable for the parents of her friend Kabir (Ankur Khanna – sexy as hell!)who don’t want to face their role in the gruesome past. The film raises some very uncomfortable questions about our passive role in the history of our nation, and of the lack of justice for the victims of the 1984 riots, or any other riots for that matter.
MUST WATCH

Day 6.
Black Friday – India; Dir. Anurag Kashyap
It was a no-show because of some confusions – so I sat for Amu again, till Mr T***** decreed that I must not see it again and ‘rescued’ me for coffee at Savera.

Day 7.
Black Friday – India; Dir. Anurag Kashyap
They did screen it this time – I wonder now if the movie will come to cinemas, (Read more) and I’m glad I went for it, even though my body was protesting and a day away from the A/C hall would have done the trick of stopping this nasty cold in its tracks…yet I went, just to see this one movie on the last day of the festival. Based on the book ‘Black Friday’ the movie traces the story of the Bombay blasts, the conspiracy and planning behind the execution of the blasts, the investigations after the blasts and how the ploice tracked down those involved – it is above all a strong comment on the cyclical nature of violence and a powerful indictment on our passive roles.
Stark. Harsh. Brutally realistic in it’s portrayals of the gruesome aftermath scenes of the blasts and the riots – the movie shakes you to the core. If it does get released – it’s a MUST WATCH!

Today evening, I almost asked my brother to get a DVD ’coz I was feeling like I’ve not seen a movie in ages – then I stopped myself. Needless to say an outburst of giggles followed suit…gotten quite accustomed to seeing movies! Never seen so many movies at a shot – hell I probably don’t see so many movies in a year. And I actually went for some movies alone…am quite amazed. Of course it’s no great feat for I bumped into some people at the Festival who sit through all 5 shows daily for all 7 days of the festival – that’s movie-buffs for you people! :-)

I like Chopin - Gazebo

(One of those songs I rely on to lift the layer of clouds blocking the sunshine - I sang this all the way from Berlin to Milan, after I found out that I had twice the baggage weight I was permitted to carry and would have to leave one bag behind with my friend who promised to send it by cargo - by the time I reached Milan, my friend was fed-up of the song, and I knew everything would be alright. After all, I was going back home! Counting on it to work its magic again today...)

Remember that piano, so delightful, unusual
That classic sensation, sentimental confusion

Used to say
"I like Chopin"
Love me now and again, wooh

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Imagine you're face
In a sunshine reflection
A vision of blue skies,
Forever distractions

Used to say
"I like Chopin"
Love me now and again, wooh

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way