Once a blogger, always a blogger.
Story books, sights, sounds, people, hoardings, monsoonal rains, hot coffee....everything seems to have a story to tell.
I am holding my horses so that I dont waste time ranting....but let me leave the many thoughts that I want to blog about.
Grandmum's sickness, old age leaving its trace; the velveteen rabbit - a touching bedtime story; monsoon fury; obelixisms; baran - the rain, an Iranian docu; climate studies; a lukewarm chak de; tehelka's sting...... working on holidays, sun and sand and woodlands, remembering tsunami.
bridget jones and chick lit, margazhi and karthikai and december, film on identity crisis, a ride on the mrts, an angel in Ethiopia- Dr. Catherine Hamlin and pheronemes (have I spelt that right??)
lest I forget,
romie ;)
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
friends for life
A something written for cheryl and also adapted for shalu....
dear, old, priceless friends with whom I am sadly out of touch.
I may not always tell you,
But always think of you.
A swear – imagine Cheryl's face;
Cheryl-ism, thingy, thought, colour, style…
easy disposition, personal touch in every move.
So much to share: writer-isms, office fundas,
blackmailing aunts; colourful gossip, dreams, news, a song;
rhymes, stories, histories; the many layers of everyday life.
So much to tell, so little time.
Mea culpa! Not a fault so sublime.
Excuses, I have none; not work, not french;
not news changing by nanoseconds;
not the many roles or the many worlds.
Old sayings, dad's words, world truths;
bitten off more than one can chew;
greed-driven ambition, distant dreams.
I can burn fingers even strain liagaments;
but not let dreams fade untried.
rest without doing my best.
When I do what I have to,
I always think of you even if I don't tell you.
and know that you are there too.
lotsa love,
romie ;)
dear, old, priceless friends with whom I am sadly out of touch.
I may not always tell you,
But always think of you.
A swear – imagine Cheryl's face;
Cheryl-ism, thingy, thought, colour, style…
easy disposition, personal touch in every move.
So much to share: writer-isms, office fundas,
blackmailing aunts; colourful gossip, dreams, news, a song;
rhymes, stories, histories; the many layers of everyday life.
So much to tell, so little time.
Mea culpa! Not a fault so sublime.
Excuses, I have none; not work, not french;
not news changing by nanoseconds;
not the many roles or the many worlds.
Old sayings, dad's words, world truths;
bitten off more than one can chew;
greed-driven ambition, distant dreams.
I can burn fingers even strain liagaments;
but not let dreams fade untried.
rest without doing my best.
When I do what I have to,
I always think of you even if I don't tell you.
and know that you are there too.
lotsa love,
romie ;)
Friday, September 28, 2007
Sister's two are we....alike as blossoms on a tree. - Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
My sis celebrated her bday on a different continent and I am yet to complete making her bday gift. A thought that was penned down as she touched a landmark.
~~~
As kids, the 20s were mature, serious and lifetimes away.
Never imagined ourselves beyond 19. Bliss!!
Today, I can hardly accept being 23 and 25; feels like somebody else.
We never renewed our synapses after 12.
I still want to play hide-seek but this time beat you.
Feel the wind on our hair and turn and share a laugh with you.
Blow bubbles and play an imagined game.
Appreciate a classic and yet howl over cartoons.
Its time for big things, big dreams but I want no big responsibilities.
Glory in being a black sheep and never let monotony take over.
I dont want to be a slave to conventions but master of my destiny.
I want to do one big thing but dont know what.
At 25, there is so much to do and still so little time.
And when you are 25, I feel it too.
It is time for contemplation and also celebration.
Also to make choices...
To either be led into the mainstream or to hold high against the tide.
And when you do what you have to do, I will simply follow you.
-romie ;)
~~~
As kids, the 20s were mature, serious and lifetimes away.
Never imagined ourselves beyond 19. Bliss!!
Today, I can hardly accept being 23 and 25; feels like somebody else.
We never renewed our synapses after 12.
I still want to play hide-seek but this time beat you.
Feel the wind on our hair and turn and share a laugh with you.
Blow bubbles and play an imagined game.
Appreciate a classic and yet howl over cartoons.
Its time for big things, big dreams but I want no big responsibilities.
Glory in being a black sheep and never let monotony take over.
I dont want to be a slave to conventions but master of my destiny.
I want to do one big thing but dont know what.
At 25, there is so much to do and still so little time.
And when you are 25, I feel it too.
It is time for contemplation and also celebration.
Also to make choices...
To either be led into the mainstream or to hold high against the tide.
And when you do what you have to do, I will simply follow you.
-romie ;)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Writer's itch assaults blogosphere.
Alter Ego: So what do you think you have been doing??
Romila: (innocently) Why, just a few blogs.
AE: So why spam inboxes???
R: Just passing around the word.....cousins, uncles, close friends, accquaintaces; who might want to hear from me.
AE: Might......and getting nonsense out of your system into an inbox isnt an option.
R: (meekly) thought would spread the word.
AE: About what..... rocket science??
R: (helplessly wordless)
---
R: But I got some feedback, you know.....
AE: Remember, feedback is not a feature of mass communication. If you want it, here is some: Gmail helps people block pesky mailers.
R: (Gulp!)
AE: Ranting on blogosphere is bad enough.
R: (Hiccup!)
AE: Use winks of spare time at office 'READING'.
R: But....but, I want to write.
AE: To bore people and advertise idiocacy? If you have a compulsive disorder, stick to blogosphere, dont spread it all over cyberspace.
R: (meekly)...okay.
AE: In the impossible case that someone wants to hear from you, there is always the link. Unlikely scene anyways.
R: If you say so.
AE: You sound quick today.
R: Thanks.
-----
Thats all there is folks, thanks for having patiently been with me as I faced the writer's itch. And for all those polite replies. Hereafter its only blogosphere that will have to bear me. Thanks a ton.
goodbye!
romie ;)
http://ourblagh.blogspot.com/
Romila: (innocently) Why, just a few blogs.
AE: So why spam inboxes???
R: Just passing around the word.....cousins, uncles, close friends, accquaintaces; who might want to hear from me.
AE: Might......and getting nonsense out of your system into an inbox isnt an option.
R: (meekly) thought would spread the word.
AE: About what..... rocket science??
R: (helplessly wordless)
---
R: But I got some feedback, you know.....
AE: Remember, feedback is not a feature of mass communication. If you want it, here is some: Gmail helps people block pesky mailers.
R: (Gulp!)
AE: Ranting on blogosphere is bad enough.
R: (Hiccup!)
AE: Use winks of spare time at office 'READING'.
R: But....but, I want to write.
AE: To bore people and advertise idiocacy? If you have a compulsive disorder, stick to blogosphere, dont spread it all over cyberspace.
R: (meekly)...okay.
AE: In the impossible case that someone wants to hear from you, there is always the link. Unlikely scene anyways.
R: If you say so.
AE: You sound quick today.
R: Thanks.
-----
Thats all there is folks, thanks for having patiently been with me as I faced the writer's itch. And for all those polite replies. Hereafter its only blogosphere that will have to bear me. Thanks a ton.
goodbye!
romie ;)
http://ourblagh.blogspot.com/
20-20
Fans hanging precariously on medians, gates and window-sills,
Acrobatics outside television showrooms.
Drivers slowed buses to a crawl to read the score
Crackers made feverish sales.
Mysterious illness afflicted office goers who stayed at home,
Brothers' phones disappeared into oblivion
One pal walked into the loo and lo....Sreesanth magicked the wicket.
Lock the lucky fella in the wash room! A divine spot to pray for deliverance.
Women gave up soaps and served curd rice.
the boys needed all the prayers.
Dead silence after the last over,
we were still catching our breath.
And then a wave broke,
My thiruvanmiyur pal mistook it for a tsunami!
Colour, cracker, cheer and cricket bats celebrated.
Team India won 20-20!
;) ;)
Acrobatics outside television showrooms.
Drivers slowed buses to a crawl to read the score
Crackers made feverish sales.
Mysterious illness afflicted office goers who stayed at home,
Brothers' phones disappeared into oblivion
One pal walked into the loo and lo....Sreesanth magicked the wicket.
Lock the lucky fella in the wash room! A divine spot to pray for deliverance.
Women gave up soaps and served curd rice.
the boys needed all the prayers.
Dead silence after the last over,
we were still catching our breath.
And then a wave broke,
My thiruvanmiyur pal mistook it for a tsunami!
Colour, cracker, cheer and cricket bats celebrated.
Team India won 20-20!
;) ;)
Monday, September 24, 2007
Jaiprami never sleeps.....
and conversely it also sleeps through the day!! My home of paradoxes! Early mornings or late nights, someone is awake and someone asleep as fans and television sets sweat it 24x7.
At 4 my grandpa is up - prayers, meditation and silent brooding. Sis has just finished catching up back episodes on pogo and toon disney.
In the next few hours, my aunt and grandma rise in a series and the wheels of the day are set in motion. Thathaya goes back for a small snooze.
Reluctantly little bro joins the early morning vigil....countless entrance tests and horrifying boards lie ahead. By 9, the storm has abated, we are on our way out and peace slowly drifts in. Dreams and deadlines invade madhu's sleep.
She leaves by afternoon and in sometime my grandmum naps after temple, maids, cooking and chores. Our maid flits around entranced, independent and dreamy.... snoozes later in the evening.
Rishi is back...cartoons and games before being shooed away for some beauty sleep. Lest he droop over his homework. Aunt arrives and in sometime, she is a zombie. Winks of sleep inbetween chores, policing and communications.
I dont know how she manages to stay half asleep, half awake always.....opening the door like a haggard olive oyl for sis (and me sometimes) at 2; waking up bro with popeye's strength at 5.
Reminds me of the legendary Masai tribe of Africa, who are forever in a state of readiness for war. Even when woken at the dead of the night, in a fraction, they are raring for battle.
The rhythmic cycle of academics and PSUs put against worlds of corporate hunger and media insomnia. India's two worlds in my own microcosm.
I visit the different time zones depending on french classes, physiotherapy, work and late shifts. Omniscient and unapologetic sleep lover.
I only wonder what our visitors and neighbours must think of us.....
lights and music never off.
someone asleep all day long.
Jaiprami never sleeps and also always sleeps.
romie ;)
At 4 my grandpa is up - prayers, meditation and silent brooding. Sis has just finished catching up back episodes on pogo and toon disney.
In the next few hours, my aunt and grandma rise in a series and the wheels of the day are set in motion. Thathaya goes back for a small snooze.
Reluctantly little bro joins the early morning vigil....countless entrance tests and horrifying boards lie ahead. By 9, the storm has abated, we are on our way out and peace slowly drifts in. Dreams and deadlines invade madhu's sleep.
She leaves by afternoon and in sometime my grandmum naps after temple, maids, cooking and chores. Our maid flits around entranced, independent and dreamy.... snoozes later in the evening.
Rishi is back...cartoons and games before being shooed away for some beauty sleep. Lest he droop over his homework. Aunt arrives and in sometime, she is a zombie. Winks of sleep inbetween chores, policing and communications.
I dont know how she manages to stay half asleep, half awake always.....opening the door like a haggard olive oyl for sis (and me sometimes) at 2; waking up bro with popeye's strength at 5.
Reminds me of the legendary Masai tribe of Africa, who are forever in a state of readiness for war. Even when woken at the dead of the night, in a fraction, they are raring for battle.
The rhythmic cycle of academics and PSUs put against worlds of corporate hunger and media insomnia. India's two worlds in my own microcosm.
I visit the different time zones depending on french classes, physiotherapy, work and late shifts. Omniscient and unapologetic sleep lover.
I only wonder what our visitors and neighbours must think of us.....
lights and music never off.
someone asleep all day long.
Jaiprami never sleeps and also always sleeps.
romie ;)
Sunday, September 23, 2007
One story many tales
Fiction oflate seems too slow, removed-from-the-world and surreal.
But fiction - pop, classic, comedy, victorian, indian writing in english and all their sub genres - was once my staple diet, on trains, in classrooms, at the dining table, in the mornings even on board exam days and social gatherings.
Those flights of fantasy, awe and wonder that nothing has yet replaced.
In small compensation I picked up Kim Edwards 'Fire King....' from the office library on a colleague's reference. A collection of short stories, so that I can make atleast one a week.
Those little tales of love, hope and despair got me thinking on so many things that we just blur past in hurried lives. Melancholy and old age.
Sometimes scary, sometimes natural.
Sometimes makes me wonder what my grandparents must be going through.
So many stories to each life so rich.....but no ear to listen.
As I googled, I came across this:
crisp, painful, funny, amusing, but thoughtful.
Great truths about growing old
1. Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional.
2. Forget the health food. You need all the preservatives you can get.
3. When you fall down, you wonder what else you can do while you are down there.
4. You're getting old when you know all the answers but nodody bothers to ask you the questions.
5. Time may be a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician.
6. Wisdom comes with age, sometimes age comes alone.
7. You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster.
Someone once wrote every passing year is just a statistic! Its easy to forget them!
Thats nice to recall now!!
romie ;)
But fiction - pop, classic, comedy, victorian, indian writing in english and all their sub genres - was once my staple diet, on trains, in classrooms, at the dining table, in the mornings even on board exam days and social gatherings.
Those flights of fantasy, awe and wonder that nothing has yet replaced.
In small compensation I picked up Kim Edwards 'Fire King....' from the office library on a colleague's reference. A collection of short stories, so that I can make atleast one a week.
Those little tales of love, hope and despair got me thinking on so many things that we just blur past in hurried lives. Melancholy and old age.
Sometimes scary, sometimes natural.
Sometimes makes me wonder what my grandparents must be going through.
So many stories to each life so rich.....but no ear to listen.
As I googled, I came across this:
crisp, painful, funny, amusing, but thoughtful.
Great truths about growing old
1. Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional.
2. Forget the health food. You need all the preservatives you can get.
3. When you fall down, you wonder what else you can do while you are down there.
4. You're getting old when you know all the answers but nodody bothers to ask you the questions.
5. Time may be a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician.
6. Wisdom comes with age, sometimes age comes alone.
7. You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster.
Someone once wrote every passing year is just a statistic! Its easy to forget them!
Thats nice to recall now!!
romie ;)
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Foodie Fundas
My office is a gastronomic delight as I have already mentioned, but was it traditionally so??
Looks like it.
Yesterday one old associate made a visit....and lo, he arrived arms laden with chocolate bars for everyone!! I instantly took a liking to him.
A few days back another old-timer made an entry armed with 'kalkandu' and yummy prashad! They say he comes often....slurp!
munching a crunchy chocolate,
romie ;)
Looks like it.
Yesterday one old associate made a visit....and lo, he arrived arms laden with chocolate bars for everyone!! I instantly took a liking to him.
A few days back another old-timer made an entry armed with 'kalkandu' and yummy prashad! They say he comes often....slurp!
munching a crunchy chocolate,
romie ;)
Smiling all the way!!
The smiley turns 25!
I cant believe that a communication revolution could be so young.
But there it is....dots and curves that speak across a world of languages and cultures.
Linguist David Crystal may bemoan that four languages are dying across the world each day!
But man, look up, there are new ones out here.
Cheers for the 'kolokbok' figure that speaks a myriad emotions!
romie ;)
P.S: Mekie, remember that small piece on emoticons for the school magazine, light years ago!
Mekie says:
The earliest known examples of Q are attributed to Harvey Ball, who devised them in 1963 for a Massachusetts-based insurance firm State Mutual Life Assurance. Ball never made any profit for Q, beyond his initial $45 fee.
Q was popularized in the early 1970s by a pair of brothers, Murray and Bernard Spain, who seized upon it in a campaign to sell novelty items and thus helped Q cement its place in popular culture.
However, Q's present and most commonly used avatar was created by Scott Fahlman, a research professor at Carnegie Mellon University's Department of Computer Science, in a message posted to the CMU computer science general board on 19 September 1982 (11:44) -
exactly 25 years ago.
Identify Q. :-)
;) - I got that and yes our article came in the 15th year of the smiley and it is 13 years since we first met!! Cheers!!!
I cant believe that a communication revolution could be so young.
But there it is....dots and curves that speak across a world of languages and cultures.
Linguist David Crystal may bemoan that four languages are dying across the world each day!
But man, look up, there are new ones out here.
Cheers for the 'kolokbok' figure that speaks a myriad emotions!
romie ;)
P.S: Mekie, remember that small piece on emoticons for the school magazine, light years ago!
Mekie says:
The earliest known examples of Q are attributed to Harvey Ball, who devised them in 1963 for a Massachusetts-based insurance firm State Mutual Life Assurance. Ball never made any profit for Q, beyond his initial $45 fee.
Q was popularized in the early 1970s by a pair of brothers, Murray and Bernard Spain, who seized upon it in a campaign to sell novelty items and thus helped Q cement its place in popular culture.
However, Q's present and most commonly used avatar was created by Scott Fahlman, a research professor at Carnegie Mellon University's Department of Computer Science, in a message posted to the CMU computer science general board on 19 September 1982 (11:44) -
exactly 25 years ago.
Identify Q. :-)
;) - I got that and yes our article came in the 15th year of the smiley and it is 13 years since we first met!! Cheers!!!
Sunday, September 16, 2007
the many romilas of romila thapar
Romila (0f rustic notes fame) says that she was named after Romila Thapar as well!!
Her father too was inspired by thapar's intellect and perspective. Given the great historian's renown, it looks like there are more of our breed.
I am yet to meet Romila Thapar though having missed an opportunity when she was in Madras for a lecture last year. But I hope to meet her soon.
Her interview on BBC was riveting: she shattered myths on Indian history and said how ideology is defined and defended for gain. One line that sums it all, "everyone has a view of the past".
I admire her academic persona, her easy dismissal of hindutva critcism and her refusal of the Padma award as she accepts academic honours only.
It is with shame that I accept not reading more of her, save a book on Indian Tales for children, read in 5th standard and Early Indian History (Penguin) in fits and starts.
But I have heard some of her lectures online like this Katz memorial lecture: http://depts.washington.edu/uwch/katz/20042005/romila_thapar.html
Being named after romila thapar always reminds me of my parent's and aunt's great dreams and also that it is possible to assert truth and not give in to power.
I hope to get to know more of the woman who inspired many dads to dream that their daughters will grow up to be like her.
To Romila Thapar and other romilas named after her.
romila ;)
Her father too was inspired by thapar's intellect and perspective. Given the great historian's renown, it looks like there are more of our breed.
I am yet to meet Romila Thapar though having missed an opportunity when she was in Madras for a lecture last year. But I hope to meet her soon.
Her interview on BBC was riveting: she shattered myths on Indian history and said how ideology is defined and defended for gain. One line that sums it all, "everyone has a view of the past".
I admire her academic persona, her easy dismissal of hindutva critcism and her refusal of the Padma award as she accepts academic honours only.
It is with shame that I accept not reading more of her, save a book on Indian Tales for children, read in 5th standard and Early Indian History (Penguin) in fits and starts.
But I have heard some of her lectures online like this Katz memorial lecture: http://depts.washington.edu/uwch/katz/20042005/romila_thapar.html
Being named after romila thapar always reminds me of my parent's and aunt's great dreams and also that it is possible to assert truth and not give in to power.
I hope to get to know more of the woman who inspired many dads to dream that their daughters will grow up to be like her.
To Romila Thapar and other romilas named after her.
romila ;)
Friday, September 14, 2007
The blog bug and the namesake
Seems like I have already run out of topics.....blogging about blogging!!
Even with a few paltry blogs forwarded amok, I am now announcing myself a blogger.
There was this one blog 'reckless ink' now 'rustic notes'.
I share my name with the author and I have been reading it since college days.
On my recommendation, my colleague and a great mum-blogger read it as well.
Mum blogs are kinda nice, reminding me of my childhood with sis, bro and cousins.
I left a note on rustic notes but was still confused when I received a reply, guess I need some time to adjust to another romila.
Its actually nice in an odd way to know someone by your name......does she have the same pet name, was she named so for the same reason? how do her friends call her? how does she sign her name?
But, I am someone who hastily discarded all those orkut invites of other romilas. But having read reckless ink/rustic notes for a while, I am comfortable with this blogger.
In fact one post that really warmed me up to her was how she tackled errant aunts who pointed at her and kept saying to her "you next, you next" at weddings. Romila in turn would similarly jab them at funerals and say "you next"!
Pure genius!! I am waiting for my turn to try that out. ;)
As a south-Indian, I never met someone who shared my name, atleast on the face.
Named after Romila Thapar, legendary historian who taught and inspired my dad, I have always looked out for people with a similar name, to simply ask them what it meant.
Several sanskrit scholars have given me different meanings, yet I am to find a close-enough root beyond raomila (godess of love), roma (curls/Lakshmi) and ila (earth). I never got to meet a Punjabi scholar though.
I hope this blog pal can tell me the story of her name,
romila ;)
Even with a few paltry blogs forwarded amok, I am now announcing myself a blogger.
There was this one blog 'reckless ink' now 'rustic notes'.
I share my name with the author and I have been reading it since college days.
On my recommendation, my colleague and a great mum-blogger read it as well.
Mum blogs are kinda nice, reminding me of my childhood with sis, bro and cousins.
I left a note on rustic notes but was still confused when I received a reply, guess I need some time to adjust to another romila.
Its actually nice in an odd way to know someone by your name......does she have the same pet name, was she named so for the same reason? how do her friends call her? how does she sign her name?
But, I am someone who hastily discarded all those orkut invites of other romilas. But having read reckless ink/rustic notes for a while, I am comfortable with this blogger.
In fact one post that really warmed me up to her was how she tackled errant aunts who pointed at her and kept saying to her "you next, you next" at weddings. Romila in turn would similarly jab them at funerals and say "you next"!
Pure genius!! I am waiting for my turn to try that out. ;)
As a south-Indian, I never met someone who shared my name, atleast on the face.
Named after Romila Thapar, legendary historian who taught and inspired my dad, I have always looked out for people with a similar name, to simply ask them what it meant.
Several sanskrit scholars have given me different meanings, yet I am to find a close-enough root beyond raomila (godess of love), roma (curls/Lakshmi) and ila (earth). I never got to meet a Punjabi scholar though.
I hope this blog pal can tell me the story of her name,
romila ;)
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Sunset on a lean week
With mekie calling this a phoenix blog and polite friends sending in smileys.....I am tempted to write about yesterday evening, simply being itself.
The best part of working for a fortnightly are mondays and tuesdays on a lean week......the stories are still still trickling in, book reviews and artsy stuff.
So as one leaves for home by 4.30-5, there is a lightness in the step and the world outside is yellow and mellow. Otherwise one doesnt get to see the evening sun at all, nor the bustle of the evening market.
In an auto down Chintadripet's crowded main street.....scents and smells of an usual evening are immensely pleasurable. Reminiscient of university days down the same route laden with books.
As traffic stands still, my grandmum's childhood memories of the side streets, kite-flying, the old cook, and playing alongside my grandfather take life in the five-feet high smoke.
Back in the present:
a police wallah makes a u-turn on the congested road, bus drivers make way for an old cyclist on a narrow gali. agarbathis for ganesha fail before the fish market; colourful temple stores and flower sellers make brisk business. tumeric and queuing sick patients, flower garlands and tea-boys, 40-kgs of rice balanced on a skinny TVS 50.
Walking down, I make shadow figures, file in step with school kids and look behind hoping my brother would join for an early evening of fighting and pulling each other's leg.
Milk with grandparents; they catch up with the newspaper as I look down on the street. Rudely inquisitive neighbour readies to make a kolam. White poetry on unyeilding black.
I swivel and bask in sunlight streaming down french windows that illuminate my grandpa's junk. It doesnt seem so bad after all. My aunt's smile at an early entry and warm noodles. I curl around a magazine on the terrace, watching the sun set, promises to read forgotten.
Glimpsed once in a fortnight, these evenings are special. I never knew they existed when I got back from college teaching most afternoons.
grinning lazily,
romila ;)
The best part of working for a fortnightly are mondays and tuesdays on a lean week......the stories are still still trickling in, book reviews and artsy stuff.
So as one leaves for home by 4.30-5, there is a lightness in the step and the world outside is yellow and mellow. Otherwise one doesnt get to see the evening sun at all, nor the bustle of the evening market.
In an auto down Chintadripet's crowded main street.....scents and smells of an usual evening are immensely pleasurable. Reminiscient of university days down the same route laden with books.
As traffic stands still, my grandmum's childhood memories of the side streets, kite-flying, the old cook, and playing alongside my grandfather take life in the five-feet high smoke.
Back in the present:
a police wallah makes a u-turn on the congested road, bus drivers make way for an old cyclist on a narrow gali. agarbathis for ganesha fail before the fish market; colourful temple stores and flower sellers make brisk business. tumeric and queuing sick patients, flower garlands and tea-boys, 40-kgs of rice balanced on a skinny TVS 50.
Walking down, I make shadow figures, file in step with school kids and look behind hoping my brother would join for an early evening of fighting and pulling each other's leg.
Milk with grandparents; they catch up with the newspaper as I look down on the street. Rudely inquisitive neighbour readies to make a kolam. White poetry on unyeilding black.
I swivel and bask in sunlight streaming down french windows that illuminate my grandpa's junk. It doesnt seem so bad after all. My aunt's smile at an early entry and warm noodles. I curl around a magazine on the terrace, watching the sun set, promises to read forgotten.
Glimpsed once in a fortnight, these evenings are special. I never knew they existed when I got back from college teaching most afternoons.
grinning lazily,
romila ;)
look within: ganesh and auto wallahs vy with each other for space. taken by me
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
A thousand dreams
Hazaaron Kwaishein Aisi...Ghalib's immortal words on my gmail status aroused many queries. There were better films and not many could relate to this one. So what made it special?
Either the film had many layers or I simply imagined them.... images of reality clashing with idealism; new worlds struggling to take shape; and poetic lyrics that sent heady meanings:
Bavra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna....
Bavre Se Is Jahan Main Bavra Ek Saath Ho
Is Sayani Bheed Main Bas Haathon Mein Tera Haath Ho
A story of college friends who choose different ways as India is poised for marked transition. Sometimes, many of us can relate to all the three characters: geeta, who doubts idealism but who returns to it ultimately; siddharth, who plunges into the struggle but who has no answers for the violence creeping in; and vikram, who struggles to find his feet in the corrupt system to later embrace it.
The film to me is about a generation I never saw, a generation that I glimpsed now and then..... in professors who recounted with awe the power of student movements; uncles who recounted heady dreams and fiery speeches of their days; the disappointment of a generation whose dreams of a brave new India never took off. And their disdain for those who embraced the corruption and leg-ups.
Today, we hardly speak of them, the generation of the 60s and 70s. They did not know of my grandfather's dream for independence and Nehru but hoped for direction and romantic ideals, sought Indian equivalents to the west's dreams and development.
Their optimism, hopes and ultimate confrontation with reality and compromises is what Hazaaron Kwaishein is to me. I saw in it what my professors and uncles spoke of. Their inspiration and disillusionment and how they then went on with their individual lives powered by academic successes in middle class, pre-liberalisation India.
Surprisingly, I could also relate to the characters, mostly geeta's. Slipping in easily into two worlds: academic and intellectually stimulating dreams; differences and conservatism in a traditional telugu household.
It isn't practical to be ideal, and it is cheap to be material. But we grudgingly respect conviction and struggle, the person who chases his dreams; and also admire the man with the money, even if we wrinkle our nose at the means.
In the film, I smelt the musty dreams that a generation forgot as it embraced the rules of the new world. The struggles for equality, the social worker, the idealism preached in college brushed away.
It was not meant for us, we had to read and debate but do nothing. I grew up in this convenient understanding.
Either all these dreams were there in the film as I knew them in some people, or I simply imagined them. In between the film, the message of confusing and conflicting dreams and worlds was somewhere there or I probably read parahs between the lines.
But somehow in susy's bathroom slippers and cycle, in jerry's awe of student power; in jose's smiles at the trivial issues that centred our lives; in dreams for a new awareness, in books and articles, I saw a period, lost forever.
But the dreams were there....thousands of them. And they hoped as they waited.
Hazaaron Kwaishein Aisi
romila ;)
Either the film had many layers or I simply imagined them.... images of reality clashing with idealism; new worlds struggling to take shape; and poetic lyrics that sent heady meanings:
Bavra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna....
Bavre Se Is Jahan Main Bavra Ek Saath Ho
Is Sayani Bheed Main Bas Haathon Mein Tera Haath Ho
A story of college friends who choose different ways as India is poised for marked transition. Sometimes, many of us can relate to all the three characters: geeta, who doubts idealism but who returns to it ultimately; siddharth, who plunges into the struggle but who has no answers for the violence creeping in; and vikram, who struggles to find his feet in the corrupt system to later embrace it.
The film to me is about a generation I never saw, a generation that I glimpsed now and then..... in professors who recounted with awe the power of student movements; uncles who recounted heady dreams and fiery speeches of their days; the disappointment of a generation whose dreams of a brave new India never took off. And their disdain for those who embraced the corruption and leg-ups.
Today, we hardly speak of them, the generation of the 60s and 70s. They did not know of my grandfather's dream for independence and Nehru but hoped for direction and romantic ideals, sought Indian equivalents to the west's dreams and development.
Their optimism, hopes and ultimate confrontation with reality and compromises is what Hazaaron Kwaishein is to me. I saw in it what my professors and uncles spoke of. Their inspiration and disillusionment and how they then went on with their individual lives powered by academic successes in middle class, pre-liberalisation India.
Surprisingly, I could also relate to the characters, mostly geeta's. Slipping in easily into two worlds: academic and intellectually stimulating dreams; differences and conservatism in a traditional telugu household.
It isn't practical to be ideal, and it is cheap to be material. But we grudgingly respect conviction and struggle, the person who chases his dreams; and also admire the man with the money, even if we wrinkle our nose at the means.
In the film, I smelt the musty dreams that a generation forgot as it embraced the rules of the new world. The struggles for equality, the social worker, the idealism preached in college brushed away.
It was not meant for us, we had to read and debate but do nothing. I grew up in this convenient understanding.
Either all these dreams were there in the film as I knew them in some people, or I simply imagined them. In between the film, the message of confusing and conflicting dreams and worlds was somewhere there or I probably read parahs between the lines.
But somehow in susy's bathroom slippers and cycle, in jerry's awe of student power; in jose's smiles at the trivial issues that centred our lives; in dreams for a new awareness, in books and articles, I saw a period, lost forever.
But the dreams were there....thousands of them. And they hoped as they waited.
Hazaaron Kwaishein Aisi
romila ;)
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
The Natural Order of Things
My sister was away at Kansas for about a month.....I dont know if I missed her. Too many mixed sibling feelings there. But, as we left for work together today, I had this deep sense of things getting back to normal.
Milk with television,
newpapers strewn in the loo.
Gaze sleepily at the wardrobe for 20 mins;
to pick up whatever hit the floor first.
She hollers as I drown in the bathroom, I pick up her soiled clothes;
the driver waits for an hour yet we dont make it to breakfast.
Hunt for dupattas, call-locate phones buried under cushions;
grab tiffin boxes, carry sandals to the car.
Shower of curses, rain of reminders from haggard grandparents;
And a call enroute to remind of a deserted laptop!
The resigned driver reverses on a one-way,
and a fuming mum hands it over.
Song requests turn little bro a RJ and,
Democracy rues Blues the clear winner!
Locks blow-dried on Spurtank road,
lip-balms tossed across at Mount road.
Clear bags of yesterday's junk at the signal;
scramble for combs in the jam.
Rue over forgotten things as the car skids to a halt;
Narowly escape being run over when hopping dividers.
Mail each other when we get to office,
And the natural order of things are restored!
romie ;)
Milk with television,
newpapers strewn in the loo.
Gaze sleepily at the wardrobe for 20 mins;
to pick up whatever hit the floor first.
She hollers as I drown in the bathroom, I pick up her soiled clothes;
the driver waits for an hour yet we dont make it to breakfast.
Hunt for dupattas, call-locate phones buried under cushions;
grab tiffin boxes, carry sandals to the car.
Shower of curses, rain of reminders from haggard grandparents;
And a call enroute to remind of a deserted laptop!
The resigned driver reverses on a one-way,
and a fuming mum hands it over.
Song requests turn little bro a RJ and,
Democracy rues Blues the clear winner!
Locks blow-dried on Spurtank road,
lip-balms tossed across at Mount road.
Clear bags of yesterday's junk at the signal;
scramble for combs in the jam.
Rue over forgotten things as the car skids to a halt;
Narowly escape being run over when hopping dividers.
Mail each other when we get to office,
And the natural order of things are restored!
romie ;)
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tomorrow is another day!
The last few days were hectic: ceremonies, friends arriving and leaving and a family that wants you at home 24x7.
I juggled everything but it didnt feel like I spent quality time at all.
I attempt to fathom that as dear grandparents think that I am working on my research.
Monday, August 27th, was another day that could do with a few more hours.
Lavy and I got back from Pondy the previous day quite late, and slept in time to avoid murdering each another over an inexistential argument.
Feeling like yesterday's leftovers, we went on for a tete-a-tete with Megh and Spidey by 6.30 a.m. These chats with cutting-chai are wonderful, we learn from each other and occasionally watch a film together but today there was no time.
I got a call that my maternal grandma was hospitalised for a veezing bout. What do I do.... mum said she was fine and simply held for tests. But multiple guilt when not around is natural.
As getting back to our 'tribal village' (tbm) was imperative, attending Arun anna's wedding over the reception seemed logical. Meeting shalu after three years was the more important agenda. And she did warn me that she would be busy at the wedding.
God! how did she manage to slim down so much...I didn't get to speak a word as the dutiful sister was playing the guest of honour. But it was simply good to see her. Some things never change: the loony walk, large smile and goofy act when in a spot of tension.
Peppered with great wedding music, I had a long overdue chat with archu. We ended up storyboarding camera positions for her wedding, complete with crane shots and chroma key. T'was a telugu wedding (Arun's bride is a goltu and I acted the expert to shalu's pop-in-law)
A few grins, many laughs and an hour flew away.
Stepping into office, vinnie called to give me a piece of her mind. She does it only when pushed to extreme. She went on to how I had deserted being the univ class's unofficial rep. Point taken. I have been wrapped with my life.
After mollifying her, I decided to act good and messaged sojee and later cheryl on christmas plans with children of the Fatima convent or other homes. Managing to feel better about keeping in touch with close buddies, I scrapped Angel. Phew! What a relief to have orkut at office!
But there was still a long day ahead after work.....
Mekie was leaving to Ann Arbor and so was Dee Dee to Delhi. DD's was a 5'o clock flight....so I ditched him, though it was the second time in a row.
Mekie's late night flight was better. And if I didnt see her then, that would be base sacrilege. As it stood, in several weeks we met only on brief and rare occasions. Did I mention that her home is 10 yards away?
After work, luckily a lean week, I rushed to rad's mehendi.... late and tired. But arti can make anyone feel better. What else from the daughter of a mum who looks for a rainbow after every shower with the same enthusiasm as a kid? By the way, however arti manages to remain skinny with aunty cooking from heart and soul totally befuddles me.
Vaishu and I made a colourful peacock and for an hour, Mads, arti, rads and I chatted wistfully of Moppy days in telugu, hindi, english and local tamil. We missed priya but made pals with a new priya, who spoonfed the hand-tied bride!
I rushed but arti simply made an extra five mins special with a line of small squiggles in fragrant mehendi. A souveneir of a short but unforgettable evening.
A drop to Velachery (courtesy: mads) and some soul talk. The growing-up pains of a mother who balances career and a young daughter. And Velachery looms too soon despite peak-hour traffic.
I take A51 and call Sayee: how and when do we meet mekie?? She promises to wait but eventually gives up as the bus takes a painfully long route.
I land, sooty and grime layered....mekie takes my breath away with a hug and saying things like 'You did manage to spend time with me'. A knowing grin that makes A51 worthwhile.
Finally I meet my dear grandma (albeit late) - absolutely fine for a 75-year-old but tired. I politely listen to all her talk on marraige and responsibility. I let the old dear get her way, my lungs have given away.
But what a day....six worlds! I cant have a better day to engrave about.
Tripping with the gang, anna's beautiful wedding and shalu's goofiness, archu playing host;
Talking with DD on onam, listen to vininie's justified retributions, cheryl's witty msgs on chinky eyes and nigger noses;
feel sojee's laid-back attitude, a smiley scrap from angel;
mehendi with a rainbow, arti's warmth, mad's cheer, rad's nervousness, vaishu's glee;
a knowing grin from mekie, sayee and veena on the phone, pampered by parents.
and a pleased grandmum.
I trudge home awaiting admonitions for not using my time properly. And guiltily report to my paternal grandma of my adventures.
I dont know why I feel guilty, its an inherited sociological neurosis. Guilty when at home for not working, and while working for not being with family. Terrible, if we hang out with friends; when we actually juggle myriad roles.
As I catch up with sour parents whom I refuse details of a cousin's love-life, I am drooping into blissful oblivion.
Tomorrow is an hour away and I must fulfill more roles: a better daughter, friend, sis, grand daughter, volunteer, employee......Tomorrow is another day!
romila ;)
I juggled everything but it didnt feel like I spent quality time at all.
I attempt to fathom that as dear grandparents think that I am working on my research.
Monday, August 27th, was another day that could do with a few more hours.
Lavy and I got back from Pondy the previous day quite late, and slept in time to avoid murdering each another over an inexistential argument.
Feeling like yesterday's leftovers, we went on for a tete-a-tete with Megh and Spidey by 6.30 a.m. These chats with cutting-chai are wonderful, we learn from each other and occasionally watch a film together but today there was no time.
I got a call that my maternal grandma was hospitalised for a veezing bout. What do I do.... mum said she was fine and simply held for tests. But multiple guilt when not around is natural.
As getting back to our 'tribal village' (tbm) was imperative, attending Arun anna's wedding over the reception seemed logical. Meeting shalu after three years was the more important agenda. And she did warn me that she would be busy at the wedding.
God! how did she manage to slim down so much...I didn't get to speak a word as the dutiful sister was playing the guest of honour. But it was simply good to see her. Some things never change: the loony walk, large smile and goofy act when in a spot of tension.
Peppered with great wedding music, I had a long overdue chat with archu. We ended up storyboarding camera positions for her wedding, complete with crane shots and chroma key. T'was a telugu wedding (Arun's bride is a goltu and I acted the expert to shalu's pop-in-law)
A few grins, many laughs and an hour flew away.
Stepping into office, vinnie called to give me a piece of her mind. She does it only when pushed to extreme. She went on to how I had deserted being the univ class's unofficial rep. Point taken. I have been wrapped with my life.
After mollifying her, I decided to act good and messaged sojee and later cheryl on christmas plans with children of the Fatima convent or other homes. Managing to feel better about keeping in touch with close buddies, I scrapped Angel. Phew! What a relief to have orkut at office!
But there was still a long day ahead after work.....
Mekie was leaving to Ann Arbor and so was Dee Dee to Delhi. DD's was a 5'o clock flight....so I ditched him, though it was the second time in a row.
Mekie's late night flight was better. And if I didnt see her then, that would be base sacrilege. As it stood, in several weeks we met only on brief and rare occasions. Did I mention that her home is 10 yards away?
After work, luckily a lean week, I rushed to rad's mehendi.... late and tired. But arti can make anyone feel better. What else from the daughter of a mum who looks for a rainbow after every shower with the same enthusiasm as a kid? By the way, however arti manages to remain skinny with aunty cooking from heart and soul totally befuddles me.
Vaishu and I made a colourful peacock and for an hour, Mads, arti, rads and I chatted wistfully of Moppy days in telugu, hindi, english and local tamil. We missed priya but made pals with a new priya, who spoonfed the hand-tied bride!I rushed but arti simply made an extra five mins special with a line of small squiggles in fragrant mehendi. A souveneir of a short but unforgettable evening.
A drop to Velachery (courtesy: mads) and some soul talk. The growing-up pains of a mother who balances career and a young daughter. And Velachery looms too soon despite peak-hour traffic.
I take A51 and call Sayee: how and when do we meet mekie?? She promises to wait but eventually gives up as the bus takes a painfully long route.
I land, sooty and grime layered....mekie takes my breath away with a hug and saying things like 'You did manage to spend time with me'. A knowing grin that makes A51 worthwhile.
Finally I meet my dear grandma (albeit late) - absolutely fine for a 75-year-old but tired. I politely listen to all her talk on marraige and responsibility. I let the old dear get her way, my lungs have given away.
But what a day....six worlds! I cant have a better day to engrave about.
Tripping with the gang, anna's beautiful wedding and shalu's goofiness, archu playing host;
Talking with DD on onam, listen to vininie's justified retributions, cheryl's witty msgs on chinky eyes and nigger noses;
feel sojee's laid-back attitude, a smiley scrap from angel;
mehendi with a rainbow, arti's warmth, mad's cheer, rad's nervousness, vaishu's glee;
a knowing grin from mekie, sayee and veena on the phone, pampered by parents.
and a pleased grandmum.
I trudge home awaiting admonitions for not using my time properly. And guiltily report to my paternal grandma of my adventures.
I dont know why I feel guilty, its an inherited sociological neurosis. Guilty when at home for not working, and while working for not being with family. Terrible, if we hang out with friends; when we actually juggle myriad roles.
As I catch up with sour parents whom I refuse details of a cousin's love-life, I am drooping into blissful oblivion.
Tomorrow is an hour away and I must fulfill more roles: a better daughter, friend, sis, grand daughter, volunteer, employee......Tomorrow is another day!
romila ;)
arti's handiwork and our hennaed hands
Best friend's wedding! (Chap-6)
Myalpore, Kapaleeswar temple, under the aegis of Nandi - 30.8.2007
Radhika's wedding today was one-of-a-kind!
A temple ritual somehow seemed to me more austere and serious. Add to it, tying the knot right in front of the main shrine. But there was also something merry and beautiful about all the chaos.
Today there were half a dozen or more weddings in such close proximity that guests spilt over and the nadaswaram players were confused which wavelength they had to tune into. But kids of different marraige parties were simply pooling in strength for games that required many players.
As I browsed the various wedding parties for my friend's, I came across a common former colleague - Kala maam. As she dresses like a star everyday, I didnt find her costume out of the ordinary, but several passers-by gave her the second-glances. I promised to lead her to rad's party once I found my own destination, but I simply couldnt catch sight of her later.
But the cheery atmosphere on a pleasant morning with the heady feel of a chaotic temple caught on to me. The bride too was looking radiant. There is something beautiful about the harassed and frazzled-looking hindu brides.
Despite the stuffy proximity of extended relatives, each shouting instructions in every available direction; rising soot, heavy wedding garlands bearing her down; yards of saree that has to be tucked away often at several places; wisps of hair all over and a riotous clash of several bright colours....these brides do look beautiful. Making it an unsolved paradox of modern times.
After rads tied the knot, or rather as the knot tightened over her neck, I took a walk to the main shrine.
I enjoy visiting Saivite shrines for their stark colour contrasts: deep black statues lit by oil lamps throwing an umbered glow, colourful flowers contrastingly used to decorate the Gods...less jewellery and more colour. And with a haze of agarbathi's creating a divine mist, my friend's wedding seemed truly mesmerising.
The lone grim reaper was a flower seller who beckoned me to leave my sandals under her gaze but before I could be struck by her magnanimity she blackmailed me into buying flowers. I didnt carry any money having left my bag in the car, but she was adamant that I pay her after I visit the shrine. I didnt like being needled so but had no choice.
I did walk all the way back later to settle my account but my good mood so enveloped me, that I gave her a part of the pooja flowers received at the temple. She was stumped and I walked away having won the round and threw some pori into the tank for the ever-hungry fishes.
congrats rads, all the best!
romie ;)
Radhika's wedding today was one-of-a-kind!
A temple ritual somehow seemed to me more austere and serious. Add to it, tying the knot right in front of the main shrine. But there was also something merry and beautiful about all the chaos.
Today there were half a dozen or more weddings in such close proximity that guests spilt over and the nadaswaram players were confused which wavelength they had to tune into. But kids of different marraige parties were simply pooling in strength for games that required many players.
As I browsed the various wedding parties for my friend's, I came across a common former colleague - Kala maam. As she dresses like a star everyday, I didnt find her costume out of the ordinary, but several passers-by gave her the second-glances. I promised to lead her to rad's party once I found my own destination, but I simply couldnt catch sight of her later.
But the cheery atmosphere on a pleasant morning with the heady feel of a chaotic temple caught on to me. The bride too was looking radiant. There is something beautiful about the harassed and frazzled-looking hindu brides.
Despite the stuffy proximity of extended relatives, each shouting instructions in every available direction; rising soot, heavy wedding garlands bearing her down; yards of saree that has to be tucked away often at several places; wisps of hair all over and a riotous clash of several bright colours....these brides do look beautiful. Making it an unsolved paradox of modern times.
After rads tied the knot, or rather as the knot tightened over her neck, I took a walk to the main shrine.
I enjoy visiting Saivite shrines for their stark colour contrasts: deep black statues lit by oil lamps throwing an umbered glow, colourful flowers contrastingly used to decorate the Gods...less jewellery and more colour. And with a haze of agarbathi's creating a divine mist, my friend's wedding seemed truly mesmerising.
The lone grim reaper was a flower seller who beckoned me to leave my sandals under her gaze but before I could be struck by her magnanimity she blackmailed me into buying flowers. I didnt carry any money having left my bag in the car, but she was adamant that I pay her after I visit the shrine. I didnt like being needled so but had no choice.
I did walk all the way back later to settle my account but my good mood so enveloped me, that I gave her a part of the pooja flowers received at the temple. She was stumped and I walked away having won the round and threw some pori into the tank for the ever-hungry fishes.
congrats rads, all the best!
romie ;)
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Blue Pencil
At a point when career is the most important thing, there are a billion questions buzzing....what if I made the right choice, what if I get burnt out, what if I get stuck, what if...what if?!
And having an academics-obsessed family, which makes sure to fill you with dread and doubt every step doesnt help.
But then my office is a great place and today I realised that I am where I belong... enlightenment came in the form of 'iruttu kadai halwa', ginger biscuits and coffee eclairs.
The surest way to one's heart is through the stomach, Vini always proclaimed and the universal truth in her statement struck me today. Enter office on a 'busy week' thursday and the last thing you expect, is to be greeted with is halwa made at the legendary 'iruttu kadai' (the dark shop).
History has it that halwa made from a small, non-descreipt shop in Tirunelveli was favoured by several food connoisseurs, one of them was a local chieftain whose patronage helped the shop outlive its age.
The tradition continues and the dinghy shop retains its trademark dark room lit by a single oil lamp as its signage and halwa is still developed with the same precision.
TSS's courtesy ensured that office today bore allday the heavy fragrance of ghee and sugar syrup, all those who entered or walked by were curiously looking around while we rubbed the ghee of our hands on yesterday's dummies. Burp!
An hour of work and Sashi's larder opens noiselessly, well not so silently as we start gulping down ginger biscuits, courtesy: another colleague who just hopped across the Atlantic.After lunch it is time for dessert, a box of coffee eclairs, we managed to polish off a box of almond chocolates yesterday.
As my stomach rumbles happily at the bounty, I vaguely try to complete a copy on 1857 mutiny. Didnt the mutiny soldiers also embed messages in rotis and lotus stalks?
Peppered with thoughts on those ingenious soldiers, Fowler's rules on apostrophes and the page making software's latest jinx against shoulder tags, it strikes me that I couldnt have chosen a better place.
A bunch of non-conformists, respect for personal space, jokes on political gags, income tax, 'bracket' writers, 'hyphen' editors, coloumn-isms, photogenic criminals and how to add a 's' to Moses and Jesus. Not to forget infinite patience with slow learners as myself...
I do miss my mischevious students and notoriously mischevious colleagues and friends from college-teaching days but there are compensations...did I hear that biscuit tin open?!
romila ;)
P.S: Statutory warning: Irutukadai halwa can blur vision, the following issue carried two corrections in the copy, unnecessary italics and an extra 'h' in a word. Ugh!
Photograph of Sashi's larder that we contribute and subscribe too.
Friday, March 02, 2007
pachai...review
What is it about cinema that makes us think that we are relaxing...?
Some films can be stressful but a change is a change I guess.
I enjoyed the film immensely for having watched it with Sandy and sharing a few semiotic notes, laughing at the histrionics and gulping popcorn (courtesy:sandy).....pulling priya's leg, a delicious lunch complete with Gongkura pachadi at Rads place and poking fun non-stop.
It was a great afternoon folks and we must do it more often but with someone's home-theatre, the kids around and the kitchen handy!!
The best part was watching the faces of a few scandalised students in the back-seats, being introduced to their mothers and ofcourse feeling that one has spent some time for oneself and with close friends.
Truly worth the company and not the cinema.
Pachai Kili Muthu Charam
Cast: Greying at the temples Sarath Kumar, Already-grey Milind Soman, Novice Andrea and Jyothika lacking a meaty role.
Crew: Gautham Menon who needs a break and a fresh USP. Harris Jeyraj (was this the music of the man who gave us Minnale??)
Spoiler Warning: The film is very loosely based on the book Derailed...very loosely, avoid reading the book if you want to watch the film!!
Having watched the film at an expensive locale and alongside some amazing company....I couldnt have an afternoon snooze in peace. After all how often does someone who writes film reviews for a living get to write one straight from the gut, that too after actually watching the film!
Pachai Kili is a winner....when you look at the shots, the editing (but for a few glitches) and Jo's screen presence, but the film lacks in pace and yes, a plot.
A happily married couple is faced with the fact that their child has juvenile diabetes...(arent there more diabetics than non-diabetics??) The medial rep father is ready to take it in stride but the mum as mums all the world around are, shattered. But kudos to Gautham for having stayed off cliches like leukemia and blood cancer.
A few scenes where the wife refuses her husband and the dialogues here are mostly of the 'I want to make love to you' and 'I dont want to' variety.....we heard something like that in Kaakha Kaakha as well.
The hero has a legitimate reason to eye a fellow passenger, the svelte and attractive hmm...what was her name finally?? Conversation develops to companionship, intimacy and finally lust. The shots here that denote intimacy lack the finesse of a seasoned filmmaker.
While the poor wife is unaware of all this and the 'train-lady' is busy seducing...the hero faces a mild mental turmoil, or does he really....he marches ahead for dinners, dates and even fights a few baddies to rescue her. He is her hero, more intimacy and finally a painfully long drive to a beach resort sees them stumbling to make the first move.
But things are taken out of control as a petty thief barges in, on overpowering them both, he gains access to credit cards, cell phone numbers and finally pics in wallets that reveal their illegitimate relationship.
The thief is played by an ageing Milind Soman (and it really feels surprising to see your teenage hero turn old and grey). Its a Catch 22 situation, they cant speak about it, they cant make a complaint as the thief blackmails them for money.
When the bank account shows zero, our man comes out clean with wife....the pretty wife who sat pretty is overwhelmed.
Our hero suffers her loss amply illustrated by the situation where he lives and feeds his kid on bread....the wife returns soon.
Now emerges our filmi hero....if our usual dad and uncle types would have been happy to start saving again, our hero has more salt, he sees how he can get his money back.
A chase in chennai autos show him the gang is all out to hook people and the lady is a key player....a network of con artistes, taxi walas, hotel owners and thugs. How do they budget such a vast office with just a few lakhs from a few men??
A trail and chase, a foolish confrontation.....actors struggle to get their punches right, commotion ensues in three murders. The hero makes away with the loot.
Shift to Hyderabad, life with the same dialogues and songs...only to be stalked by old skeletons.....hero sets out to rescue family, the lady (train) reappears desperate for vengeance.
Jo proves that she is a complete novice when it comes to such roles, she resorts to rolling eyes to look menacing. A tussle, blows, blood and gun shots, the lady is dead, our man takes family back and and drives away into the sunset.....phew!!
The rigmarole of watching a film in theatre to supposedly have fun is over.....and what a film to do that!! I guess only animation stuff or like Sandy says 'the Lord of the Rings' variety films are worth a 70 mm, for the rest like this fare a thiruttu VCD would suffice.
Andrea is predictable but looks quite attractive. Jo is good in places but reveals that she has no grounding in these kind of roles....wouldnt Sangeetha been a better choice here, or does Gautham just have to have Jo?
Like Sandy again says its so much like Kaakha Kaakha, Jo dies in both cases and the villains are look alikes, the director is in better control when there is some violence on screen, else he fumbles making linear shots.
Editing is glitchy and the songs are passable but for a few pieces which really sound like they would become popular ringtones.
Pachaikili....excels in bits and certainly not a must-see film, certainly one expects better from the Minnale man and he probably should derive his own cinema rather than making loose and strang adaptations of hollywood cinema. But if you wish to watch the film just for hanging out with cool friends....go ahead, there is plenty of scope for fun and foolish comments!"
-romila.
Some films can be stressful but a change is a change I guess.
I enjoyed the film immensely for having watched it with Sandy and sharing a few semiotic notes, laughing at the histrionics and gulping popcorn (courtesy:sandy).....pulling priya's leg, a delicious lunch complete with Gongkura pachadi at Rads place and poking fun non-stop.
It was a great afternoon folks and we must do it more often but with someone's home-theatre, the kids around and the kitchen handy!!
The best part was watching the faces of a few scandalised students in the back-seats, being introduced to their mothers and ofcourse feeling that one has spent some time for oneself and with close friends.
Truly worth the company and not the cinema.
Pachai Kili Muthu Charam
Cast: Greying at the temples Sarath Kumar, Already-grey Milind Soman, Novice Andrea and Jyothika lacking a meaty role.
Crew: Gautham Menon who needs a break and a fresh USP. Harris Jeyraj (was this the music of the man who gave us Minnale??)
Spoiler Warning: The film is very loosely based on the book Derailed...very loosely, avoid reading the book if you want to watch the film!!
Having watched the film at an expensive locale and alongside some amazing company....I couldnt have an afternoon snooze in peace. After all how often does someone who writes film reviews for a living get to write one straight from the gut, that too after actually watching the film!
Pachai Kili is a winner....when you look at the shots, the editing (but for a few glitches) and Jo's screen presence, but the film lacks in pace and yes, a plot.
A happily married couple is faced with the fact that their child has juvenile diabetes...(arent there more diabetics than non-diabetics??) The medial rep father is ready to take it in stride but the mum as mums all the world around are, shattered. But kudos to Gautham for having stayed off cliches like leukemia and blood cancer.
A few scenes where the wife refuses her husband and the dialogues here are mostly of the 'I want to make love to you' and 'I dont want to' variety.....we heard something like that in Kaakha Kaakha as well.
The hero has a legitimate reason to eye a fellow passenger, the svelte and attractive hmm...what was her name finally?? Conversation develops to companionship, intimacy and finally lust. The shots here that denote intimacy lack the finesse of a seasoned filmmaker.
While the poor wife is unaware of all this and the 'train-lady' is busy seducing...the hero faces a mild mental turmoil, or does he really....he marches ahead for dinners, dates and even fights a few baddies to rescue her. He is her hero, more intimacy and finally a painfully long drive to a beach resort sees them stumbling to make the first move.
But things are taken out of control as a petty thief barges in, on overpowering them both, he gains access to credit cards, cell phone numbers and finally pics in wallets that reveal their illegitimate relationship.
The thief is played by an ageing Milind Soman (and it really feels surprising to see your teenage hero turn old and grey). Its a Catch 22 situation, they cant speak about it, they cant make a complaint as the thief blackmails them for money.
When the bank account shows zero, our man comes out clean with wife....the pretty wife who sat pretty is overwhelmed.
Our hero suffers her loss amply illustrated by the situation where he lives and feeds his kid on bread....the wife returns soon.
Now emerges our filmi hero....if our usual dad and uncle types would have been happy to start saving again, our hero has more salt, he sees how he can get his money back.
A chase in chennai autos show him the gang is all out to hook people and the lady is a key player....a network of con artistes, taxi walas, hotel owners and thugs. How do they budget such a vast office with just a few lakhs from a few men??
A trail and chase, a foolish confrontation.....actors struggle to get their punches right, commotion ensues in three murders. The hero makes away with the loot.
Shift to Hyderabad, life with the same dialogues and songs...only to be stalked by old skeletons.....hero sets out to rescue family, the lady (train) reappears desperate for vengeance.
Jo proves that she is a complete novice when it comes to such roles, she resorts to rolling eyes to look menacing. A tussle, blows, blood and gun shots, the lady is dead, our man takes family back and and drives away into the sunset.....phew!!
The rigmarole of watching a film in theatre to supposedly have fun is over.....and what a film to do that!! I guess only animation stuff or like Sandy says 'the Lord of the Rings' variety films are worth a 70 mm, for the rest like this fare a thiruttu VCD would suffice.
Andrea is predictable but looks quite attractive. Jo is good in places but reveals that she has no grounding in these kind of roles....wouldnt Sangeetha been a better choice here, or does Gautham just have to have Jo?
Like Sandy again says its so much like Kaakha Kaakha, Jo dies in both cases and the villains are look alikes, the director is in better control when there is some violence on screen, else he fumbles making linear shots.
Editing is glitchy and the songs are passable but for a few pieces which really sound like they would become popular ringtones.
Pachaikili....excels in bits and certainly not a must-see film, certainly one expects better from the Minnale man and he probably should derive his own cinema rather than making loose and strang adaptations of hollywood cinema. But if you wish to watch the film just for hanging out with cool friends....go ahead, there is plenty of scope for fun and foolish comments!"
-romila.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Priyaaa...!!!
When we take great efforts to write an orkut testimonial and the person opts out of orkut...
After all, we dont want our masterpieces to go unseen....we post it on our blogs!!
This is about Priyaa...colleague, senior, friend. ;)
Priyaaaaa….!!!!
Chocolate is one word that describes her…..
The real sugar amidst loads of sugar-coated candies. The original honey-filled toffee, while the rest are merely flavoured….
the sweetener who adds life and energy to all those around her!!!
Chocolate obsession, child-like nature, wit, humour, genuine warmth, bear hugs, undiluted as vanilla cream and appreciating the small joys of life.
Gloomy pudding when she is forced to do something she doesn't like, soft as chocolate cream and stuffed with chips when pampered.
A hot cup of chocolate when you feel the world around you is falling to pieces, strong as coffee when the need arises.
But people, don't get carried away by all this sweetness, she can turn bitter cocoa when someone is fake and hypocritical.
Genuine warmth and earnestness alone appeal to her, frills and fuss…she keeps them off by light-years.
The burnt-umber of Earth, the bright orange of sunshine, the warm yellows of summer and milk-white of innocence. The lines that come to my mind when I feel like describing her…
"Without, the frost – the blinding snow,The storm-wind's moody madness –Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, And childhood's nest of gladness."
-romila ;)
After all, we dont want our masterpieces to go unseen....we post it on our blogs!!
This is about Priyaa...colleague, senior, friend. ;)
Priyaaaaa….!!!!
Chocolate is one word that describes her…..
The real sugar amidst loads of sugar-coated candies. The original honey-filled toffee, while the rest are merely flavoured….
the sweetener who adds life and energy to all those around her!!!
Chocolate obsession, child-like nature, wit, humour, genuine warmth, bear hugs, undiluted as vanilla cream and appreciating the small joys of life.
Gloomy pudding when she is forced to do something she doesn't like, soft as chocolate cream and stuffed with chips when pampered.
A hot cup of chocolate when you feel the world around you is falling to pieces, strong as coffee when the need arises.
But people, don't get carried away by all this sweetness, she can turn bitter cocoa when someone is fake and hypocritical.
Genuine warmth and earnestness alone appeal to her, frills and fuss…she keeps them off by light-years.
The burnt-umber of Earth, the bright orange of sunshine, the warm yellows of summer and milk-white of innocence. The lines that come to my mind when I feel like describing her…
"Without, the frost – the blinding snow,The storm-wind's moody madness –Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, And childhood's nest of gladness."
-romila ;)
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Savi, who is she???!!!!
Well, now that vini has in an unusual mood decided to declare her love to her sister, let me add a few things that I feel....
For one, the twosome at University were some of the only bright spots in my academic life there. The sister brigade have a way of taking most things coolly while I would be battling over the silliest of things in my head. Apart from that....if there is one thing I really envy vinitha for...it is Savi, the best older sis one can wish your friend to have....as she by default becomes your proxy older sister too.....
the one who teaches you how to frame your questionnaire, validate your research results, the agony aunt who pulls you out of depression and gives you sound practical advice when you are too confused to even spell your name. The cool girl who tells you what is best for you in two syllables and pulls a solution miraculously out of a tangle as a magician pulls a rabbit. I admire her absolutely cool, no frills, no fuss, bindaas attitude.
I have always looked up to her and value her thoughts and comments. Now...when Savi is getting married, I join the club here in Madras that is gonna miss her awfully. Actually I have started missing her ever since she got engaged, as we dont message so frequently as earlier....well, one has to make allowances for a fiance and some romance!!
So I wont complain as long as she gives me bed and board every time I visit choking bangalore!!!
For you savs, I shall endure its congested traffic once in a while, not for any lesser person.
Savi rocks!!!
romie ;))
For one, the twosome at University were some of the only bright spots in my academic life there. The sister brigade have a way of taking most things coolly while I would be battling over the silliest of things in my head. Apart from that....if there is one thing I really envy vinitha for...it is Savi, the best older sis one can wish your friend to have....as she by default becomes your proxy older sister too.....
the one who teaches you how to frame your questionnaire, validate your research results, the agony aunt who pulls you out of depression and gives you sound practical advice when you are too confused to even spell your name. The cool girl who tells you what is best for you in two syllables and pulls a solution miraculously out of a tangle as a magician pulls a rabbit. I admire her absolutely cool, no frills, no fuss, bindaas attitude.
I have always looked up to her and value her thoughts and comments. Now...when Savi is getting married, I join the club here in Madras that is gonna miss her awfully. Actually I have started missing her ever since she got engaged, as we dont message so frequently as earlier....well, one has to make allowances for a fiance and some romance!!
So I wont complain as long as she gives me bed and board every time I visit choking bangalore!!!
For you savs, I shall endure its congested traffic once in a while, not for any lesser person.
Savi rocks!!!
romie ;))
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