The Aftermath (I)...

Pune International Film Festival has come to represent a cinematic orgy of sorts and the aftermath always leaves me faintly overcome and dizzy. This years edition, though extremely disappointing vis-à-vis the selection of films, the schedule and the completely abysmal lack of crowd, all of which served more as discouraging factors in the aim of catching as many films as possible, still served to arouse the intellectual processes at least a little though not as much as the previous editions, particularly that of 2006 where I emerged from the week having been exposed not just to excellent cinema but also a wealth of knowledge to which I’d hitherto been blind. My choice of films, as usual, leaned towards the dark and depressing, that which forced me to step back and think and probe deeper into the ways of the world, in the vain attempt at understanding it better…the films of Spanish director, Pedro Almodovar, did precisely that and have left me questioning much about the way relationships work and far more significantly, how many of us realize that we really stand no chance in escaping the screwed up schema of the cosmos of relationships!

Live Flesh (Carne Trémula), apparently inspired by a Ruth Rendell novel, is a dark, yet hopeful tale of a series of relationships that took off one tragic night that marked the lives of all the characters. Entwined almost excruciatingly, the lives of the six characters take a steep turn onto a path that leads them to much pain and amazingly freedom. Victor, visiting a junkie, Elena, with whom he’d had his first sexual experience, is wrongly convicted for having shot an officer when the police arrive to investigate. Several years later, when Victor steps out of prison burning with the desire for revenge, he finds the Elena married to the injured officer, David, and leading an apparently fulfilling life. The steps he takes to ensure that he is firmly implanted in her life, not only pull the other characters, Clara and Sancho into the plot, but also eventually lead to redemption for all of them.

While there is no obvious similarity, Live Flesh, like Closer, forced me to think about relationships, their foundations and our reasons for entering them and staying there, often at a very high price. The film is definitely worth a watch, for sheer cinematic brilliance, powerful performances and above all for its ability to screw up your mind so completely. Sensual, dark, compelling - each frame of this film speaks volumes. The attention to detail, the symbolism, and the brutal honesty is remarkable. Almodovar won my loyalty with the very first film I saw – nothing like a mindfuck (pardon my language) to make you sit up and think…and what is cinema if it doesn’t make you think?

Traversing the Life on my Two Feet

In a country that discourages walking as a mode of transport even though it’s almost imperative with our increasing levels of traffic congestion and pollution, I obstinately walk around and it has always aggravated me that there are so few footpaths on our streets and so few provisions made for pedestrians. In the recent past, sitting next to a very dear friend who has recently acquired a vehicle and is getting increasingly confident (and consequently sometimes cocky) on the roads of Pune, I have heard the pedestrians being cursed often for their jaywalking and their refusal to consider the difficulty of the person driving the vehicle when s/he has to suddenly slow down/break/maneuver so as to avoid hitting the pedestrian. Accepting the argument I felt like a silent traitor, for oft have I waited helplessly for endless minutes waiting for the inconsiderate drivers to slow down and let me cross the road, considering that there are no pedestrian signals and zebra crossings are mere road decorations. Few drivers pay heed to traffic rules, then why do we curse the pedestrian so much when he /she tries to pave his/her own way through the mindless traffic swarming our streets? Is the pedestrian really left with much choice? Smoother, broader roads are the need of the hour, as are traffic signals that work. Flyovers would go a long way in speeding up the flow of traffic. But how about some more footpaths for pedestrians, enforcing the respect of zebra crossings and putting into effect pedestrian signals?

That said, I must admit I have been almost blissfully content with the miles I have covered (so to say) in the last few weeks, walking as I am regularly each evening. Exercise apart; it gives me the much needed opportunity to soak in the beauty around me and to sort out those insanely enmeshed thoughts that threaten to ensnare me in their dark web. The increased visits to the University, strolling towards the Y-point, meandering over to the main building and occasionally venturing beyond to where lies that absolutely charming watch-tower surrounded my marshy weeds have also been such a source of peace and joy. Amen.

PS PIFF 2008 happened - I attended ofcourse but was heartily disappointed by the pick of films, the organisation as well as the crowd. Nevertheless some good films have been watched, particularly those of Pedro Almodovar and insha allah we shall blog about those soon!

On Resolutions and More...

Of the few New Year resolutions I made this year, were getting back into shape and shaking myself out of the apathetic lethargy into which I had slipped during the last year and a half, especially in the last few months, and start doing the things that I used to enjoy so much. Ironically enough, the first one proved to be easier, despite involving physical effort, and I started my evening walks on the very first day of the New Year which I am enjoying so much that there is actually a high likelihood of them continuing! Apart from the fact that it’s great to be walking again and that particular stretch I traverse each evening is absolutely pretty and it makes my heart lighter crossing that pristine park and seeing those children play football against the backdrop of verdant hills, with a cool breeze blowing and fanning the tendrils of hair that are slowly starting to stick to my forehead with the perspiration, the regular exercise is actually making a big difference on the way I feel about myself as well. And then there are already the familiar faces and voices…there is this aaji who has her saree pallu pulled tightly around her shoulders to shield her from the cold, and the middle-aged couple of which the husband is a definite b******, the ladies who walk down to the market complete in their synthetic salwar-kurtas and sports shoes ready to take on the world with their battle-tank march down the road and of course the golden Labrador that insists on being patted and only then will she move on…but I think the best, is the three elderly gentlemen who sit on this low wall just inside my colony that I cross each evening on my way back home. The snippets of conversation I catch, about the kind of education they had back then, how their son brought home some ridiculously expensive gadget they can’t fathom, or how they fought valiantly against ignorance and corruption in their work place and all this in that slightly shaky deep baritone one associates with nice old uncles, are such a hark back to the generation of my eldest uncle and so completely reminiscent of small-town India that it brings a smile to my face immediately. Strange, how these scenes, at which I would have rolled my eyes or even looked down my nose a few years ago, today make me smile and wish we don’t lose this quintessentially Indian charm completely. If not for the other motivating factor/s I think I would continue to step out each evening just to catch those uncles gossiping about the yesteryears…

On the latter, however, I have been procrastinating and if not for the Amnesiac who has pushed and nagged me on other issues as well, I would have pushed this on the backburner once again. But nagged I have been, and books have been pushed into my hands and orders have been given to read, and so I am reading once again. Last year’s Booker winner, Kiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss. My niece gifted the book to me last year, and I thought I should read atleast one booker and approve of it, but it doesn’t look like that is likely. Fifteen chapters down, and the story has not yet taken off and those descriptions of India are beginning to grate on my nerves. When will we stop catering to the foreign audience while describing India and its habitants? Can’t anyone come up with a mature, realistic Indian novel that presents a story with panache rather than merely presenting a stylized albeit stereotyped India? Of the Indian authors I read in my Literature days, her mother Anita Desai hadn’t particularly impressed me but I could see merits in her writing. She however missed the Booker. It fails me then completely, the reason why her daughter not only won the Booker but accolades for her work that continue to come forth in wave after wave…and I don’t think I shall change my opinion even after having finished reading the book...

Stock-taking...

Standing at the threshold of yet another new year, I decide to indulge in some traditional rituals. After all the end of a year and the start of a New Year does call for cleaning up and stock-taking, doesn’t it?

A year that started in Bangalore with Ma and I bringing in the New Year surrounded by family, is ending in a full circle with us bidding adieu to it with some of our companions in the revelry from last year’s party. It has actually been a year of coming to a full circle and finding closure on several fronts…painfully screwed up at times, I’ve faced some bitter truths, learnt that sometimes you simply have to be ruthless and cut people out of your life however painful it may be. I’ve dealt with losses that revived the smoldering pain of a loss that I still haven’t come to terms with and probably never will. I’ve dealt with inefficiency, ineptness and an absolute lack of basic intelligence coupled with some really juvenile and yet nasty politics and learnt to hold back my anger, manipulate and work things around. I’ve come into my own, learnt to put my foot down and spoken my mind at the risk of some severe professional damage.

On the upside, an absolutely marvelous opportunity was seized and I did what I’ve dreamed of doing ever since I was twelve or thirteen – traveled with one of my best friends. Discovering Europe with K shall remain one of my most treasured memories – we’ve always understood each other, but I think our understanding and acceptance of each others eccentricities and weaknesses is so much more now. Thanks, K, for being there. I’ve made some fabulous new friends in Spain, Switzerland and Serbia, come closer to others in France and here as well…on the home front I’ve discovered a pair of arms that will envelop me in their warmth offering comfort and a set of ears that will listen to me rant and rave, even if it is at the price of suffering endless hours of repeated conversation! ;-) All forgiven in love and war, isn’t it Extempore? I’ve rediscovered a friend whom I’d missed sorely. A friendship that has stood the tests of life I really wonder now how I managed without this friend by my side. From coming so close to giving up, I’ve rediscovered hope, I’ve finally understood what it is to fall asleep at night peace prevailing in my mind and happiness spreading in my heart.

The next year promises to be challenging – personally and professionally. If miles were traversed this year, many more are waiting to be treaded upon. Much struggle and much growth lie ahead – I must be insane for I am not daunted, but almost waiting to bite the bit, as it were! Here’s to a challenging, fulfilling and peaceful 2008!

Immortal Connections

In a day and age where people often lack the inclination to even lift the phone to call their friends, I still treasure the practice of writing letters, sending cards on festive occasions and sending postcards when I’m traveling. A habit that had suffered greatly with the invasion of internet and emails, my dear friend P, who travels a great deal revived the habit by sending me postcards from each of her myriad travel destinations in her motherland France, Europe, North Africa and Canada. So it is that I have a decent collection of postcards through which I, too, have traveled; postcards that I treasure as much as the postcards Papa used to send me from his trips to Europe when I was a child.

Papa would also bring back postcards that captured in timeless beauty the many places he visited on his umpteen trips to Europe on work. Somewhere along the way, as his trips got busier leaving him little time to do sight-seeing the number of postcards dwindled and I, too, stopped asking for them. P’s postcards renewed my hunger for them and so on his last couple of trips Papa brought back some really exquisite postcards from Switzerland, which I hope to frame some day. Sorting through my collection of postcards (received or bought on my own trips to Europe) I came across a thick envelope filled with the postcards Papa had bought. Much to my surprise I found there postcards of Cologne, which I hadn’t known he’d visited and then I came across a collection of postcards depicting Chagall’s stain-glass windows in the Musée Chagall in Nice, dedicated to the “Biblical Message’.

Having visited both Cologne and Nice (where I had been dragged a little reluctantly to see the Musée Chagall, an artist I knew little of and thus wasn’t very interested in seeing his work – am I grateful to K now for taking me there!) I found myself filled anew with regret that I can’t share with Papa, what I’ve seen and experienced . Having finally reached an age, maturity level and garnered enough experience and insight into various subjects I yearn to be able to discuss all of it with Papa, making me miss him so much more.

If I hadn’t already absolutely loved and been awed by what I saw at the Musée Chagall and decided to buy some day, reprints (just like one of the Degas’ series) of either his brilliant paintings in which he uses vibrant colours like the brightest of yellows, reds and blues or the absolutely stunningly beautiful stain-glass paintings, all of which lean heavily on Biblical imagery, I do now. The only difference being that I will no longer have to buy them when I do have my own house, for Papa has left behind the most perfect collection for me to frame.

Thank you Papa.

I should have known you’d always be there for me irrespective of where you are. Never again will I doubt it.

For more on Marc Chagall, visit Artchive.

Tarikhi-Hind

The friend has a new blog. He wrote stories that I loved to tear apart, refusing to acknowledge that he is a published writer and I am not.Then he wrote posts at which I rolled my eyes and posted photographs which I criticised. It vexed me to say anything vaguely complimentary to him and I waited for an opportunity to go for the jugular. I still do, but this time I am forced to admit that he writes well and he knows his stuff. Grumpf.

Go read Tales of a Land Five Thousand Years New. He's only just started, but if he proceeds as planned then this promises to be an interesting one! God how it pinches to say that ;-)

Literary Mosaic

At the prodding of Extempore and the Amnesiac, I toyed with the idea of rejuvenating Literary Mosaic, where I once posted book reviews (apart from some rather pathetic attempts at writing fiction). I’ve been gnawing over it for several weeks and couldn’t come to a decision. But today, after one of the most perfect days I’ve had, a day that has left me so much at peace with myself that after the longest time I slipped in the disc of my favourite retro music and actually grooved to it as I typed away, my creative and critical bent surging to the fore with a vengeance, I knew it was time to revive my Literary Musings…

People it’s a pleasure to announce to you that Literary Mosaic is once again welcoming visitors (and comments). I've just reviewed The Girl from the Chartreuse, a book that I read over a year ago, a book that touched me with its incredibly pure eloquency, poignancy and richness of language.

Renaissance...

Browsing through the archives, looking for something (yes I’m perpetually looking for things) I was struck by how much I used to blog earlier. Most of it isn’t worth a mention and is really better forgotten, but there is a lot in the archives that actually shines through all the mediocrity…and suddenly I realised that back then, I was a better reader, not restricting to myself to any one genre or style of writing and thus a far more prolific writer who wrote with a comfort that is very evident in the words... bringing me to my first resolution for 2008. Read. Read. Read. There’s a huge backlog of books waiting to be read and it’s about time I gave them some attention. Just waiting for this session to get over, so I can completely overhaul the lifestyle which has pretty much gone for a toss in the past four months…

On What Lies Under Our Noses!

Ever searched the whole house, turning cupboards upside down in your desperate hunt for that thing that was lying in plain view right in the middle of the table all along? Well, I am quite an expert at it; I've given people much stress when I can't find that thing I'm looking for, and then been at the receiving end of many irate looks when I found the thing in the most obviously evident place which I refused to look at, because it couldn't possibly be there. I seem to have done it again...and boy do I feel like an idiot about all that time I wasted hunting for something that was right under my nose all along...and I don't even have a big nose! Sheesh!

Muchly Jaded, Ironically Re-enchanted.

Words Walk completed a year in Pune today – his post took me back to June ’04 when I first moved to this hamlet. There was little the city could do right and I grabbed every opportunity I got to run back to Bombay, the city I still like to think of as home. Pune for all means and purposes underlined my loneliness and my lack of independence. Till I met the man who made me discover Pune in a way that I couldn’t help but start falling in love with its charms. In the past two years I’ve had to distance myself from that Pune, caught up in the rather distressing realities of life. The last two weeks have brought many opportunities to reacquaint myself with that charming Pune and though it’s been an exhausting week that has left me drained, weary and vaguely jaded there is a deep-sated content slowly warming my heart and I can’t help but smile as glimpses of last week mingle with memories from 2005.

Extempore, who was visiting last week complete with her infectious gregariousness and photography apparel provided the perfect opportunity and so I found myself back at the Y-point at the Pune University over breakfast of upma and chai and animated discussions…dominated primarily by Extempore who can easily out-talk even my most talkative student ;-). A languid hour later I led her up the tree-shaded steps to the main building which though fenced in for restoration work, still charmed the socks off Extempore. Meandering through the grounds I led her to the watch-tower amidst the marshy weeds that I had fallen in love with when I was first introduced to it. After a most sumptuous meal at Arthur’s Theme, which just had to be finished with their heavenly lemon soufflé, we allowed ourselves to get lost in the by lanes of Koregaon Park, till we reached the Nala Park. Paradise created around filthy sewer water, there is something absolutely bewitching about this park. (Needless to say Extempore with her quintessential bindaas spirit paid no heed to the rules prohibiting photography and got some beautiful shots.)

My knees may have protested and my eyes may have struggled to stay open and I may have been "muchly" drained by the end of the day, but the happiness spreading inside made every ache and pain worthwhile…as did the crazily meandering conversations that were thrust on me. Discomfited initially, no longer accustomed to being hounded to talk about my feelings and dark thoughts, I felt much better having finally voiced aloud a thought that I had been nursing like a nasty wound. The inky blackness I stare at on my way home, seeking answers desperately still has none forthcoming, but the emptiness doesn’t seem as daunting. Why? Perhaps because of the knowledge that I have not lost all, and a vague notion that something wonderful might still waiting around the corner. Or perhaps because I’ve decided that it’s time for closure. Or perhaps because I once again have one of my cherished friends back in my life.

Ask Yourself If You’re Happy and You Cease to Be…

Happiness = Pleasure = Joy = Delight = Elation = Euphoria = Rapture = Jubilation = Bliss = Ecstasy.

The sheer number of synonyms for this emotion that we seek so desperately is testament to the fact that happiness comes in many forms. That it eludes most of us is a completely different matter together. I won’t pretend otherwise – oft have I wondered in the last year and a half why pure, complete joy doesn’t feature more prominently in the grand scheme of things, particularly in the scheme that features me. The raw anger burning inside my system is fast burning away every last vestige of optimism that once pushed me. No longer do I believe in happy endings, nor do I continue to believe that good things happen to good people. It doesn’t quite work that way in this world, and so it is that the rage inside me fuels my every movement, very often leaving me worn out. Hardly a wonder that I constantly feel so listless and sleep-deprived! ;-)

Much to my surprise then, when the last week proved to be almost blissful, so peaceful it was despite that uncalled for kick below the belt that life deemed necessary. A week of calm (we’ll just ignore those two nasty temper displays) and long conversations with Ma. Toss in simple yet delicious meals, the wonderful sensation (even if occasionally irritating) of Schnapps sleeping at my feet, thus warming them through the blanket, retail therapy and this Plain Jane just feels so much nicer. The icing on the cake of course were those two lovely afternoons spent with one of my closest friends; a friend who I’ve missed much in the last one year, with whom I can wrangle over the silliest things, tease unceasingly, butt heads over the most inane and sometimes most important issues and come out laughing, my sprit so much lighter and with whom I can truly be myself, share my darkest worries and my strangest thoughts knowing that nothing but understanding will await me on the other side. Friday afternoon at the University, soaking in the sun, drinking chai and chatting sent me back to those languid summer afternoons we spent avoiding the sun under that canopy of trees, drinking chai or nimbu pani, talking, bickering, laughing…and left me quite happy.

Let There Be Sunshine...

…well not really but it sounds weird to say let there be diyalight. Compromises are inevitable and so here also. The one festival I truly celebrate and look forward to right from Ganesh Chaturthi and Raksha Bandhan, Diwali for me comes wrapped in this wonderful glow of magical warmth …and let that not be misinterpreted as the uncomfortably stifling warmth generated by the fireworks! Diwali represents new clothes (but ofcourse!), mouthwatering gujiyas, malpuas, kheer and meetha chawal, family get-togethers and the traditional Lakshmi pooja. I resented Papa’s absence last year and celebrated Diwali half-heartedly, as a mere obligation without gleaning any joy from the festivities. His absence still hurts, but it was easier this year seeing others sit where he always sat and performing the rites that were his…easier also to find joy in the small things that made this festival so dear to me...

Here’s hoping and praying that the spirit of Diwali sustains through out the new year and that it brings much joy, success and sunshine (ahem) into our lives!

Jab We Met - review

Last night when the plan to go watch this latest Bollywood flick creating waves along with two of my nieces, was enforced on me I was most disgruntled, feeling extrmemely manipulated and certain that I’d return ranting and raving as I normally do after having watched typical Bollywood fare! Imagine my surprise then, when I didn’t! I don’t remember the last big-budget, typical Bollywood romance-music-dhamaal film I enjoyed. Jab We Met, doesn’t offer anything new vis-à-vis story-line, neither were the performances earth-shattering, and yes I did wonder (yet again) why Indian film makers are so fond of show-casing our country for the foreigner’s eye. But yes, the film makers have succeeded in maintaining a reasonnably entertaining pace that doesn’t drag at any point complimented by a fun, young soundtrack, and yes for a change I didn’t feel like slapping Kareena Kapoor. As for Shahid Kapoor – I’ve watched him run like a lamb behind his college sweetheart (who at that time we all thought would be more successful than him in the tinsel-world, but boy, have we been proven wrong!) and held my stomach rolling with laughter as he struggled to convince Mrs. S the strictest of professors in our department to accept his First year B.A Literature project on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice a novel that was part of the prescribed syllabus and thus not accepted as project work and...and I have to grudgingly admit that this boy we loved to joke about has succeeded in making his place. Sure he isn’t even half the actor his father is, but he isn’t as bad as I thought he was…and he sure can move! I was super impressed with his foot-work in the “Mauja” number! Surprise number 2: I’ve actually been humming several songs from the soundtrack ever since I got home...and wishing more than ever that I hadn't given up dance lessons when I did, 'coz my feet are sure itching to dance. Alas but they aren't trained to move nicely! Sigh.

Grumpf. Gah. Ok I admit it, I actually enjoyed the film!

Welcome Winter...

A Bombay girl, I didn’t really know what it felt like to experience major climatic changes from summer to winter till I moved to Pune in 2004. We moved to Pune just as summer was bidding goodbye to the city so I missed the heat the first year. Having spent the winter of 2003 in Germany and survived three months in temperatures that mostly stayed below 10° not to mention the visit to a country where the winter sun lasts for a bare 3-4 hours a day and temperatures went down to -21º , I didn’t really feel the brunt of my first winter in Pune, despite the fact that we stayed in an area where temperatures were generally 2-3 degrees below the rest of the city!

Now, three years later, I know I abhor summer in Pune. I’d rather endure the humidity of Bombay even if it means having sweat trickling down my forehead fifteen minutes after a refreshingly cold shower. The dry, scorching heat of Pune makes me pray each and every day for the rains to come!

Winter, is a different story! To be able to walk out of the house wearing a turtle-neck and a jacket, or wrap a woolen scarf around my neck or snuggle into my shawl is an absolute delight…not to mention the pleasure of shivering slightly in the early morning chill as the breeze slaps my face lightly on my way to work!

Walking back home a few weeks back I shivered slightly as I crossed the park, the evening breeze making my bare arms break into goose bumps. The next morning I stepped out of the house fitted out smartly in my black jacket. Yes, winter is making its presence felt in the city and it’s hugely welcome! I’m already waiting impatiently for the temperatures to drop further so the new blue sweater may be worn and the muchly favoured camel sweater and the pink cashmere sweater may be worn once again! :-)

Tagged (three months ago!)

Before I proceed, I pay my respects to the empress, Shilpa, bowing low in front of her! Why empress, you ask? Well because I’ve delayed the tag by over 8 weeks when the deadline was 8 days and thus I have no choice but to accept her as the supreme lady of all that she surveys...well, atleast on the blog! ;-)

I hereby declare the following eight facts about me that you might or might not know:

1. I have a weakness for Mehrwaan’s Lemon Tart and Lemon Roll, Sweet Chariot’s Rustic Chocolate Mousse and any good Cheese Cake…
2. It drives me up the wall to walk into class every morning and find it in disarray.
3. I rarely let go of friends, but if pushed beyond my limits of endurance I cut people out of my life, without a second thought, never to look back.
4. I am a complete Retro Eighties child when it comes to music
5. I recently shot off an irate email to my boss, putting my future at AFP at risk.
6. At least once a week back I walk back home - not the entire way, just the last 3 km.
7. Never really a tele-baby, I have pretty much stopped watching television since 2003 and am generally very clued-out of popular culture.
8. I plan each and every class meticulously, jotting down the "parcours du cours" right down to the last detail .

Phew. Done. I can now safely meet the empress without worrying about repercussions for not having carried out her orders. ;-)

Tagging – anybody who wants to post a fun, non-consequential post :-)

For Papa...

Papa's birthday today - we had a havan at home to commemorate the day and the panditji commented on how it was the first time he'd been asked to conduct a havan to mark the birth anniversary and not the death anniversary. He thought it exemplary.

I could not help but wonder why I wouldn't want to commemorate the day my father was born. I'm glad I told Ma I wanted to get an Arya Samaji havan conducted today...I think I coped surprisingly well. The Arya Samaji rituals do indeed have the powers to induce peace and calm within me. I have Papa to thank for that as well, for I went to Arya Vidya Mandir because of him and it was him, who first asked me to chant the Gayatri Mantra to rein in my mind when it refused to behave...I miss you Papa. Am so proud to be your daughter....wish I had done more to express it when I had the opportunity.

Bibliovore

Alas, but no more can I call myself a Bibliovore, for it has been months since I last devoured a book!

Koyla - The Hyderabad House

Of the many restaurants my Niveau 1 students have cited as an answer to the question “Vous aimez quel restaurant?” (Which restaurant do you like?), Koyla has been a name I’ve heard several times. I have to say, my attitude towards the restaurant had always been diffident.

To start with, we landed there only as a last resort since restaurants were already full at 8h30 (if you please!). Not exactly a family that believes in queuing up for our food, we thought we’d give this place a chance. Secondly, I’m not the greatest fan of Mughlai cuisine – in this case, Hyderabadi cuisine – since it generally tends to be rather heavy and spicy, not exactly catering to my tastes. I am Indian, but that doesn’t mean I like to swallow every morsel of food with a gulp of water, sniff constantly throughout the meal and leave the table with a terrible burning sensation on my tongue chased all the way down to the stomach! Spicy food does not translate into good food. Not in my dictionary. For me, to come away appreciative of a restaurant that offers that genre of cuisine, means that the food is truly par excellence. Nothing but the most perfectly spiced (read subtly spiced, not over-spiced), succulent food offered in the subtle, comfortable and classy environment by efficient staff can please me. Take the not so distant experience at Bombay Brasserie for example. I was disgusted. Completely.

I wouldn’t say that my reaction to Koyla is very different. The hesitation towards the cuisine was coupled with doubt about the ambience, having been completely put-off by its very entrance, a very heavy, over-ornate door with a garish canopy and very uncalled for dim lighting that makes you stumble on the way in….it goes without saying that the interiors were a continuation of the entrance. I have never found any restaurant as distasteful as this one – the “designer” obviously thought that covering every inch of wall space with gaudy, tacky faux objects reminiscent of Hyderabad’s rich Nizami history would charm and awe the restaurants clientele. Quite the contrary. I felt “quichéd” to use a French idiom. Cramped, dingy, garish are the three adjectives that come to the mind when I think of Koyla.

The experience continued with the appalling service….which reminds me, pray enlighten me someone, why do restaurateurs put things in the menu which are never available? I’m fed-up of being told that they do not serve Khubani ka meetha and that the Gulab Jamun is worth trying! If you don’t serve it, what the hell is it doing in the menu? And no, I don’t want to have Gulab Jamun; I can have that at home any time thank you! Digressions apart, so the personnel was most unhelpful and aloof vis-à-vis recommendations, not to mention ignorant. The food, when it did arrive, was unsatisfactory for all the noise made about the quality of food at this restaurant – as expected it was spicy, despite reassurances that we’d ordered “a non-spicy dish.” I think I should redefine non-spicy as something that makes my nose run and ensures I drink my 1l quota of water per day during one meal itself! To top it all, the second round of rotis ordered when the food was first served to us showed up (after 3 reminders) after we’d spooned the last of the “eye-watering” food. When we refused to accept the rotis, they simply took it away without a hint of any apology….and none came forth even as we settled the account and left the restaurant.

A completely abominable experience. The bloody place needs to be boycotted and forced into losses…and the next student that claims its his/her favourite restaurant is going to fall rapidly in my eyes!

PS On the same note of disappointing gastronomic experiences, I must say Garden court was also rather dismal. Terrible service and unexciting food killed the pleasure of eating out in the open with the city of Pune spread out in front of my eyes.

PPS Before you attack me Extempore, yes, I know that Mughlai cuisine and Hyderabadi cuisine is different – I was just trying to broadly categorise all that has anything to do with kebabs, biryani, murg, gosht et al! Peace! ;-)

L'Auberge Espagnole

A Cédric Klapisch film, starring Romain Duris in the leading role of Xavier and Audrey Tuatou (of Le Fabuleux Destin Amélie Poulain) as his girlfriend, Martine, L’Auberge Espagnole is an absolutely fabulous film!.

The friend takes off with the departure of Xavier for Barcelona where he studies economy for a year as a student of the ERASMUS exchange programme. He initially shacks up with a young French couple he meets on his arrival at Barcelona, till he finds the ideal arrangement, an apartment that he shares with six other ERASMUS students. Over the course of one year, Xavier stumbles over various problems and confronts the typical confusions of any young student in his situation. He parties and has the time of his life with his friends, even as he learns and grows with each new experience that they all share together. Everything takes off from the central point of the l’aubgerge espagnole, the Spanish apartment. At the end of the film, many experiences riches, Xavier finally begins to truly understand himself and his true calling…

The film concentrates on the question of identity (personal/national/European) that dogs all young people across the world. It highlights with effective ease and style the life of young students living abroad, presenting the humorous as well as the stressful moments of that life.

A film with crazy situations that make you scream with laughter, there isn’t a single moment where you would reach for the fast-forward button on that remote control. Excellent acting (particularly by Kevin Bishop who plays the obnoxious William), great music, this is a film for all those who are young at heart, who understand what a pain it is to be twenty-something and completely screwed up in the head and for those who are tuned into the current situation in Europe where national identities are becoming increasingly fuzzy with the creation of the EU.

After having watched the film four times, I can confidently recommend the film – I showed it to two sets of students this week and they can vouch for it as well! Go rent the DVD for the nearest DVD parlour and watch it this weekend! :-)

Read the corresponding review in French here

Is it Time?

Is it time yet to give up? I think not, and thus I continue to wage the war despite the dying strength and will power. But I am tired now, really tired. Have given up all attempts (read pretense) at being strong, at having faced the rude loss of my father and coped with it excellently. I miss him with every second that passes by and I refuse to pretend otherwise anymore, irrespective of how uncomfortable it makes people around me. Perhaps I'm being selfish and unreasonable about it. I don't care anymore. I think I've endured enough to be allowed this luxury - yes it is indeed a luxury to let your true feelings show, to wallow in the misery that has been a part of your life for over a year, a misery that has just increased several times over with the unchanging status of my missing bag. Yes, I know I sound insane but losing that bag is like losing Papa all over again...and I don't think I'll ever recover from this loss...

Am hoping and praying with all my heart that this festive season doesn't have any dark clouds overshadowing it and does indeed bring along with it reasons to rejoice...*crossing my fingers tight*

...meanwhile the struggle to knock sense into stubborn students insisting on repeating level 1 mistakes one-third of their way into level 2, commuting to-n-fro twice a day in the abominable Pune public transport (I refuse to even consider investing in my own mode of transport) and dealing with inefficient staff at the administrative level keeps me on my toes, occupied and exhausted...yes, the life is quite "happening" indeed.