Sweat
beads dot the bodies of everyone present. The loud sounds of rock, mixed with
the shrill screams of ecstasy from the hyped crowd, overwhelm us. Standing on
the lowest tier, along with my friends, I sing along with the band, with my
hands raised up and my eyes closed. I can feel the music through the ground,
vibrating with every beat. I can sense, with my shut eyes, the foglights
changing their brightness and colour along with the flow of music. Slowly, the
song ends, the vibrations cease, and my eyes open. The stage is dark. My heart
is pounding out of my chest. I look around in the dim light, heaving, my head
hurting from all the headbanging. My co-rockers, all of them doubled over,
catching their breath, are waiting. A few minutes later, the lights brighten up. The band on stage begins playing one of their classic songs. All my mates start jumping, screaming, howling. One even walks around in a daze,shaking his head from side to side, as if possessed by some musical entity. Tripping. I glance at everyone around me. Some of them jump up and down, some bang their heads to the beat, some (in the back) sit quietly, simply enjoying the music and the strange antics of the fans. But everyone has a smile on their face. Everyone is enjoying this night. I grin at my friends, they grin back. I turn back to face the stage. My throat is painfully sore now, my voice audibly broken. But, watching the excitement around me, I soon forget the pain. As the song nears its chorus, I put my hands up, my mouth opens and my face contorts as I produce a loud scream, which joins those of the others to roll out across the whole stage, drowning out music and shrieks alike. Life is good.
Saturday 6 June 2015
Tuesday 26 May 2015
Mom.
Every organism in the world, irrelevant of the species it belongs to, or the realm of environment it inhabits, or even the stage of Darwinian evolution it currently is in, has an underlying instinct to protect its young. Now, the duration of this care varies from creature to creature, but the intensity remains more or less the same. This obligation of an animal to take care of its off-springs is seen most powerfully as the maternal instinct. The mother is naturally very protective of her children. In primitive beings, this maternal protective quality can expand to include severe aggression, when it involves the distress of her children. While my mother is a paragon of this unconditional love and care (as are their moms for every other person on this planet), this aegis feature can be particularly seen, with undying strength, in canines.
Yes. Dogs. Man's best friend has apparently learnt from us the divine gift, that is children, and how to protect and care for them. Or have we learnt from them? Doesn't matter. I say this, because I've recently been observing a small family of stray dogs that live in and around my neighbourhood and the adjacent compounds. One mother dog, taking care of its two pups. You can almost relate it to the impecunious scenario of a single mother, struggling to raise her bickering children in an hardened neighbourhood, where homelessness and poverty are looked down upon rather than helped to overcome. What follows is a imaginative piece on how a day in her life must be like.
******
For her, every night is a light slumber. She never sleeps deeply. She can't afford to. Her pups were too precious to her. She feels them moving by her side, rested and content. They always get up earlier than she does. She grunts a permission for them to go ahead and play. Slowly, she too gets up, her knees unsteady beneath the weight of her emaciated body. The perils of old age. It was still dark, but she knew that daylight would come soon. And with that, the people living within the tall walls, behind the cold metal gates. The cruel ones who hurt her, shunned her, spit on her and scared her. She had learnt from experience never to be in stone's throw of a human. It was a life-lesson she wanted to pass onto her children before long. She could see them playing with each other, rolling on the ground, frolicking without a care in the world. She stood there for a minute, watching sadly, and then strengthened herself for the burdens of the day ahead. She would get through it, but only for her children.
Some days, they would have no food. Some days, they would starve. Some days, the food would be too meagre for all three, so she would let them eat it, because they were what was most important to her. But today, they were in luck. Someone had thrown left-overs onto the side of the road, and this was a feast to them. When they had their fill, they would begin their roams. They usually stuck to familiar territory. By noon, they would begin a drudging reconnaissance of the whole neighbourhood, searching for water or food. Usually they could find water at the bottom of the gutter, just a few lap-ups of it, but they had to make do. Then she would spend most her afternoons resting by the side of the road, while her pups roamed about the compound. They knew never to go too far without her accompanying them.
By evening, she would get up again, rustling her dirty pockmarked fur. The nights got cold, so they would have to find a place warm enough before nightfall. Their usual spot was the neglected car-shed a few yards away, but today the cruel people in the adjacent building threw stones and shooed them away. They would have to find another place now. It was late into the night when they finally bedded down beneath a parked car. It was dangerous, but it was the only way to avoid freezing to death. The kids, still oblivious to the pain their mother lived through everyday, playfully roll about underneath the car. She lays down, and gives a low grunt, summoning them to stop play and settle down. They run to their mother, tongues lolling, and nudges closer to the warmth of her body, each one vying for her attention. She lifts her head to sniff them (an acknowledgement), gives them a lick of her tongue (a goodnight kiss), and the pups gradually stop their restless motion to calm down. She lies back down, her eyes glistening. She knows tomorrow would be another day of difficulties, filled with new obstacles and hurdles. But right now, she forgets all that, as she closes her eyes, and, listening to her babies' slow breaths, gently drifts off to sleep.
Yes. Dogs. Man's best friend has apparently learnt from us the divine gift, that is children, and how to protect and care for them. Or have we learnt from them? Doesn't matter. I say this, because I've recently been observing a small family of stray dogs that live in and around my neighbourhood and the adjacent compounds. One mother dog, taking care of its two pups. You can almost relate it to the impecunious scenario of a single mother, struggling to raise her bickering children in an hardened neighbourhood, where homelessness and poverty are looked down upon rather than helped to overcome. What follows is a imaginative piece on how a day in her life must be like.
******
For her, every night is a light slumber. She never sleeps deeply. She can't afford to. Her pups were too precious to her. She feels them moving by her side, rested and content. They always get up earlier than she does. She grunts a permission for them to go ahead and play. Slowly, she too gets up, her knees unsteady beneath the weight of her emaciated body. The perils of old age. It was still dark, but she knew that daylight would come soon. And with that, the people living within the tall walls, behind the cold metal gates. The cruel ones who hurt her, shunned her, spit on her and scared her. She had learnt from experience never to be in stone's throw of a human. It was a life-lesson she wanted to pass onto her children before long. She could see them playing with each other, rolling on the ground, frolicking without a care in the world. She stood there for a minute, watching sadly, and then strengthened herself for the burdens of the day ahead. She would get through it, but only for her children.
Some days, they would have no food. Some days, they would starve. Some days, the food would be too meagre for all three, so she would let them eat it, because they were what was most important to her. But today, they were in luck. Someone had thrown left-overs onto the side of the road, and this was a feast to them. When they had their fill, they would begin their roams. They usually stuck to familiar territory. By noon, they would begin a drudging reconnaissance of the whole neighbourhood, searching for water or food. Usually they could find water at the bottom of the gutter, just a few lap-ups of it, but they had to make do. Then she would spend most her afternoons resting by the side of the road, while her pups roamed about the compound. They knew never to go too far without her accompanying them.
By evening, she would get up again, rustling her dirty pockmarked fur. The nights got cold, so they would have to find a place warm enough before nightfall. Their usual spot was the neglected car-shed a few yards away, but today the cruel people in the adjacent building threw stones and shooed them away. They would have to find another place now. It was late into the night when they finally bedded down beneath a parked car. It was dangerous, but it was the only way to avoid freezing to death. The kids, still oblivious to the pain their mother lived through everyday, playfully roll about underneath the car. She lays down, and gives a low grunt, summoning them to stop play and settle down. They run to their mother, tongues lolling, and nudges closer to the warmth of her body, each one vying for her attention. She lifts her head to sniff them (an acknowledgement), gives them a lick of her tongue (a goodnight kiss), and the pups gradually stop their restless motion to calm down. She lies back down, her eyes glistening. She knows tomorrow would be another day of difficulties, filled with new obstacles and hurdles. But right now, she forgets all that, as she closes her eyes, and, listening to her babies' slow breaths, gently drifts off to sleep.
Wednesday 20 May 2015
Of Love and Loneliness. [WARNING : EXTREMELY HYPOCRITICAL]
The Internet is a depressing place. And that is to say the least. The secular world most of us belong to believe not in a biblical armageddon, but in a modern apocalypse, brought forth by our own humans deeds. Movies and popular culture are testament to this fact. Most science fiction stories depicts this as a hostile takeover by the sentient beings we create, robots, with advanced artificial intelligence. They all have the same underlying premise. A world so dependent, so addicted, to artificial help that we forget not just ourselves, but our traditions, our culture and our background. But analyse yourselves right now. Take in the world around you. Look around. Is it beautiful anymore? No. It's a horrid place. Desolate. Sad.
Isn't this apocalypse under way already? Sans the hostility, of course. Aren't humans already at the mercy of machines? Has humanity been so consumed by greed and self-imagery, that we have forgot what it means to be really human? Pleasure used to be derived through love, entertainment, and arts. What does pleasure and fun mean today? A few thousand pixels in a luminescent screen? Books were read far and wide then. Fate would have them turn into no more than toilet paper. People have become so self-absorbed, cocooned in insecurity, contorting to the whims of sycophants.
I pity the world around me. I know people who get anxious if they're away from their smartphones for 2 minutes. I know people who mock me for not owning a phone. I know people who ridicule me for reading books. I even know a friend who asked me why I even bothered reading books in the 21st century; the importance of books are soon to be null. I sometimes wonder whether he was wise for saying so, or just extremely stupid. I am looked down upon by a group of philistines. I keep a stoical expression through it all.
To them, I'm a loser. I'm a loser because I don't have a smartphone. Because I don't have accounts in all the up and coming websites dishing out flattery in small packages. Because I don't care about my place in the midst of attention-whores. My friends and I used to have genuinely fun times when we hung out, but lately, I've been noticing the only thing they're interested in are their phones. A typical example of a snack outside with friends would be sitting at a table with all of them rapidly tapping their touchscreen, communicating with "girlfriends" they've never met, and my awkwardly watching this play out.
Does love have the same meaning today? Is it love if its online? Is it possible to feel the same amount of affection towards a person just by staring at their profile picture and exchanging a few lines of dialogue with them? I'm not an expert on romantics, but I say no. "Love". How strange. Its pathetic how 12-year old girls can claim they've found true love with a guy they hardly know. Disgusting.
Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I wrong in believing that humanity is on a path bound to self-destruction? Am I wrong in believing the world is beyond redemption? I contemplate these immoral thoughts as I log myself back into Facebook, smiling at the "friends" I hate, and pitying those I don't, while the blue and white interactive interface gradually eats away at my self-respect, slowly but surely, till I too become a shell of my former self.
Isn't this apocalypse under way already? Sans the hostility, of course. Aren't humans already at the mercy of machines? Has humanity been so consumed by greed and self-imagery, that we have forgot what it means to be really human? Pleasure used to be derived through love, entertainment, and arts. What does pleasure and fun mean today? A few thousand pixels in a luminescent screen? Books were read far and wide then. Fate would have them turn into no more than toilet paper. People have become so self-absorbed, cocooned in insecurity, contorting to the whims of sycophants.
I pity the world around me. I know people who get anxious if they're away from their smartphones for 2 minutes. I know people who mock me for not owning a phone. I know people who ridicule me for reading books. I even know a friend who asked me why I even bothered reading books in the 21st century; the importance of books are soon to be null. I sometimes wonder whether he was wise for saying so, or just extremely stupid. I am looked down upon by a group of philistines. I keep a stoical expression through it all.
To them, I'm a loser. I'm a loser because I don't have a smartphone. Because I don't have accounts in all the up and coming websites dishing out flattery in small packages. Because I don't care about my place in the midst of attention-whores. My friends and I used to have genuinely fun times when we hung out, but lately, I've been noticing the only thing they're interested in are their phones. A typical example of a snack outside with friends would be sitting at a table with all of them rapidly tapping their touchscreen, communicating with "girlfriends" they've never met, and my awkwardly watching this play out.
Does love have the same meaning today? Is it love if its online? Is it possible to feel the same amount of affection towards a person just by staring at their profile picture and exchanging a few lines of dialogue with them? I'm not an expert on romantics, but I say no. "Love". How strange. Its pathetic how 12-year old girls can claim they've found true love with a guy they hardly know. Disgusting.
Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I wrong in believing that humanity is on a path bound to self-destruction? Am I wrong in believing the world is beyond redemption? I contemplate these immoral thoughts as I log myself back into Facebook, smiling at the "friends" I hate, and pitying those I don't, while the blue and white interactive interface gradually eats away at my self-respect, slowly but surely, till I too become a shell of my former self.
Monday 11 May 2015
Aftershocks.
[On the 25th of April, 2015, at 11:52 am, Nepal was struck by a 7.8 moment magnitude earthquake, which destroyed cities and towns, razed historical heritage sites, killed more than 8000 people and injured twice that. This is a tribute to the victims and the wounded.]
**Earlier that day**
It was a great day today. I usually have mediocre to bad days, but today was good. Today was special. She had smiled at me today. And that made all the difference.
I usually sit on the back row of the classroom. I wasn't the typical "backbencher" student who messed around without showing much interest in studies. I was just an introvert. The bell signalling the end of the lunch break had just rung and all the other students were just entering the class again after their respective escapades to the canteen or the playground. As I did everyday, I kept my eyes discreetly focused on the doorway. Through my months of practice, I had become extremely skilled at this task. She came in a few minutes after the bell, sashaying her way to the front row where she sat with her group of giggly annoying friends. I knew she liked me, even if it was in the most minutest of amounts. Most days, she would not even look to where I sat. But some days...some days, she would just steal a glance my way. Today, however, today of all days, when she looked at me, she stared for a moment, and then ever so slowly, her lips curled into a smile, not one of mock, but of something else. Affection, maybe?
It was Math period now. I liked math, I was good at it. I never had much of a problem dealing with numbers. Our math teacher came in shortly and announced a surprise test. A long moan left the lips of the students but they had no other choice. The papers were distributed and the answering time had begun. The questions were not too difficult. There were some tricky ones, but nothing I couldn't solve. As a result, I could finish the paper quickly. Feeling pretty satisfied with myself, I handed it in, and sat back down on my seat, content with my answers. I capped my pen and put it back on my desk. That was when I felt it.
It was just a tremor at first. A slight vibration, not much different from what you would feel if you moved your chair back forcefully. Most of the students did not notice it, and those that did dismissed it as some inexplicable oddity. Even I would've missed it, had I not seen my pen move slightly from its former position. But then I noticed something else. A low rumbling from far away, not moments after the tremor. A deep vibration within the ground, bringing with it a sense of foreboding, of doom. Then it hit. The big one. It was sudden, like a car crash. The tables rattled and fell sideways. Pens flew around the room. The lamps on the ceiling shook violently. The students were screaming and rushing out the door. It was absolute chaos.
I looked around to see if I could spot her, but all the commotion made it practically impossible. I joined the flow of students and teachers running down the steps. My mind was still preoccupied with finding her, so much so that I found myself drifting to the back of the crowd. By the time we got to the lowest level, most of the throng had already exited. A few others and I had just run out of the main doorway, when we felt the next quake, almost as powerful as the previous. The old building could not take the force. We heard a loud crack, and then the building caved in on itself.
We watched as our school collapsed, along with its side-buildings. We stood there, in overwhelming shock and disbelief, not one soul speaking. Slowly, emotions spilled. Wails of despair were heard all around. Not everyone had got out. Desperately, I searched the group of survivors for her face. I found her standing to the back, crying for one of her friends. I made my way to her. I wanted to hold her, comfort her. I could see that tears had stained her beautiful face, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. Without saying a word, she fell into my arms, her warm tears wetting my shirt. We were both scared. Terrified. As we stood there, in the middle of the wreckage, realization set in. So many had died here. How many more back in the city? How many of our families? How many of our friends? How many more? How many more?
I close my eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Silent tears roll out, despite my best efforts. I know when I open my eyes, reality would hit me like a brick wall. I would have to venture out into the broken world, search for survivors, family, friends. But right now, I weep. I weep for my brothers. I weep for my sisters. I weep for Nepal and Nepal weeps for us.
My entire world has turned grey. Dust swirls all around as I stand in the midst of destruction. Faces of agony and despair surround me. Faces of pain and sadness. Of grief and disbelief. It seems only moments ago, when our whole lives came crashing down on us. The earthquake took everything from us. If not our own lives, then our families'. Our friends'. Everyone had been affected. The world was not the same for us anymore. Never more.
**Earlier that day**
It was a great day today. I usually have mediocre to bad days, but today was good. Today was special. She had smiled at me today. And that made all the difference.
I usually sit on the back row of the classroom. I wasn't the typical "backbencher" student who messed around without showing much interest in studies. I was just an introvert. The bell signalling the end of the lunch break had just rung and all the other students were just entering the class again after their respective escapades to the canteen or the playground. As I did everyday, I kept my eyes discreetly focused on the doorway. Through my months of practice, I had become extremely skilled at this task. She came in a few minutes after the bell, sashaying her way to the front row where she sat with her group of giggly annoying friends. I knew she liked me, even if it was in the most minutest of amounts. Most days, she would not even look to where I sat. But some days...some days, she would just steal a glance my way. Today, however, today of all days, when she looked at me, she stared for a moment, and then ever so slowly, her lips curled into a smile, not one of mock, but of something else. Affection, maybe?
It was Math period now. I liked math, I was good at it. I never had much of a problem dealing with numbers. Our math teacher came in shortly and announced a surprise test. A long moan left the lips of the students but they had no other choice. The papers were distributed and the answering time had begun. The questions were not too difficult. There were some tricky ones, but nothing I couldn't solve. As a result, I could finish the paper quickly. Feeling pretty satisfied with myself, I handed it in, and sat back down on my seat, content with my answers. I capped my pen and put it back on my desk. That was when I felt it.
It was just a tremor at first. A slight vibration, not much different from what you would feel if you moved your chair back forcefully. Most of the students did not notice it, and those that did dismissed it as some inexplicable oddity. Even I would've missed it, had I not seen my pen move slightly from its former position. But then I noticed something else. A low rumbling from far away, not moments after the tremor. A deep vibration within the ground, bringing with it a sense of foreboding, of doom. Then it hit. The big one. It was sudden, like a car crash. The tables rattled and fell sideways. Pens flew around the room. The lamps on the ceiling shook violently. The students were screaming and rushing out the door. It was absolute chaos.
I looked around to see if I could spot her, but all the commotion made it practically impossible. I joined the flow of students and teachers running down the steps. My mind was still preoccupied with finding her, so much so that I found myself drifting to the back of the crowd. By the time we got to the lowest level, most of the throng had already exited. A few others and I had just run out of the main doorway, when we felt the next quake, almost as powerful as the previous. The old building could not take the force. We heard a loud crack, and then the building caved in on itself.
We watched as our school collapsed, along with its side-buildings. We stood there, in overwhelming shock and disbelief, not one soul speaking. Slowly, emotions spilled. Wails of despair were heard all around. Not everyone had got out. Desperately, I searched the group of survivors for her face. I found her standing to the back, crying for one of her friends. I made my way to her. I wanted to hold her, comfort her. I could see that tears had stained her beautiful face, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. Without saying a word, she fell into my arms, her warm tears wetting my shirt. We were both scared. Terrified. As we stood there, in the middle of the wreckage, realization set in. So many had died here. How many more back in the city? How many of our families? How many of our friends? How many more? How many more?
I close my eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Silent tears roll out, despite my best efforts. I know when I open my eyes, reality would hit me like a brick wall. I would have to venture out into the broken world, search for survivors, family, friends. But right now, I weep. I weep for my brothers. I weep for my sisters. I weep for Nepal and Nepal weeps for us.
Analysis Of A Morning Jog.
5:30 am - *half-asleep* What, mom? Jog? Oh yeah, yeah, will do.
6:15 am - HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, why didn't you wake me?!
6:30 am - Alright....joggin' like a boss. Let's do this. 5 rounds around the Museum grounds!
6:35 am - Jesus Christ, no way I can do this. I'll just walk.
6:40 am - Why these niggas staring at me? Yeah, I can walk faster than you. Screw you.
7:00 am - Wow, 3 rounds of speed walking. I'm so damn fit. Maybe I'll jog now
7:01 am - Nope, nope, no way. Maybe I'll just walk. Walking's healthier anyway.
7:10 am - Now for some push-ups and shit. Huh, those guys doing 30? Yeah, well, I can do 40.
7:11 am - One....Two....Three....Woo, that's enough, shouldn't overwork the body. Nope.
7:15 am - God, what a healthy morning. I should do this everyday.
7:30 am - How was the jog? Oh cool, I did like 5 rounds. Yeah, I know, so awesome.
7 :32 am - *cries in corner 'cause I hate myself*
fin.
6:15 am - HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, why didn't you wake me?!
6:30 am - Alright....joggin' like a boss. Let's do this. 5 rounds around the Museum grounds!
6:35 am - Jesus Christ, no way I can do this. I'll just walk.
6:40 am - Why these niggas staring at me? Yeah, I can walk faster than you. Screw you.
7:00 am - Wow, 3 rounds of speed walking. I'm so damn fit. Maybe I'll jog now
7:01 am - Nope, nope, no way. Maybe I'll just walk. Walking's healthier anyway.
7:10 am - Now for some push-ups and shit. Huh, those guys doing 30? Yeah, well, I can do 40.
7:11 am - One....Two....Three....Woo, that's enough, shouldn't overwork the body. Nope.
7:15 am - God, what a healthy morning. I should do this everyday.
7:30 am - How was the jog? Oh cool, I did like 5 rounds. Yeah, I know, so awesome.
7 :32 am - *cries in corner 'cause I hate myself*
fin.
Thursday 7 May 2015
I Hate Most People.
Let's clear up the issue of the title. 'Hate' is a strong word, and it may not be used in its general sense here. 'Strongly dislike' might be a more apt term, but using 'hate' makes for a better title. Excuse my sense of neatness. 'People' is also used peculiarly. I like a few of my friends, my close family and certain members of my extended family. But for everyone else, my default setting towards them would be "Ew". It doesn't matter which race, religion, caste, sex, or anything else discriminatory. Everyone I see are potential asses, unless its a girl who's extremely gorgeous (I'm a dude, cut me some slack here).
I don't know why I do this, maybe its a primitive animal instinct to be careful of anyone and everyone which has somehow been passed down to me over the generations. Personally, I find that theory a tad too improbable. A more believable theory would be that I'm just a dick to people. Yeah, I'd smile, laugh and play with you, but inside I might be thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep.
YEAH.
Its just one of my idiosyncrasies. Please don't judge me.
But just to be safe, next time you see me, come talk to me. If I like you, you'll know.
[Writer's block today. This is just something I've been thinking about. Think of this one of those annoying filler episodes between awesome ones. Bear with me, here. Thank you for reading.]
I don't know why I do this, maybe its a primitive animal instinct to be careful of anyone and everyone which has somehow been passed down to me over the generations. Personally, I find that theory a tad too improbable. A more believable theory would be that I'm just a dick to people. Yeah, I'd smile, laugh and play with you, but inside I might be thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep.
YEAH.
Its just one of my idiosyncrasies. Please don't judge me.
But just to be safe, next time you see me, come talk to me. If I like you, you'll know.
[Writer's block today. This is just something I've been thinking about. Think of this one of those annoying filler episodes between awesome ones. Bear with me, here. Thank you for reading.]
Sunday 3 May 2015
Thoughts on Joketo.
As a comic-book lover and self proclaimed geek, I was, and still am, a bit skeptical about Jared Leto's casting as the Joker, in the upcoming Suicide Squad movie. The Joker has always been my favourite comic book character (Batman comes second), both in DC and the entire comic world. He's one of the greatest villains ever and Batman's personal archenemy. Add to that, the mind-blowing portrayal of the Clown Prince of Crime by Heath Ledger in Nolan's The Dark Knight, and you'll have a horde of geeks worshiping The Joker, unconditionally. So, is it really surprising that the most psychopathic villain in the (comic book) world, should be a figure of controversy? Get it? No? Okay, sorry.
Speaking retrospectively, the casting of The Joker has always been a very hotly discussed topic. Jack Nicholson was hated on when he went under the clown make-up. People cited he was too old to play the Joker and that a 52 year old man could never pull off the crazed up antics of the infamous lunatic. But he was praised for his performance in the 1989 Batman and was the best Joker, until he was dethroned by Heath Ledger. Ledger himself was subjected to abject hate, however, his portrayal shut all the haters up. Therefore, I think its only natural that people have doubts about any actor portraying their favourite characters.
There's only two ways this can go. Either Jared Leto's gonna kill it, or he's gonna suck. The Joker is already such a revered character in comic book history that the reactions to him in the Suicide Squad movie will be highly polarized. They'll either love it or they'll hate it. There is no in-between.
Let's inspect the Joker image now, shall we? Soak it all in.
Speaking retrospectively, the casting of The Joker has always been a very hotly discussed topic. Jack Nicholson was hated on when he went under the clown make-up. People cited he was too old to play the Joker and that a 52 year old man could never pull off the crazed up antics of the infamous lunatic. But he was praised for his performance in the 1989 Batman and was the best Joker, until he was dethroned by Heath Ledger. Ledger himself was subjected to abject hate, however, his portrayal shut all the haters up. Therefore, I think its only natural that people have doubts about any actor portraying their favourite characters.
There's only two ways this can go. Either Jared Leto's gonna kill it, or he's gonna suck. The Joker is already such a revered character in comic book history that the reactions to him in the Suicide Squad movie will be highly polarized. They'll either love it or they'll hate it. There is no in-between.
Let's inspect the Joker image now, shall we? Soak it all in.
Honestly speaking, this is way different than how I imagined the Joketo to look like. I was still comparing him with the Ledger Joker when this came out. But, this is effing epic. I know a lotta people hate this, the main reason being the tattoos and the grill. People absolutely enraged and infuriated at the thought of The Joker sitting down to get inked.
["Yeah, could you tattoo a skull with a clown's hat here, and a 'hahahaha' here and a big red lipped grin over here? Oh, and I want 'Damaged' on my forehead too. You down with that?"] LOOOOOL.
The tattoos are mostly symbolic and might not even be in the movie. But frankly, I wouldn't mind if if they were, because it gives a different aspect to this Joker. Every Joker has been a reinvention, with the Jack Nicholson being an over the top insane lunatic, Heath Ledger an anarchic psychopath and Jared Leto what appears to be a mentally disturbed neo-nazi. Stop comparing each Joker to its predecessors. Originality is fascination while banality is boredom.
But I'll play along just to humor the obstinate asses out there. The tattoos might be something he's obsessed with. An obsession would not be something new to a psychopath, would it? OR maybe, he got them when he was still struggling with bipolarity, when the line between sanity and lunacy was just fading OR maybe, the whole thing is a big tease. As for the grills, maybe, the Batman smashed out his front teeth, and those are actual metal teeth, OR the Joker might just be image conscious now. (Yes, the last one was a joke).
A different take on the Joker might not be that bad, really. An open mind is essential to viewing Joketo without bias. The most important thing is to keep calm and wait till we watch Leto in action. Let's not make the same mistake we made with Ledger, shall we? Peace.
fin.
Friday 1 May 2015
Cogito Ergo Sum.
Getting back to the topic we were discussing before I was struck by the sudden urge to write a story (which resulted in a full blown geek-out) on my favourite comic book character, we were talking about human identity.
Do we exist? Are we real? Do we have an actual identity with which to define ourselves?
These questions are rather quaintly ignored by common plebeians, leaving much to be thought of by philosophers and thinkers alike. It is due to this tragic scenario that I have decided to take it up on myself to educate people like yourself (yes, you, reader) on these mildly interesting topics that I've taken the liberty of writing on, because frankly, I was bored.
Coming back, we live our lives on a daily basis with the underlying assumption that we EXIST. We live and breathe with a predetermined mindset that we are here for a purpose.
What if that was all wrong? What if our world was a figment of someone's (or something's) imagination? Matrix shit right there. I know.
This is exactly the gist of an idea put forward by another famous philosopher, Rene Descartes.
In a thesis he once published, he said "Cogito ergo sum" or "I think, there I am."
This means that we merely perceive the illusion of existence, because of a highly deceptive device we all have, called 'free will'. Now, the free will theory states that any individual, just because he has the ability to supposedly choose what he wants, exists because of his quality to differentiate between good and bad choices. To put this more in perspective, you might've clicked this link because you felt so. Or did you? Did you really make your own decision in that situation or did any other element have a part to play? The hand of God, perhaps?
This idea also plays an important role in the foundation of other contemporary philosophical principles. The knowledge I possess right now can only be admissible if I exist. And right now, I think I do. I think, and therefore I am.
(Or I might be in one of those stasis cells from the Matrix, surrounded by amniotic fluids and basic goo, while the machines are harvesting each of us to provide energy for themselves. Just a thought.)
Note to reader : This whole passage was written at 4 in the morning, when I was extremely sleepy, and tired as eff. The only thing that made me write it was the obligation to provide a follow up to my previous post on ontology and also because I was lacking in ideas. So please, if you find any theoretical errors on the subject, please comment below. Thanks for reading this boring post. Yo.
Do we exist? Are we real? Do we have an actual identity with which to define ourselves?
These questions are rather quaintly ignored by common plebeians, leaving much to be thought of by philosophers and thinkers alike. It is due to this tragic scenario that I have decided to take it up on myself to educate people like yourself (yes, you, reader) on these mildly interesting topics that I've taken the liberty of writing on, because frankly, I was bored.
Coming back, we live our lives on a daily basis with the underlying assumption that we EXIST. We live and breathe with a predetermined mindset that we are here for a purpose.
What if that was all wrong? What if our world was a figment of someone's (or something's) imagination? Matrix shit right there. I know.
This is exactly the gist of an idea put forward by another famous philosopher, Rene Descartes.
In a thesis he once published, he said "Cogito ergo sum" or "I think, there I am."
This means that we merely perceive the illusion of existence, because of a highly deceptive device we all have, called 'free will'. Now, the free will theory states that any individual, just because he has the ability to supposedly choose what he wants, exists because of his quality to differentiate between good and bad choices. To put this more in perspective, you might've clicked this link because you felt so. Or did you? Did you really make your own decision in that situation or did any other element have a part to play? The hand of God, perhaps?
This idea also plays an important role in the foundation of other contemporary philosophical principles. The knowledge I possess right now can only be admissible if I exist. And right now, I think I do. I think, and therefore I am.
(Or I might be in one of those stasis cells from the Matrix, surrounded by amniotic fluids and basic goo, while the machines are harvesting each of us to provide energy for themselves. Just a thought.)
Note to reader : This whole passage was written at 4 in the morning, when I was extremely sleepy, and tired as eff. The only thing that made me write it was the obligation to provide a follow up to my previous post on ontology and also because I was lacking in ideas. So please, if you find any theoretical errors on the subject, please comment below. Thanks for reading this boring post. Yo.
Monday 27 April 2015
Damaged.
A drop of sweat rolls down from his forehead down to his cheek. His face is already moist, mostly from the tears. Thomas tries screaming again but the duct-tape and the gag within muffles the sound to an inaudible shriek. His limbs are tied to the cold metal chair, allowing no movement. The large hall is empty except for a couple of chairs to the side and a wooden table behind him. He does not see the steel instruments kept on the table, but knows it to be vicious. The single light bulb hangs above his where he sits, shedding grave light across the room, fading as it reaches the ends, where the darkness engulfs it once more. Distant laughter echoes through the walls, and his eyes widen. He knows who's coming. The maniac. The psycho. The clown.
The door at the end of the room opens slowly and the room fills up with a bright light from beyond the doorway. A tall lean silhouette of a man steps through. Thomas can't make out the features, but he feels the figure's eyes bore into his soul. The man shuts the door with a bang, the room returning to its former gloom. The man walks towards Thomas now, filling him with an increasing sense of dread. Slowly he walks into the light, visible in Thomas' eyes. The feeling of dread within him reaches its peak as he beholds the Clown Prince Of Crime in all his glory.
He wears nothing but a purple canvas trousers. His skin is bleached pale white and his hair a bright green. He grins with to reveal the horrible metal teeth he had fit in. His chest is a cesspool of tattoos depicting the sick depravity of his mind. A disgustingly wicked smile is tattooed on his lower right arm. A death's head with a clown's cap on his upper right chest. The words of the horrible laughter, that is his anthem, is imprinted on his left chest. Numerous other psychopathic words and depictions can be seen all over his back. On his forehead is tattooed the one word all the shrinks had described him with. DAMAGED. All those shrinks were now mysteriously missing. He stopped visiting them a very long time ago. An eternity has passed since then. They couldn't help him. Nobody could help him. Not anymore. He helped himself nowadays. Helped himself to whatever he saw fit. Everything was his for the taking and the whole world was his stage. But the time for that came later. Right now he had more important matters at hand.
Thomas starts whimpering with fear as he beholds the face of his captor. The Joker bends down to look into Thomas' eyes. His stare burns down on him like hot coals. The Joker's face is inches away from his when he bursts into maniacal laughter. The sound reverberates around the room, echoing off the walls. The intensity of laughter increases into horrid cackles and finally into a loud raspy shriek, during which the expression on the Joker's face changes to one of rage. His hand curls up into a fist and smashes into Thomas' face, cracking his cheekbones. Thomas screams out in pain, but his cries and drowned out by the fading laughter of the clown. The Joker pulls up a chair from the side and sit down right in front of the terrified Thomas, in a sangfroid manner. A grin is still on his face as he watches Thomas, intensely.
"Why, Thomas, why? I liked you, I really did. You were a good kid.....Its a damn shame." He says, with a mock tone of sadness in his voice. "Tell me, how long were you working for the Gotham P.D.?"
Thomas stares into the Joker's eyes, not daring to move a muscle.
"ANSWER ME! HOW LONG?!"
Thomas mutters something unable to be made out.
"Oh, for God's sake!" He cries in exasperation.The Joker rips the tape off and removes the gag without grace.
"I swear, Mr J, I swear to God, they forced me to do it, please, please, please, you have to believe me, please...." Thomas stammers.
"Hush now, child. This is not the time to ask for forgiveness." The clown deepens his voice and speaks out in a mock pastor's voice. He gets up from the chair and walks to the table behind Thomas. He picks up something shiny, glinting off the light from the lamp. And then with a voice to be feared of, he says "This is the time for punishment."
With the scalpel in hand, he walks around to face Thomas again. "You know, I'm not a crazy person. No, sir, I am not. I might be a lunatic, but not crazy. Never crazy."
"Oh, god, please, no no no"
"Sanity is not the purist regime everyone makes it out to be. It's chaos. It's disorder. It is anarchy. But you people hide it. Deep down within yourselves. Controlling everything in the world is not order. Its criminal. Look at me. Why am I so happy?" He brings the scalpel to Thomas' forehead.
"Please, Mr J, please...please..."
"I am happy because I embrace the chaos. I am alive because disorder is what I preach. Why should we stop what is to be? So, imagine how I feel when control freaks like you mess with me. It hurts me. It really hurts me, Thomas. And I don't like being hurt. Therefore, in return, allow me to make you feel the pain." And with that, the Joker brought the scalpel down on Thomas' face, mutilating it, disfiguring it. His screams ring through the night, all the while. By the time the Joker was done, his face was such a mess of blood and tears, that his own mother would have hardly recognized him.
"I hope you've learnt your lesson, Thomas." And with one swift move, he plunges the knife into Thomas' heart. Blood spurts onto the Joker's chest and face, but he does not blink, not even once.
He twists the scalpel, painfully ending Thomas' life, and with a long horrible blood-curdling shriek, the light goes out from his eyes.
The Joker paces back a few feet and stops to admire his work.
"What a horrible mess. I love it." He grins a grin of malice and mirth and turns his back on the corpse, just as one of his goons enter from the door.
"What is it?" The Joker asks dismissively.
"I'm sorry, boss, but we got news from the eastern bank. Somebody messed with our boys. The shipment was destroyed."
It was all he could do not to choke the life out of him. The Joker takes in a long shaky breath, and as calm and composed as he could be, asks "Who. Were. They?"
"Uhh, our guys are saying it was one guy."
"One man?"
"Yeah, some nut dressed as a giant bat, apparently."
The Joker lifts up his head. He's heard of this guy before, but never working so close. He senses a nemesis here. The perfect enemy. The good to his evil. The Batman.
A smirk appears on his face.
The door at the end of the room opens slowly and the room fills up with a bright light from beyond the doorway. A tall lean silhouette of a man steps through. Thomas can't make out the features, but he feels the figure's eyes bore into his soul. The man shuts the door with a bang, the room returning to its former gloom. The man walks towards Thomas now, filling him with an increasing sense of dread. Slowly he walks into the light, visible in Thomas' eyes. The feeling of dread within him reaches its peak as he beholds the Clown Prince Of Crime in all his glory.
He wears nothing but a purple canvas trousers. His skin is bleached pale white and his hair a bright green. He grins with to reveal the horrible metal teeth he had fit in. His chest is a cesspool of tattoos depicting the sick depravity of his mind. A disgustingly wicked smile is tattooed on his lower right arm. A death's head with a clown's cap on his upper right chest. The words of the horrible laughter, that is his anthem, is imprinted on his left chest. Numerous other psychopathic words and depictions can be seen all over his back. On his forehead is tattooed the one word all the shrinks had described him with. DAMAGED. All those shrinks were now mysteriously missing. He stopped visiting them a very long time ago. An eternity has passed since then. They couldn't help him. Nobody could help him. Not anymore. He helped himself nowadays. Helped himself to whatever he saw fit. Everything was his for the taking and the whole world was his stage. But the time for that came later. Right now he had more important matters at hand.
Thomas starts whimpering with fear as he beholds the face of his captor. The Joker bends down to look into Thomas' eyes. His stare burns down on him like hot coals. The Joker's face is inches away from his when he bursts into maniacal laughter. The sound reverberates around the room, echoing off the walls. The intensity of laughter increases into horrid cackles and finally into a loud raspy shriek, during which the expression on the Joker's face changes to one of rage. His hand curls up into a fist and smashes into Thomas' face, cracking his cheekbones. Thomas screams out in pain, but his cries and drowned out by the fading laughter of the clown. The Joker pulls up a chair from the side and sit down right in front of the terrified Thomas, in a sangfroid manner. A grin is still on his face as he watches Thomas, intensely.
"Why, Thomas, why? I liked you, I really did. You were a good kid.....Its a damn shame." He says, with a mock tone of sadness in his voice. "Tell me, how long were you working for the Gotham P.D.?"
Thomas stares into the Joker's eyes, not daring to move a muscle.
"ANSWER ME! HOW LONG?!"
Thomas mutters something unable to be made out.
"Oh, for God's sake!" He cries in exasperation.The Joker rips the tape off and removes the gag without grace.
"I swear, Mr J, I swear to God, they forced me to do it, please, please, please, you have to believe me, please...." Thomas stammers.
"Hush now, child. This is not the time to ask for forgiveness." The clown deepens his voice and speaks out in a mock pastor's voice. He gets up from the chair and walks to the table behind Thomas. He picks up something shiny, glinting off the light from the lamp. And then with a voice to be feared of, he says "This is the time for punishment."
With the scalpel in hand, he walks around to face Thomas again. "You know, I'm not a crazy person. No, sir, I am not. I might be a lunatic, but not crazy. Never crazy."
"Oh, god, please, no no no"
"Sanity is not the purist regime everyone makes it out to be. It's chaos. It's disorder. It is anarchy. But you people hide it. Deep down within yourselves. Controlling everything in the world is not order. Its criminal. Look at me. Why am I so happy?" He brings the scalpel to Thomas' forehead.
"Please, Mr J, please...please..."
"I am happy because I embrace the chaos. I am alive because disorder is what I preach. Why should we stop what is to be? So, imagine how I feel when control freaks like you mess with me. It hurts me. It really hurts me, Thomas. And I don't like being hurt. Therefore, in return, allow me to make you feel the pain." And with that, the Joker brought the scalpel down on Thomas' face, mutilating it, disfiguring it. His screams ring through the night, all the while. By the time the Joker was done, his face was such a mess of blood and tears, that his own mother would have hardly recognized him.
"I hope you've learnt your lesson, Thomas." And with one swift move, he plunges the knife into Thomas' heart. Blood spurts onto the Joker's chest and face, but he does not blink, not even once.
He twists the scalpel, painfully ending Thomas' life, and with a long horrible blood-curdling shriek, the light goes out from his eyes.
The Joker paces back a few feet and stops to admire his work.
"What a horrible mess. I love it." He grins a grin of malice and mirth and turns his back on the corpse, just as one of his goons enter from the door.
"What is it?" The Joker asks dismissively.
"I'm sorry, boss, but we got news from the eastern bank. Somebody messed with our boys. The shipment was destroyed."
It was all he could do not to choke the life out of him. The Joker takes in a long shaky breath, and as calm and composed as he could be, asks "Who. Were. They?"
"Uhh, our guys are saying it was one guy."
"One man?"
"Yeah, some nut dressed as a giant bat, apparently."
The Joker lifts up his head. He's heard of this guy before, but never working so close. He senses a nemesis here. The perfect enemy. The good to his evil. The Batman.
A smirk appears on his face.
Thursday 23 April 2015
Hell Is Other People.
Whilst recently reading up on a few subjects of philosophy, I stumbled upon a popular author, playwright, and philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, whose intellectually captivating works mostly focused on the topics of existentialism and ontology. One of his most famous plays, No Exit, deals with the concept of death, the supposed afterlife, and the being of one's own nature and personality.
The title 'No Exit' aptly describes the state of the three characters in the single-act play, who are sitting in a room with absolutely no way out. Perhaps the most famous line of dialogue uttered among them would be "L'enfer, c'est le autres" which literally translates in English to "Hell is other people". At first glance, this sentence would seem to be nonsensical, ridiculous, and even incorrect as a sentence. But when read in context, by a person with a firm grasp in French, this simple sentence transforms into one of the most important philosophical ideas ever put forth. You see, the actual phrase in French, taking away the literal meaning of the words and replacing it contextually, gives it a whole new meaning - "Hell is the other" or "Hell is the other's". This, although, not much different. gives Sartre's words the proper weight it deserves. In an actual interview in 1965, Jean-Paul Sartre explicitly stated that the exact meaning of his words has been twisted into something completely different from what he originally meant. He goes on to say that it has been commonly misunderstood that his sentence meant hell was the insidious relations an individual has with other people, as if to say the purest relation a person can have would still contain traces of adulteration. However, according to Sartre, what he actually meant was that if a person has a wrongful vision of himself due to the relations he has with certain others, then hell, with respect to the individual can only be the others. What we know about ourselves, what we think about ourselves, essentially what we are, are the products of "the Other". So, if what people think of us, our mindsets composed and published by others, are purgatory for us, then aren't the people who do so hellish? If we weigh ourselves without bias, do we not do so based on others' view of ourselves? If we judge ourselves impartially, do we not judge ourselves on the testament of others? This does not mean we cannot refrain from relating to other people. We meet new people, almost everyday, and in doing so, put ourselves at the risk of being poisoned by their views and their judgements and their opinion. Gradually, but surely, the poison accumulates, past a point of sufferance, until death comes as a welcome respite. Ergo, the usage of the word 'Hell'. (Hell, here, means the feeling of depression and lack of self-identity following the failure to meet up with societal expectations.)
Fundamentally, this simple four-word sentence, followed by its rather elaborate and rambunctious explanation, is a campaign to keep one's own opinions to himself, rather than blurting it, possibly damning another person to 'hell'. Now, given the rather exuberant rant on how we are what other people think of us, this leaves us with a very important question.
Do we have our own identity? Of course we do. We think, therefore we are.
But more on that, later.
Varun.
The title 'No Exit' aptly describes the state of the three characters in the single-act play, who are sitting in a room with absolutely no way out. Perhaps the most famous line of dialogue uttered among them would be "L'enfer, c'est le autres" which literally translates in English to "Hell is other people". At first glance, this sentence would seem to be nonsensical, ridiculous, and even incorrect as a sentence. But when read in context, by a person with a firm grasp in French, this simple sentence transforms into one of the most important philosophical ideas ever put forth. You see, the actual phrase in French, taking away the literal meaning of the words and replacing it contextually, gives it a whole new meaning - "Hell is the other" or "Hell is the other's". This, although, not much different. gives Sartre's words the proper weight it deserves. In an actual interview in 1965, Jean-Paul Sartre explicitly stated that the exact meaning of his words has been twisted into something completely different from what he originally meant. He goes on to say that it has been commonly misunderstood that his sentence meant hell was the insidious relations an individual has with other people, as if to say the purest relation a person can have would still contain traces of adulteration. However, according to Sartre, what he actually meant was that if a person has a wrongful vision of himself due to the relations he has with certain others, then hell, with respect to the individual can only be the others. What we know about ourselves, what we think about ourselves, essentially what we are, are the products of "the Other". So, if what people think of us, our mindsets composed and published by others, are purgatory for us, then aren't the people who do so hellish? If we weigh ourselves without bias, do we not do so based on others' view of ourselves? If we judge ourselves impartially, do we not judge ourselves on the testament of others? This does not mean we cannot refrain from relating to other people. We meet new people, almost everyday, and in doing so, put ourselves at the risk of being poisoned by their views and their judgements and their opinion. Gradually, but surely, the poison accumulates, past a point of sufferance, until death comes as a welcome respite. Ergo, the usage of the word 'Hell'. (Hell, here, means the feeling of depression and lack of self-identity following the failure to meet up with societal expectations.)
Fundamentally, this simple four-word sentence, followed by its rather elaborate and rambunctious explanation, is a campaign to keep one's own opinions to himself, rather than blurting it, possibly damning another person to 'hell'. Now, given the rather exuberant rant on how we are what other people think of us, this leaves us with a very important question.
Do we have our own identity? Of course we do. We think, therefore we are.
But more on that, later.
Varun.
Saturday 4 April 2015
Furious 7.
A few days back, my friends and I went to see the seventh installment of the Fast and Furious series, unsurprisingly titled Furious 7 or Furious Seven, directed by James Wan, starring the usual folks Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez, Tyrese Gibson, Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, Jordana Brewster, along with newcomers Jason Statham, Tony Jaa, and Kurt Russel.
The movie delivers on the whole action package, the one we all subscribed for since the first installment of the series, but then again it always does. Explosions, bullets, stunts and sexual innuendos are indiscriminately thrown in without much reasoning. A small seasoning of humor wraps a neat little bow around the film to be served out to the audience. A well-shot, well-lit, well-acted film with ridiculous action sequences consisting of a car jumping between three buildings, and Vin Diesel surviving multiple falls in various backgrounds. While some people of the audience may love such movies, I personally am not a big fan of action films. However, this movie does recieve a seven out of ten, on my scale, considering the emotional depth and the heart-wrenching ending it serves out.
**SPOILERS**
The movie begins with the new baddie Decker Shaw, brother of previous baddie Owen Shaw, now comatose, promising to avenge his kid brother. Letty and Dom are seen back at Race Wars, and Brian is trying his very best to be a good father.
(The scenes with Paul Walker are physically discomforting to watch, given his death in a car crash in 2013. While Paul charms the audience with his blue eyes and disarming smile, as always, the fact that he's dead, drops a dark veil over the eyes of the viewer.)
The Toretto family house is blown up, the team gathers, and the movie picks up pace. Kurt Russel comes in a few minutes later to provide for the cliche character of the government guy requiring help from the protagonists in return for his own favors. Exotic location. Hot babes. Awesome car getting trashed for no real reason. Finally the deux ex machina arrives in the streets of LA, with The Rock pumping lead into a terrorist helicopter, Diesel going mano-a-mano with Jason Statham, and the rest of the team driving round town with a drone on their ass. Sounds dumb? Kinda is. Until, of course, the final 5 minutes which turns the whole emotion of the movie and stirs of the hearts of every audience member seated. The team is now seated on a beach, seemingly a while after the LA incident, with Brian and Mia further down the shore playing with their young son. The group discusses how life should remain as it is right now, with a not-so-subtle nod to Paul Walker's dying young. The discussion provides for Brian's absence in the following films (if any are made), retiring Paul's character rather than killing him off. Dom then silently gets up and leaves. The movie sort of merges the ending with a tribute now. Brian notices Dom leaving and catches up with him at a crossroads, both in their respective cars, and jokingly says, "You're gonna leave without saying goodbye?". Cue tears. For the first time, the usually stone faced Dom reveals a sad smile, as they both drive down the road, Dom remembering the memories he shared with Brian (Wiz Khalifa's sentimental ode "See You Again" plays in the background), not so different from the ones shared by their real-life counterparts. They share one last heartbreaking look as Vin/Dom finishes up his monologue, and they both go their separate ways with the camera following Paul/Brian's car, representing Paul's ascent to heaven. A final title card reads "For Paul".
You may sob now.
That final 5 minutes is so powerful and breathtakingly beautiful that it's worth watching the rest of the cesspool of flying cars and insane stunts. Exit theater with misty eyes.
Rest in peace, Paul Walker.
7/10.
**SPOILERS**
The movie begins with the new baddie Decker Shaw, brother of previous baddie Owen Shaw, now comatose, promising to avenge his kid brother. Letty and Dom are seen back at Race Wars, and Brian is trying his very best to be a good father.
(The scenes with Paul Walker are physically discomforting to watch, given his death in a car crash in 2013. While Paul charms the audience with his blue eyes and disarming smile, as always, the fact that he's dead, drops a dark veil over the eyes of the viewer.)
The Toretto family house is blown up, the team gathers, and the movie picks up pace. Kurt Russel comes in a few minutes later to provide for the cliche character of the government guy requiring help from the protagonists in return for his own favors. Exotic location. Hot babes. Awesome car getting trashed for no real reason. Finally the deux ex machina arrives in the streets of LA, with The Rock pumping lead into a terrorist helicopter, Diesel going mano-a-mano with Jason Statham, and the rest of the team driving round town with a drone on their ass. Sounds dumb? Kinda is. Until, of course, the final 5 minutes which turns the whole emotion of the movie and stirs of the hearts of every audience member seated. The team is now seated on a beach, seemingly a while after the LA incident, with Brian and Mia further down the shore playing with their young son. The group discusses how life should remain as it is right now, with a not-so-subtle nod to Paul Walker's dying young. The discussion provides for Brian's absence in the following films (if any are made), retiring Paul's character rather than killing him off. Dom then silently gets up and leaves. The movie sort of merges the ending with a tribute now. Brian notices Dom leaving and catches up with him at a crossroads, both in their respective cars, and jokingly says, "You're gonna leave without saying goodbye?". Cue tears. For the first time, the usually stone faced Dom reveals a sad smile, as they both drive down the road, Dom remembering the memories he shared with Brian (Wiz Khalifa's sentimental ode "See You Again" plays in the background), not so different from the ones shared by their real-life counterparts. They share one last heartbreaking look as Vin/Dom finishes up his monologue, and they both go their separate ways with the camera following Paul/Brian's car, representing Paul's ascent to heaven. A final title card reads "For Paul".
You may sob now.
That final 5 minutes is so powerful and breathtakingly beautiful that it's worth watching the rest of the cesspool of flying cars and insane stunts. Exit theater with misty eyes.
Rest in peace, Paul Walker.
7/10.
Tuesday 31 March 2015
Primer.
Primer is a 2004 science fiction time travel movie, starring Shane Carruth and David Sullivan. The direction, writing, score and editing was done by Shane Carruth himself, all in just under a budget of 7000 dollars. I know, sounds like a waste of time, doesn't it? Probably cheap and poorly directed?
Allow me to tell you, it is the FARTHEST from these.
I'm an avid fan of all things time. Time, especially travelling in time, is a concept that fascinated ever since I learnt about it. Books and movies involving time and its paradoxes excite me beyond words. Primer, with its great reviews and strong cult following, was a movie I looked forward to watching. However, this 77-minute long feature left me utterly confused the first time I saw it. Frankly, yes, a little disappointed. But then, I researched the film, broke it down to the minutest of details, and let me tell you, every single words uttered in the movie, every single scene, however so it may seem insignificant, is very important. The dialogues are the keys to unlocking its complexity, so before you watch I might suggest turning on the subtitles. As a result, when I finally (sort-of) understood it, I would hail it as one of the best (if not THE BEST) time travel movie ever made. Now, I don't say this in terms of direction or scoring or cinematography. But, in terms of sheer originality and authenticity, as well as in the handling of a subject so fragile as time, this movie is, in all formality, awesome.
The movie starts off with four engineer friends building a machine to apparently reduce the weight of an object by cutting of its connection to earth's gravity, untethering it from the surroundings. The first ten minutes involves heavy usage of technical terms, involving superconductivity at extreme low temperatures (the physics is quite accurate, in fact), but this isn't important. The movie really begins to pick up pace soon after this. The machine they built turns out to be a time machine and can be used to travel back in time. Now from here on out, the movie requires complete and wholehearted attention. However, no matter how attentive you are, there is a point, about 3/4th into the movie when everyone loses track. I myself had to watch the movie three times to get a good grasp on things.
Yes, it has bad cinematography, yes, bad lighting, but nothing in the least looks cheap. The density and inherent paradoxical contradictions make this movie extremely complex and confusing, but all one requires is the slightest smallest idea on what is going to understand that this film is nothing short of mindblowing. Keep in mind, this movie depicts exactly what would happen if the delicate construct of time is disturbed even in the slightest way and the unthinkable consequences of what would follow. Time, if taken to be like, in every way, distance or weight, then in a technical sense, the movie is absolutely spot-on.
With the gears of my mind still whirring, and my heart still pumping, I mean it, honestly and truthfully, when I say : Shane Carruth is a bona fide genius.
9/10.
Saturday 21 March 2015
Her.
He has a smile on his face. He smiles as he feels the rivulets of hot water falling on his naked body, the steam rising up within the shower booth. He turns off the shower and exits the stall. He stands in front of the mirror, admiring the name tattooed on his upper right chest, the name of his love. He knows he's going to meet her today. But before that he needs to look good.
He proceeds to shave and clean his face. He gels his hair, flosses his teeth. Then he goes to iron out the fine wrinkles from the suit he had tailored for himself especially for tonight. The smile is still on his face as he dresses himself impeccably. He stares at himself in the mirror, and makes the slightest adjustment on his clothes. He now looks exactly like he did the day they had met. His smile becomes a grin.
He walks to the hallway filled with framed pictures of a time long past. Most of them are pictures of his dysfunctional family. The ones with his abusive father and cheating mother were the worst. He doesn't look at those pictures for a more than a few moments, because it brings back bad memories. He walks further into the hallway, where the pictures are of times he wished he could live again. Her pictures. The ones portraying their beautiful relationship. Her beautiful smile compared to his goofy one. Her perfect body language compared to his awkward one. His eyes tear up as he realizes that she had been the only good thing in his life. She had represented everything good in him. She had been his better half. And now he was going to be whole again.
He enters the living room and opens the front door. A rented car was in his driveway. He had sold his own car weeks after she had left. Cars were very dangerous things. He knew that. Nobody knew that better than him. He gets in and drives the car slowly to the top of the cliff, a few miles away. Getting out, he walks slowly to the cliff, until he is standing right on the edge. He stares down to the rocky ground below. He could almost hear her calling out to him, calling his name, calling, calling, calling.He gazes up and momentarily sees her face in the evening sky. That was enough for him. Tears roll out of his eyes but he laughs as he knows he's going to see her again. He steps off the edge.
The winds rushes past him as he falls faster and faster. He feels no pain, no remorse, no guilt. Only relief. And happiness. He closes his eyes a few feet above the ground. The world goes black, all sounds fade.
Slowly he opens his eyes. He doesn't know where he is, or when. All he is aware of is her face, staring into his. Seeing her smile again makes him tear up. Her hands rise up to his face, and wipes away the tears. She kisses him, embracing him tightly. "It's okay", she says, "You're home".
[This is just a story that I've been wanting to write for a long time. The content in no way suggests the way I feel. It is just fiction. Thank you for reading.]
He proceeds to shave and clean his face. He gels his hair, flosses his teeth. Then he goes to iron out the fine wrinkles from the suit he had tailored for himself especially for tonight. The smile is still on his face as he dresses himself impeccably. He stares at himself in the mirror, and makes the slightest adjustment on his clothes. He now looks exactly like he did the day they had met. His smile becomes a grin.
He walks to the hallway filled with framed pictures of a time long past. Most of them are pictures of his dysfunctional family. The ones with his abusive father and cheating mother were the worst. He doesn't look at those pictures for a more than a few moments, because it brings back bad memories. He walks further into the hallway, where the pictures are of times he wished he could live again. Her pictures. The ones portraying their beautiful relationship. Her beautiful smile compared to his goofy one. Her perfect body language compared to his awkward one. His eyes tear up as he realizes that she had been the only good thing in his life. She had represented everything good in him. She had been his better half. And now he was going to be whole again.
He enters the living room and opens the front door. A rented car was in his driveway. He had sold his own car weeks after she had left. Cars were very dangerous things. He knew that. Nobody knew that better than him. He gets in and drives the car slowly to the top of the cliff, a few miles away. Getting out, he walks slowly to the cliff, until he is standing right on the edge. He stares down to the rocky ground below. He could almost hear her calling out to him, calling his name, calling, calling, calling.He gazes up and momentarily sees her face in the evening sky. That was enough for him. Tears roll out of his eyes but he laughs as he knows he's going to see her again. He steps off the edge.
The winds rushes past him as he falls faster and faster. He feels no pain, no remorse, no guilt. Only relief. And happiness. He closes his eyes a few feet above the ground. The world goes black, all sounds fade.
Slowly he opens his eyes. He doesn't know where he is, or when. All he is aware of is her face, staring into his. Seeing her smile again makes him tear up. Her hands rise up to his face, and wipes away the tears. She kisses him, embracing him tightly. "It's okay", she says, "You're home".
[This is just a story that I've been wanting to write for a long time. The content in no way suggests the way I feel. It is just fiction. Thank you for reading.]
Thursday 19 March 2015
Who Am I?
Hello and welcome to my blog!
My name is Varun and I like writing.
I write absolutely anything, from movie and book reviews to rants on wordly affairs to my own thoughts on life. Just to make it clear, this blog is not limited to one thing or one type of genre.
This is everything I think about. This is my wanderings, my wonderings, my musings and the happenings of my life. This is me.
Thanks for reading!
My name is Varun and I like writing.
I write absolutely anything, from movie and book reviews to rants on wordly affairs to my own thoughts on life. Just to make it clear, this blog is not limited to one thing or one type of genre.
This is everything I think about. This is my wanderings, my wonderings, my musings and the happenings of my life. This is me.
Thanks for reading!
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