A nice weekend with a visit from a literary snob who talks more than me and brought along pretty glass bangles and two books on loan - lots and lots of talking all over town...browsing through Manney's on Moledina Road and itching to buy my nephew so many books - I stayed away from the Literature section lest more temptation struck! Plenty to accomplish on Sunday, my only free day in the week - it flew past way too quick! A busy week, observing more hours a day, getting more and more ideas about how to conduct class, waiting and hoping to be given a regular class in the next session....The fact that I've been busy has kept me away from the computer and the internet - well that, and the fact that a wierd apathy has crept into my bones as far as this one activity is concerned. I type emails and posts on Papa's laptop and never get around to emailing them. Logging in seems like a mammoth effort at the end of the day when all I want to do is hit the sack, before my sleep vanishes and I spend another sleepless night walking through the rooms staring at photgraphs, trying to keep memories at bay lest they bring along with them tears.
Went for Lal Ded, performed by Mita Vasisht at the Shantaram Pond, FTII with everyone including little Shaurya. The setting was sublime - one can't possibly go wrong with the impact with a backdrop as that of Shantaram pond. It's an absolute delight to the senses. The performance left me wanting - il y avait une manque quelque part. I went expecting to hear Lal Ded's poems or maybe about her philosophy - what I got was a presentation of her life as the mystic saint who has most influenced the people of Kashmir. I have the French translation of her verses. I think I'll dig it out of the carton of books and pore over them in detail now - one verse from the performance stuck in my mind:
"Dhyan se, yeh tan to hai sirf bhojan kaowon ke liye"
(Careful, this body is but food for the crows.)
Touched by the gestures of some friends, exasperated at others who I don't know whether to ignore or shake in frustration, itching to step into yet another friend's life and set everything right - my life seems to revolve around my friends. What would I do without them?
Many many thanks to all of you - I don't know how to lean on anybody and I reach out to very few in times of distress, but your presence whether by way of comments on my blog, emails, SMS, phone calls, snail mail or physically visiting me...all meant to so much to me. Merci beaucoup mes ami(e)s! :-)
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Blah...blech
Strange how death can resolve old issues - strange how suddenly people wake up to their mistakes and want to make up after over a decade of being insulting and hurting us. Wish I could turn back the clock, I'd rather have my father back than patch up with these people...but then I must be sensible and wise and not go around burning bridges. Civil, understanding, mature. Fighting the system - why do they have to build obstacles and be so bloody insensitive and corrupt at such times? The emptiness is still there. It disturbs me at night, robs me of my sleep, makes me restless, pierces my heart suddenly and makes me wanna cry. Sometimes I do that...I cry and let it out...ask God why he had to play such cruel games with us. Slowly involving myself in the activies I'm accustomed to - inch by inch per day. Unpacking boxes packed for a move never meant to be, reading, borrowing books from friends, watching movies (Breakfast at Tiffany's borrow from a friend), writing, class...
Friends from whom I had such few expectations have come through - my guardian angels are ofcourse always there to hold me up when I didn't have the energy nor the will to do that by myself. Strange, how a person who meant the world to me till a month back is nowhere on the radar at such a time, and stranger yet, that it has ceased to matter, that after years of being hurt, this final betrayal doesn't matter at all. Well that's the only good thing that has come out of this...
La vie - c'est vraiment bizarre! C'est difficile, très difficile, mais on survivra!
Friends from whom I had such few expectations have come through - my guardian angels are ofcourse always there to hold me up when I didn't have the energy nor the will to do that by myself. Strange, how a person who meant the world to me till a month back is nowhere on the radar at such a time, and stranger yet, that it has ceased to matter, that after years of being hurt, this final betrayal doesn't matter at all. Well that's the only good thing that has come out of this...
La vie - c'est vraiment bizarre! C'est difficile, très difficile, mais on survivra!
Sunday, March 19, 2006
C'est La Vie?
Slowly limping back to routine, but every now and then I lose track of what's happening, lose control over my emotions - flare up or break down. I must do both without being observed, which makes it so much harder.
Two weeks since Papa's been gone - today like Schnapps, I too, was waiting for the bell to ring. My professor said the pain never goes away, you just learn to deal with it. Damn it but why must it hurt so?
Spent the day buried in work - assessed papers, wrote out preliminary assessment reports, filled in deacth claims for insumrance policies, write out intimation letters, replied to condolence messages. Am drained. Tomorrow's a new week...why am I not looking forward to it?
Two weeks since Papa's been gone - today like Schnapps, I too, was waiting for the bell to ring. My professor said the pain never goes away, you just learn to deal with it. Damn it but why must it hurt so?
Spent the day buried in work - assessed papers, wrote out preliminary assessment reports, filled in deacth claims for insumrance policies, write out intimation letters, replied to condolence messages. Am drained. Tomorrow's a new week...why am I not looking forward to it?
Thursday, March 16, 2006
For Papa...
Oft in the recent past have I ranted and raved about my apparent misfortune, questioned what life had in store for me, lamented on how difficult life can be and even wondered if there really is a higher power up there that enjoys pulling our strings and turning our lives into a roller-coaster with one flick of his/her wrist. Never have I meant it as much as I do now...for with that one flick of a wrist, within an instant, my life as I knew it ceased to be.
4th March 2006, we'd returned home after a leisurely dinner at my Chacha's place, when we received that fatal call that changed everything. My father, away on a holiday with my mother in Kumarakum, Kerala, had suffered a heart attack....minutes later a second call confirmed our worst fears. In the days that have since passed, I've struggled to make myself believe that he won't be ringing the bell and come sauntering in with his laptop delighted with his latest accomplishment at Phoenix Mecano India. For as long as I can remember, my father's name has been synonymous with his work, his dedication to it, his honesty, uprightness and truthfulness - whether it was at M.D.S (today a part of LeGrand), or when he was a management consultant or in the last decade at P.M.I. He worked for the pleasure of working, never for the money...to the point that he's put in many hours, days, months of effort into building up people's companies and ended up not getting any remuneration at all. But that's Papa...and he totally kicks ass!
Yes he does. I wanted to say this during the Shanti Path when the priest asked if anyone wanted to say anything about him, but I was too choked at that the time. I want to rail against whoever is sitting up there, pulling our strings, for this was the wrong string pulled. It's unfair. Papa had planned so much, he had so much more to achieve. People talk of him as someone they can never forget, a man of exemplary vision, an able man of few words who believed more in decisive action to solve the problem instead of talking about it. All his dreams, his visions were so close to realisation. He had so much more to do, so much more to teach me, teach his grandson, teach all of us.
That it happened on his first vacation in donkey's years, that it happened when my parents were so far away from any family/friend, far even from medical assistance makes me go blind with rage at the injustice of it all. I still can't believe it, even though I was with him till the last minute at the crematorium. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night disoriented, my mind filled with a jumble of images. Papa smiling, frowning in concentration as he typed away on his laptop, glaring angrily at me when I refused to back down from an argument which was threatening to explode in my face, stroking my head before I went to sleep while I continued to browse blogs/chat/email, tired at the end of a long day at work, cold in the coffin...
It all seems so unreal...I wonder how things continue as if nothing has changed, I want to go stop everything, but life continues. And so must I, for my mother and for my father if not for anything else. I can't disappoint them - I have to fulfill my dreams and fulfill Papa's dreams for me. He always egged me to do more; it was me who was lazy, content with what I already had...I have to make him proud enough to sit up there and nod his head as he says that his daughter kicks ass....and my father would say that. Yes he would, because he did too!
Below is my favourite photograph of my parents together - taken several years ago when we were still in Bombay. It's how I'll always remember Papa - smiling, happy, proud of his family and confident in his accomplishments.
4th March 2006, we'd returned home after a leisurely dinner at my Chacha's place, when we received that fatal call that changed everything. My father, away on a holiday with my mother in Kumarakum, Kerala, had suffered a heart attack....minutes later a second call confirmed our worst fears. In the days that have since passed, I've struggled to make myself believe that he won't be ringing the bell and come sauntering in with his laptop delighted with his latest accomplishment at Phoenix Mecano India. For as long as I can remember, my father's name has been synonymous with his work, his dedication to it, his honesty, uprightness and truthfulness - whether it was at M.D.S (today a part of LeGrand), or when he was a management consultant or in the last decade at P.M.I. He worked for the pleasure of working, never for the money...to the point that he's put in many hours, days, months of effort into building up people's companies and ended up not getting any remuneration at all. But that's Papa...and he totally kicks ass!
Yes he does. I wanted to say this during the Shanti Path when the priest asked if anyone wanted to say anything about him, but I was too choked at that the time. I want to rail against whoever is sitting up there, pulling our strings, for this was the wrong string pulled. It's unfair. Papa had planned so much, he had so much more to achieve. People talk of him as someone they can never forget, a man of exemplary vision, an able man of few words who believed more in decisive action to solve the problem instead of talking about it. All his dreams, his visions were so close to realisation. He had so much more to do, so much more to teach me, teach his grandson, teach all of us.
That it happened on his first vacation in donkey's years, that it happened when my parents were so far away from any family/friend, far even from medical assistance makes me go blind with rage at the injustice of it all. I still can't believe it, even though I was with him till the last minute at the crematorium. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night disoriented, my mind filled with a jumble of images. Papa smiling, frowning in concentration as he typed away on his laptop, glaring angrily at me when I refused to back down from an argument which was threatening to explode in my face, stroking my head before I went to sleep while I continued to browse blogs/chat/email, tired at the end of a long day at work, cold in the coffin...
It all seems so unreal...I wonder how things continue as if nothing has changed, I want to go stop everything, but life continues. And so must I, for my mother and for my father if not for anything else. I can't disappoint them - I have to fulfill my dreams and fulfill Papa's dreams for me. He always egged me to do more; it was me who was lazy, content with what I already had...I have to make him proud enough to sit up there and nod his head as he says that his daughter kicks ass....and my father would say that. Yes he would, because he did too!
Below is my favourite photograph of my parents together - taken several years ago when we were still in Bombay. It's how I'll always remember Papa - smiling, happy, proud of his family and confident in his accomplishments.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
You Know It's Summer When...
- You start seeing piles of dark-green water melons piled up by the side of the road, the vendor displaying one cut-up to reveal the juicy red fruit within.
- You want to take a refreshing cold shower after a dusty morning packing up stuff, but the water that bursts out of the tap is anything but cold!
- The tempers start soaring with the temperatures and your own temper is perpetually flaring beyond control :-(
- The coolers start getting cleaned up and serviced for the coming season and you start wishing you could put on the air-conditioner, knowing very well that those damn machines are one of the reasons why we are experiencing an increase of 2.5-5 degress celcius in summers!
- All your clothes with high-necks and full-sleeves get buried under other clothes in your cupboard and those delightfully light, summery cottons with barely any sleeves get pulled out to the top.
- You can smell the frustration in the air; there is a restlessness in your spirit that makes you want to run-away, but yet lethargy seeps into your bones and apathy greets you at every step you take...
- At every quartier, you're greeted with a stall of nimbu-pani and gola, or better yet, ganne ka ras.
- You're dying to wear the sleeveless top you picked up from Weekender, but two things stop you - the damn sun burns your arms if you do and the damn top is too damn transparent for PMT buses! Grrrr!
- You stop seaking the sun for it's glorious warmth and start seaking the shade, hiding from the burning heat of the sun!
- You reach for the bottle of chilled Coke or Apple Juice in your refrigerator, instead of brewing yourself a cup of refreshing lemon tea, even though you know your tonsils are painfully enlarged and need the former rather than the latter!
- The tiles on your bedroom floor feel wonderfully good against your bare-skin and you wonder why you must get into your pyjamas at all!
- You start drinking water by the gallons, which is a real shock to your mother 'coz she has to often remind you to drink your first glass of water at the end of the day!
Yes people, like it or not, the verdict came in this afternoon loud and clear... We've just entered March and Summer's already here (or as we now know, in Pune atleast) - and here to stay for a good long time!
- You want to take a refreshing cold shower after a dusty morning packing up stuff, but the water that bursts out of the tap is anything but cold!
- The tempers start soaring with the temperatures and your own temper is perpetually flaring beyond control :-(
- The coolers start getting cleaned up and serviced for the coming season and you start wishing you could put on the air-conditioner, knowing very well that those damn machines are one of the reasons why we are experiencing an increase of 2.5-5 degress celcius in summers!
- All your clothes with high-necks and full-sleeves get buried under other clothes in your cupboard and those delightfully light, summery cottons with barely any sleeves get pulled out to the top.
- You can smell the frustration in the air; there is a restlessness in your spirit that makes you want to run-away, but yet lethargy seeps into your bones and apathy greets you at every step you take...
- At every quartier, you're greeted with a stall of nimbu-pani and gola, or better yet, ganne ka ras.
- You're dying to wear the sleeveless top you picked up from Weekender, but two things stop you - the damn sun burns your arms if you do and the damn top is too damn transparent for PMT buses! Grrrr!
- You stop seaking the sun for it's glorious warmth and start seaking the shade, hiding from the burning heat of the sun!
- You reach for the bottle of chilled Coke or Apple Juice in your refrigerator, instead of brewing yourself a cup of refreshing lemon tea, even though you know your tonsils are painfully enlarged and need the former rather than the latter!
- The tiles on your bedroom floor feel wonderfully good against your bare-skin and you wonder why you must get into your pyjamas at all!
- You start drinking water by the gallons, which is a real shock to your mother 'coz she has to often remind you to drink your first glass of water at the end of the day!
Yes people, like it or not, the verdict came in this afternoon loud and clear... We've just entered March and Summer's already here (or as we now know, in Pune atleast) - and here to stay for a good long time!
Sunday, February 26, 2006
I Am...
Tired - annoyed, asleep, beat, beat up, bored, broken-down, collapsing, consumed, distressed, dog-tired, drained, drooping, droopy, drowsy, empty, enervated, exasperated, fagged, faint, fatigued, fed up, flagging, haggard, irked, irritated, jaded, petered out, pooped, run-down, sick of, sleepy, spent, stale, tuckered out, wasted, weary, whacked, worn out
Disgusted - T'd off, abhorred, appalled, displeased, fed up, grossed out, had bellyful, had enough, had it, nauseated, offended, outraged, overwrought, repelled, repulsed, sick of, squeamish, turned off, unhappy, weary
Depressed - bad, bleeding, blue, blue funk, bummed out, cast down, crestfallen, crummy, dejected, despondent, destroyed, disconsolate, dispirited, down, downcast, downhearted, dragged, fed up, glum, grim, hurting, in pain, let down, low, low down, low-spirited, lugubrious, melancholy, moody, morose, pessimistic, ripped, sad, spiritless, taken down, torn up, unhappy, weeper, woebegone
Disillusioned - blasé, broken, debunked, disabused, disenchanted, disenthralled, disentranced, embittered, enlightened, indifferent, let-down, punctured, shattered.
Disappointed - aghast, balked, beaten, blue funk, cast down, chapfallen, complaining, defeated, depressed, despondent, disconcerted, discontented, discouraged, disenchanted, disgruntled, dissatisfied, distressed, down, downhearted, frustrated, hopeless, thwarted, unhappy, unsatisfied, upset, vanquished, worsted
While the previous one, is from Snap Shirts, this one is courtesy Dictionary
Disgusted - T'd off, abhorred, appalled, displeased, fed up, grossed out, had bellyful, had enough, had it, nauseated, offended, outraged, overwrought, repelled, repulsed, sick of, squeamish, turned off, unhappy, weary
Depressed - bad, bleeding, blue, blue funk, bummed out, cast down, crestfallen, crummy, dejected, despondent, destroyed, disconsolate, dispirited, down, downcast, downhearted, dragged, fed up, glum, grim, hurting, in pain, let down, low, low down, low-spirited, lugubrious, melancholy, moody, morose, pessimistic, ripped, sad, spiritless, taken down, torn up, unhappy, weeper, woebegone
Disillusioned - blasé, broken, debunked, disabused, disenchanted, disenthralled, disentranced, embittered, enlightened, indifferent, let-down, punctured, shattered.
Disappointed - aghast, balked, beaten, blue funk, cast down, chapfallen, complaining, defeated, depressed, despondent, disconcerted, discontented, discouraged, disenchanted, disgruntled, dissatisfied, distressed, down, downhearted, frustrated, hopeless, thwarted, unhappy, unsatisfied, upset, vanquished, worsted
While the previous one, is from Snap Shirts, this one is courtesy Dictionary
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
Shit I'm a Freak! Or Am I?
So what else is new? I was in Junior College when they first started airing FRIENDS in India..and while the rest of my sweet sixteen friends scrambled to fit themselves into the image of the swelte and sexy Rachel, I was very happy being Monica. We are alike, Monica and me (except for the childhood history of weight - my battle, unlike her, was against lack of weight. LOL!). My need for things to be in order, neat and tidy is quite famous amongst my friends - I sort, plan, categorise things and simply can't tolerate a messsy environment. When visiting people's homes that are messy, my hands constantly itch to put things in place...it's a mammoth task resisting the urge, even with the fear of offending my hosts! Last week I was cooking peacefully when my folks returned from the supermarket and within minutes my neat haven of spices and freshly chopped veggies had turned into an arena of bags, fruits, groceries et al....and with that transformation went my joy in cooking. Head started paining and I had to abandon my culinary practices till I had the kitchen all neat and tidy again...makes the future rather scary, the thought that I might have to share the cooking (and living) space with someone who's messy and quite devoid of basic sense of cleanliness & any aesthetic sense!
But above all, I truly abhorr the almost inhumane, disgusting habit people have of dumping used utensils and crockery in the wash-basin, without rinsing them properly (some people even leave the left-overs in there - yuck!)...and I refuse to accept it as an obssession for cleanliness. To me, it's displaying a complete lack of hygiene and decency...what appalls me to the limit of fury is when they excuse that abominable mess by saying the maid will come and clean it? Why the hell should she? Would you ask her to clean your crap? (No, don't answer that...) Don't tell me you pay her to wash the dishes...it's unfair to expect her to clean that kind of a mess...food congealed in the plates/bowls/pans stinking after having been left like that for hours, sometimes overnight. *Puke* If that isn't practising feudal rights in the modern age, I don't know what it is! To all those who behave in such a fashion, I never fail to pray that their house gets infested with roaches and other unpleasant insects as a natural result of their sloth.
Freak or not...rinse your utensils before dumping them in the wash-basin people!
But above all, I truly abhorr the almost inhumane, disgusting habit people have of dumping used utensils and crockery in the wash-basin, without rinsing them properly (some people even leave the left-overs in there - yuck!)...and I refuse to accept it as an obssession for cleanliness. To me, it's displaying a complete lack of hygiene and decency...what appalls me to the limit of fury is when they excuse that abominable mess by saying the maid will come and clean it? Why the hell should she? Would you ask her to clean your crap? (No, don't answer that...) Don't tell me you pay her to wash the dishes...it's unfair to expect her to clean that kind of a mess...food congealed in the plates/bowls/pans stinking after having been left like that for hours, sometimes overnight. *Puke* If that isn't practising feudal rights in the modern age, I don't know what it is! To all those who behave in such a fashion, I never fail to pray that their house gets infested with roaches and other unpleasant insects as a natural result of their sloth.
Freak or not...rinse your utensils before dumping them in the wash-basin people!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Book-o-holic
Once a voracious reader I find myself reading rather sporadically now in little fits and bursts of enthusiasm for the written word when I devour any kind of book within reach. Well almost any kind...I'm a very fussy reader at times. Books worth mention, that I've read since the beginning of the year are few...
1. The Giver - Lois Lowry (Thanks Extempore for making me read this)
A delightfully touching children's story that can be best described as child's inititation to the concept best-popularised by Orwell's 1984.
2. Walk Two Moons - Aaron Creche (Once again, thank you Extempore. Had you not loaned these two books to me, I'd still be very ignorant about children's literature beyond the token Enid Blyton, the classics and a few other names.)
One of those heart-warming tales that leave your eyes moist and a smile lingering on your lips - it left me with a delicious heart-ache (is that a paradox?) and incredibly glad for having read it!
3. Monkfish Moon - Romesh Gunsekera
An incredibly beautiful and poetic collection of short-stories, this was pretty much my initiation to the world of Sri Lankan writers. I'm impressed to say the least - the collection, apart from brimming with rich descriptions of the country that brought it startlingly alive in front of my eyes, also displays a keen sensitivity towards emotions, cultures, politics and ofcourse the ever prevalent issue in our times, diaspora. If I can shake myself out of this misreable lethargy I've developed off late vis-a-via Literary Mosaic, I'll post a detailed review soon.
4. Punchtantra - Gautam Bhatia
I'm reading this one right now, so won't say much about it yet...just that it's one of the most enthrallingly witty renderings of the fables that I've come across. Enchanting sarcasm. Delicious humour. Great morals...I'm definitely going to post in detail about this once it's done.
Also on the shelf :-
- The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton (Pardon me, but I'm very slow when it comes to classics)
- Lady Oracle - Margaret Atwood (I've been hooked ever since Maddy Mata gifted me The HandMaid's Tale...this will be my third Atwood)
- The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye - A.S.Byatt
- Corridors - Sarnath Banerjee (India's first graphic novel in the tradition of the Bande-Dessinée and graphic novels such as Marjane Satrapi's award winning Poulet aux Prunes - more on the subject when I've read it)
- Marciano - Casa Rossa
- Collected Works - Oscar Wilde (I won't pretend to have the grand ambition of licking this clean, but I do intend to read his poems and the major works.)
- 10 Plays - Euripedes (To continue my education on Greek tragedy and mythology)
Monday, February 13, 2006
To Love, Lust and Merchandising
Come February each year and we are bombarded by more than the usual lot of advertisements peddling clothes, gifts and jewellery - diamonds it seems is the flavour of the season. Take a look at the advert-supplement that comes with your newspaper and you have serious doubts about the apparent poverty of our country. A country whose citizens can afford to buy diamonds at the rate we do can't possibly be poor, can it? But I'm digressing...so yes it seems Valentine's Day is the time you splurge all you can to profess your love for the chosen one. I don't quite get the need to indulge in that frantic bout of merchandising, but to each his own.
In the past so many years the day never really incited any feelings in me - much like New Year's Eve, it came and went without truly affecting me, apart from the token sms to which I had to reply. But this year I wish there was someone, someone who told me I truly was special and that I meant the world to him. This year the loneliness and the heart-ache is tangible. This year I wish it had worked out the way I wanted it - I know that doesn't happen in the real world, but this year my yearning for a happy ending is more than ever before. This year I also know that it isn't to be, was never meant to be despite everything I did...and I wonder whether it will ever be...Sigh.
Anyways to all those of you out there who have found that one person who lights up your days, makes you a better person and reciprocates the feelings - Happy Valentine's Day :-)
P.S. Aristera reacted to the moral policing of the day a few days back - me thinks it's very well said...check it out. You can leave comments either here or there...make sure you let him know I sent you there so he cooks me dinner in return for the free publicity ;-)
In the past so many years the day never really incited any feelings in me - much like New Year's Eve, it came and went without truly affecting me, apart from the token sms to which I had to reply. But this year I wish there was someone, someone who told me I truly was special and that I meant the world to him. This year the loneliness and the heart-ache is tangible. This year I wish it had worked out the way I wanted it - I know that doesn't happen in the real world, but this year my yearning for a happy ending is more than ever before. This year I also know that it isn't to be, was never meant to be despite everything I did...and I wonder whether it will ever be...Sigh.
Anyways to all those of you out there who have found that one person who lights up your days, makes you a better person and reciprocates the feelings - Happy Valentine's Day :-)
P.S. Aristera reacted to the moral policing of the day a few days back - me thinks it's very well said...check it out. You can leave comments either here or there...make sure you let him know I sent you there so he cooks me dinner in return for the free publicity ;-)
Friday, February 10, 2006
Desi Firang
Visiting an archeaological site that is also one of the top tourist destinations for firangs with a French madame, wearing jeans and sleeveless tops and pattering away in a mix of English and French apprently earns one the title of a Desi Firang...or atleast I did. :-)
After another one of my quick trips to Bombay - this time to meet my dear friend from Bordeaux - I made another short trip to Aurangabad to explore the Ajanta-Ellora caves with her. It was supposed to be a backpackers trip but when my dear friend Aristera had to back out, I hit the panic button. I can never do something of the sort without planning well in advance and knowing how/where/when/why in detail. Daddy dearest who knows people in the city was brought onto the scene and voila - things were laid out for us so that the entire trip was smooth sailing. Hotel bookings, arrangement on transport - my main worries were taken care of, so all we had to do was play tourist, which was easy!
The caves, even though this was my second visit, left me awed and impressed. I was quite pleased with the roads in the city and on the way to both sets of caves and also with the way the A.S.I is working towards maintaining the Ajanta caves, having cordoned the area off from any vehicular traffic apart from the buses plying from the base to the main site and keeping the obnoxious guide books and postcard peddlars out of the main site. Having reached A'bad in the middle of the night, we were quite exhausted by the time we finished exploring the Ajanta caves - but satisfied with the experience.
The next day was devoted to Daulatabad fort (impressive and quite fun to explore - the squirrels scrambling on walls like lizards were just one of the reasons we stopped ever so often; the other was the view), Ellora caves and Bibi ka Maqbara. Kailash temple at Ellora stole my breath away - the fact that over 7000 labourers toiled over a period of 150 odd years to carve that work of art out of stone, is as good a testimony to man's perseverance as any! The sheer magnitude of work left me incredibly impressed...needless to say we walked around the site in a kind of awed silence. It's a pity the other tourists weren't affected similarly and had to roam around hooting like hooligans and giggling over the sculptures.
After seeing the temple, the remaining Buddhist and Jain caves at Ellora didn't move us much - add to that our calves which were beginning to protest at all the climbing and walking. If only the remaining caves were taken care of just like Ajanta and Kailash temple - the local population uses them like picnic spots, littering around and leaving behind their mark in the form of vulgar graffiti on the walls...
The same was the case at Bibi ka Maqbara, a replication of the Taj Mahal, but not half as appreciated by the government. It is in desperate need of cleaning up, not to mention some conservation work...why does it take a monument to be nearly ruined before we do something about it? And why, oh why must we stare at a white person like s/he is a freak from Mars and proceed to make rude comments if it happens to be a woman?
Despite my few misgivings, the trip on the whole was good - did I forget to mention the stop at a local weaving center where they make Paithani sarees and Himroo sareees and shawls? And that I couldn't resist picking up a gorgeous black silk stole with Himroo work? And that I wanted to also buy this incredibly gorgeous lavender saree but had to restrain? I would like to go back soon, more educated this time about the significance of the scultures and the frescoes...and buy that saree ;-)
After another one of my quick trips to Bombay - this time to meet my dear friend from Bordeaux - I made another short trip to Aurangabad to explore the Ajanta-Ellora caves with her. It was supposed to be a backpackers trip but when my dear friend Aristera had to back out, I hit the panic button. I can never do something of the sort without planning well in advance and knowing how/where/when/why in detail. Daddy dearest who knows people in the city was brought onto the scene and voila - things were laid out for us so that the entire trip was smooth sailing. Hotel bookings, arrangement on transport - my main worries were taken care of, so all we had to do was play tourist, which was easy!
The caves, even though this was my second visit, left me awed and impressed. I was quite pleased with the roads in the city and on the way to both sets of caves and also with the way the A.S.I is working towards maintaining the Ajanta caves, having cordoned the area off from any vehicular traffic apart from the buses plying from the base to the main site and keeping the obnoxious guide books and postcard peddlars out of the main site. Having reached A'bad in the middle of the night, we were quite exhausted by the time we finished exploring the Ajanta caves - but satisfied with the experience.
The next day was devoted to Daulatabad fort (impressive and quite fun to explore - the squirrels scrambling on walls like lizards were just one of the reasons we stopped ever so often; the other was the view), Ellora caves and Bibi ka Maqbara. Kailash temple at Ellora stole my breath away - the fact that over 7000 labourers toiled over a period of 150 odd years to carve that work of art out of stone, is as good a testimony to man's perseverance as any! The sheer magnitude of work left me incredibly impressed...needless to say we walked around the site in a kind of awed silence. It's a pity the other tourists weren't affected similarly and had to roam around hooting like hooligans and giggling over the sculptures.
After seeing the temple, the remaining Buddhist and Jain caves at Ellora didn't move us much - add to that our calves which were beginning to protest at all the climbing and walking. If only the remaining caves were taken care of just like Ajanta and Kailash temple - the local population uses them like picnic spots, littering around and leaving behind their mark in the form of vulgar graffiti on the walls...
The same was the case at Bibi ka Maqbara, a replication of the Taj Mahal, but not half as appreciated by the government. It is in desperate need of cleaning up, not to mention some conservation work...why does it take a monument to be nearly ruined before we do something about it? And why, oh why must we stare at a white person like s/he is a freak from Mars and proceed to make rude comments if it happens to be a woman?
Despite my few misgivings, the trip on the whole was good - did I forget to mention the stop at a local weaving center where they make Paithani sarees and Himroo sareees and shawls? And that I couldn't resist picking up a gorgeous black silk stole with Himroo work? And that I wanted to also buy this incredibly gorgeous lavender saree but had to restrain? I would like to go back soon, more educated this time about the significance of the scultures and the frescoes...and buy that saree ;-)
Monday, February 06, 2006
Kisvilma—Az utolsó napló (The Last Dairy), Marta Meszaros, Hungary 2000
The last of the semi-autobiographical diary series by Marta Meszaros, the film revolves around Vilma's search for the truth. Vilma has returned to Kirgizstan to find out why her father was executed and perhaps finally come to terms with the tragic reality of her childhood. Many Europeans had been drawn to the idea of a socialist Eden in the USSR and Vilma's father was one of them - they moved to Kirgizstan and set up home in a small international community. Their idealic lives, however, were brought to an abrupt end under totalitarian oppression when thousands of people across the land were wrongly persecuted for treachery against the Soveit Union and Stalin.
Vilma's father is arrested and taken away, just as the other men in their community...one by one all her friends are orphaned as their parents are arrested. Her mother tries hard to bring him back but the fight drains her and she dies one night, leaving Vilma in the care of a Spanish friend...Vilma is then forcibly taken away to a Soviet school and given the revolutionary name of Nina Alexeyevna - she resists initially but her spirit is broken when her old friends from Kirgizstan refuse to acknowledge her as Vilma. Defeated she falls into place with the rules imposed on her...however the Spanish lady eventually succeeds in getting the children out and Vilma is allowed to return to her native home.
Unlike the others in the diary series, this focuses less on the political events and more on their repurcussions on the lives of the common man...take for example, the women's battle to survive when their men are imprisoned under false charges, or that of the orphaned children left in the care of those who want to wipe out their real identity. Spanning over the period of the World War, the film also brings into focus the predicament of those soldiers who survived on the front - but barely, having lose both sets of limbs. It's an extraordinarily sensitive film - not just in the treatment of the subject and the acting, but also in the use of the scenic backdrop, the Kirgizstanian culture, music and even colour. I was quite unabashedly crying towards the end of the film - this one film moved me enough to start reading up about Hungarian history and the entire Stalin period in the Soviet Union...education happening slowly and steadily. The film sure has an impact and I'd definitely urge others to seize the opportunity to watch the Diary series, in particular the last diary!
[ Ordinary Lives in Extraordinary Times - Marta Meszaros interviewed]
[Senses of Cinema - a well-compiled informative site on Cinema]
P.S I managed to catch Rang de Basanti last week - it's a good film, specially coming from an industry that churns out mindless crap like Garam Masala (don't ask - I was subjected to excruciating mental torture on more than one occassion returning from Bombay to Pune in the volvo). The movie, albeit a little over stylised, is well-made, sticks true to the historical events and manages to strike that chord inside you...added bonus - the soundtrack is mindblowing! I can't stop humming 'Roobaroo' even though Ma frowns everytime I start off with "Aye saala..." :-)
P.P.S Make sure you have the right sort of company when you watch movies such as the two mentioned above - the sort that doesn't chatter incessantly, giggles over scenes that do not provoke laughter and tries to find inane subtexts that do not exist.
Vilma's father is arrested and taken away, just as the other men in their community...one by one all her friends are orphaned as their parents are arrested. Her mother tries hard to bring him back but the fight drains her and she dies one night, leaving Vilma in the care of a Spanish friend...Vilma is then forcibly taken away to a Soviet school and given the revolutionary name of Nina Alexeyevna - she resists initially but her spirit is broken when her old friends from Kirgizstan refuse to acknowledge her as Vilma. Defeated she falls into place with the rules imposed on her...however the Spanish lady eventually succeeds in getting the children out and Vilma is allowed to return to her native home.
Unlike the others in the diary series, this focuses less on the political events and more on their repurcussions on the lives of the common man...take for example, the women's battle to survive when their men are imprisoned under false charges, or that of the orphaned children left in the care of those who want to wipe out their real identity. Spanning over the period of the World War, the film also brings into focus the predicament of those soldiers who survived on the front - but barely, having lose both sets of limbs. It's an extraordinarily sensitive film - not just in the treatment of the subject and the acting, but also in the use of the scenic backdrop, the Kirgizstanian culture, music and even colour. I was quite unabashedly crying towards the end of the film - this one film moved me enough to start reading up about Hungarian history and the entire Stalin period in the Soviet Union...education happening slowly and steadily. The film sure has an impact and I'd definitely urge others to seize the opportunity to watch the Diary series, in particular the last diary!
[ Ordinary Lives in Extraordinary Times - Marta Meszaros interviewed]
[Senses of Cinema - a well-compiled informative site on Cinema]
P.S I managed to catch Rang de Basanti last week - it's a good film, specially coming from an industry that churns out mindless crap like Garam Masala (don't ask - I was subjected to excruciating mental torture on more than one occassion returning from Bombay to Pune in the volvo). The movie, albeit a little over stylised, is well-made, sticks true to the historical events and manages to strike that chord inside you...added bonus - the soundtrack is mindblowing! I can't stop humming 'Roobaroo' even though Ma frowns everytime I start off with "Aye saala..." :-)
P.P.S Make sure you have the right sort of company when you watch movies such as the two mentioned above - the sort that doesn't chatter incessantly, giggles over scenes that do not provoke laughter and tries to find inane subtexts that do not exist.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Dinner for Six
So there's this tag going around and after a very long time one of these things piqued my curiosity and so here I am following instructions. What one has to do is basically invite six people for dinner (it's something like a hypothetical blogger's meet)...since there are several bloggers I've already met, my choice for the evening is going to only include those with whom I've not yet come face-to-face.
Invite :
You are cordially invited to dinner chez moi. Don't forget to bring along something to eat (it's potluck dinner people, I'm not in the mood to cook tonight), your biggest smile and last but definitely not the least important, your charming self :-)
Addressed to:-
1. Casablanca/Writing on the Wall - To unveil this mysterious blogger who's so open about her life, yet so zealously guards her identity. I would love to meet the person behind this persona...plus I'm sure you'd keep the conversation alive at the dinner table.
2. Wandering Dervish/Loud Thinking - He's a darling - I just know it and want to confirm it! Plus it would be great to meet this superintelligent guy with a poet's soul (and very warm generous one at that!)...can see the evening's conversation taking an erudite turn with him at the table...an extra request - could you bring along some music as well? :-)
3. Vaish/Apercevoir - She invited me to join her French blog (where I've not been very active) and then to her wedding (which I didn't attend) - apologies Vaish! I know you flew away but it would be great if you could hop into a plane and visit homeland for this cozy little dinner! J'aimerais bien te rencontrer!
4. Anil/Mottled Memories - He spins magic with his words and weaves a spell with his images...he also writes delightfully long emails and makes me feel dreadfully prosaic there as well! Like me, he's learnt French and landed up in Germany to study - I like people who do such things! I promise to visit Cologne if make it to Europe in the near future, but before that it would be great to meet you over wine, conversation and whatever else is on the dinner table :-) Tu viens?
5. Chamique/Momentary Muse - I've said it before - her's is one of the most honest blogs I've come across. No pretense there, no attempt to be anything but herself. Sensitive. Intelligent. Nice. It would be a great pleasure to meet the person behind those posts that make me smile and shed a sentimental tear with the same graceful ease!
6. Lotus - He doesn't blog much - not at all actually, but his persistent comments on my blog have piqued my curiosity. Besides I'm sure I can count on you to spice up the conversation by reading out your billet d'amour to his French professor - no chance of anyone getting bored with this flower gracing the table :-)
Alrighty then people...I'm sprucing up the place for you'll - bringing out the best lace table-cloth, the exquisite china plates and the silver ware. The wine's chilling and just waiting to be served...don't forget the food...and those smiles! :-)
Invite :
You are cordially invited to dinner chez moi. Don't forget to bring along something to eat (it's potluck dinner people, I'm not in the mood to cook tonight), your biggest smile and last but definitely not the least important, your charming self :-)
Addressed to:-
1. Casablanca/Writing on the Wall - To unveil this mysterious blogger who's so open about her life, yet so zealously guards her identity. I would love to meet the person behind this persona...plus I'm sure you'd keep the conversation alive at the dinner table.
2. Wandering Dervish/Loud Thinking - He's a darling - I just know it and want to confirm it! Plus it would be great to meet this superintelligent guy with a poet's soul (and very warm generous one at that!)...can see the evening's conversation taking an erudite turn with him at the table...an extra request - could you bring along some music as well? :-)
3. Vaish/Apercevoir - She invited me to join her French blog (where I've not been very active) and then to her wedding (which I didn't attend) - apologies Vaish! I know you flew away but it would be great if you could hop into a plane and visit homeland for this cozy little dinner! J'aimerais bien te rencontrer!
4. Anil/Mottled Memories - He spins magic with his words and weaves a spell with his images...he also writes delightfully long emails and makes me feel dreadfully prosaic there as well! Like me, he's learnt French and landed up in Germany to study - I like people who do such things! I promise to visit Cologne if make it to Europe in the near future, but before that it would be great to meet you over wine, conversation and whatever else is on the dinner table :-) Tu viens?
5. Chamique/Momentary Muse - I've said it before - her's is one of the most honest blogs I've come across. No pretense there, no attempt to be anything but herself. Sensitive. Intelligent. Nice. It would be a great pleasure to meet the person behind those posts that make me smile and shed a sentimental tear with the same graceful ease!
6. Lotus - He doesn't blog much - not at all actually, but his persistent comments on my blog have piqued my curiosity. Besides I'm sure I can count on you to spice up the conversation by reading out your billet d'amour to his French professor - no chance of anyone getting bored with this flower gracing the table :-)
Alrighty then people...I'm sprucing up the place for you'll - bringing out the best lace table-cloth, the exquisite china plates and the silver ware. The wine's chilling and just waiting to be served...don't forget the food...and those smiles! :-)
Friday, January 27, 2006
Female Emancipation in P.M.T Keshavnagar
A year and half back when I moved from Bombay to Pune and went from using the sexy B.E.S.T buses to the run-down P.M.T buses I experienced what can only be termed as a culture shock. Accustomed to a travelling with people from all classes of the society in Bombay, I soon realised that 90% of the crowd in the P.M.T buses was from the lower class - which meant I now had to start thinking about what I was wearing when I stepped into a bus. I've hardly worn my shorter skirts since I've moved to Pune and every time I wear my wrap-arounds or the skirts with slits down one side, I get 'the looks' which I've learnt to ignore. That wasn't what really bothered me - what bothered me was the completely in-your-face blatant refusals by young able-bodied men to vacate their seats (reserved for women/handicapped/elderly) for an elderly man/woman. One instance I clearly remember is when I asked this guy to vacate the seat for this 'aaji' who must be around 70 - not only did the guy belligerently refuse to do so, when I started protesting vociferously, this aaji actually asked me not to bother unless I wanted to sit there! I was quite appalled and since I couldn't see myself sitting while she was standing, I let that guy continue to stay seated...and he stayed seated the entire way sending me a disgustingly sly smile of victory every few minutes. Over the year and a half that I've been here, I've witnessed many such scenes.
These days there's a new trend in the P.M.T buses, atleast those running from Keshavnagar. To start with, the newer buses have the entire left-hand side row of seats reserved for women. Around a month back, I got into a crowded bus and resigned myself to a long journey on my feet...only to suddenly find this woman nudging the guy sitting next to her, demanding he vacate the seat for me. When he tried to resist, all the women in that row all but pounced on him. Poor guy had no option but to vacate the seat for me....over the last few weeks the women have grown very fierce in their insistence on seeing the 'striyaansathi' rule applied. It's funny at times when the bus is nearly empty and there's this neat demarcation with all the women on the left and the men on the right - the conductor looks rather lost in no-man's land! Funnier yet - seeing them descend on the poor hapless man who's made the colossal mistake of occupying a seat on the left, specially when the women have also occupied quite a few seats on the right as well...the men are actually afraid of occupying those seats because they are sure a woman will soon descend on him screaming at him to get up!
It's almost as if they are venting the frustration of being forced into a submissive role at home, by bossing the men around in the bus! Sometimes I actually feel sorry for some of the men as they look on bewildered while the newly emancipated women commuters proceed to paint him a villain for sitting on the wrong side...most times though I'm busy chortling with unholy glee! :-)
P.S This was to be another movie review, but since some people are turning green with jealousy and others are feeling out of sort with my apparent spouting of cinematic intelligence, I decided to post about this first. Coming up - review of Little Vilma, the Last Diary.
These days there's a new trend in the P.M.T buses, atleast those running from Keshavnagar. To start with, the newer buses have the entire left-hand side row of seats reserved for women. Around a month back, I got into a crowded bus and resigned myself to a long journey on my feet...only to suddenly find this woman nudging the guy sitting next to her, demanding he vacate the seat for me. When he tried to resist, all the women in that row all but pounced on him. Poor guy had no option but to vacate the seat for me....over the last few weeks the women have grown very fierce in their insistence on seeing the 'striyaansathi' rule applied. It's funny at times when the bus is nearly empty and there's this neat demarcation with all the women on the left and the men on the right - the conductor looks rather lost in no-man's land! Funnier yet - seeing them descend on the poor hapless man who's made the colossal mistake of occupying a seat on the left, specially when the women have also occupied quite a few seats on the right as well...the men are actually afraid of occupying those seats because they are sure a woman will soon descend on him screaming at him to get up!
It's almost as if they are venting the frustration of being forced into a submissive role at home, by bossing the men around in the bus! Sometimes I actually feel sorry for some of the men as they look on bewildered while the newly emancipated women commuters proceed to paint him a villain for sitting on the wrong side...most times though I'm busy chortling with unholy glee! :-)
P.S This was to be another movie review, but since some people are turning green with jealousy and others are feeling out of sort with my apparent spouting of cinematic intelligence, I decided to post about this first. Coming up - review of Little Vilma, the Last Diary.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
La Pianiste (The Piano Teacher), Michael Haneke, France, 2000
The film is based on Nobel Laureate Elfried Jelinek's acclaimed novel The Piano Teacher. Isabelle Huppert plays the part of Erika, a respectable and rather stern piano teacher in her forties, who is staying with her rather possessive mother. The mother, with her refusal to let go off the umbilical cord, has smothered Erika to such an extent that she ends up with a repressed personality. Frustrated, she seeks voyeuristic relief in watching pornographic films and furtively watching couples in the act. As the film progresses she gets involved in a rather perverse relationship with one of her students, with a rather tragic end.
The film hits hard and it left me feeling very disturbed - repugnant, almost violently revolting at times I was left wondering why I subjected myself to the torture. It didn't help that I was watching the film in a rather uncomfortable position - the seats were all taken up when we entered so we took the 'best' seats...on the floor, two rows ahead of the first row from the screen. By the time the film ended my neck hurt, my butt hurt, my legs were beginning to go numb and my head was spinning with what I'd just seen. Most of the audience dismissed it as a terrible porn film - on the basis of the scenes that showed her going to watch porn and her interaction with the student. At that moment I didn't have much to argue against that judgement, so sickened was I by the film, but later as I thought more about it, I slowly began to see the film's merits - yes, it isn't an easy film to watch, even more difficult to digest - but I wouldn't dismiss it as trash.
There is no subtle way of representing a subject like this and like it or not, the subject is very relevant to our times and the societies we live in. Literature, infact art, is after all a reflection of our times and if our times are complex and spawn twisted personalities, can we really penalise the artists for representing it? Someone has to express the oppression, the physical and sexual violence, the twisted relationships...It's easy to dismiss art of this genre as trash and I, too, am guilty of having it done it with Alan Hollinghurst's A Line of Beauty. My first reaction to it was that the novel shouldn't be read at all, leave alone be acknowledged as serious literature and awarded a major literary prize. I am still not ready to give it a second shot, but then, I can be a rather difficult reader. There, ofcourse, isn't any direct comparison, since the subjects are very different. I have a feeling that The Piano Teacher has tried to delve into the psychological reasons for such a personality and its outcomes, not only on a personal level, but a social level also. I haven't read the novel so I can't be very sure, but having seen the film I think that is the case. There is a message in what Jelinek (and subsequently Haneke and Huppert) is saying - somewhere beneath those disgusting descriptions/scenes, she is trying to drive home a valid point.
This article in the Washington Post does good justice to the novel and the film, as far as the subject goes. Final verdict? Hard-hitting, depressing and disturbing. Acting par excellence. It's not easy to appreciate the film, but give it a shot...and approach it with an open mind.
The film hits hard and it left me feeling very disturbed - repugnant, almost violently revolting at times I was left wondering why I subjected myself to the torture. It didn't help that I was watching the film in a rather uncomfortable position - the seats were all taken up when we entered so we took the 'best' seats...on the floor, two rows ahead of the first row from the screen. By the time the film ended my neck hurt, my butt hurt, my legs were beginning to go numb and my head was spinning with what I'd just seen. Most of the audience dismissed it as a terrible porn film - on the basis of the scenes that showed her going to watch porn and her interaction with the student. At that moment I didn't have much to argue against that judgement, so sickened was I by the film, but later as I thought more about it, I slowly began to see the film's merits - yes, it isn't an easy film to watch, even more difficult to digest - but I wouldn't dismiss it as trash.
There is no subtle way of representing a subject like this and like it or not, the subject is very relevant to our times and the societies we live in. Literature, infact art, is after all a reflection of our times and if our times are complex and spawn twisted personalities, can we really penalise the artists for representing it? Someone has to express the oppression, the physical and sexual violence, the twisted relationships...It's easy to dismiss art of this genre as trash and I, too, am guilty of having it done it with Alan Hollinghurst's A Line of Beauty. My first reaction to it was that the novel shouldn't be read at all, leave alone be acknowledged as serious literature and awarded a major literary prize. I am still not ready to give it a second shot, but then, I can be a rather difficult reader. There, ofcourse, isn't any direct comparison, since the subjects are very different. I have a feeling that The Piano Teacher has tried to delve into the psychological reasons for such a personality and its outcomes, not only on a personal level, but a social level also. I haven't read the novel so I can't be very sure, but having seen the film I think that is the case. There is a message in what Jelinek (and subsequently Haneke and Huppert) is saying - somewhere beneath those disgusting descriptions/scenes, she is trying to drive home a valid point.
This article in the Washington Post does good justice to the novel and the film, as far as the subject goes. Final verdict? Hard-hitting, depressing and disturbing. Acting par excellence. It's not easy to appreciate the film, but give it a shot...and approach it with an open mind.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
PIFF 2006 Report
Well I said I'd be back in a week, didn't I? And I'm back - older, wiser and more mature! Well, not exacty, but definitely more educated and with my grey cells scrambling around frantically, processing all the information that was being fed to them in the past one week. PIFF 2005 was a new experience. My first foray into the realm of serious cinema, my introduction to world cinema. There were films that shook me, others that I didn't comprehend at all (W.D will vouch for it, having left his first comment on my blog after my rather juvenile interpretation of one of the movies I'd seen!), and some that I enjoyed alot.
PIFF 2006 was more of an education than last year. The focus, but obviously, was on catching as many French films as I could. I can't say I regret seeing any film - though some of them left me with a bad taste in my mouth, it wasn't because it was bad cinema. Far from it...with a selection that comprised of very few light films, I've come out of this year's experience having learnt so much more and with a new list of topics for reading. I saw quite a few films all by myself this time - and without feeling wierd about walking into a movie hall alone. Ironically my friend who introduced me to PIFF and without whom I'd have never registered for it last year, didn't catch half as many films as I did (and I'm being generous here - I don't even know why he registered in the first place) - missed having him next to me to discuss a film as we waited for the next one to start...and that by no way means that I didn't enjoy the company that I had as replacement for Titu Dada. :-) My only complaint is that they don't organise the schedule in advance, allowing the delegates to plan which movies they want to watch according to the multiplex it's being screened at, not to mention their work schedules and that they randomly change film screenings at the last minute...
...and here's the rest of the list :-
PIFF 2006 was more of an education than last year. The focus, but obviously, was on catching as many French films as I could. I can't say I regret seeing any film - though some of them left me with a bad taste in my mouth, it wasn't because it was bad cinema. Far from it...with a selection that comprised of very few light films, I've come out of this year's experience having learnt so much more and with a new list of topics for reading. I saw quite a few films all by myself this time - and without feeling wierd about walking into a movie hall alone. Ironically my friend who introduced me to PIFF and without whom I'd have never registered for it last year, didn't catch half as many films as I did (and I'm being generous here - I don't even know why he registered in the first place) - missed having him next to me to discuss a film as we waited for the next one to start...and that by no way means that I didn't enjoy the company that I had as replacement for Titu Dada. :-) My only complaint is that they don't organise the schedule in advance, allowing the delegates to plan which movies they want to watch according to the multiplex it's being screened at, not to mention their work schedules and that they randomly change film screenings at the last minute...
There was a focus, this year, on Isabelle Huppert, one of the finest actors of the French cinema, who believes that the art of acting is living out one's insanity. The films selected under the retropsective genre were mostly adaptations of classics - disturbing and even repugnant at times, but excellent cinema nevertheless. I didn't catch all the films, but from the few that I did see, I think I'm beginning to understand why she has won so many accolades for her work - either she's truly brilliant or truly insane that she lived those roles as she did!
- La Pianiste (The Piano Teacher) - adapted from the acclaimed novel by Nobel Laureatte, Elfried Jelinke, Michael Haneke, France, 2000.
- La Dentellerie, (The Lace-maker) - adapted from a novel by Pascal Laine, Claude Goretta, France, 1977
- La Cérémonie (A Judgement in Stone) - adapted from a novel by Ruth Rendell, Claude Chabrol, France, 1994.
...and here's the rest of the list :-
- Le Coeur des Hommes (The Frenchmen) - Marc Esposito, France, 2003 (repeat from last year - it's such a fun film I couldn't resist)
- Un Homme, Un Vrai (A Real Man) - Jean-Marie Larrieu, Arnaud Larrieu, France,2003 (repeat again, for the same reasons)
- Les Égares (Strayed) - André Téchiné, France, 2003 (a war film that focused more on relationships than the war itself, it's a beautiful and very sensitive film!)
- Violence des Échanges en Milieu Temperé (Work Hard, Play Hard) - Jean-Marc Moutout, France, 2004
- Un Amor Silencioso (Silent Love) - Federico Hidalgo, Canada, 2004 (interesting comment on the difficulties in finding love, the right partner and marriages arranged through match-making agencies between citizens of the 'first-world countries' and those of the 'third-world countries')
- Child Star - Don McKellar, Canada, 2004 (the only English film I saw - cute and fun!)
- Naplo Szerelneimnek (Diary for my Love) - Meszaros Marta, Hungary, 1990 (heavy, grey, depressing - set in the politically charged atmosphere of Stalin's USSR, it's part of the Dairy series.)
- Little Vilma, the Last Diary - Meszaros Marta, Hungary, 1999 (heart-breakingly poignant and beautiful film, it made me cry - the last of the dairy series, it's set in war-time USSR)
- Arizona Sur (Arizona Sun) - Miguel Angel Rocca, Daniel Pensa, Argentina, 2005 (fabulously fun!)
- Cabra-Cega (Playing in the Dark) - Toni Venturi, Brazil, 2004 (hard-hitting and very disturbing...equally enlightening for me)
- Bulutlari Beklerken (Waiting for the Clouds) - Yesim Ustaoglu, Turkey-France-Germany-Greece, 2004 (incredibly beautiful film set in Turkey & Greece)
- Bad Be Dastan (Empty Hands) - Abdolreza Kahani, Iran, 2004 (hilarious, despite the bleak backdrop of rural Iran)
Thursday, January 12, 2006
PIFF 2006
Pune International Film Festival is here again :-) (Check out last year's experience)
Here's to a week of pure, undiluted cinematic pleasure and taking up temporary residence at Esquare...please to be excusing me from my blogging duties for a week! I promise to be back in a week's time with a lovely report on this year's experience!
Currently listening to 12 poètes Francophones (chanté par Bernard Ascal) - lovely poetry some of it...am posting some on FranceSay for the Francophiles.
Here's to a week of pure, undiluted cinematic pleasure and taking up temporary residence at Esquare...please to be excusing me from my blogging duties for a week! I promise to be back in a week's time with a lovely report on this year's experience!
Currently listening to 12 poètes Francophones (chanté par Bernard Ascal) - lovely poetry some of it...am posting some on FranceSay for the Francophiles.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Je Suis Fatiguée
When I took up class with kids, I knew I was in for a challenging ride, especially since I've never really had the kids eating out of my hands. Expected them to be mischievous, talkative, over-smart and yes even brattish - and was prepared to deal with all of that. Insolence, I had neither expected nor can I stomach. The red-alert danger signs had flashed in my head last week, with my first adolescent's class, but I chose not to over-react, figuring the kid needed time to settle in - but today I came so so close to throwing something at him. Never before did corporal punishment seem so appealing! Still fighting the urge to go to higher authorities with the matter but don't see how else to settle the issue, since the brat obviously isn't interested...
That was stressful enough, but when I had to spend nearly two hours commuting home after that (no, I haven't moved back to Bombay, this is Pune I'm talking about!) I was so god-damned tired. Oh please let me get the regular courses soon...and please let us move out of the back-of-the-beyond soon!
Je suis fatiguée. Je veux dormir. C'est tout.
PS Don't anyone dare welcome me into the real world - I shall growl. That's a promise!
That was stressful enough, but when I had to spend nearly two hours commuting home after that (no, I haven't moved back to Bombay, this is Pune I'm talking about!) I was so god-damned tired. Oh please let me get the regular courses soon...and please let us move out of the back-of-the-beyond soon!
Je suis fatiguée. Je veux dormir. C'est tout.
PS Don't anyone dare welcome me into the real world - I shall growl. That's a promise!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
New Beginnings?
*Cough splutter* I can't believe I'm actually using that corny title..what the hell I simply couldn't resist. New Year's Eve was abysmally dismal (I like the sound of that) - was angry, upset, frustrated, cranky - went to bed before midnight and got up almost equally grouchy. That frame of mind stayed till afternoon. Luckily it started clearing up after a couple of phone calls from some adorable people.
A week into 2006 and I feel like so much has already happened. So many rendezvous with friends - so many lovely new memories. Tossing for a favourite moment in the past one week - the choices would be:
A week into 2006 and I feel like so much has already happened. So many rendezvous with friends - so many lovely new memories. Tossing for a favourite moment in the past one week - the choices would be:
- Peeking through the fingers at a perfectly horrifying scene from Doom, while my rather huge male friend chortled at my distress.
- Surprising another male friend with a double-entendre. Not my first, but definitely the first around him...it was quite a pleasure to make him stall in his tracks. :-)
- That amazing day - just all of it, from the open conversations to the fabulous meal, to the long randonnée around one of my favourite places in the world, to that journey back home.
- My friend hugging me in the middle of a busy street, insisting we have "our own fun" - encircled by those loving arms, I actually didn't feel my usual pang of distress in saying good-bye to someone I adore beyond reason and get to meet so damned less!
- Crazy meandering conversations with a lovely new friend (I wish I could be as poetic about her as Saurabh - hope it's enough to say that I'm glad I stumbled upon her. Ironic how many 'champs' we seem to have known!)
- Even crazier and more meandering conversations with bum-chum pals - nothing like old pals is there? Where else would I find that absolute understanding & acceptance. Who else would live through my ranting, raving, cribbing, bitching & wounding and yet give me a hug the next time I met them?
- Being pampered silly by friends when my stomach decided to play truant and refused to let anything I ate/drink stay inside my body. Nothing heals the wounded soul more than the knowledge that there are people out there who care...better yet, that they are people you adore...and do I adore them! :-)
- Patching up with yet another friend - we still have issues to sort out, but I think I can stop fretting about losing a friend. Merci bon dieu!
A week back I was at my misreable best - am I happy that's passed. My soul ain't healed completely, I haven't found what I'm looking for - but there's definitely a skip in my steps since the past two days. Oh yes, this year has taken off alright...and on that note :
Happy New Year! Bonne Année! Gutes Neues Jahr! Feliz Año Nuevo! Nuovo Anno Felice!Naye Saal Ki Shubhkaamnayein! :-)
Friday, December 30, 2005
Therapeutic Week
Not very long ago I swore off retail therapy of any kind, so that means no shopping for clothes, books and music, even though the last two evolve into another source of therapy - I'm sticking to that, irrespective of the fact that I bought a new patch-work leather bag to replace my rather well-worn and over-used Kashmiri leather sling pouch that I carried around everywhere from class (as a student and now as a teacher), to casual rendezvous to more formal occassions. That was more necessity than therapy so, I'm not taking into account its therapeutic values even though I'm uber pleased with my purchase!
So this week I'm indulging in different forms of therapy - Number One being Sleep. It's not like I've been sleep-deprived (I have been getting an average of 6 hours per night, which isn't the preferred 8 hours but it's sufficient to keep me from turning into a zombie after a few days). Sleep is important - I've never been able to stay up late studying/working. Back in school and college days my mind would shut down at 8 p.m and I couldn't study any more after that. That did change during M.A when I was juggling it with French and was basically out of the house from 9 a.m to 9 p.m. My brief encounter with insomnia came at a time when my inner reserves where at an all-time low - those who knew me back then, generally describe me as walking around in a dream-like state with this touch-me-not aura to myself! Anyways getting back to the topic, insomnia is one thing I don't have to worry about in Pune, for I usually fall asleep within a few minutes of shutting my eyes. Pune, if for nothing else, is definitely good for curing insomnia ;-) The last couple of days I've pretty much competed as much as I can with Sleeping Beauty. Early to bed and late to rise, long afternoon siestas. Restful, dreamless sleep. Rejuvenating.
Books have always provided the much-needed refuge and have been my closest companions ever since I was 2 years old and I learnt the ABC sitting on Papa's shoulders as he read the morning paper or peered over Bhaiyya's shoulder as he read an Archies comic. Despite being a student of English Literature I was never conscious of my choices, reading whatever came my way and pleased my mind and my senses. I'm even guilty of enjoying the much reviled Mills and Boons. I guess I won't be able to display any literary snobbery for some time, having admitted to this sin - but hey I aint reading those for their literary value. I completely aknowledge thier complete lack of literary value, but I also give them credit for providing me many an hour of mindless amusement when all I wanted as a book in my hand and not really have to use my brain. Same applies to the few other works I've read in the popular genre. The last few years has seen me conscious of what I'm reading as I grew increasingly appalled at how little I've read and how ignorant I am... I've been merrily reading several ridiculous romances simultaneously with a collection of Eugene Ionesco's plays and I have to admit I'm enjoying both of them equally!
Music. I say it's my porn - and many people have come up with incredibly interesting interpretations to that statement. ;-)The last few days it's been a true companion as I've dug into my Collection of CDs and pulled out ignored albums for a heart-warming session, or simply tuned into World Space and grooved to the latest hits. Gwen Stephanie, Peter White, Kayne West, Chet Atkins, Paul McCartney, Fool's Garden, Creed, Prem Joshua, TLC, Beyonce, Ottmar Liebert, Sean Paul, Bon Jovi, Vanessa Mae, Tears for Fears, GNR.... it's an instant lightening of spirits as I begin to hum under my breath, swing my hips and tap my feet to the beats.
{Playing right now - Maria Joao featuring Cal Viva and Ermenio De Melo)
Art. Well not exactly the hi-brow kind; just the stain-glass painting I indulge in once in a while. There's something immensely pleasurable about spreading newspaper and my painting gear all over the dining-table, tracing designs onto the glass and then swiftly filling in the outlines with that translucent paint. I had borrowed an Old Monk bottle from Titu Dada (he was using it as a make-shift vase for some rather ugly plastic flowers), saying I'll paint it and if it turns out good I'll gift it back to him. Magnanimous soul ain't I? Anyway for the longest time it just lay rather desolately below my writing-desk. This morning I finally picked it up and sat down to transform it into a glowing vision in warm orange and yellow. Perfect for the season. It's come out awfully nice, even if I say so myself. What say people? If you like what you see, and have a nice bottle lying around under the kitchen sink/bed or behind the curtains or even hidden below piles of lingerie in your cupboard, send it over. I'll be all to happy to transform the ugly duckling into a beautiful swan ;-)
I've oft been compared to Monica Geller of F.R.I.E.N.D.S - reason being my fetish for organisation and cleanliness. So, for the past two days re-arranged all the stuff in my room...shifted the computer out of the room, moved furniture around, dusted the shelves, re-did my cupboards, not to mention my book shelves! Dusty work - am sneezing like a mad hatter today - but also satisfying.
Gardening. My mother finds it very relaxing, so I thought I'd lend a hand. But after getting my finger-nails all dirty and my hands scratched by the thorns in the flowering plants, I decided this is one form of therapy I can do without ;-)
SO - all said and done, I guess there are other forms of therapy that work much better than retail therapy - and they work just as well, if not better! :-)
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