Heaps of Talent

It was with abundant ebullience that Imogen Heap took the stage at Blue Frog on 24th November.
She’s a very British and more electronically inclined Bjork who still manages to create an identity very much her own. Armed with a gossamer voice, three microphones including two on her wrists, a percussionist, a cellist and a battalion of instruments, she’s clearly the conductor and musician of her own orchestra, a one woman band of sorts. Certain elements in certain parts of her songs seem to recall the ethereal feel of Sigur Ros. Her usual delightful and quirky self, she infuses her set with loads of humor and charm. Known for her use of technology and innovative stagecraft, Heap's performance is a good example of live looping, a practice thats becoming increasingly frequent in music these days.
The stage definitely had a one-of-a-kind set up with Immi, the transparent piano, sitting bang in the centre of things.
Ashwin Srinivasan, the flutist, performed the opening set. It was definitely interesting but I quickly got impatient with his six song set. It would have been a lot more exciting if he was backed by a full fledged band. Rather, his flute proved a potent and subtle counterpoint on many of Heap’s songs.
The landscape of Heap's music is furnished with mellifluent and slightly odd ornamentations. For instance, her opening number ‘Walk’ sees her waving a washing machine tube in the air, creating a thunderous sound.
As she struck up the opening riff from the second song, the tweeful and upbeat ‘Goodnight and Go’, which happens to be one of my favorites, the crowd went hysterical. On starting the song, she began singing the second verse, laughed it off and started the song again, something that added to the song’s charm.
Ensuing songs included ‘Speeding Cars’, ‘Between Sheets’, ‘Canvas’ and ‘The Moment I Said It’ which were all good, emotionally charged sonic endeavors, especially ‘Between Sheets’ , a love song.
What’s special about her set is that instead of ploughing through song after song, a practice that can get increasingly noisy and claustrophobic, she outlined incidents that inspired songs, kept up a continuous dialogue with the audience including dividing the audience three ways for a three part harmony spot on ‘Just For Now’.
She proceeded to us about the origins of her song ‘First Train Home’. About three wine glasses were brought out after that, from which the emanating sounds were briskly recorded and looped along with the drums and the array mbira, and served as the plinth for her song, ‘First Train Home’.
A rare performance of ‘Breathe In’, her song with Frou Frou was lovely.
Her studio output may sound great but watching her mix, layer, loop, and oscillate her way through different instruments and vocal punctuations, sets her apart from other musicians.
She then debuted her Magical Music Gloves, a pair of black gloves with lights, which when moved a certain way, immediately recorded, looped and added effects, without her flitting from one end of the stage to another, an incredibly ‘hands-on’ approach to music leaving us ordinary mortals in awe. ‘Let Go’, another Frou Frou hit, was next on the list.
This was followed by a lovely rendition of ‘Tidal’, a song that starts out nonchalantly and progressively builds up and ends with her playing guitar on her keytar.
The penultimate piece was the goosebump-evoking, minimilistic ‘Hide and Seek’ consisted of her voice being vocoded to create harmonies.
The set’s denouement featured ‘Minds Without Fear’ a collaboration with Vishal-Shekhar on vocals and Karsh Kale on tabla, inspired by Rabindranath Tagore’s poem, a song whose composition was documented on the show ‘The Dewarists’.
Indian musical talent is still evolving, especially with the birth of shows like Coke Studio and The Dewarists doing their bit to inspire. However, after watching Imogen Heap’s theatrical performance, Indian urban musicians have still got a long way to go.

French Essay for 'Des Mets et Des Mots'

This was the essay I'd sent for the essay competition organized by Alliance Francaise de Bombay last month, entitled "Des Mets et Des Mots". After having no internet access for almost a week, I finally checked my mail and was informed that I'd been one of the top three finalists for the entire competition. I didn't win yet it's most definitely a triumph considering the fact that I wrote and re-wrote it on the eve of my FC exam on 6th October. Yeah, I'll most probably flunk FC but all that hard work, back pain and blurred vision seems to have paid off.
Carpe diem! :)

LA REVOLUTION CULINAIRE

L'art de la cuisine est comme la création d'une peinture. Delicat et avec plein de couleurs. J'aime faire de cuire. Mais aussi j'aime beaucoup manger. Je crois un bon repas est une cacophonie des goûts qui danse avec harmonie. Un bon repas est une conversation contre le chef et le client. Je trouve le processus de cuisine très intéressant et très thérapeutique. J'ai l'habitude de regarder comment les chefs de cuisine comme Raymond Blanc démarche l'élaboration de la nourriture. Il est essentiel de faire cuire avec émotion, mais des compétences sont également nécessaire.
Le monde change a un rythme rapide et également la façon dont nous faisons cuire nos aliments. Soudain, tout le monde a commence d'examiner tous les aspects de la cuisine: les goûts, les textures la science et comment la qualité de vie a change par la qualité de nourriture. Stefan Gates, un écrivain, a visite les régions comme Afghanistan, Korea, Chernobyl, etc, et il a écrit de ses expériences avec les cuisines et la qualité de vie.
Bocuse d’Or, les jeux Olympiques culinaires est un concours de cuisine qui récompense le meilleur cuisinier.
Aujourd'hui il y a la gastronomie moléculaire. Essentiellement, elle est une moyen moderne et très créative de faire cuire. Les pionniers comme Nicholas Kurti, Pierre Gagnaire, Hervé This, Ferran Adria, Michel Roth, ils étudiaient la science de la processus de cuisson. Ils se sont détachent de les frontières de la cuisine.C'est un mélange de chimie, de physique et d'un amour pour la nourriture. Par example, Heston Blumenthal a prépare une glace avec liquid nitrogen. Ces moyens sont très difficile mais intéressant et diverse.
Mon aspect favori du bon repas est le dessert. Quand je visite un restaurant, je remarque toujours le dessert dans le menu. Le dessert est comme la fin de un opéra magnifique. J’adore chocolat. Je n’ oublirai pas l’ expérience de dessert a Shiro. C’etait incroyable! Trois types de gâteaux! J’aime faire du gâteau a l’orange avec chocolat et cupcakes au citron de temps en temps. Pas mal, non?
Je suis heureuse de voir qu' il y a plusieurs innovations dans l'art de la cuisson. Mais, la cuisine classique est aussi très importante. Elle est sans complication. La simplicité est belle.
Pour l'instant, la révolution continue.

Film Review: Midnight in Paris

You’ve got to give him credit. Woody Allen, the bespectacled septuagenarian conteur, has served up his latest, ‘Midnight in Paris’, an obeisance to art, literature, music and Paris. Allen gently plunders the human tendency of dissatisfaction with the present and yearning for the past, using la ville lumiere as a backdrop.
Hollywood hack screenwriter Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) is in Paris with his insipid, annoying fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams), unhappy with the way his successful career has impeded him from penning a real serious novel and disappointed by the way that life is moving in contemporary times. On a midnight walk in one of the charming serpentine Parisian lanes, he finds himself in the ‘Golden Age’, an era suffused with incandescent golden light, where he rubs shoulders with F.Scott Fitzgerald and his mercurial wife Zelda, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Salvador Dali, Picasso and others. He’s living his dream (and mine too). His love for the art, literature and music is frequently a source of mockery by Inez and her incessantly critical friend, Paul who scorns,” Nostalgia is denial - denial of the painful present.”
His ecstasy at inhabiting an ebullient world in the past is juxtaposed with his increasing unhappiness with the present, as he falls in love with Adriana (Marion Cotillard), Picasso’s mistress whose got Modigliani and Braque on her resume too and who, we find, feels just as unhappy in her own time period.
The film’s frames are teeming with artistic legends, someone of them played by present day stalwarts as well, a sort of a who’s- who list of famous people. Adrien Brody inhabits the skin of a rhinoceros obsessed Salvador Dali with ease, Kathy Bates ‘s rendition of Gertrude Stein is perfect, Allison Pill as the spunky Zelda is delightful and Ernest Hemingway played by Corey Stoll is sombre and reflective.
Owen Wilson is like a blonder and younger Wood Allen, replete with Allen-esque inflections, mannerisms. It works. He’s immensely likeable and charming and his zealousness is infectious. Martin Sheen as the “pedantic” Mr-Know –It-All Paul is very enjoyable to watch. Marion Cotillard is alluring and enchanting.
Cinematographer Darius Khondji has masterfully differentiated between the two worlds, by giving the past a soft, rich gilded texture, and the present a clear, pristine quality. Production designer Anne Seibel and costume designer Sonia Grande have succeeded in bringing the past to life.
Unlike some of his previous work, which employs the use of a protagonist with an ‘I hate life’ sign on his forehead (usually with Allen himself playing this character), this film is surprisingly cheerful.
Allen’s writing aims at light chuckles rather than anything more substantial and cerebral that he is known for.
We always feel a sense of discontent every now and then at living in the present, often going “Oh, how I wish” while craving to go back to relive the time passages already past. Gil echoes this sentiment with “That's what the present is. It's a little unsatisfying because life is unsatisfying”.

A tender, period(s) piece and clearly one of Woody Allen’s better films, Midnight in Paris has all the weight of a feather and the enchantment of a wistful daydream.

This Charming Band

Because a 23 song album takes long to download, I resorted to listening to the dulcet tunes of The Smiths, on YouTube. I don’t know anyone who listens to them nowadays which is rather unfortunate because they were colossal in England during the 80’s and still hold a sublime spot in musical history. This charming band from Manchester, England has unleashed 5 albums and 14 hit singles, has been recognized as ‘the most important band in the last 50 years’ by NME and has inspired a barrage of artists. Yet, it’s not just the hype surrounding them that makes them fascinating. They’re the melodious rebels, the ones who blatantly refuse to conform, calling themselves ‘The Smiths’ for the simple reason that their contemporaries chose convoluted ones like Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. They were known to traipse onto stage to the classical tune of ‘Montagues and Capulets’ and were famed for having ingeniously welded heart-felt, reflective, humorous, often depressing lyrics that elucidate the carnage of life, together with sprightly, upbeat tunes and buoyant instrumentations. I like the fact that the cover art for their singles and albums never featured pictures of them, yet displayed portraits of others including Elvis.
Lead singer Morrissey’s voice and powerful lyrics, the jangly accent of Johnny Marr’s guitar, Mike Joyce’s drumming and Andy Rourke’s bass, simply, conspire to inspire.
Their first single ‘Hand in Glove’ illuminates the working class of the North with lines like ‘Though we may be hidden by rags/We’ll have something they’ll never have’ against a backdrop of sturdy and evocative music.
‘Panic on the streets of London/Panic on the streets of Birmingham’, sings Morrissey cheerfully on ‘Panic’, a little ditty with the intent to revolutionize. The line ‘Burn down the disco/Hang the blessed DJ/ because the music that they constantly play/It says nothing to me about my life’ melodically chides the commercial hit-makers of that time.
‘This Charming Man’ makes it a point to employ lines like ‘Punctured bicycle/ On a hillside desolate/ Will nature make a man of me yet?’ or ’I would go out tonight/But I haven’t got a stitch to wear’, language that has been rendered obsolete by up and coming songwriters. Their 1983 performance of the song on ‘Top of the Pops’ features Morrissey dangerously wielding a bouquet of gladioli flowers like an AK-47. Cool, eh?
‘Good times for a change/See the luck I’ve had can make a good man turn bad’ opens the number ‘Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want’. One minute and fifty-two seconds is awfully short for this charming melody. The loveliness of the song lies with the lyrics and with Morrissey’s voice which gives the song a slightly aged and weighty quality, as though a weather beaten old man was musing on his experiences of life. Yet it’s the youth that relates more to this song, as each ‘please’ conveys that sense of urgency, yearning and strength.
‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ elicits some chuckles with its dark and ironical humour and ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out’ talks about how ‘heavenly’ and pleasurable it would be to die by a double decker bus.
The Smiths were, and still are, essentially the people’s band, making a point to highlighting issues like heartbreak, loneliness, self-pity, the pain of adolescence and Thatcherism. Being someone who sees adolescence as a painful way to judge whether or not you belong to the human race, their music is helpful in translating certain thoughts that would’ve crossed your mind at some point in life.

Film Review: Hiroshima, Mon Amour

‘Hiroshima, Mon Amour’ is essentially a film of parallels: the desire to forget against the urge to remember, the pain of war against the ache of love, the personal war against the war waging outside, the dissimilarity and similarity of the past and the present, the joint pleasure and pain of love, the effects of the same war in two different parts of the world. This film formed an integral part of the French New Wave, moving away from the classical style of filmmaking.

Elle (Emmanuelle Riva), a French actress in Hiroshima for a film on peace, and Lui (Eiji Okada), a Japanese architect begin an explosive love affair that gets progressively contemplative as they examine the ripples created by the Hiroshima bombing and the resulting death and loss. Despite both of them being married, they embark on this affair where they start falling in love with each other.

Elle gradually reveals her painful past, when her first love was claimed by the World War, in France. As she feels the joy and pleasure of a new relationship, she continues to be haunted by her grisly experience and social ostracism in Nevers, France and is torn between the act of remembering and the inevitability of oblivion.

French director Alain Resnais and screenwriter Marguerite Duras have engineered a deliberative tale told through a tapestry of images, traipsing between the past and the present to convey the sense of loss and the shifting time passages in a beautiful and innovative way. A series of documentary and news reel footage establishes the roles of memory and oblivion. The film moves at a slow pace and could have been a little shorter, yet with the sheer artistic rendering and the sleek story-telling, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Cinematography by Sacha Vierney is immaculate in black and white with smooth camera movements, leading us back and forth into time. Editing is splendid as it harnesses the avant-garde style. The musical score by Georges Delerue and Giovanni Fusco is evocative.

The performances of both Emmanuelle Riva and Eiji Okada are admirable, laced with subtlety, depth and just the right amount of emotion.




It’s interesting to note that their names are simply ‘Elle’ and ‘Lui’ which is French for ‘She’ and ‘Him’, since it exhibits something that is extremely personal and yet something that can happen to anyone at anytime.

“Why deny the obvious necessity of remembering?”, asks Elle. A statement like that is succinct in making its point, yet never provides any answers. The importance attached to reminiscences is a powerful but not overpowering presence in the film. We want to hold onto memories, no matter how tragic and painful, but alas, as life would have it, forgetting is inevitable. Tragedy is something that we all strive to forget yet it is imperative to remember too.

This film, despite being made in 1959, is very much relevant today, reminding us about the ghastly whirlpool that is war. We’re hard pressed to find a film like this nowadays, an artistic platter that can be both delectable and contemplative.

Sequelism

Originality seems to have been declared an endangered species. Alas, about 70 percent of the movies released this year have a positive integer as its suffix. Summer seems to be the ideal time to unleash these harmless hi jinks to a key demographic of hungry, ennui ridden kids and adults alike. But what I fear most about the unhealthy practice of Sequelism is that it’s rendering true cinema obsolete. With movies that are decked up with pretty people and scant storylines, who’s gonna complain? That’s what audiences what, isn’t it?
For instance, the experience of sitting through The Hangover 2 was akin to having a bad bhel puri at Juhu Beach. It’s merely a hangover of the very first Hangover, again a film too banal to even worth talking about. Films like these manoeuvre their way to the audience under the guise of looking like a funky play on concepts like smartness and fun. However, it’s just another hackneyed yarn coughed up to sell, sell and sell. Frankly I’m weary of looking at the newspaper and seeing a dissonant symphony of films running in theatres.
It’s astonishing just how prosaic a film can get, only to observe that it makes an equally dire film look rather appetizing. This year, The Hangover 2 made Transformers look like Citizen Kane.
In another case, James Bond seems to be diagnosed with a Benjamin Button complex: with each successive movie, Bond becomes younger (and blonder). With franchises like X-Men, Spider-Man, Superman and Batman, the names alone manage to entice congregations to theatre halls.
Once upon a time Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings and Narnia were strictly literal but now have superb on-screen potential. Don’t even get me started on that insipid Twilight series. Films like these roam the district of ‘been-there-done-that’, bringing nothing new to the table, yet being marketed to give the impression otherwise.
Whatever happened to quality cinema built with a robust framework, complex characters, palatable storylines, breath-taking cinematography and inventive surge of storytelling? And what’s with the obsession for 3-D? Just because ‘Avatar’ did extremely well doesn’t make it appropriate or even sane to cash in on the epidemic. A remake of The Great Gatsby in 3-D is scheduled for release next year. I mean, The Great Gatsby and 3-D in the same sentence doesn’t sound particularly savoury. However people might be curious enough to actually check what all the noise is about. See, that’s what I’m talking about. Curiosity itself proves a noxious weapon.
‘Inception’, however, is a frighteningly brilliant display of creativity, which shows that stories like this haven’t died out so far. But how many more of these ordeals will we have to sift through to get a film that shows more technique than trite? I guess Sequelism derives its MO from everyday life. Not unlike the experience of going to the same restaurant every week and ordering the same dish every single time or asking for a second round of blueberry cheesecake. I guess art imitates life.
I don’t suppose Hollywood studios pay much attention to pleas like mine. What matters most to them is the ‘dough’, not the depth.

It's Published!!

My review of Arna's Children in Prithvi Theatre Notes for August 2011:

http://www.prithvitheatre.org/uploads/pdfs/PTNotes_Aug_2011_for_1311686628.pdf

Potter Has Left The Building

The end is not near. It’s here. The last of the Harry Potter films, ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2’, is just out. In the 21st Century, Harry Potter is an ubiquitous phenomenon. There’s no running away from it, it’s going to catch up with you sooner or later. Not unlike death. Or taxes.
I’m a self-confessed ‘Harry Krishna’. Or at least I used to be in my youth. The last remaining dregs of the hysteria are still within me, but they’ve been distilled by age, experience and existentialism. It has played a massive part of my childhood. Me, along with the other million apoplectics out there in the world, have grown up watching Harry grow up. The series played an integral part of my childhood, spurring me on to read so many other books and giving me a very wide vocabulary of words to use in everyday life.
I have a tremendous amount of respect for these books and their author J .K. Rowling. She has so brilliantly managed to conjure a believable and alluring world, right out of thin air. Her prose is a whirlicote of eloquence, moving at a steady pace and beckoning us into a realm tres magicale. She has taken elements and symbols from ancient mythologies, myths, legends, put her own contemporary spin on it and engineered something that is the epitome of originality. The characters seem more real to me than real-life people themselves. I preferred getting lost in their trials rather than my own. The saddest bit was when Harry lost Sirius Black and Dumbledore, people who were both very close to him. An enjoyable bit was when Fred and George Weasley, the adorably gleeful pranksters, abandoned Hogwarts with a bang by conducting a mutiny against Professor Umbridge by a shower of fireworks. The books filter most of the characters into two concrete groups: good or evil with very little grey area in between. Apart from the world’s favourite trio, my favourite character is Luna Lovegood the quirky-yet-lovable, peculiar-yet-trustworthy friend of Harry’s. By the way, she gave a killer commentary on a Quidditch match at one point.
J. K. Rowling has managed yet another feat. The series and the way she’s choreographed it cannot really be compared to any other piece of work. Instead numerous works have been compared to Harry Potter itself. A massive pop culture phenomenon, not unbeknownst to majority of the world. Believe it or not, Quidditch has actually become a sport. Yes, with ‘flying’ broomsticks et al. The series has given ‘playing dress-up’ a whole new meaning. Kids and adults, people of all ages alike, flock to theatres and bookstores at the onset of a brand new release dressed as a Dumbledore or a Hermione or a Death Eater or a Dementor. Nothing says ‘Expelliarmus!’ like the dulcet tunes of Potter-inspired mayhem. Bands like Harry and The Potters, Draco and The Malfoys, The Whomping Willow… They’ve shaped up the wizard rock movement. They’re pretty good, actually.
Oh, and the films. Beginning from 2001, the films made an impact on the people who watched it. They were honoured with an award for Outstanding Contribution to Cinema at the 2011 BAFTA Awards. They help us to visualize the landscape of say, Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic, given faces to much loved or despised characters and have thrilled and charmed audiences. It’s obvious the films have their share of deflections and discrepancies. But then again, the books have another kind of depth and intricacy altogether. I mean, the books are always better. Out of all the films I’ve seen (not counting the last two), I’d have to go with The Prisoner of Azkaban as my favourite. There’s a certain artistic flow to the film which the others are lacking in. Great cinematography of Michael Seresin and a strong story.
There’s a tie between the weakest of the films: Chamber of Secrets and the Order of the Phoenix. Reasons: Shoddy editing (the latter more than the former), poor storytelling with unsatisfactory acting where the actors resembled wind-up toys, vacantly and stiffly spouting dialogue.
The theme park at Universal Studios has, well, everything for the quintessential PottHead. Rides, Sweets from Bertie Botts, the Three Boomsticks signature drink Butterbeer and wands for 65 dollars apiece (highway robbery, if you ask me)…
So there’s goes my apotheosis for the Harry Potter series. In all honesty, there really may not be another Harry Potter. It may occur once in a while every now and then, much akin to a Halley’s Comet sighting. But that’s what makes it so special. But once I go to the theatre and see it, I’ll forever be in mourning.

Film review : Arna's Children

A car ambles its way through a street flanked by protesters at an Israeli Highway checkpoint. We catch sight of an old woman, one of the louder protesters, yelling “You’re the face of the occupation!” Meet Arna Mer Khamis, a woman elderly in appearance but young and feisty in demeanour, in spite of suffering from cancer. She, a Zionist, married a Palestinian Arab and settled on the West Bank. She spent majority of her life trying to better the education system, after the schools were closed down by the Israeli occupation.
She was awarded the Right Livelihood Award, the Swedish parliament’s equivalent of the Nobel Prize. She used the prize money to open the Freedom Theatre where she gave sanctuary to a handful of pre-adolescent kids. Here, in Jenin, death, destruction and paranoia are considered mundane.
The theatre group acted as a canvas upon which the children could voice and vent their angst, frustration and fear into better outlets. Arna’s son Juliano Mer Khamis filmed footage of the theatre group and served as co- director for this documentary along with Danielle Danielle of the Netherlands. Through Juliano’s on screen and off screen presence, we get well-acquainted with brothers Youssef and Nidal and their friend Ashraf, Ala, Zakaria and Daoud as they put on plays, put forth their opinions and appreciate Arna’s hard work . However, there isn’t a much coveted happy ending to this tale.
After Juliano returned to Jenin, years after his mother’s death, he slowly began tracking down each of Arna’s Children. The theatre had already been destroyed by then. It turns out that most of the kids, now grown-up, went on to lead a life of militancy and violence, taking cue from their surroundings.
“Acting is like throwing a Molotov cocktail,” says Youssef. Youssef went on to join the Islamic Jihad and was killed along with Nidal. We first see Ala staring bleakly into the sunlight as he sits on the rubble of his house which was demolished by Israeli forces. Ala grows up to become the leader of the Aqsa Brigades in Jenin. On 26th November 2002, he was killed. Just two weeks after the birth of his son.
With a subject as delicate and intricate as the calamitous situation on the West Bank, the documentary is handled intelligently. With great editing, the film roams to and fro from the past and present, giving the contrast between childhood and adulthood. Juliano silently tries to fathom what led these talented kids to join in on the brutality. It’s a sheer vestige of a debauched system where war is a contagious disease. In a war-torn region, catharsis was gained through performance art. Later on, the same war was waged against war, only this time, through death. But, can art really sustain itself against violence and politics? Can art really be the form of salvation that can combat the inertia and hopelessness of war?
On 4th April 2011, Juliano was shot dead outside the theatre. An unlawful murder of a true artist and an attempt to denigrate art and any form rebellion.
‘Arna’s Children’ serves as a canticle sung fearlessly, denouncing war and its loathsome implications and upholding art as a form of sublimation and tranquillity.

The Birthday Cake

I'm getting old.
And, yes, I baked it.

Mirrored Perspective

Murakami and Me

Reading a novel by Haruki Murakami is like embarking on a serpentine path through a dense forest where unpredictability, uncertainty and vivid imagination conspire to keep your eyes glued right till the end. His novels are largely surreal, to the point of being almost life-like, creating a world where reality and illusion sit comfortably, and it’s hard to tell the difference between the two. Turning the page becomes an involuntary reflex, as you examine each subtlety and nuance of the imperial scuplture he’s carved out.
The trademark Murakami protagonist is the quiet outsider or the Solitary Someone. He is someone who is content with spending time with himself and not too contented with his job, someone who’s intelligent, knows right from wrong, keeps his nose clean, has a real well honed taste in music and literature, someone who silently tries to understand life and yet finds himself in the midst of peculiar circumstances. While reading his books, you begin to see Murakami’s qualities in the protagonist and the protagonist in Murakami himself.
Music plays a vital role in his novels. ‘Norwegian Wood’, the novel that has been attributed to giving him awe-inspiring fame in Japan and all over the world, is named after The Beatles song. ‘Kafka On The Shore’ is a song featured in the novel, written by one of the characters. There’s frequent mention of Mozart, Schubert, Schumann, Charlie Parker, Radiohead, Talking Heads… Music seems to symbolize his third lung in his novels. Murakami himself is a massive music buff, and has been known to expand his record collection, which is more than 7, 000.
He may write about life in Japan, but his prose is littered with all sorts of pop culture references from Johnnie Walker to Colonel Sanders to Dunkin Donuts to the Dustin Hoffman starrer The Graduate to Humphrey Bogart, mirroring the real world where everything is commercialized and stamped with a brand name.
I just love the way he writes in minimalist, uncluttered prose bringing clear-cut ideas to life through a complex and gripping plot. Very reminiscent of the prose of Franz Kafka and Albert Camus. When it comes to his imagination and story-telling ability, he is not parsimonious by any angle. He doesn’t hesitate in the letting his imagination roam wild around the country side. This is, in fact, what makes his books so enjoyable.
Murakami has the unerring ability to make miniscule observations regarding people and their surroundings, translating the very mundane, very beautifully on paper. In ‘Kafka on the Shore’, when Kafka enters the Komura Library, he describes the books as: ‘When I open them, most of the books have a smell of an earlier time leaking out from between their pages - a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers.’
Probably my favourite Murakami novel is Kafka On The Shore, released in 2005. The title itself alludes to a painting, a song and the titular character.
The two prominent storylines feature Kafka Tamura, a 15 year old who runs away from home under a dark Oedipal curse prophesized by his father, and Nakata, a mentally defective pensioner who can talk to cats. Murakami deftly steers the ship with a steady, euphonious pace, through a vast, deep and luscious sea filled with colourful characters, pop-culture references, Japanese and Greek mythology and folklore, music, talking cats, unusual weather forecasts, a mysterious forest which acts a ripple between life and death and a murder mystery which provides a cacophony of metaphors and symbolism. Once he reaches the shore, you’re left with an emotionally draining experience, where you’re fully aware of what happened and yet you can’t be entirely sure.
What really amazes me is that the people in his novels are always extremely honest , frank and faithful. As a result, lying and dishonesty play truant in his novels. In this particular one, a trans-gendered haemophiliac named Oshima and titular character Kafka exchange a great deal of knowledge as they dissect the technical aspects of Schubert’s sonatas and the philosophy behind Franz Kafka’s stories. A coffee shop owner spouts knowledge regarding Beethoven’s The Archduke Trio. They’re all incredibly experienced and well-informed, knowing so much about so many things. Even Nakata who can’t read or write, has his moments of being profound. He hasn’t any memories and dwells primarily in the present. Talking to cats and predicting the weather has made him extraordinary, though he may not be the brightest.
And no one’s sketched out to be mean and unpleasant. Everyone is neat, tidy, pleasant and good like trim, precise, unadulterated symmetry in geometrical sums. The characters understand each other well too. There’s no confusion faced by the protagonist regarding the kind of people he is faced with. Rather he is puzzled by the odd and outlandish circumstances that he’s found himself in the midst of. The characters are also carried downstream by fate. Nakata befriends Hoshino, the truck driver at precisely the right time. Hoshino bumps into Colonel Sanders through perfectly-timed happenstance. Kafka’s and Nakata’s paths get intertwined and braided through the course of the story but they never fully form a confluence. It was imperative that they cross paths with Miss Saeki since she seemed to be at the heart of everything, in the end. So he’s created a world that could have a chance of existing and yet it doesn’t.
There is a general feeling of timelessness is the book. There doesn’t seem to be a definite and concrete understanding of past, present and future. Probably one of the most ingenious twists of the novel was when I realised that Kafka and Nakata just might be part of the same person. Two completely separate people on two extremely different paths, who just happen to be each other’s alter egos. Miss Saeki seems to have her alter ego too: her 15 year old ghost who visits Kafka at night.
Finishing the novel is a bittersweet experience. Nothing really gets resolved. Questions are persistent in remaining unanswered. I’ve heard that reading it a second time helps, but after finishing it for the first time, I didn’t have the will to stomach another read of the 49 chapters. It can get twisted, winded, obscure and thorny at times but what keeps you going is your own curiosity of what’s going to happen next. And there’s no surefire way predicting what’s going to happen in his novels, let alone the next page. It seems to be the only plausible explanation for me devouring his books like cupcakes.
Really, Haruki Murakami is essentially an anomalous writer, fashioning each book into an enigmatic loure that leaves you confused, spell-bound and amazed. Someone please give the dude a Nobel!

The Anti-Hero

These years, are the years of the Anti-Hero. The anti-hero in literature and film is someone who has a dark and dusky personality, always striving for imperfection. Because perfection, especially of the spotless, irritating kind, no longer appeals to everyone. In short, we want flaws.
Flaws are good. Flaws are interesting. Flaws heighten the interest and curiosity of the viewers and humanize the individual. Audiences are eager to see quirks, imperfections, deficiencies, blemishes and limitations… Anything to spice up the characters otherwise immaculate image and make them seem more real and fleshy. Characters, big or small, in literature or film, are merely sketched out, giving us an idea about their appearance and their demeanor. But their words and actions and the resulting consequences reveal their true personalities and idiosyncrasies and take the story further.
One of the biggest examples being Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes is crime-fiction’s favourite detective. He is famous for his frosty demeanor, arrogance, indifference to friendship or any interpersonal relationships, occasional drug-use, resolution to bend or break the law during a pending investigation coupled with unerring precision and vivid attention to miniscule details that’d be missed by ordinary mortals, an ability to discern order in chaos, and application of induction as logical reasoning which he mistakenly calls ’deduction’ (It took me two painful years of learning Logic at college to fully understand what that really was).
In recent times, Holmes was portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, where he is exhibited as a very sarcastic 19th Century James Bond. Another noteworthy portrayal is by Benedict Cumberbatch (Doesn’t he have the coolest name?) in BBC series ‘Sherlock’, a recounting of Holmes cases in modern-day London. No offence to Mr. Downey Jr, but I do prefer Cumberbatch’s performance. Though both have been written in a way that they’ve maintained an admirable fidelity to the original.
Imagine Holmes being a warm, pleasant, sprightly young man, the kind that would make a good neighbor, dutifully lending you some sugar or salt when you need it. Ruins the effect doesn’t it?
Drawing vital DNA from Holmes is Dr. House MD, the Ebenezer Scrooge of the medical world. A cynical, sardonic, misanthropic doctor who unreservedly mocks people around him, and yet displays an exceptional ability to diagnose and treat cases while other doctors are left scratching their heads. He despises interacting with patients, instead focuses on solving medical enigmas before him and remains hell-bent on dwelling in his own misery.
They’ve rightly shown a pertinacious attitude of House that mirrors that of Holmes: their dedication to what they do, and the fact that they don’t give a hoot of what anyone thinks of them.
Dexter Morgan is another eminent character. Loving husband and father and a skilled blood spatter analyst by day. Serial killer by night. He conforms to a strict code when killing, choosing to kill only those who have a criminal record. ‘Dexter’ has a number of humorous moments to diffuse the tensions in a crime-heavy world. Outwardly, he appears as an amiable and ordinary law- abider, nose clean and head under water. When the longing to kill becomes overpowering while his Dark Passenger steers the wheel What makes it so engaging is to see how he expertly maintains the bulwark he’s built around him and at the same time can feign human emotions and keep his day job intact, armed with just an expeditious mind and a thorough knowledge of the human body. You can say that Dexter’s the murderer, but he’s a victim too. Without his Dark Passenger, most of us would have nothing to watch at 10 pm on Star World.
My favourite protagonist on television remains Dr Frasier Crane, Seattle’s eminent psychologist with his very own radio show, inhabiting an interesting world with amusing problems and a cast of kooky characters. Frasier, portrayed by Kelsey Grammer, is the Webster’s Dictionary definition of ‘snob’. Pompous, arrogant, eager to please, greedy for popularity, proud of being the true intellectual bad-ass that he is, he can quote Shakespeare to Tennyson to Kipling to O Henry from right off the top of his head. At one point, he says, “Let me be the Virgil to your Dante”, drawing a blank look from the person sitting opposite him. He’s terribly fond of the art, literature and music and appears to be an opera-junkie. His grandiose and dramatic manner is the cause for many of his woes and a myriad of embarrassing and complicated scenarios.
He’s shown also to have a very good heart, always wanting to help people with their problems and still believing in the goodness of mankind. Expertly solving everyone else’s trials and tribulations and yet at a loss when it comes to his own. You can’t really say that he’s got any obvious dark side but there is a sharp contrast in his personality.
And this doesn’t just apply to the world of fiction. We wouldn’t be even half as drawn to each other, if it weren’t for our peculiarities. We, as an audience and as readers, may never commit the same atrocities that the various Anti-Heroes commit because we know they take place in a fictitious world. We hold them at an arm’s length as we watch from the sidelines.
Marcus Aurelius says it best:”Conceal a flaw and the world will imagine the worst.”

Tales From The Oven

There is nothing that I hate more that the Bombay heat. Maybe Bollywood numbers and raisins in chocolates cakes. But the Bombay heat seizes the number one spot with its stentorian voice. On raising its ol’ Machiavellian head,it has a way of knowing what makes me tick. On waking up every morning I find myself melting rapidly like a candlestick. Drinking tea or coffee has become an occupational hazard, as it augments the already scorching heat. Sitting in front of a piping hot plate of varan-bhat or a smoldering pizza platter has lost its charms. At times, the fans in the house too can’t stop the calefaction.
The afternoon slot causes the most discomfort and I’m petrified of steeping out at around that time. I’m frequently tempted to put on the a.c. but refrain on account of a gargantuan electricity bill. Of course, Phoenix Mills is an ideal place to retreat since almost every square inch is cloaked in cool air conditioned brilliantness and I can stroll about with a smile since I don’t have to fret about the electricity bills. Movie theatres, restaurants, book shops… Once you get there, stay there!
Traveling by cab is somewhat of a mixed experience. It is quite pleasant as a there’s always a gentle breeze blowing as the car engines purr on. But once you’re stuck in a traffic jam and ensconced in the heat, the world becomes a hopelessly dark and desolate place. However on a brighter note, the beach slackens some of the pungent fumes.
The only thing I can do to keep calm and carry on, is distract myself and keep myself busy. Probably for the next few weeks until the monsoon graces us with its presence.
In terms of heat and temperature, Bombay seems minuscule compared to Delhi. God knows how folks over there get on with their lives.

Mummy, Tu Aavi Kevi

Play Review: 'Mummy Tu Aavi Kevi?'

‘Mummy, Tu Aavi Kevi?’ the title of the play as well as a recurring plea voiced by the three leading adolescents, is a Gujarati and English play directed by Manoj Shah.
Clocking in at 1 hour and 30 minutes, it tells the tale of three adolescents who, constantly being irked by their mother’s traditional habits, mannerisms, dressing sense and overall ‘Gujju-ness’, attempt to transform her into a hipper, cooler, ‘21st Century’ mom. Despite her protests, she eventually gives in to the makeover.
Laughter ensues as the kids try to juggle household responsibilities during her absence.
After her metamorphosis, as she saunters on stage in her new avatar, to the likes of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the audience, and praise from her children she then immediately asserts her authority in a fit of highhandedness .The kids are flabbergasted at her behavior, prompting their speculation that they were wrong to have ever planted that seed of change and slowly coming to the conclusion that they preferred her the way she was.
Despite taking place in typical Gujarati family, it is littered with pop-culture references right from Justin Bieber to the more philosophical Franz Kafka and proves thoroughly enjoyable. It reflects a family trying to maintain a balance between traditional values and the modernity that society demands today.
The actors have done a fantastic job in portraying their characters. They have a keen sense of comic timing, deliver their lines faultlessly and keep the atmosphere alive as they dart back and forth across the stage, ensuring that your eyes are glued to the stage. The lighting for the play was good as it reflecting the varying moods of the characters. The performance was at Horniman Circle Gardens, a quiet and peaceful place to watch the story unfold.
The play poses a classic dilemma which would be faced by countless others in their lives. Do you pick on each and every little nuance, habit or trait of the person, and try to change them to accommodate your own needs? Or do you accept them as they are and promise to love them unconditionally, despite their blemishes and imperfections?
Sure, the play is aimed primarily at kids and adolescents, exemplifying the importance of a mother as the real well-oiled machine behind a family, adept at keeping the spinning plates in their positions with a stipend of only love and affection from her family. But it also exhibits basic human behavior: the fact that we’re afraid of change and don’t want anything disastrous to happen. Yet we go and try to change everyone and everything, for our own benefit and our own good.

The Royal Wedding

And so it begins, my post mortem of the royal wedding. I really wouldn’t have watched it if it hadn’t been for the fact that things like this rarely ever happen and that I was too frightened of getting out in the sweltering heat. Weddings as illustrious and majestic as royal weddings take place about once or twice every ten years. This one was replete with horse drawn carriages, the Household Cavalry and the Foot Guards, a fly-past witnessed at Buckingham Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury and hats. Lots and lots of hats.
Hats of all shapes and all sizes, looking amusing and absurd, adorned the heads of more than half of the women attending the wedding. Victoria Beckham’s hat was small, dark blueish-grey in colour and had some kind of pointy, antennae-like things. One of Prince Andrew’s daughters had on a strange cream hat (if that’s what you can call it, in her case), looking suspiciously like a cut out of Mickey Mouse. There were others: elephantine and exotic, swallowing heads whole while slightly smaller ones were worn at a slant with subtler colours.
Correspondents from the BBC and CNN had started coverage for the event as early as 4 am GMT.
The CNN coverage of the wedding was especially humorous, with Piers Morgan, Cat Deeley, Anderson Cooper and Richard Quest. As they commented on the guests, you wouldn’t think they were correspondents at all. For instance, when Anderson Cooper mispronounced ‘The Mall’, it invited jeers and jibes from Piers Morgan and Cat Deeley. Another funny bit was when Richard Quest, who was outside the Abbey, began stressing on the fact that the buses which brought members of the bride’s family to Westminster Abbey weren’t buses at all, but were to be called ‘motor coaches’. Or when a Spanish diplomat’s wife arrived in a black dress and a very orange, feathery, bird-like contraption on her head, raucous peels of laughter followed.
The BBC, both BBC Entertainment and BBC World News, were a bit more somber.
The biggest question mark to loom over everyone’s heads was what Kate Middleton will be wearing. I’m not crazy about fashion or clothes even in the slightest way and yet I couldn’t help admiring the dress. It was simple, elegant, understated and beautifully designed by Sarah Burton. And the fact that she did her own hair and make-up , just goes to show how simple and straight forward Kate or Princess Catherine really is.
The ceremony was, in short, long with one hymn followed by another. But it was quite enjoyable, on the whole.
The news channels were also showing pictures of the two wedding cakes prepared for the wedding. Oh, the things I’d do to get just a bite sized morsel of the cakes!
As the year began with riots, revolutions, earthquakes and tsunamis, an occasion like this seems to have brought joy, disencumbered the grimness and gloominess, and injected some faith and confidence into the monarchy’s reign. Sure, it was an exhibition of wealth, downright Englishness and tradition, but there was something very modern to it too. It’s not something I’d ever do in a million years, but it’s sure nice just to watch it.
But a fair warning to those who want to get married soon. Don’t spend billions on a wedding of mammoth proportions. Just elope.

The Monarchy

With less than a day before the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, t.v. channels seem to have gone berserk, getting every chance they can to provide fodder for hungry viewers. Daily reports and interviews with people close to the royal family, inquiries into what the bride will be wearing, what will her tiara look like and whether she’ll be able to adjust to royal life and explaining the convoluted family tree of the royals are some of the subjects covered by news channels.
All this brouhaha over royal weddings, state visits, OBEs, MBEs, and other honours, inaugurations, visits to different towns and donations to charities, does pose an interesting question. How relevant is the monarchy today? It’s still keeping the past alive, by being present and active today. But is it really needed? In the past, during occasions like wars, the monarchy was successful in raising the morale and confidence of the people and providing support. They were considered glamorous and very much needed. But now, its popularity is steadily declining and people are left questioning whether the monarchy should really continue or should effectively become inert. After the death of Princess Diana, the monarch’s biggest critic, people lost their faith in the system and attacked it for its old fashioned ways. What I absolutely hate is when a non-royal is described as a ‘commoner’. It shows that there still seems to be some sort of a class system, which is a constant reminder of the monarchy’s superior status. They've come under fire for their poshness, snobbery and an old-fashioned outlook to life. Heavy expenditure incurred on their part for visits abroad, just show the dearth of wealth they’ve been furnished with. Is an institution as gargantuan as the monarchy, that’s been around since the 11th Century, really required to still co-exist with a fast-paced nation?
An interesting fact: before Queen Elizabeth’s wedding in 1947, the Parliament asked the designer of her wedding dress to give a detailed explanation of the expenses incurred on the dress, including the type of silkworms to be reared and the nationality of the silkworms in question. Now that’s royalty!
Monarchs cannot make laws and cannot engage in politics. They can only rule. But Britain’s got a full-fledged modern-day democratic government, making policies and transforming the nation. So the monarchy right now, is just…there.
BBC Entertainment has started airing documentaries on the British Monarchy. They show what the members of the royal family get upto each day, the copious amounts of work undertaken by the royal staff and how The Queen is kept apace with the country’s political affairs by the Prime Minister. The real purpose seems to be that they want to show an actively working monarchy, not just aging aristocrats who lounge in chairs and eat scones all day. Members of the royal family are really shown to be working, though not in the usual sense of the word. They’ve been shown to sign important documents that are needed to be signed, inaugurating and attending events and engaging in the art of small talk and asking of questions and supplementary questions. It is quite exhausting, but there’s always a massive car with armed bodyguards to accompany them.
One thing we’ve all got to remember is that the monarchs are people who are born into the job. They’ve got a predestined future ahead of them. Some have it easier than others but the ones who are slated to be future kings and queens hold a real burden since they can’t really be anything else other than what is required by the monarchy. They’ve got to undergo a thorough training of how to behave in public, in order to perform royal duties. If they try to have a normal job like the rest of us 'commoners', they are brutally attacked by the media. Their personal lives are constantly scrutinized and documented. In a way, they do lead a normal life. Just a disconcertingly different normal life.
Today, the royals are promptly trying to connect with all sections of British society to show them ardently and diligently going about their work. With the press and the internet at their disposal, they’ve been making efforts to reach out to the public. They are heavily engaged in charity work, especially Princess Anne, who is a patron of over 200 charities.

Coffee, Tea and I

Coffee and tea are aromatic beverages essential for human survival at least, in any metropolitan city. A simple brimming cup and saucer can provide a fresh preface or an epilogue to each day. For me, it's almost a compulsive and ritualistic act to have my daily fill of tea, before I do anything else.
Mumbai is teeming with quintessential coffee houses to cater to your needs and quench your thirst for beverages, food and social interaction. Each place is unique and unparalleled, drawing attention to not just the food but the décor, design,intoxicating aroma of coffee and the overall ambiance. They can provide an invigorating break from the Bombay heat. Depending on where each is located, you have the opportunity to observe the locality and its inhabitants too. Here’s a tiny list of my favorites. If you’re living in Bombay, then you’ve, no doubt, visited these:
Probably the best known and most visited is Café Coffee Day or CCD. It seems to be located in every part of the city. Offering a wide choice of drinks and food, it’s really the ideal place to have a conversation. It's mostly frequented by adult and students alike. I don't think I've ever seen it empty. It's always filled with the sounds of people chatting animatedly which are punctuated with the music in the background. The music can get a bit too loud at times, though.
Barista is another huge favorite. It’s not just about the coffees, here. The décor, consisting of walls enveloped in a shade of bright and cheery orange helps create an ambivalent atmosphere. The service here is good too. The chocolate pastry is scrumptious especially when it's consumed with melted chocolate and ice cream. The Barista at Shivaji Park is an ideal spot to read a book, even write a book or engage in conversation, with the gentle lull of music playing. And adding to its charm, it’s overlooking a beautiful park.
Cha Bar is a quaint and quiet café, located at heart of The Oxford Bookstore at Churchgate. It has a gentle Oriental feel to it and it’s again perfect for flipping through a book with a cup of steaming hot tea. I also love the tables and chairs here, which seem to be quite exquisitely designed.
Costa Coffee, located at Phoenix Mills at Lower Parel, is quite idyllic too. It got rich sofas that you can sink into and have a variety of teas. The masala tea is what I usually end up having there. Try the muffins too!
The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf is essentially a California-based coffee house which has been set up in Bombay too. The cafe is embellished with wood tables, chairs, counters and a lively atmosphere. The walls too have bright colours like an emerald green but they always have a soothing effect on the eyes. They offer some really good sandwiches here.

Old Friends

I recently caught a documentary on Simon and Garfunkel called ‘Songs of America’, showing them during the making of their fifth and final album, ‘Bridge Over Troubled Waters’ and on tour. The documentary shows footage of various events in America before and around that time, set to their music. It also shines a light on the two of them as individuals, speaking on various subjects like the Vietnam War, on why they write songs and with a humorous conversation on Beethoven.
I don’t think I’ve ever come across musicians as intellectual and witty as them. Especially now, a critical time in the music business when gravity keeps prevailing over Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber’s hair is making scientists scratch their heads.
Their music, essentially folk-sy, spans through other genres like soft rock, gospel, and r&b (back when it actually was r&b). Their melodies get your foot tapping and can create an atmosphere. Their lyrics are proof of how brilliant and reflective they are. ’The Dangling Conversation’ and ‘For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her’ are really one of the best examples. Through the music they paint pictures. Pictures of people and their temperaments, pictures of landscapes and their colours and pictures of emotions, beliefs and their complexities.
Just to see their music incorporated into a film I even saw The Graduate. Of course, I loved the music but was disappointed with the film. ‘Mrs Robinson’, another huge favourite was originally ‘Mrs Roosevelt’. It was changed when the song was featured in the film, along with ‘Scarborough Fair/Canticle’, ‘April Come She Will’ and ‘The Sounds of Silence’.
The instrumental ‘Bookends’ is beautiful. ‘59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin Groovy)’ and ‘The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine’ are catchy and cool. The latter casually pokes fun at consumer behaviour and the effects of advertising. ‘A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission) seems to be almost like a predecessor to Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire’, since it’s full of references from the 20th Century –Ayn Rand, Dylan Thomas, Bob Dylan, Andy Warhol, James Joyce, Norman Mailer, The Rolling Stones, Art Garfunkel… Even his style of singing here is very reminiscent of Bob Dylan.
No one makes songs like that anymore, do they?

An Education

‘Education’ is a word that’s vacantly and freely thrown around by just about everyone who has an opinion. It’s a phenomenon, which a large part of the population misses out on, whereas the remaining part that has been granted this so-called luxury, is toiling, complaining, cursing and attacking the concept.
Of course, getting education is the right thing to do. It’s honourable. It’s required. It’s needed. It’s essential. It’s beneficial. I’m not saying it’s not important. I’m just questioning how important is it in the long run, especially when you’ve got subjects that are either too vast and overburdening, or too inadequate and insignificant.
Today’s education system doesn’t exactly um… what’s the right word? EDUCATE. It’s turns us into capital goods that can be put to work straight away. It makes us memorize till the inception of the first thought of suicide. It attaches monumental importance to written tests and exams, which are birth places of anxiety and hatred. It never inspires us. It merely diminishes are self-confidence and strength. It seems to be run by ignorant idiots who only seem to have a semblance of a soul.
The teachers seem to have become authoritarians for the sole reason of paying their rent. I haven’t found a single teacher who truly loves his or her subject and dares to break the monotony of studying. I guess someone like that only exists in fiction, in the form of Professor John Keating.
The state of education is crap. It’s dwelling in two extremes right now. So when I say it’s too much I mean people are bogged down by assignment after assignment, awake till two in the morning trying to memorize the Iliad in its entirety.
And when I say it’s too less, I refer to a system where the teachers drone on about the most insignificant information from dry, dull, drab and grammatically incorrect textbooks despite not believing in a single word of what they’re teaching and the students who don’t give a damn because they’re too busy eating branded clothes, make-up and hair gel, drinking alcohol and believing in the profound philosophy of ‘Like’.
I don’t think there really exists a system which just the right equilibrium between the two. Hell, I’m opposed to systems, cliques and clans, in general.
After two years of college, I found myself reminiscing and believe me, there’s not much worth reminiscing about. The few things I learnt in college go a little something like this,
1. As long as you’re dumb and loud you’ll be considered ‘cool’. Or ‘uncool’ , if you’re being judged by an intelligent person with basic reasoning skills whose natural hair colour and personal principles remain intact.
2. The things you learn in college are not as important as the things you don’t learn in college. The important life lessons take place outside of college. Not anywhere inside it.
Honestly, we all have our own definitions of a word like ‘education’. But Pink Floyd really says it the best.
And a little word to the HSC Board: You shall pay for depriving me of about 100 pages of one of Haruki Murakami’s beautiful books. You shall pay dearly.
And no, I don’t want to learn about our godforsaken government. I want to learn the art of day seizing!!

Music and Movies

School of Rock:
Jack Black is brilliant. When it comes to a life altering subject like rock music, he can be absolutely hilarious and downright serious and sober at the same time. But it’s not just him who deserves the credit. The music for the film is expertly chosen and unquestionably delectable with bands like The Clash, Deep Purple, The Velvet Underground, Black Sabbath, The Ramones, Led Zeppelin, The Black Keys, The Doors, Stevie Nicks and whole load of others. In a big way, the movie schools us on the different genres woven within rock and really educates us on what good music is. And when you’ve got Jack Black as your teacher-slash-frontman of the band, class is really in session.
You’ve Got Mail :
This is a romantic comedy which is never overly mushy. Everything about it, the dialogue, setting, costumes and music, is subtle yet never borders on boring. The soundtrack features songs from the 60’s, 70’s and 90’s by The Cranberries, Harry Nilsson, Bobby Darin, Randy Newman, Louis Armstrong, Roy Orbison, Carole King and others. Since the story is set in New York, sometime in the beginning of fall, these classics are perfect for a modern and 21st century setting. That’s what gives the film its additional old-world charm and simplicity. If contemporary songs were featured, they wouldn’t be all that bad but the film wouldn’t be the same as it is today. Here music doesn’t necessarily play a large role, but its presence is fervently felt. I loved Bobby Darin’s ‘Splish Splash’, The Cranberries’ ‘Dreams’, ‘Rockin Robin’ By Bobby Day and Harry Nilsson’s ‘The Puppy Song’.
Almost Famous :
Another great film with great music. This one documents the story of a teenage journalist who covers a band named Stillwater. I haven’t been able to watch the entire film at one long stretch since it airs at the most unearthly hours during the day. The film, like School of Rock, is laced with classic rock and littered with tasteful songs which include Led Zeppelin, Yes, The Allman Brothers Band, David Bowie, Cat Stevens, The Who, Steely Dan, Jimi Hendrix, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, etc. Again, it’s brilliant. A film about a fictitious band has got to have great music. I love the fact that they’ve included Led Zeppelin’s slightly mellower and softer tunes rather than their heavier material. Also ‘The Wind’ by Cat Stevens, ‘Simple Man’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd and ‘Baba O Riley’ by The Who, 'America' by Simon and Garfunkel and 'Bron-Yr-Aur' by Led Zeppelin are some of my favourites.
(500) Days Of Summer :
Another nice romantic comedy which upturns all the stereotypes about falling in love. The story is nothing new. Boy believes in love and girl doesn’t. But it’s handled beautifully with its non-linear narrative, great dialogues and the subtle sway of its indie soundtrack. Regina Spektor, Black Lips, The Smiths, Simon and Garfunkel, Doves, Hall and Oats, Wolfmother and She and Him are some of the contributors to the soundtrack. The music here doesn’t play a large role, but it helps in setting the tone for the film. Wolfmother’s’ Vagabond’ is a real anthem for freedom while She and Him’s ‘Please, Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ is a pretty good version of the original by The Smiths. I'm not really a fan of Feist or Regina Spektor or Carla Bruni, but their songs do work for the film.
The Social Network :
The score, composed by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, has been sweeping all the awards for its post-industrial, experimental and dark sounds. I’ve never been much of a fan of electronica and industrial partly because there doesn’t seem to be much emotion in that sound. But the score for this film has me hooked. It’s got just the right amount of tempo without coming off as too strong and just the right amount of emotion. I guess what gives it that much-needed feeling is the delicate ebb and flow of the piano on the tracks ‘Hand Covers Bruise’ and ‘Soft Trees Break The Fall’.
Dan In Real Life :
Another light-hearted romantic comedy. With an indie-pop score by the Norwegian singer-songwriter Sondre Lerche. The music is mostly acoustic, soft, mellow and congruent with the film’s tone and simplicity. The music also includes an acoustic cover of ‘Let My Love Open The Door’ by Sondre Lerche. I fell in love with ‘To Be Surprised’ as soon as I heard it and the short instrumentals composed for the film are also sweet and melodic.

In An Off-Hand Way

I’m a self confessed punctuality junkie. Whenever I get ready to go somewhere I have this over powering and inexplicable sense of urgency to get there exactly on time. Nothing gives me a better sense of adventure. Some go parasailing or skydiving. Hell, I look at a clock instead.
But in my 17 years of enlightened existence I’ve found that arriving on time or sometimes well before anyone has even showed up, can be downright awkward.
Arriving on time is really my forte. In fact, I should do it for a living. Unfortunately, arriving late isn’t. No matter how hard I try I just can’t manage to turn up late at any event. All my energy and intellectual potential gets invested in accomplishing a seemingly simple task such as reaching a little later than the time of arrival, yet somehow not getting abysmally delayed. It just doesn’t work out. I always always end up on time. It’s like some kind of divine intervention, which is obviously unasked for, obstructs me from fruitfully squandering my time.
Some call it admirable. I call it crazy.