Showing posts with label Living In Guwahati. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living In Guwahati. Show all posts
3
Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom
The book starts with an ending; Eddie, the protagonist is going to die and the reader is taken along Eddie’s last hour as he goes on doing what he did for the last significant portion of his life, working maintenance in the Ruby Pier amusement park. It is also his 83rd birthday. Eddie is popular amongst the children, they like his non assuming self, while he evidently dislikes the ones who’d crossed the threshold of teenage, they gave him headaches. It is when a cart comes loose from a ride and is about to crash into a little girl, does Eddie’s end seem immediate. He tries pushing the girl away from the coming end and gets killed himself. And here ends the first chapter.
Eddie, as is evident from the title, goes to heaven and then meets five people, in five very different places, whose lives intersect with his in ways different from eachother. To reveal the persons and the different settings would be taking away of a lot of the joy of reading the book. Now, a lot of people've found happiness in annoying the heaven out of me by planning landmines of spoilers in the past (yes, I meant you. And you. And you.). But I'd be the better man and let it be. The book excels in what it seeks to do, which is tugging at the heart strings and making you cry. It is not of the tribe of Nickolas Sparks but something more bittersweet. Almost makes you wish that heaven were real, along with Santa Claus and angels and God... I digress.
What I loved the most was the part non-linear narrative. The independent accounts of his other, significant birthdays from the past and the memories awakened by the different people he meets in heaven. To sum up the book in two words, the book was 'heartfelt-ly pleasant'. It's a book which one could finish in one sitting, thanks to its size and content, but still would go back every now and then for some, let me say it, corny sweetness. My copy was bought from a second hand bookshop and it's previous owner left a lot of scribbling and underlining in the book. Now, I'm not the one for abuse to books, but it's always nice to find some humanising relics of previous owners in a thrifted book. The book's filled with thoughts inspired by the book. I don't get why someone'd sell a book so personal, but I'm happy he did (yes, I'm sure it was a he). The author employs no over dramatication, which'd've been very easy to fall into. The book tells you how everything is related and how all the different stories in the world're really just one long story. How one affects the other. I always wanted to read 'Tuesdays With Morrie', the writer's other book, and now I want to read it even more.
Maybe someday I'd find it in another secondhand bookshop with similar notes in the same handwriting and then, I can pretend to be in a Mitch Albom book myself.
***
I had this saved up for long and thought I'd publish this and get it over with. This is the official end of the 'Books of Exile' series. So many books were not reviewed and only my own lazy-assed-ness is to be blamed. The 'Books of Exile' series was also supposed to record my introduction to two of the greatest writers ever; Albert Camus and George Orwell. But A-L-A-S.
Expect random reviews from time to time though.
Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom
The book starts with an ending; Eddie, the protagonist is going to die and the reader is taken along Eddie’s last hour as he goes on doing what he did for the last significant portion of his life, working maintenance in the Ruby Pier amusement park. It is also his 83rd birthday. Eddie is popular amongst the children, they like his non assuming self, while he evidently dislikes the ones who’d crossed the threshold of teenage, they gave him headaches. It is when a cart comes loose from a ride and is about to crash into a little girl, does Eddie’s end seem immediate. He tries pushing the girl away from the coming end and gets killed himself. And here ends the first chapter.
Eddie, as is evident from the title, goes to heaven and then meets five people, in five very different places, whose lives intersect with his in ways different from eachother. To reveal the persons and the different settings would be taking away of a lot of the joy of reading the book. Now, a lot of people've found happiness in annoying the heaven out of me by planning landmines of spoilers in the past (yes, I meant you. And you. And you.). But I'd be the better man and let it be. The book excels in what it seeks to do, which is tugging at the heart strings and making you cry. It is not of the tribe of Nickolas Sparks but something more bittersweet. Almost makes you wish that heaven were real, along with Santa Claus and angels and God... I digress.
What I loved the most was the part non-linear narrative. The independent accounts of his other, significant birthdays from the past and the memories awakened by the different people he meets in heaven. To sum up the book in two words, the book was 'heartfelt-ly pleasant'. It's a book which one could finish in one sitting, thanks to its size and content, but still would go back every now and then for some, let me say it, corny sweetness. My copy was bought from a second hand bookshop and it's previous owner left a lot of scribbling and underlining in the book. Now, I'm not the one for abuse to books, but it's always nice to find some humanising relics of previous owners in a thrifted book. The book's filled with thoughts inspired by the book. I don't get why someone'd sell a book so personal, but I'm happy he did (yes, I'm sure it was a he). The author employs no over dramatication, which'd've been very easy to fall into. The book tells you how everything is related and how all the different stories in the world're really just one long story. How one affects the other. I always wanted to read 'Tuesdays With Morrie', the writer's other book, and now I want to read it even more.
Maybe someday I'd find it in another secondhand bookshop with similar notes in the same handwriting and then, I can pretend to be in a Mitch Albom book myself.
***
I had this saved up for long and thought I'd publish this and get it over with. This is the official end of the 'Books of Exile' series. So many books were not reviewed and only my own lazy-assed-ness is to be blamed. The 'Books of Exile' series was also supposed to record my introduction to two of the greatest writers ever; Albert Camus and George Orwell. But A-L-A-S.
Expect random reviews from time to time though.
3
I, Romantic – Rajeev Jhaveri
Now, this is not a book I’d suggest anyone
to read. Not that it is bad in a bad
way. It does not figure in the Chetan Bhagat category, much less in the Durjoy
Dutta one, but let’s put it in this way, for the 225/- that you’d spend on it,
you could find far better books instead. And as to why I bought it, the reason
is as simple as I didn’t know better and got carried away by all those one line reviews it had printed on its cover. They even got an US Army Iraq war
veteran to say “A timeless, beautifully written tale... Read this novel, be
changed...” How could I not fall for that, coupled with its promise of a doomed
love story laden with enough references to “Hayden’s symphonies, Yehoshua’s
poems and Einstein’s prose”. I’m so easily manipulated by book covers and
things written on them. K
‘I,
Romantic’ was supposed to be, in my head, a coming of age story about doomed
love and big literary references. What it turned out to be is a wannabe coming of age story about filmy doomed love and forced big literary references. Along with
a very disturbing explanation for Punjab being the bread basket of India (involves
sexually frustrated army men and porn and self gratification and the remains making
the Punjabi soil fertile. If you can't piece it together, good for you really). Also a
rape of a mute village woman in which the narrator, being a young sexually
frustrated army man himself, participates in wholeheartedly and the whole one
second it takes for the listener, supposedly a ‘liberated’, aaj ki Bharatiya
nari to forgive him.
The love track is so clichéd that the
million 90s Bollywood movies that came before it running on the same plotline
appear originals. Also the young stud suddenly finding his true calling while
wallowing in his depression and Bunuel’s movies and Begum Akhtar’s voice and
Hayden’s music and refusing to take part in the Kargil war and ‘standing up for
his ideas’ in front of his seniors appeared so filmsy, it gives one the idea
that Mr. Jhaveri wrote the book after getting inspired by back to back viewing
of 'Rang De Basanti', 'Lakhshya' and 'Wake Up Sid' (all very good films, no doubt) and
going on Wikipedia and searching all that he could of cultural big names. Because what’s better than a coming of age story? A coming of age story with generous mentions of European filmmakers and
random pseudo-intellectual blabbering by the ‘intellectual’ female lead.
‘I, Romantic’ could’ve been a better book,
with a better title. But it is not. It’s going to be a ‘major motion picture’
soon too, as the cover'll tell you. A book which appears suspiciously semi-autobiographical should’ve
been more honest and less soap opera-ish. I just hope the author gets to write
better books in the future. This one actually shows promise.
2
A Wild Sheep Chase - Haruki Murakami
This is actually a rehashed version of the book review I'd written for the magazine, Renaissance 21. So most of it'd sound familiar to ones who'd read the review back then. (And if you've not checked out the magazine, then do, now! It took many back-breaking hours before the computer and days of frantic phone calls, text messages and emails to bring it out.)
A Wild Sheep Chase was the first of Murakami that I read. And the reason I read it was because you couldn't move an inch in any direction without a dozen people waxing lyrical about Murakami and his writing, the cherry on the icing being a friend, VK, whose taste I can vouch for. And I'm only too happy that for a change I listened to people and picked the book up. The novel, set in Japan of the early 80s, does take its time to gain speed. The protagonist, an anonymous Japanese man, is tricked into a hunt for a particular and particularly mythical sheep, aided only by an old black and white photograph and an array of unusual characters; from his girlfriend with her magically seductive ears to a man dressed in a sheep costume. What comes off is a wonderful amalgamation of urban legends and more traditional myths.
Surely, this novel, like all other books of the magic realism genre, isn't for everyone. From elements of Shintoism to a post modern climax, this is a champion of its genre (I can talk like a real book reviewer! :'D). Translated from the original Japanese, 'A Wild Sheep Chase' is the second book of the 'Trilogy of The Rat' series. But it can be treated as a stand alone book too, which only made me want to read the other books in the series even more.
From the Japanese countryside in Hokkaido to the towering highrises of Tokyo, Murakami excells in his descriptions. Murakami writes lucid prose with the mark of an established writer who can afford to take his time building up the story. All thanks to translator Alfred Birnbaum for making the book read like English was the original language of the novel. Lauds to Murakami for making the storyline, otherwise seemingly outlandish in a three line synopsis, read like a masterpiece in the novel-form. Going with the flow of the words, even the climax seems possible in the world of the un-named narrator.
Despite its slow start, 'A Wild Sheep Chase' is a gripping read, staying true to its title to the last word. While the climax may leave some wondering about what just happened, it is not a disappointing read by any say. Read this one with no expectation of either the ordinary or the extraordinary. A tale of searching of more than one type, it's the perfect companion for a cold evening under the blankets.
A Wild Sheep Chase - Haruki Murakami
 |
| Isn't the photo giving an optical illusion or're my eyes finally going blind? |
This is actually a rehashed version of the book review I'd written for the magazine, Renaissance 21. So most of it'd sound familiar to ones who'd read the review back then. (And if you've not checked out the magazine, then do, now! It took many back-breaking hours before the computer and days of frantic phone calls, text messages and emails to bring it out.)
A Wild Sheep Chase was the first of Murakami that I read. And the reason I read it was because you couldn't move an inch in any direction without a dozen people waxing lyrical about Murakami and his writing, the cherry on the icing being a friend, VK, whose taste I can vouch for. And I'm only too happy that for a change I listened to people and picked the book up. The novel, set in Japan of the early 80s, does take its time to gain speed. The protagonist, an anonymous Japanese man, is tricked into a hunt for a particular and particularly mythical sheep, aided only by an old black and white photograph and an array of unusual characters; from his girlfriend with her magically seductive ears to a man dressed in a sheep costume. What comes off is a wonderful amalgamation of urban legends and more traditional myths.
From the Japanese countryside in Hokkaido to the towering highrises of Tokyo, Murakami excells in his descriptions. Murakami writes lucid prose with the mark of an established writer who can afford to take his time building up the story. All thanks to translator Alfred Birnbaum for making the book read like English was the original language of the novel. Lauds to Murakami for making the storyline, otherwise seemingly outlandish in a three line synopsis, read like a masterpiece in the novel-form. Going with the flow of the words, even the climax seems possible in the world of the un-named narrator.
Despite its slow start, 'A Wild Sheep Chase' is a gripping read, staying true to its title to the last word. While the climax may leave some wondering about what just happened, it is not a disappointing read by any say. Read this one with no expectation of either the ordinary or the extraordinary. A tale of searching of more than one type, it's the perfect companion for a cold evening under the blankets.
2
This was the first book on psychology that I ever read and I remember it was in November 2011 when I picked it up from a second-hand bookshop in Pan Bazaar – my most favourite area in any city, i.e. after Police Bazaar in Shillong and M. G. Road in Bangalore. The book belonged to a H. Das/Dass/Dhas of Dibrugarh who had bought the book for Rs. 3.00 (good old cheap days, I bought the same copy almost 40 years after for Rs. 30). There’s also a seal of the Dibrugarh Library, so it came into the library’s possession too some time before coming to the second hand bookshop’s in Guwahati. The amount of history one second-hand book can’ve! Also, this book had been one of those few Out-Of-My-Comfort-Zone books for me. Definitely Out-Of-My-Comfort-Zone.
The Three Faces of Eve is the real life story of Chris Costner Sizemore, a woman from 50s South Carolina, USA, who was diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder, sometime now known as Dissociative Identity Disorder (hail Wikipedia). Her real identity was kept a secret from the public eye, from the book’s first publication in 1957 till 1975 and since my copy of the book is from ’61 (vintage!), she’s referred to as Eve White here, while the two other inhabitants of her mind and body’re called Eve Black and Jane. Eve White is a timid, hard working woman whose most defining role in her life is that of being a mother to her daughter, Bonnie. Her marriage is on the rocks and she worries for her daughter. After complaining of severe headaches and blackouts, she visits a psychiatrist, before whom Eve Black emerges and for the first time let’s her existence known, even though she claims to be existing alongside Eve White since childhood, without ever coming under anyone’s notice. Eve Black is the very anti-thesis of Eve White, a woman in sharp contrast to the later in her confident, flirtatious and frivolous nature. The psychiatrists believe her to be the manifestations of Eve White’s repressed feelings. Both the personalities’re thought to be imbalanced in their own ways, one overtly serious and maternal with her feelings, with no real love left for her husband and the other too frivolous than necessary, one who flirts with unknown and potentially dangerous men with subtle hints of ‘something more’, only to turn them down at the end. While Eve White has no recollection of what Eve Black does when she comes into dominance, she has to clear the many tight situations her twin leaves her in. Eve Black does not think of Eve White’s husband and daughter as her own and hates the restriction Eve White’s conventional life puts on her. After a few months, up to when Eve White has separated from her husband and is working and living independently, the third personality appears. She is Jane, the most well rounded personality of the three. Unlike the other two, she’s ‘born’ just when she appears before the psychiatrist for the first time. While Eve White can’t read Eve Black’s thoughts and access her memories, in turn Eve Black can’t do the same in Jane’s case, while Jane gets to know what the other two’re thinking. What later follows is how the three very different personalities cope with their very unique situation and ultimately who rises triumphant over the complete control of the mind and the body.
This is the first review of the Books of Exile series, books I read during my mini-make-belief exile in Guwahati. The reviews're in no particular order and I hope the publishers/authors of the books notice my reviews and send me gifts for pimping their books for free.
The Three Faces of Eve - Corbett H. Thigpen
and Hervey M. Cleckley
 |
| Didn't he've a fine handwriting? Was definitely NOT a doctor. |
This was the first book on psychology that I ever read and I remember it was in November 2011 when I picked it up from a second-hand bookshop in Pan Bazaar – my most favourite area in any city, i.e. after Police Bazaar in Shillong and M. G. Road in Bangalore. The book belonged to a H. Das/Dass/Dhas of Dibrugarh who had bought the book for Rs. 3.00 (good old cheap days, I bought the same copy almost 40 years after for Rs. 30). There’s also a seal of the Dibrugarh Library, so it came into the library’s possession too some time before coming to the second hand bookshop’s in Guwahati. The amount of history one second-hand book can’ve! Also, this book had been one of those few Out-Of-My-Comfort-Zone books for me. Definitely Out-Of-My-Comfort-Zone.
 |
| How did it travel all the way from Dibrugarh Library to a Guwahati second-hand bookshop? |
The Three Faces of Eve is the real life story of Chris Costner Sizemore, a woman from 50s South Carolina, USA, who was diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder, sometime now known as Dissociative Identity Disorder (hail Wikipedia). Her real identity was kept a secret from the public eye, from the book’s first publication in 1957 till 1975 and since my copy of the book is from ’61 (vintage!), she’s referred to as Eve White here, while the two other inhabitants of her mind and body’re called Eve Black and Jane. Eve White is a timid, hard working woman whose most defining role in her life is that of being a mother to her daughter, Bonnie. Her marriage is on the rocks and she worries for her daughter. After complaining of severe headaches and blackouts, she visits a psychiatrist, before whom Eve Black emerges and for the first time let’s her existence known, even though she claims to be existing alongside Eve White since childhood, without ever coming under anyone’s notice. Eve Black is the very anti-thesis of Eve White, a woman in sharp contrast to the later in her confident, flirtatious and frivolous nature. The psychiatrists believe her to be the manifestations of Eve White’s repressed feelings. Both the personalities’re thought to be imbalanced in their own ways, one overtly serious and maternal with her feelings, with no real love left for her husband and the other too frivolous than necessary, one who flirts with unknown and potentially dangerous men with subtle hints of ‘something more’, only to turn them down at the end. While Eve White has no recollection of what Eve Black does when she comes into dominance, she has to clear the many tight situations her twin leaves her in. Eve Black does not think of Eve White’s husband and daughter as her own and hates the restriction Eve White’s conventional life puts on her. After a few months, up to when Eve White has separated from her husband and is working and living independently, the third personality appears. She is Jane, the most well rounded personality of the three. Unlike the other two, she’s ‘born’ just when she appears before the psychiatrist for the first time. While Eve White can’t read Eve Black’s thoughts and access her memories, in turn Eve Black can’t do the same in Jane’s case, while Jane gets to know what the other two’re thinking. What later follows is how the three very different personalities cope with their very unique situation and ultimately who rises triumphant over the complete control of the mind and the body.
Sometimes, facts’re indeed scarier than
fiction and this true story is one such example. The book reads like a
technical psychological manual at times, but it’s the personal story of the
protagonists which keeps the interest going for the layman. Joanne Woodward won
her first Oscar for portraying the role of the Eves and Jane in the film adaption of the book, the first for an actress playing three roles in one
movie. What was absolutely funny in the book though was how the authors, who
were renowned psychiatrists themselves, sarcastically write off Freud and his
interpretation of Dreams, vis-a-vis the dreams Jane used to’ve. Among the gems
that Freud’s school of thinking gave birth to is the belief that every little
girl of under 5 thinks of herself as a castrated boy who’s forever thinking of sexual intercourse with
her father and how snakes in one’s dreams represent male genitals (that kind
of reduces the creepiness of a few of the creepy nightmares yours truly had to dreams
of pure comedy) and father issues, all of which the book prawns at the end. Not
a light read at all and DON’T READ THIS IF YOU’RE UNDER STRESS AND LOOKING FOR
A BOOK TO LIFT YOUR SPIRITS TO MULTICOLOURED RAINBOWS. It just won’t happen.
Other than that, a good introduction to psycho-talk literature.
4
The move to Guwahati had been good for many things (bad for some), the best being the literary part. The months offered ample time to turn some pages and haunt many bookshops. I think I'd be starting a series of book reviews - Books of Exile - of books read when I was in, pretty much an exile. Also some movie reviews. I don't think I ever contributed so much ticket-money to the great Indian film theatre industry ever before than when I was faced with months of zero access to any TV or my computer. A few reviews from there. The laptop of one of my co-exilites conferred some great movie viewing moments too (merci bien J, you know who you're). And coupled with the many incomplete movie reviews drafts, I may well guess it'd be a reviewing overload. Ciao!
I'm obsessed with this song, Bang Bang by Italian origin, Egyptian born, French singer from the 70s, Dalida since I saw Les Amours Imaginaires a few days back. The sequence is from the same film, and all the slow motion is pretty sexy to my eyes. A review of the film'll be appearing soon.
I'm obsessed with this song, Bang Bang by Italian origin, Egyptian born, French singer from the 70s, Dalida since I saw Les Amours Imaginaires a few days back. The sequence is from the same film, and all the slow motion is pretty sexy to my eyes. A review of the film'll be appearing soon.
0
It's been quite a while since I last posted anything here. We can blame it on my oh-so-(non existent)-busy schedule. But then, since a bit of honest goes a long way (I hope it does), let my ever present procrastination be blamed. Having covered that part, let's move on.
It is a new year, so a happy very very belated new year. It might be 2012, but my mental calendar is still set at 2011. 2011 was a very very important year to me. Moved out of my nest, made new friends, re-discovered old ones in new lights, learnt that sometimes letting go is the only way and that sometimes, letting go is less important and more impossible. The timing of this post is very funny too, I'm ending my almost-year-long stay in Guwahati in literally a couple of days. Guwahati is a nice place to be in and has given me a lot of memories. Some of them'll last a lifetime.
Coming from a smalltown in a remote region of the country, live concerts've not been the most frequent presence in my life. The only one I remember attending before coming to Guwahati was a concert by Jal a few years back, where they sang their version of Vital Signs' cult anthem 'Dil Dil Pakistan', making it 'Dil Dil Pakistan, Jaan Jaan Hindustan' before it caused too much controversy in Pakistan and became too life threatening for them to sing anymore. Many more came, but none that I was interested in awfully. So the second live concert that I ever attended was Anoushka Shankar's at IIT Guwahati's 4 day long fest, Alcheringa. And to say that it was amazing'd be an understatement. I was always interested in World Music, but experiencing it live was another thing altogether! The lady singing with her in Spanish was so amazing, so were the accompanists with their instruments. An amazing night, it'd be remembered as. The evening after the next, a battle of bands happened and the sheer awesomeness of the bands from all over the country playing there was too much to describe that I'd let it pass. A friend almost lost his head head-banging. Another highlight'd be open partaking of...ah, *cough* grassweedtreeleavesseeds *cough* something on the institute campus, but that's for later.
The Quaff Theatre Group
On the evening of the last day, Quaff theatre group staged their awesome play-within-play play, 'The Real Inspector Hound' based on the play by multiple Tony and Oscar winning playwright, Tom Stoppard.
It was there I had my first 'oww-mai-Gawd-that's-a-Bollywood-isstar' moment, unless you think watching Mukesh Khanna blackmail kids to blackmail their parents to vote for Congress'd qualify for that, but then he was just Shaktiman and the coolest velvet wearing superhero ever. Like my previous long sentence may infer, I was very excited by it (poor my small-town self) and I should be, that was one of my most favourite actresses, Kalki Koechlin. The guy who played game addict Zubin Shroff in Shaitan, the ex Channel V VJ, Neil Bhoopalam was in the play too. I'm no high-brow theatre reviewer, unlike 2 of the characters in the play, so let it suffice that it was a riot, in a good short of way. The auditorium was full, which was a suprise considering what someone said, Art is not for the masses and all that. But that could also be accredited to the sultry Kalki Koechlin and her multiple onstage kisses. It was also around this time that I learnt the valuable life lesson of watching where you're seating but we won't be elaborating on that because of some painful memories of the blogger related to that. :|
Orphaned Land at Alcheringa. Hail my mobile phone camera.
Moving on, the closing act of the fest was Israel's top progressive-rock band, Orphaned Land. Steven Wilson is their producer, so obviously they had to be great. Which they were. Just that I found Anoushka Shankar far more entertaining and given a choice, I'd choose to watch her play again instead. But nonetheless, they rocked. I think I was going there with Porcupine Tree in my head and so boo to my unrealistically high expectations. The one track that I loved the most, pardon my not knowing the name, began with a traditional middle eastern stringed instrument. It was exotic and it was metal. Go youtube now!
The other thing that passed recently, well almost recently, was Republic Day. Now, in the calendar of an average patriotic Indian, it figures directly after Indo-Pak cricket matches, 'Lagaan' reruns on the TV and Independence Day in necessarily that order. Which was odd here in Guwahati because THE CITY WAS DEAD. We in the Southern Assam always used to hear about how on every Independence Day and Republic Day, all those myriad insurgent groups having all the abbreviated names in the world ban the said days in Northern Assam, especially Guwahati but to experience it first hand was strange. Partly because Independence/Republic Day have been permanently etched on my head with garish dances numbers on those same 5 or 6 'patriotic' songs (Rang De Basanti, Vande Mataram, Des Rangila et al) and people going about the town shouting out their love for the motherland and generally irritating my eardrums. This time, the roads were empeetee. And not because the people of Assam want secession from the Union of India and all that shit ULFA'd like you to believe. It'd because people fear being blown up by bombs by brother ULFA, even though the last bombing happened years back and ULFA is presently dying the slow death it deserves. The people of Assam, along with most of other Northeastern Indians, would very much like to belong to India only, thank you. I guess the psychological scars'd take years to heal. By night though everything was fine and people were again being their dress-like-a-catalogue-model self that most people here're and going for the late night show of 'Agneepath' (which was awesome in the 70s revenge movie way I must say, with two exclamatory marks!!).
Apart from that, nothing remotely exciting happened. At the time of typing this, the blogger'd just come back from the cheap 50 bucks morning show of 'Ek Main Aur Ek Tu' in the multiplex nearby. Detailed criticism and appreciation may follow later, but let it be a review enough for now that it's not a copy of 'What Happens In Vegas' AT ALL and I'd suggest you to watch this in the cinemas only if 1) You've a cheap Rs. 50/100 show option or 2) You're looking forward to spending some mushy quality time with your boy/girlfriend on the Valentine's Eve. The ending is not of a typical rom-com's, thank God for that, and at times it reminded me of '500 Days Of Summer', though not half as good. Not a bad movie at all. I'm just bummed that 'The Woman In Black' didn't release here. Very bummed. Also the fact that within a few days, there'd be no multiplex in the 300 kms radius around me is also positively daunting. This blogpost is already longer than necessary, so I'd take my bummed and daunting thoughts offline, while leaving you with the happiest-sounding song on my playlist. Hopefully the next post'd be soon. And then, I'd've long since left Guwahati.
The Passenger - Iggy Pop
PS: I know my small town hometown sounds like it's the monastary in Tawang on a mountain with tropical jungles around it, but it's not so bad really.
PS2: <3 you, Silchar, despite your short comings. I guess, that's true luuuuve.
It is a new year, so a happy very very belated new year. It might be 2012, but my mental calendar is still set at 2011. 2011 was a very very important year to me. Moved out of my nest, made new friends, re-discovered old ones in new lights, learnt that sometimes letting go is the only way and that sometimes, letting go is less important and more impossible. The timing of this post is very funny too, I'm ending my almost-year-long stay in Guwahati in literally a couple of days. Guwahati is a nice place to be in and has given me a lot of memories. Some of them'll last a lifetime.
Coming from a smalltown in a remote region of the country, live concerts've not been the most frequent presence in my life. The only one I remember attending before coming to Guwahati was a concert by Jal a few years back, where they sang their version of Vital Signs' cult anthem 'Dil Dil Pakistan', making it 'Dil Dil Pakistan, Jaan Jaan Hindustan' before it caused too much controversy in Pakistan and became too life threatening for them to sing anymore. Many more came, but none that I was interested in awfully. So the second live concert that I ever attended was Anoushka Shankar's at IIT Guwahati's 4 day long fest, Alcheringa. And to say that it was amazing'd be an understatement. I was always interested in World Music, but experiencing it live was another thing altogether! The lady singing with her in Spanish was so amazing, so were the accompanists with their instruments. An amazing night, it'd be remembered as. The evening after the next, a battle of bands happened and the sheer awesomeness of the bands from all over the country playing there was too much to describe that I'd let it pass. A friend almost lost his head head-banging. Another highlight'd be open partaking of...ah, *cough* grassweedtreeleavesseeds *cough* something on the institute campus, but that's for later.
On the evening of the last day, Quaff theatre group staged their awesome play-within-play play, 'The Real Inspector Hound' based on the play by multiple Tony and Oscar winning playwright, Tom Stoppard.
It was there I had my first 'oww-mai-Gawd-that's-a-Bollywood-isstar' moment, unless you think watching Mukesh Khanna blackmail kids to blackmail their parents to vote for Congress'd qualify for that, but then he was just Shaktiman and the coolest velvet wearing superhero ever. Like my previous long sentence may infer, I was very excited by it (poor my small-town self) and I should be, that was one of my most favourite actresses, Kalki Koechlin. The guy who played game addict Zubin Shroff in Shaitan, the ex Channel V VJ, Neil Bhoopalam was in the play too. I'm no high-brow theatre reviewer, unlike 2 of the characters in the play, so let it suffice that it was a riot, in a good short of way. The auditorium was full, which was a suprise considering what someone said, Art is not for the masses and all that. But that could also be accredited to the sultry Kalki Koechlin and her multiple onstage kisses. It was also around this time that I learnt the valuable life lesson of watching where you're seating but we won't be elaborating on that because of some painful memories of the blogger related to that. :|
Moving on, the closing act of the fest was Israel's top progressive-rock band, Orphaned Land. Steven Wilson is their producer, so obviously they had to be great. Which they were. Just that I found Anoushka Shankar far more entertaining and given a choice, I'd choose to watch her play again instead. But nonetheless, they rocked. I think I was going there with Porcupine Tree in my head and so boo to my unrealistically high expectations. The one track that I loved the most, pardon my not knowing the name, began with a traditional middle eastern stringed instrument. It was exotic and it was metal. Go youtube now!
The other thing that passed recently, well almost recently, was Republic Day. Now, in the calendar of an average patriotic Indian, it figures directly after Indo-Pak cricket matches, 'Lagaan' reruns on the TV and Independence Day in necessarily that order. Which was odd here in Guwahati because THE CITY WAS DEAD. We in the Southern Assam always used to hear about how on every Independence Day and Republic Day, all those myriad insurgent groups having all the abbreviated names in the world ban the said days in Northern Assam, especially Guwahati but to experience it first hand was strange. Partly because Independence/Republic Day have been permanently etched on my head with garish dances numbers on those same 5 or 6 'patriotic' songs (Rang De Basanti, Vande Mataram, Des Rangila et al) and people going about the town shouting out their love for the motherland and generally irritating my eardrums. This time, the roads were empeetee. And not because the people of Assam want secession from the Union of India and all that shit ULFA'd like you to believe. It'd because people fear being blown up by bombs by brother ULFA, even though the last bombing happened years back and ULFA is presently dying the slow death it deserves. The people of Assam, along with most of other Northeastern Indians, would very much like to belong to India only, thank you. I guess the psychological scars'd take years to heal. By night though everything was fine and people were again being their dress-like-a-catalogue-model self that most people here're and going for the late night show of 'Agneepath' (which was awesome in the 70s revenge movie way I must say, with two exclamatory marks!!).
Apart from that, nothing remotely exciting happened. At the time of typing this, the blogger'd just come back from the cheap 50 bucks morning show of 'Ek Main Aur Ek Tu' in the multiplex nearby. Detailed criticism and appreciation may follow later, but let it be a review enough for now that it's not a copy of 'What Happens In Vegas' AT ALL and I'd suggest you to watch this in the cinemas only if 1) You've a cheap Rs. 50/100 show option or 2) You're looking forward to spending some mushy quality time with your boy/girlfriend on the Valentine's Eve. The ending is not of a typical rom-com's, thank God for that, and at times it reminded me of '500 Days Of Summer', though not half as good. Not a bad movie at all. I'm just bummed that 'The Woman In Black' didn't release here. Very bummed. Also the fact that within a few days, there'd be no multiplex in the 300 kms radius around me is also positively daunting. This blogpost is already longer than necessary, so I'd take my bummed and daunting thoughts offline, while leaving you with the happiest-sounding song on my playlist. Hopefully the next post'd be soon. And then, I'd've long since left Guwahati.
The Passenger - Iggy Pop
PS: I know my small town hometown sounds like it's the monastary in Tawang on a mountain with tropical jungles around it, but it's not so bad really.
PS2: <3 you, Silchar, despite your short comings. I guess, that's true luuuuve.
8
Its long since anything's been posted here. A good many things happened in between too. For starters, I finally moved out of my nest. To a bigger city, free of the confines synonymous with small town life. To the state capital. And as evil omens go(READ: rains, rains and more rains. Oh, also an influenza epidemic at cousin's house where we lodged up), life almost began on the wrong foot in the Capital. A PG cum dungeon reminding one of Charles Dickens was in store, along with ace characters as fellow cellmates. A nosey cookwoman and the 9 year old irritating mass of bones whom she acknowledged as her son, who also is the youngest pervert known to my existence. A calculating, cunning, evil giant pretending to be human acted as our warden who was never there in the PG anyway. A ghost fearing recent convert to Brahminism who doesn't believe in Evolution and Darwin, chats with Khuda through meditation and studies law at the University. Huh. The 'Rendezvous With Weirdness' stories'll need a separate volume of their own. The saving graces were the friends one got to make there. F, A, M, T, R, B, V. Those're the faces I'd miss.
The Dungeon
The empty left side was my part of the cell
Good news is that the jail was violated mercilessly and yours truely managed to escape, along with two other friends, after much dramebaazi and ado. Now we haunt at a flat with a clean bathroom and ample space and privacy. And good food. And the reason as to why this post seems rushed, well it is rushed. No 24x7 net connectivity like before.
The new flat
View from the terrace
View from the terrace
Life in the big city is good. No Big City Blues for this staunch supporter of (moderate) materialism. The kishmish on the payesh're the fabulous bookshops, which the mothertown miserably failed to provide. And what I loved even more was my eureka moment of discovery of the secondhand bookshops. Secondhand bookshops exist in reality! And not only that, but a whole locality filled with such shops!
*insert smalltowner gawping emoticon*
Okay, I forgot to photograph all the good books in the excitement
The staircase we've to climb to get to our coaching centre
when the lift refuses to work, which is often
My life completed its first 19th years sometime back too. The first birthday away from the parents. Also the night after was the first time the offerings of the barley and the vineyard were partaken with kinsmen (and a woman), with Nirvana as the background score of choice. Even later at the night, I also discovered that my prejudice against smoking didn't hold true under the effect of sufficient daru.
Am I happy? I don't know for sure. What I know? I miss my parents. My bed. My cancerous computer. The friends, rivals and soulmates. All those people I liked having around. Nahaz and its overpriced fried junk goodness. Jhalupara and its irreplacable momos. The legendary addas. I'm not homesick and dying, but the yearn is still strong. Like they say, all good things come to an end. Must come to an end.
And the choco-crusher at KFC
The Dungeon
The empty left side was my part of the cell
Good news is that the jail was violated mercilessly and yours truely managed to escape, along with two other friends, after much dramebaazi and ado. Now we haunt at a flat with a clean bathroom and ample space and privacy. And good food. And the reason as to why this post seems rushed, well it is rushed. No 24x7 net connectivity like before.
The new flat
View from the terrace
View from the terrace
Life in the big city is good. No Big City Blues for this staunch supporter of (moderate) materialism. The kishmish on the payesh're the fabulous bookshops, which the mothertown miserably failed to provide. And what I loved even more was my eureka moment of discovery of the secondhand bookshops. Secondhand bookshops exist in reality! And not only that, but a whole locality filled with such shops!
*insert smalltowner gawping emoticon*
Okay, I forgot to photograph all the good books in the excitement
The staircase we've to climb to get to our coaching centre
when the lift refuses to work, which is often
My life completed its first 19th years sometime back too. The first birthday away from the parents. Also the night after was the first time the offerings of the barley and the vineyard were partaken with kinsmen (and a woman), with Nirvana as the background score of choice. Even later at the night, I also discovered that my prejudice against smoking didn't hold true under the effect of sufficient daru.
Am I happy? I don't know for sure. What I know? I miss my parents. My bed. My cancerous computer. The friends, rivals and soulmates. All those people I liked having around. Nahaz and its overpriced fried junk goodness. Jhalupara and its irreplacable momos. The legendary addas. I'm not homesick and dying, but the yearn is still strong. Like they say, all good things come to an end. Must come to an end.
But some good things remain the same, like my rockstar nephew
And the choco-crusher at KFC
