Road, Movie: Strictly, Okay

There was ample anticipation for this one. Dev Benegal’s tie up with Abhay Deol, or Abhay Deol’s tie up with Dev Benegal—depending on which side of the fence you’re on. But as much as the opening shot might grab you, the scene that unfolds thereafter is begging for better actors, a better script and better timing. There’s not much beyond the cinematography or the music in those opening minutes of the movie, and that seems to set a precedent for the rest of it.

The acting by the four main characters, who, barring the Deol, make their appearances at odd moments, is shoddier than you'd expect. Perhaps thanks to a weak script that bares its naivety with lines that display a tea-stall boy’s unlikely knowledge of Starbucks and Abhay Deol’s trysts with weeds as makeshift toilet paper. Satish Kaushik shines, for the majority of this story, despite everything else working against him.

There’s a deeper story that the director tries to capture, unsuccessfully, as he, and we, get lost in surrealism, minimalism and the marketing of manhood.

And one more thing: I have come to believe that we’ve all been fooled into thinking Abhay Deol’s a good actor—which is not to say he’s to blame, perhaps he’s been fooled just like we were. But some director, somewhere, handed him a script that demanded he act like himself. And he did. And he’s a fairly interesting chap. And we thought, “Wow, he’s really underplaying this role! Subtlety is so refreshing in popular Indian cinema.” But that’s just Abhay Deol…on a Friday night or a Sunday afternoon.

Still, for all its flaws, I didn't feel like I'd just wasted 90-odd minutes of my life. Though I could've spent it better, I'm sure.

A whiskey and coke, please. And hold the whiskey.

There's something wrong with the title of this post, right? Shouldn't it be, "And hold the coke."? I mean, who drinks whiskey with coke anyway?

But this isn't a post about the right way to drink whiskey (neat, or on the rocks---and if you must dilute, then water or soda, please!). This is a post about my ongoing struggle with sobriety. Yes, my blog-lovin' public, I've given up alcohol for Lent and it's not going very well. No, I haven't fallen off the wagon (or gotten on the wagon? Okay, let's not turn this into a rehash of Seinfeld). But it is getting harder and harder to not order a bottle of Carlsberg or a whiskey large, on the rocks.

I've never really understood teetotallers, or envied them, for that matter. But I have occasionally looked at my sometimes-abstaining buddy and been impressed by his ability to sit in Toto's, not drink, and still have a blast.

I am not that big a man, sorry.

A recent outing to Toto's proved that. Having not gotten there early enough to get a table, we resigned ourselves to standing in the proximity of the bar. Bad decision. Because if there's one place you don't want to be when it's just 10 o'clock and people have only just begun to pour in, it's near the bar. By the time we realised this, however, it was too late.

But as time passed, and everyone else got a little sloshed, they also got a lot more flexible. I didn't.

Toto's turned out to be loud, crowded and full of drunk people. Why on Earth would I want to stay there? And so began my efforts to shift this party elsewhere. Which, once I'd convinced people we could find some place better, we did.

And 5 Spice was quiet...er. From loud drunk people, to loud sober people (and kids). Eventually, though, we got out of there too. And moved the party to my place. Where everyone drank some more.

I've been counting the number of times everyone's decided to go drinking randomly this month. And counting down the number of days till I'll be able to drink again.

The only thing keeping me going is the fact that I don't spend as much as all my friends who're busy getting drunk. Of course, then I go spend it all on coffee and cigarettes.

I guess I know what I'm giving up for Lent next year.

(Cigarettes? Are you nuts!? Coffee, of course.)

Why I think I hate Twitter

There's something to be said for brevity. As a man who can't stand reading anything that exceeds its optimal length, it's no surprise I'm saying this. But what's twitter turning us into?

It's not like twitter's forcing us to have bite-sized thoughts. So we're choosing to condense our words and thoughts, abbreviating as much as we can. And then we're condensing URLs using bit.ly and TinyURL and using those tiny, bit-sized links to draw people to something someone said, adding our bite-sized, abbreviated opinions to them.

I h8 rdng lk dis. N I h8 tlkn lk dis 2. I wsh ppl wdnt. Rly.

First SMS, now twitter. Now people chat like this. Like it's too hard to type an entire sentence out. Will someone stop this trend? Please?

Why I've been away

So there I was, just sitting and reading someone's blog somewhere. And I thought to myself, "Hey, I've got me one of those."

So here I am. And here's why I've been away for so long: I got a job. But don't tell anyone. I'm not quite ready to let the world know I like being busy.

What's the job like? Well, it's different. It's a big office (only the second of my career). And there are more people on my floor than the total number of 0employees of my last two offices, combined. My first thought when I realised this was, "This can't be right. I don't fit into big offices, right?" Turns out, I just might--for now, at least.

Also, I've become a little more active on FB, Twitter, and now Buzz. So you'll see me there as well. And I'm still trying to make my tumblog look good. Failing miserably though, if you ask me. I hope I get it right by the time I get my hands on a good camera. I like how photographs look on tumblr.

Adaptation

You can never tell a bad adaptation till you read the book, true? Possibly not.

So I'm watching this movie which is adapted from a book, and after some 90% of the movie's done with, they bring a plot device in that you've never heard an utterance of before this moment. It's a pair of pants. Now this pair of pants plays a surprisingly important role later on, but it's never been mentioned before? Fuck you, Hollywood. You just didn't want to get into the details, did you?* I've seen it done before, hell, I've read it done before.

I loved No Country For Old Men, but there were bits I loved in the book--pivotal conversations--that were left out for lack of time, and you wonder if it made sense reducing the impact of the story to make a flick of it. In this particular case, I'd say it did, especially since we're given a lot more from the actors and the Coens. But I'm really scared to watch The Road (another of McCarthy's masterpieces). Sure, there's Viggo Mortenson, but I've seen the dude fail now and then. Is that the memory of The Road that I want in my head? I don't know. I'll wait for reviews before I watch this one.

But I digress.

My point is what's the point of the adaptation? If it's to lend more to the story then fine, do it. But this is Hollywood we're talking about. It's so rarely been about the art. And if Hollywood is gonna take every good book out there and make a movie off it just for a few bucks, then what's the point of writing a book? I mean, how long before people just say, "Screw reading it, I'll just wait for the movie."

*To be fair, I haven't read the book this movie's based on, so I don't actually know if said pair of pants is mentioned prior in the book.

Busy being 26

For the two people wondering where I've been, I've been off trying to figure out being 26. Turns out, it's not so different from being 25.

Yea, 26 is very uneventful. Spoke to someone who'd already been 26, she said the same thing. She also said 27 would be more interesting, and 28. Somehow I figure 29 will just be torture as I wait for the year to pass.

So here's something I wrote on my surprisingly rarely used moleskine while sitting and sipping on some coffee...

I'm 26 years old. Unemployed and single.

I'm 26 years old. And trying very hard to not look back and regret all the bad decisions I've made. But instead look at those mistakes as things I had to learn. What else are mistakes for?

As far as my career goes, I know I jumped into too many things too soon. I never thought that someone would lie to me about the state of their company, even though right now it seems too naive to think like that. I know a litter better right now what it is that I want from a job. I know money's very important, at least to the extent that it provides me the comforts that I want in life. I know I just need a job that, if I don't particularly like what it is I do, I shouldn't be asked to invest too much in, mentally or physically. And if I love what I do, I will throw everything I have in. Gamble it all.

As far as love goes, I know I can be a very selfish lover. And a very unsure one. I need to learn how to give more. And open up more. I keep myself so closed with everyone else I know that I do the same with my love too. I know I do these things wrong, but I can't say I've learned to do otherwise, or changed my ways, because I haven't gotten the chance to put into practice all that I've preached to myself. When I get the chance, and I hope I do, I'll know if I've really changed.

I've learned to open myself up more to my friends. I'm happy I've accomplished that much. It takes me less time to start talking to people now. So I'm glad I've changed a little in these past two years.

I know I've still got a long way to go. And a lot more to learn.

So for all of those things that I don't know, I know a little too. 

: )

Well, he's unaccomplished.

Just a little over a month to go for another milestone, and I'm a little worried. Same old shit, but on a different night. So what's the problem?

Take my guitar away. Take away the songs I've serenaded you with, and lulled you to sleep with. Take away the words I've written on blogs even I don't read, in magazines you've never even seen. Take away the pictures I've taken that nobody's seen, and the sights I've seen that you've seen too. Take away the nights we've spent talking over the phone, at the party, at your house, at my house. Take away the kisses blown, thrown, missed, caught and even those returned. Take away the dick I've been and the friend I haven't. Take away the smokes I've borrowed and lent, the flames shared. Take away the songs I've introduced you to, the movies I've forced you to watch, the books I've asked you to read (though you never did). Take it all away. And everyone I know is exactly the same as before.

Yes, I know.  I'm going to get some fresh air. Soon as I wake up. (Quite the metaphor, eh? Unintended (Good song).)

Observation

The worst part about standing in the vicinity of a fart is that you're breathing the air that came out of someone's ass.

How Things Get Fucked

Looking around at stuff in my life, and the lives of people I know, I made an observation. Such few things in life get majorly fucked all at once. Most things, they take time. They get a little fucked over a couple of weeks or months and suddenly you're wondering how they got so fucked up.

I have this table. A desk for my computer. And I clean it up every now and then, but mostly, it's crammed with stuff I don't need. Non-computer stuff. And I always wondered how it kept getting so damn messed up. So today morning, I cleaned it up again. Moved things around, threw some shit out. It's night and already I can find some stuff I put on it during the day that doesn't need to be here.

So that's what got me thinking. How all of these tiny things, they sneak up on you. You might just miss them if you're not looking. But there they are, every day, fucking your stuff up. Fucked up part is you only notice them when they get majorly fucked up. Before that, you're thinking, there's nothing wrong with this picture.

But time passes. And when time passes, it doesn't crawl. You think it does, but it doesn't. It flies. Straight past you and you won't even notice. You're too busy procrastinating. Overlooking shit that doesn't look so fucked up, but it is.

So here's what I've got to do. Look for the small shit. Clean it up while it's still small, manageable.

Now comes the hard part. Actually doing it.

Ladies and gentlemen, pardon my french. And my redundancy. But it's the only way I'll listen.

Easy Peasy

Sticking to your instincts

against "better judgement"

is hard.

Trying to belong

somewhere

is tough.

Finding a heart

to live in

is difficult.

Living a life

that matters

is hard.

Finding someone

to matter to

is tough.

Making a difference

to someone's life

is almost impossible.

Forgetting

that you really want all of that

is easy.

Single Life

I'm a poet without a rhyme,

a prisoner doing no time.

A singer without a tune,

I'm a year with no monsoon.

I'm a sentence with no verb.

I'm a writer with no words.

A man who's got no soul,

(brutal truth be told)

I'm a dick without a hole.

Let Me Explain...

You see, all of my body parts decided to have an election. They wanted to decide who was the most important body part of all, on my body. At first, they decided to go the democratic way and actually have votes cast in favour. But since they were the only ones voting, they each ended up voting for themselves. (For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why they simply didn't make a rule where they couldn't cast their vote for themselves.) Anyhoo, they then decided to ask me. They told me I could take my time, but I had to choose. I thought and thought and pondered for a bit, but it's so hard to choose. They all seem so important, how could I choose? But I just had to. So I picked my nose.

Early morning

3:23 AM

Struggling to sleep. Why is it that I only think of how much of an asshole (dick?) I am right now? I don't just mean that selfishly in that I'm trying to sleep and imagining how big an asshole (dick?) I am keeps me from sleeping. But also in that I should realise such a thing when I'm actually busy being an asshole (dick?). So I can actually do something about it.

But no, I gotta think of this right now, when I'm really trying to sleep. So I can wake up early tomorrow and wish my love the best for her test. I hope I don't get up late.

On a side note, anyone planning to visit KGAF?

3:27 AM

(P.S.: Don't trust what Blogger says. It's 3:28 now.)

And I quote...

Joy and sorrow are not like oil and water; they co-exist.

- Jose Saramago?

I made it myself!

So there's this guy. He meets this girl and realises that she has a cold ALL the time. He is pained by this, and hates the fact that she's always in discomfort. So he cures her cold. And they both fall in love with each other.

What's this movie called?

Vicks Vaporub Ne Bana Di Jodi.

*laughs hysterically*

Sitting At Home

For the past couple of weeks, I've been at home. Sitting. Walking around. Doing nothing. Not even thinking.

Too bored to post, write, play guitar, photograph or think.

A little depressed. Or sad.

Unemployment does that, I've been told.

So maybe it's that.

Sigh.

HATE HATE.

Are you fucking kidding me?

No, you're not. This is happening. This is happening right now, in my city. And I hate it.

For all the love and all the shit that my city doles out, for all the lives it has given, and even the ones it's taken away, this is still my city. And I HATE it.

Yea, it happens every day somewhere in the world, and today it's happening here. And I HATE IT.

Fucking terrorists. Possibly from this very country. This violent behaviour is never going to end, is it? This has happened, someone will retaliate. And this will happen again, somewhere else. My optimistic view of our future is beginning to wane.

Any bets for how long we'll last? Because I know this hate (and all the hate around the world) is never going to die. As long as there are people who have, and those who have not, there will be hate. As long as there is no thought given by those who have for those who have not, there will be hate. As long as we continue to leave love out of the equation, this will happen.

So tell me this: How long will we last?

Can we all agree, before we kill each other, that we hate hate?

For the kid with the ice cream.

What's that?
You're fat.
Don't eat.
You sweat.
You reek.
You stink,
of meat.
And smoke.
Stop that,
you're fat.

You're bald.
You're hairy.
You're tall.
You're short
Too thin,
suck it in.
What's that?
You're fat.

You're too happy,
too sad,
too sane,
too mad.
Too worried,
too carefree.
Too like you,
unlike me.
What's that?
You're fat.

You curse
too much
eat
too much
sleep
too much
lie
too much
naive
too much
whine
too much
Where's your spine?
Look at mine!
What's that?
You're fat.

You disgust me.

Yea,
but,
I don't disgust me.

That's how it is.

I've said it more than just a few times in the last couple of months, and it worries me that I take it for granted that "that's just how it is".

The more I say it, the more I believe it. You can try and convince me otherwise, but I think you'll have a hard time. Things have become what they've become and change has gained its own momentum, so much so that our actions have little or no impact on what happens in this world. Our individualism has divided us. We all have different thoughts, perceptions and, more impactfully, different ideals and morals. What's good for the goose, the gander doesn't think much of. We're sheep if you look at how gullible we've become, following shepherds around all day just because they're on TV. But we're sheep with ideas of our own. It's a little contradictory, I know, but it's true.

Our individualism has impacted our world and led us to believe that we all know what's good for each of us. Still, we'll believe most of what we're told about other people, and have more than enough advice to hand out to other people. How's that for a contradiction? Why this individualism scares me is because we're still not governed by a society that values individualism. Our society believes in our belonging to a collective mindset. We've made little to no effort to change how our society is run, but made every effort to proclaim from the rooftops that we are individuals.

So we are individuals. Standing individually, and consumed by our individuality. I am one. I accept that.

So who makes decisions? People sitting behind important desks in important offices who seem to know very little about who we are, but a lot about who they want us to be. They reside within bureaucracy and rarely take the time to come out and look at the real world.

If they're the ones with the pens that sign the papers that tell us how to live our lives, then what chance do we have of "being the change"? Everybody argues that you need to go become a politician if you hate all the politicians you're being forced to vote for. But what if you don't want to enter politics? What do you do then? Con someone else into becoming a politician? Meh.

Then what are we left with when we accept that we're never going to enter politics and refuse to vote for anyone/end up voting for the guy who's closest to getting us where we want to be? We're left with things being a particular way and us having nothing to do to change the way things are. So we say, "That's how it is."

Tell me there's something I'm missing.

Please.

(Post started: above; post completed: November 5th)

What would the Marlboro Man do?

I know it's a horrible habit. I know I need to quit. But the only reason I smoke is because of the incredible calm I feel sometimes, while dangling that lit cigarette between my fingers. Yes, mostly it's gratuitous, but there are times. Like phish describes in ashtray. 

Sometimes...

I like smoke. 

I like the feeling of breathing something different. 

It's bad for me, but I don't care. 

Peace of mind feels purer than healthy lungs.

What they're taking away is my coffee+cigarette, my beer+cigarette, my whisky+cigarette. What they're taking away is my right to choose. I understand it's bad for me. My health is not a priority. If it were, I wouldn't even be living in this city. Or working here. Or eating out because I don't have anything close to a kitchen in my rented apartment.

I don't smoke around kids or pregnant women. I don't smoke around my friends when they're sick, well, I try to not.

I don't litter any part of the cigarette or the pack, except the ash. If I have an empty cigarette pack, I don't even drop the ash. I haven't dropped cigarette butts on the street in about three years. I haven't littered anything in longer.

I'm not looking for a 'thank you for not littering', I'm just saying I'm aware of everything I do. Hell, if I had the option I wouldn't blow the smoke into the air. I don't like the fact that I pollute the air, but I can't really do much about that right now.

I'll quit smoking. 

Eventually. 

I know that for a fact. But I don't like being told what to do, and what not to do. I like making up my own mind. That's all.

I can't even hate the guy who's responsible for this ban. The other thing he's reportedly working on is legalising homosexuality. Which I stand for. 

Again, my city is alienating me.

I felt that when I thought they were doing away with big English lettering on shops and restaurants, but I think they were only fighting for similar-sized lettering in Devnagari (have I spelt it right?). That's fine by me. But smaller English lettering would make it tedious for me to decipher.

But I digress. This is about the ban on smoking in "public places" in "Mumbai", and, well, the rest of the country. Yup, I can't smoke in pubs, coffee shops, restaurants, parks, my office balcony, or any similar places.

So where does that leave me, and every other smoker in this country? On the road. Ostracised.