I don't have anything to wear

I am supposed to be getting ready to go to work.
I have nothing to wear!
Nothing!
Have been thinking for the last half an hour.
This never happens to me.
I just put something on and leave.
My face is cracking up.
And yes, its all because of this little boy.
Or is he a little boy?
And am I just a toy?
Or is it?
Nah, its me.
Its me.
Its always me.

Grizzly Man makes me Reconsider Herzog

A week since I saw Grizzly man. Questions and questions: has Godard moved in his later years to more impassable and Herzog more accessible? Herzog's fascination with "inner turmoil".

Next step: revist all Herzog I saw earlier starting with Best Fiend and compare. What is the essence that carries on?

Got a director to solve. Has this man deliberatley made this film - Grizzly Man more accesible? Need to revisit all those I saw before and dismissed as indulgent exercises. Need to re-locate Herzog in ze tiny brain that i have.

Breaking the Silence

And then the rest of the story went crazy, somewhat like the ferry wheels at the movie preview. Yes and I did think about the time I spent at home. The monkeys spring in first who would tear out the plants and shred the leaves. Somewhere among the smell of piss on the Ghat the breeze died. I don’t remember what it felt like on the outside. Incoherence reigned supreme. Several trains collided and kept colliding in my head. It was all-blank. But good. Maybe bad. But the best blank was when I was here. Best blank without people around you. Maybe.
Never any certainty.
Not sure if I want certainty. Don’t editorialize when you write. Try not to think when you wake up in the middle of the night. Telling yourself to take it easy in the night and dismissing it all in the day. Ramble sounds more sensible than nothing. Than everything. Because ramble is what it is. Fragments are what exist. Parts are all I see. No wholes.

Office spaces are best for that. No the worst and the best.

Turtles Can Fly

Iraq. War. A story revolving around children in a refugee camp. Dread of gloom and melodrama (maybe for someone who grew up on Bollywood) descends. Its none of that, its not even the exact opposite .

I found this storytelling very powerful. Maybe because Coetzee's writing-caused-wow is still in my head, but i think this film reminds me of the way he writes. Not stopping to dwell or elaborate on emotions and struggles, taking you through a quick tour of people's lives. Where it departs from his writing stems from the cultural ground from which it is born. It does tell a very poignant tale injected with humour skirting off cliches. Rather it makes me think of cliches we don't register. Picture this, kids strolling through an ammunition bazaar, trading mines they dug out for rifles and ammunition. What emotion would you expect to accompany this visual? The first time i saw it i was sharing the sense of excitement and fun the kids are having at getting their new stuff.

I am replicating a very succinct and apt commentary on the film:
Heartbreak in the High Hills of No Man's Land., 13 March 2006
10/10
Author: PizzicatoFishCrouch from United Kingdom

"The trauma of war has been an issue much covered in cinema, but in this film, we are shown the impact that it has on those who are most innocent of all – the children. The orphaned children are a range of interesting characters presented to us here, from Satellite, a sharp TV programmer to Pashow, an armless but still doggedly determined boy. The supporting children are shown as bright eyed watchers of war, eagerly awaiting it so that they can try their hand at the missiles, which, at first sounds amusing, but then escalates into something much more horrific, and we follow their misadventures through grainy camera-work, improvised dialogue and flashbacks.

The performances delivered by the children are nothing short of astounding. In the lead, Soran Ebrahim is in parts a mixture of caprice, zest and energy, and it is he who grasps our heart and makes for the first, slightly more light-hearted part of the film. In a completely different role, Avaz Latif is the film's heartbreak, and the one that endures the worst. Her performance is wordless, but she manages to portray all her deepest emotions through a look or gesture. When we delve deeper into the plot to realise exactly how much her character has suffered, it is then that the horror of war kicks in.

Turtles Can Fly is not one for the easily depressed. Truth be told, after watching it, I was still in tears for several minutes, utterly helpless and wishing that something could be done about the constant loss of innocence. Its message is blatant, and though a bleak one, presented in a harsh, disturbing war, makes a welcome change from all the Left, Right and Centre propaganda given to us in the Media. Turtles is a film that speaks for itself; no advertising needed."

Avatar in 2D

I feel let down. My thoughts on Avatar 2D. My disappointment stems from the fact that I was geared up for an experience rivaling LOTR and Star Wars (both mentioned in Roger Ebert’s review though in my quick look at the review I missed the context) and the fact that I was watching Tarkovsky’s Solaris a day before I saw Avatar and that I saw it in 2D! Though I did go from Varanasi to Lucknow just to see the film at least in English.

Seen stripped of its 3D wonder I am sure lot of people will dismiss as just another special effects war story which people might have trouble remembering in few years. But the fact is, it is in 3D and from what I have read I am still pretty sure it’s a spectacular experience. And that made me realize what technical advances in filmmaking had led to. Rather the word “film” itself might be becoming obsolete anytime now. The more we advance in visual, sound excellence the less effort required on drama and story. A different kind of effort , not a purist’s effort.

And that’s what cinema has done(in comparison to theatre), shifted the burden of engagement from story to visual maneuvers. I can see myself over the school years never never letting up my love for theatre and barely being gripped by films until Jurassic Park. And then in college when I started running to movie halls it was an escape that I sought and yet amidst that passivity the thought struck loud and clear. My beloved theatre did not have an fractional influence that cinema had over zillions of people huddling into movie halls to escape the tedium of their lives. And after seeing Avatar I realized it all over again that before anything films are an experiential, immediate, far-reaching but diluted medium. Though in past and people still try to treat it with reverence and passion of an artist , they are the marginal beings in the movie industry and apart from that I don’t know how many would even consider them to be an artist. The sort of artist a painter can be.

I am not dismissing Avatar, though that was my first reaction and I have let weeks go by to wholly say that it is not so. I would love to see this 3D wonder and be swept into another world, like LOTR and Star Wars did. Though these epics and Avatar are not comparable when it comes to the story and character. These two are epics with characters who get trilogies to show their shades, for struggles to persist while Avatar is much much barer when it comes to a layered script or complex characters. Jake Sully who is not exactly Frodo, or an Anakin who is given quite a lot of years before he jumps into the evil bandwagon. The three months span for Jake to make his decision that also without very much as second thoughts made me lose my connect to the character.

So now I dismiss the epic comparision , it is unsuitable . Its not an epic , not a great story of human drama. So I recall to me Hellboy, which if I had seen stripped of its imaginative characters would be quite not the Hellboy I love. Having watched Avatar in 2D made me think though I love epics how much of a fan would I have been if I had watched those with lesser enthralling visuals. The landscapes that one is treated to while watching LOTR, the entirely different world in Star Wars.

How oblivious I have been to the impact of production design, location and photography to films! Avatar has opened led me to quite a few outstanding specimens from my ignorance galores. So hoping a chance to view Avatar in 3D works out and then I can re-think it all.

Yet …. It did bother me the story and let me make just one point to assuage my viewing displeasure.
The protagonist's paraplegia makes me think his conflict is not there. The second life that his new legs have gotten him, the life that he has experienced in Pandora, where he commands the attention of everybody in Otacamaya clan, he is the "chosen one" why would he give it back. Of course he is offered new legs as a human. But for someone who lives very mcuh in the moment, has no fear, has no contemplative bend of nature this was the natural decision. The story does not afford a view into if he had a reason to want to be a human. So it is not surprising or aggrandizing when we see our hero choose to be a Na'avi. Of course he makes the choice after he has burnt his bridge to human race and has established himself almost like the king of the clan. Choosing to stay in a fairytale world of Na'avi who seem to be living so peacefully. There are other things too, but I think I will be waging an unfair criticism. This bit is enough to exorcise my demons of disappointment.

I did like Zoe Saldana's performance or maybe the Na'avi having big eyes (the wide eyed thing that Disney heavily employed for its female lead animation characters) worked in her character's favour.

Two Woody Allens and Sophocles

Of Woody Allen i know something, i have seen and loved his work. Of Sophocles, not much more than the person existed once upon a time. I have seen Match Point in bits on TV. Never saw the end, though i was told what the end is. Chris kills Nora (Scarlett Johanson) and gets away with it. And i assume the cliched. But when i see it, i realise its not a simple "getting away". There is no getting away as it is revealed that Chris is haunted by his act. And when in a very theatrical fashion the Ghosts of his slain victims confront him and Nora asks him, what about our unborn child?

He says ---> Sophocles said, "To never have been born may be the greatest boon of all."

So here i find the original of it lying on my Mac! Its from Oedipus at Colonus. For that matter it makes another connection now i know why Freud called Oedipus complex so. Here it is reproduced :)

Not to be born at all
Is best, far best that can befall,
Next best, when born, with least delay
To trace the backward way.
For when youth passes with its giddy train,
Troubles on troubles follow, toils on toils,
Pain, pain for ever pain;
And none escapes life's coils.
Envy, sedition, strife,
Carnage and war, make up the tale of life.
Last comes the worst and most abhorred stage
Of unregarded age,
Joyless, companionless and slow,
Of woes the crowning woe.

Oh and i said two Wooody Allens, caught few minutes of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, caught on to the phrase, "Chronic Dissatisfaction". Chronic Dissatisfaction.

Mindwalk

A film, a long conversation. Yikes reminds of Before Sunrise!
A politician hopeful working on the candidacy of the US president, going through a mid-life disillusionment of sorts. An old friend who happens to be a poet invites him to come spend time where he is. And they bump into a physicist on a sabbatical.


Strange ways in which the human mind works, this film had such a reassuring effect on me.


Reminded me of a heated argument i once had with my Russian colleague of how technological advancements befuddle me, is it really development ? etc. I conceded and bent my extra biased view later over some time and observations.


Some talks can be so beautiful, and some can become such pain to bear and put up with. Most we perform as social enactments.


The poet has the last word. The poet was my favourite character, or rather would have been my favourite person if i was there too :). Liv Ullman as Sonia is enchanting. All the characters are endearing in their own ways. I loved the unusual reaction shots.

Saul Bellow- Seize The Day

"The great weight of the unspoken left them little to talk about."


Its interesting that i should come upon this book straight after Youth. Both are books on trounced upon optimism. Its a day in Wilhelm's life. Wilhelm who gave up a steady job, left his wife and kids in the hopes of marrying another though his wife wont grant him divorce. His father is living a comfortable life on his life's saving, but would not help Wilhelm financially. Wilhelm feels victimized by all he is closely related with except his dog whom he would like to keep with him but his wife would not allow him that too.

Wilhelm had on the words of a Hollywood casting agent left his studies to try his luck in acting. Seven years later he admits defeats takes a regular job, which at this point in his life he has quit at being treated unfairly. He was passed over for a position which he deserved . He has to support his wife and his kids, which is rapidly draining out his pockets and destitution is imminent.

Bellow has an immense grip on this mans psyche, i lived Wilhelm when i read him. Its a story from inside Wilhelms mind, from his mind, not just Wilhelm telling his story, Wilhelm living this day in his life, of course we as a reader also flit out to observe him especially at the end, looking at this miserable man. Was there any other moment we were so clearly outside? We are so caught with Wilhelm's thoughts, little trips to his past. But all of it seems like a day in the life in his head.

The Youth

A maths major from South Africa determined to get out of the provincial life in his small town moves to London, to bask in its glory, to read poets and talk them, to write his masterpiece. The unparalleled optimism of Youth and what it boils down to. Loved the book. Strange Coetzee.

An End to The Suffering - Pankaj Mishra

Pankaj Mishra. Its like this place is where i come to profess my ignorance. Yes, its that again. I had not heard of him. Yes i sound repetitive. Its serendipitous the way books find me these days :).

This time i picked up "An End to The Suffering", from this wonderful couple's place. Lovely people. Meeting them was so unlikely and now that i think of it i have spent quite a lot of time at their place, more than any other house in Bangalore including my relatives.

He is scarily understandable and mighty high and knowingly unapproachable at the same time. Beautiful penmanship. Emotions quietly stated, and so identifiable. I had to return the book, i wish it wasn't so.

The book is about Buddha and the writers studies, observations, personal experiences and cultural exposures that led him to conclude that Buddha is a contemporary "spiritual/social/political guide". I am not sure if he used that word. The book is a sometimes seamless, sometimes abrupt blend of travelogues, and more personal travelogues. It also has Buddha's life with the historical facts, his relation to contemporary figures like Bimbisara, Ajatashatru, his political and administrative capabilities and his humanizing and psychological traits. All this added together convey Budhha as a person in flesh and blood not some mythical indescribable being.

Mishra explores his own head, his life, experiences and mental states at all the times he encountered Budha as a concept or a possibility of ideology or a historical figure. My personal favorites were of course all the times in small cities of India, his time in Allahabad, Mashobra but not Kashmir so much. These bits piqued my curiosity but were strangely familiar at the same time.

The Good Night

A film whose DVD was accidentally sent to me among a bunch of DVDs returned to me.

Penelope Cruz says at a point , "Jeez i barely know you and you are making me feel like i am breaking up with you". Ever get that feeling and had been smart enough to articulate it too? If not aloud at least to yourself.

The Last Temptation - maybe

Last Saturday in the middle of my search at CED I got a call from an unknown person asking for me. As i walked away from thick dusty folders of brittle yellowed pages, I immediately ruled out the possibility of it being a sales person or a prank call, because the voice didn’t seem to fit into any of those. The voice declared, It was someone from my previous company and stopped at that. He insisted on creating an atmosphere of mystery but i knew it was a person of authority. Well it was sort of the new big boss of the team I used to work in back there.

The reason for the call he said was in a nutshell: I am being called back. It went for half an hour or so. Starting with the pats on the back and flattering things he had heard about good work I had done while I was there, several ppl in the US team had highly recommended me including my boss back there (these of course got my attention and time away from work, and kept me hooked to the call). And that the Co wasn’t the same anymore. Not with him there. Things were different now that he was there and they will just keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will …keep…getting ..better…. I didn’t get a cue where to end the call and so knew I had to wait for him (years of servitude brought me to my submissive self in few minutes to a person i have never worked with), and it came half an hour later. I was flattered but confused, disoriented.

That was that.I had not in the least expected this, i was taken unawares but i didn't say no because for the past few weeks or a month or so i had started contemplating part time software job or something like it to compound my earnings. Now that I had spent six months away from my previous job the only thing that I didn’t like was the way my bank account was getting more and more sickly instead of blossoming and fattening up like it was doing earlier. And that dissatisfaction was the thing which got me to participate in the call. It was a strangely unsavoury feeling i had after the call. I heard myself in flashback again, the affected gratitude and expressing the desire to be willing to consider the offer. Remarking on whatever changes that were mentioned had taken place as very exciting. Affirming "it sounds exciting". I had spoken the voice of reason. The voice which would make my actions approving of all the near and maybe-not-dear ones.

Thus followed 3 days, I didn’t think much about it except how to say no, and when to say no and say it so this generous offer stays open so that the day I come back crawling the doors are open.

Sad.

The day i was to return the call, i was on my way back home with Mummy from Tirupati and the bus kept braking down and delaying our arrival to Bangalore. Sitting in the front seat of Volvo i watched the rocky hillocks, the green villages pass me by. I felt good, away from city always puts you at ease. Maybe because this is always the shorter stay. As day ended our bus stopped again for close to an hour and it was nearing eight now. I began to wonder maybe i should just sneak away from mom and make a quick call and end it. But secretly i didnt want it to be quick, i wanted to talk out my uncertainities and nobleness or god knows what that i did not make that quick call.

And it was when we were back in Bangalore waiting for a car to pick us up that i got the dreaded call. For i was suddenly unprepared. I apologised for not having called, and thought i would call later. But the call continued there on the pavement for half an hour. I hate myself for letting it drag on. I let myself be talked into what i do and him mentioning that these kind of jobs barely get you any money. He said and made it sound like an admission that he did his job to pay his bills. I know people in US admit it all the time, but we Indians would gape at such a "confession". But his confession made me think maybe this is what i could do too.

The call had to be halted abruptly as the car arrived and i could not continue talking this in the presence of my mom and other strangers.

The ride home was a cascade of thoughts clamouring around in my head, because now i really gave a thought to being back there. Six months back there could double my bank balance. My new boss is promising me 40 hours week. I could work hard the rest of the hours and do "something". But what i am doing now isnt work which is done out of the comforts of your home. I had to go places and commit my days to people. I could not finish that work in the off hours i get, rather i wish i could give my off hours to make money. Not the other way around. I realised the fool that i was being from all sensibilities by saying no now. Now when i was required, when i could have negotiated and got things at my own terms. I said no and a dear friend hoped i had not said "no out of resentment". I feared i might have said no out of the strongest reasons of sticking to my decision 6 months back and staying true to the conviction which i had then though reality would have told me otherwise. And that was the reason when i was leaving i had made it clear i am not taking a break, but choosing a different path. So that the day i get all weak and want an out, I would know what a fool i would look to my previous me.

I got home it was barely a minute long call, i said no. I was wished luck. And that was it. The war was over for now.

Beam me up Scotty

2 roomies back, my roomie had a Tee, which she wore more frequently than ever.A bright lively yellow. It had a stick figure kinda girl raising her hands up to a UFO "Beam Me Up Scotty". Well those who know, know, i didnt. Saw Star Trek yesterday and i want one T too, which goes "Beam me up scotty" :). Loved the film. Brings me back one full circle to "movies should entertain". Movies are everything right; from art, industry and yesterday .. before anything ... entertainment.



Actors are taking their jobs just as seriously as can be possible without overwhelming the audience with character portrayal. Whats with me! This film is veering me away from "arty" films.

And HellBoy tata, i have another to replace you in Masala Fantasy, Full Paisa Vasool, Low Brainer-Entertainer category. It beats you more in the Low Brainer, lighter-on-character-sketches hence more appeal category for entertainment.

The Book Attack

I had entered the library with all the determination that I am not picking any book by any author who won a nobel/booker/pullitzer/whatever. I am targeting chick lit. The Bridget Jonesy kinds , the re-hash of pride and prejudice. The last time I read one the same bad taste in your mouth , like you picked up something that everyone else seems to enjoy and you cant understand why. What is wrong with me??? Oops, a very big , universe-encompassing question.

So anyway, here I am in the library looking for what I am supposed to be looking , trying to remember who wrote “Devil Wears Prada” and then i see the book catalogue Kiosk. And what do i type? Dasgupta , i am looking for Rana Dasgupta. Good they dont have it, now move on. I start my walk along the bookshelves, my gaze stops at Jennifer Elkridge something, my hand pops out, picks it, (sigh) , Bingo ! , Nobel Prize Winner. Nope, PUT IT BACK! I look down , noooo not Milan Kundera, I loved him in The Joke that I finished a week back. I tear my eyes away. Hari Kunzru ; I have always wondered what he is about, maybe I will find out today, NO, NO. Doris Lessing. Argh! Help! Whats going on? The conspiracy , THE conspiracy. How do these books find me, now that I think of it even my roomie has been making sure that my supply of heavy reading stuff is maintained.

I came victorious in the end. Armed with “Pillow Talk” , (Title in nice flowing pink and the water colour and ink drawing of a of a lady with big eyes and eyelashes) and TinTin. I did it. I have been a member of this library for close to a year and now I come victorious. Lets just see how palatable I find em. How lasting the content? ??? Wrong expectations? Why cant a fun book be lasting as well, a work of art too. Why is a work of art always leaning to the morose?

It Happened Again

That somewhat panic attack kinda thingy. I dozed off at three, not three in the morning like most of ex-colleagues, ex-collegemates e.t.c would be doing but ya in the day. And after 40 odd blissful minutes I woke up, “Woah! Woah! I am sleeping , THIS is what I am doing in my life!” and then those creepy thoughts started attacking me, they go like --> “You should get a job!”

AAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, HEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAALPPPPP

Not a S/W job, but some donkey work job with a production house or a director. But a job , to dupe myself. To lull myself into an “occupation”. Keep me busy, so my head doesn’t get to any mischief. No, I think more out of the guilt that I am “sitting” at home. Though I do go out once in a while on the research thing for this second documentary , but ya its such a cake-walk and non-taxing that I feel like I am not doing much on that.

But as is always with the wars in my head as of now I have decided …. Again …. For now…. That this was the right thing to do. Leaving my first stint with the school which took 6 days a week and choosing to work a third or maybe a lesser amount of time , but in a freelance fashion. Lets see how it goes.

The White Tiger, SlumDog and Hemingway

Pardon the title, pardon my head. This is how thoughts wrestle in my head. So when i read White Tiger i could not help but think of Slumdog Millionaire, you know poor India and all. Hemingway ... welll i cant talk or write about him but i could not help think about him. I had finished my first Hemingway just before picking up White Tiger so i could not help compare.

My roommate hands "The White Tiger" before heading out for work. The door closes and the book opens as i plonk down on my constantly bean-spewing bean bag. And i finished it in a day, if it werent to meet a friend for lunch, i would have finished it in one sitting. About the book, its about India, the "servants" in India. How a driver is not just a driver but a servant. The accusations levellled at Slumdog for showing only the ugly side of India, selling it to westerners, i cant help but notice such tiny ones creep up in my head for The White Tiger. Nothing prominent and fist-raising kinds. I cant be certain as i am doubtful as to how a driver (or someone at that economic level) would feel or think, a driver from darkness, lets say UP or Bihar. Sometimes feels like an eye opener. Sometimes you do wonder at the level of the exaggeration.

Gurgaon! the place has threat written over it right ? The only time i went there was at night and this shining city rises out suddenly scross the highway. And i was like whats happening, what happened, why is India letting this happen! Then a week later you are at Delhi Railway Station clicking the snaps of good old rats prancing around the platforms. Mules still being used to lug construction material across at the station. The gap is huge.

And i remember having thoughts in the initial days in Bangalore, you see the glitz, the money, hear about the thefts , "they" think its rightfully theirs. "They" see us spending so much money on cells, cars, malls, clothes, flights. It would not kill us if they swiped a little. I would mentally calculate the cost of the items, watch, cellphone, shoes clothes etc that i was carrying on me and wonder does the vendor across the street make that much in 3 or 6 months? My thoughts felt little exaggerated. And this book feels for certain brief moments seems exaggerated too. But in a country of millions isnt that a possibilty. It definitely is, but ya i do wonder maybe now after Arundhati, Rushdie, Adiga would someone have a tale from India to tell which didnt always tight-rope walk on destitution, rage and disappointment? A tale which the world will consider worthy of recognition?

This is where Slumdog comes in, though it showed slums, the whatever that pissed people off, it showed them happy depite of all. They were so alive and had such a desire to live ! And thats what you sense feel and know in India. Ya the big cities might drain that exuberance out of you, but strangely it stays alive in the lower stratas of society. Its strange. The other day a very staid BBC reporter/anchor interviewing a family in the slums of Dharavi and while she is interviewing the man of the house, the lady of the house can barely suppress her smile and the moment the camera is turned to her, she acquires a poker face, she talks of water, schooling etc as her parameters for choosing the next Govt. But she still seemed miles happier than a guy who would want huge tax shields from the Govt. That is the mystery that India offers . Doesnt it? But it is so huge and disparate that you can never say what could or could not happen. So though we have lot of films on happy go lucky stories and melodrama in Bollywod in Indian Cinema, we havent read stories of warmth and smile which abounds here when it comes to textual material.

As for Hemnigway, i read my first one, courtesy rooomie again. Its the Garden of Eden, a book published posthumously. So not cent per cent Hemingway. But this book preceded White Tiger hence the comparision. No i shouldnt. Nope i would not. All i know is Hemingway was intense. No i should not compare. Just because i read it before White Tiger i would not. Hemingway was a master, i feel inadequate to write about his writing. There is so much exploration of the psyche without the superfluosness. His thread bare simple sentences sink so deep. It was a pleasure and i would love to revisit it. Being slightly auto-biographical adds so much more to the novel, just the character of David Bourne and the later part of the book. No its a little too mammoth to compare Hemingway with _______ anything right now.

J M Coetzee and A S Byatt

Coetzee and Byatt are two enormous writers whom i have accidentally come across. I will grapple but still try to explain what is it about their prowess which struck me.

My flatmate was reading Coetzee's 'Disgrace'. That is the first time i heard of him.

I read the initial 20 pages with a sense that this a fast paced read with some pithy statements emdedded in between. But by the time i finished, which i did faster than ever in last few years, you are in awe of the man: the author. The character David Lurie is strangely at moments idealistic, predatory and most interestingly unabashedly honest. Honest to himself; again at moments. You know its one person but there is no predictable fashion in which a person behaves, not in real life, in fiction yes.

Not since i read Anna Karenina have i come across such an astute observer and portrayer of the workings of human mind, of how society and institutions' web tightens and molds you into what is deigned acceptable. Both for David and David's daughter. Though David does not bend, he casts himself off. As for the daughter, inspite of the cruelty inflicted upon her she seems to be calmly content accepting a primeval role for herself.

The helper, the animals finish the portrait of Luries months from and after the 'disgrace'.

I came across A.S Byatt browsing through the bookshelf of our hotel in Pokhara,Nepal while i was waiting for my dinner to arrive. And it rescued me. Those two days the 'touristy' feel of Pokhara had left me cranky and pissed off. The Matisse Stories trasported me to the sketchy and vivid world of a middle-aged woman, her visits to her hair dresser who is tired of facing age at some level, of a sense of panic, of exasperation of trying harder than ever to keep 'her looks together'.

In one hand there was the banality of experiences in Pokhara or maybe my dislike towards having companions while i travel, on the other was Byatt! Even while i would be reading her story, i would stop go back the last few sentences and then scratch my head. How did she create all that she did! I went looking for a book of hers in my library just to figure out how she does it, but they seem to have misplaced the only book of hers they have.


I read "The Chinese Lobster", in a little clearing on my way to Kahun Danda, top of a hill in Pokhara. By the time the villagers had directed me to the base where i should start my climb for Kahun Danda i was beginning to lose my excitement to get to the top. And more disappointing was the fact that it was dust road, of the finest powdery dust.

"Medusa's Ankles" was more intoward. I remember it as the tired taut thoughts of Susannah and the chatter of Lucien the hair dresser, the cracks in her thought from within. The walls and the pink nude. The change in Lucien's design of the salon. And all the scared floating thoughts, glances and thoughts in between. It was also the first piece of Byatt that i read. Hence the novelty.

Back Off

The little sissy wimp who left a comment on my blog a day back (there are some nice profanities clamouring in my head and i will let them be). Have you considered shock therapy ? I have heard it can do wonders for a timid, dormant, putrid brain of yours. Oh ya tell them to notch it up real high. The best thing you ever did for every one around you. Come on you can do this much for me, or lets meet in person and i will take care of this miserable life of yours :)

What a day

Of late, past few weeks, I had come to the conclusion that i had lost interest in exploring this country. Then i change hotel in the middle of the afternoon. Then i decide to go out. Then i decide i will not skip the trip to New York two weeks from now. Then i go for a movie. Then i start returning to my old self(enjoying being alone and floating and have no one to answer to). Float around in a coffee shop. Watch a movie. Hang out at the hotel bar hoping to scrounge some dinner. Meet this lady, bless her, she was 66 but man was she raring to go. She was Marilyn from Ohio and that was the nicest and most optimism inducing conversation i had in the last 2 months or ever in my life.

Seriously its weird how people open up at bars. I had always heard, read and seen(on TV) it. But, this was something. We talked of thing which were foremost in our heads but we would not mention to friends for numerous reasons, and here all reasons disappear. And it just flows so easy and no awkwardness afterwards. For instance the barman in one breath mentioned how the day he was going to propose to the girl he wanted to marry she broke up with him. I still think its incredible that he told that to us strangers, but i guess either thats how it works or he just gets kicks out of cooking up random mood or audience-suited anecdotes.

But that gives me hope that people in this country can chat their mundane lives off too. Maybe they do it more in bars, or places where strangers are supposed to be addressed and talked to. You know makes sense in this structured and organised country. A place for everything. A place for talking about things which bother you.

Windy

Its windy outside. Nice windy, though it became tough to walk. The wind wasnt cold that made the walk likeable. The wind has turned the view of the strip from my window dusty as well.