Its painful when old relationships end, but sometimes it enhances other relationships and is a step to a new beginning.. this time it leads me here, something i've delayed out of naivete and nostalgia..

JULY 13th..the end of a four year long relationship..sometimes on and sometimes off, mostly ranting and sometimes rejoicing.
A place where I oft return to, for confidence and for restoring faith, is going to be shut down, and it's finally time to move on.

Not afraid of new beginnings anymore but not exactly thrilled at the idea, but a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do!

The following will be posted from my "from elsewhere".

6.30 pm. 16 Jun 2009.

The International

Producer: Lloyd Phillips

Director: Tom Tykwer

 

Cast: Clive Owen, Naomi Watts

The International is an English movie that falls into the genre Crime/ Thriller and that indicates it is an exciting entertainer. The protagonist Louis Salinger is played by Clive Owen. 

Sounded OBVIOUS? It’s the movie’s influence, don’t blame us! 

Unless you are above 6 and below 10, the movie is more or less going to keep you busy, enjoying the ambience of the theatre, sending messages, playing a game, watching others doing similar things. 

Sometimes, you meet destiny on the road you take to avoid it. 

The plot is about nobility and the courage of a single man to stand by what he believes in inspite of all odds, sounds familiar? Apparently, the makers didn’t think so. 

There is a very intriguing murder, the solution to which our honourable detective/officer hits upon in a newspaper report.
He confronts the murderer (how indirect is that?) who covers his tracks with a very simple explanation, “There was an error in the report” and gets away. 

Next, there is the assassination of an honest and sympathetic Italian politician (keep reading, honest was followed by Italian followed by politician, not Indian) with aspirations to the country’s highest office, in a public rally. 

The excitement is in the fact that it is at the juncture when the Italian, Calvini was supposed to give our naïve protagonist some information, the suspense is extreme and the audience is wondering about the interval (please, please, tell me there is one!) when they discover a lead to the assassin. 

The next half an hour is about tracking this lead and then there is finally a key to this film maker’s real strength, action! 

Though, it’s not the stunts but more the location that catches your eye, giving you the answer that the choice of location and cinematography really are the only good departments in this guy’s team. 

Not to digress, just trying to be positive and appreciate. 

And after this, the noble Salinger, and the even more noble Naomi Watts make the hardest decision of their lives (did you forget she was in the cast?) and go separate ways.   

Owen travelling to a new and beautiful location (now you can forget her), he finally tracks the villainous banker (who earlier covers his tracks with a brilliant move) and aims the gun, but before he can shoot, the villain drops dead.

The Italians are known for two things, Pizza and Revenge.
Bottom line, order a pizza and stay home or else..

The Confessions of a Shopaholic

Producer: Jerry Bruckheimer

Director: P.J. Hogan

 

Cast: Isla Fisher, Hugh Dancy

Aren’t confessions private? 

Let’s just forget this one then because the movie though painful, is more or less forgettable, once it is over. 

If you choose to watch it because it’s a romantic comedy, a light hearted easy flowing movie that is sweet, funny and enjoyable, well let me make a confession, it’s not. 

It’s sour, dour and boring because though the book the movie was based on, was funny, adorable and even original in places, the transfer of medium misplaced those places. 

The story is about this young woman, Becky Bloomwood, (played by a much older one) who is a graduate and aspires to be a journalist. 

By the title, the obvious deduction is this woman is addicted to shopping, and what isn’t is that she is essentially a talented writer and uses excellent metaphors and is also prone to insecurity, of all types. 

She aims to write for one magazine and ends up writing for another purely by chance.

The sheer good luck continues and she becomes a household scarf, I mean name and gains tremendous popularity, all in the span of a couple of articles. 

At about the same time she gets her first pay check, she is famous, has her extra handsome and supportive boss (Dancy) falling for her, has to go to her best friend’s wedding (now, that is a romantic comedy!), is attending therapy for her shopping issues, has a huge debt and a mean debt collector stalking her and is invited to a TV show, phew! 

With all this going on in her life, things get tangled and messy, and its rock bottom time for Isla Fisher, for the character played by her.

Once there, things start looking up, and in a matter of frames it does.

The confession’s over and there is a concussion, happens when you hit your head so hard. If the movie was targeted at women and girls, here goes another confession, we like cute guys, sweet lines and romance, not chaos exuding actresses, meaningless platitudes and bad adaptations of girly novels.

Movies..an excuse in more ways than one.

The first review was written on March 6th 2009

Thought it was too soon, to post on the same day is inconsistent, considering the reputation I had to live upto, therefore to make up for it posting this old one along with the other two latesht ones!

Film: Pink Panther 2

Cast: Steve Martin, Andy Garcia, John Cleese, Emily Mortimer, Jeremy Irons, Aishwarya Rai Bachhan

Original Music Score: Cristopher Beck

Director: Harald Zwart

Producer: Robert Simonds

End of a stressed out day or week? Need a little cheering up? This is the movie you ought to see.

Revolving around the famous Inspector Clouseau who is not as stupid as he seems and on the contrary more ingenious than the smartest of his contemporaries, this is a very old fictional series that’s been made into cartoons, movies, TV Serials and movies again, spanning 4 decades. 

This is meant to be a sequel to the one made in 2006 (which it fails!) and is outrightly funny and whacky, filled with comic stunts that are signature Steve Martin, be it tumbling down the chimney or interrogating the Pope himself.

Throw in the clichéd LOVE Triangle and a little spice in the form of our very own Barbie Doll cum representative to Hollywood; we have a thoroughly entertaining combination.

With a series of thefts across countries and continents, and with very little hope of recovering them, a team of the world’s best detectives and sleuths is formed to be headed by the bumbling Frenchman, Inspector Clouseau,  and after running in the wrong direction, they finally outcaste him.

As expected, in this moment of professional grief, he also faces his personal fears but nevertheless sticks to his convictions and eventually finds the missing clue in time to establish himself as the greatest detective ever.

The music is as always catchy and the trademark detective tune that turns the audience into chorus has still not lost its charm.

Though it's a pretty good script and a fair enough screenplay, with fillers at the right time, it isn't even half as good as the original Peter Sellers film. The only other gripe with the movie was that Jeremy Irons was mostly wasted and that as far as duplicates go, it’s not good enough.

But if all you want is a few laughs and a dinner afterwards, this certainly fits the bill.

Sometimes it's always the same!

Been more than a couple of years pending, in the writing, but here we are today...my latest post, my katha ka update, my status quo in life..I am fine now!

To be honest, 2 years ago, I was a mess, needy, clingy and guilty of it all.
And now I am not guilty!

Each day adds on to the long script of the manuscript of my life and before I realise, yesterdays triumphs are todays trivialities, tomorrows dreams are too foggy and far away and today is just another day..

I stayed guilty and afraid for a long time and unsure of the direction in which I was headed in and I still am, unsure of where I am headed and what my life will be, but if it's worth anything, the me inside has a better and confident dialogue than it used to have, and my footfall isn't so shaky anymore.

The dreams that I had and the decisions that I made, the way most scars fade, and the truth behind the facade, that peeps out seldom from the shade, showed me that it was okay to be afraid and thats when the adieu was bade.

At the ending of a page, there is the beginning of another but in reality there is a certain uncertainity and vaccuum that takes it's place in the middle...And when it slowly dissipated like a fresh breath of air and life came a familiar fragrance..(on a complete tangent, remember oldspice?) making me swoon and fall and thereby come out of the cocoon of questions with not many answers but at least with a remnant symbol of that old ally, hope and a new friend, strength that I didn't know existed in me.

A pretty average run of the mill butterfly I may have turned out to be and for the same, for that conquest of the quagmire and binds that still have the power to touch, if not blind me, I am grateful and proud.

All the while, there are new goals to reach and like the brook I have miles to go, but like a dandellion seed on the wind, feeble, fluttering, feminine and funnily enough, I am sure I'll find my feet..sooner or later!

1-10am
Feb 6, 2009

nothing much but it's still precious

as the title suggests, what am ranting out here is actually nothing much but a bunch of thoughts that could not be shared with a single being i call my own, but desperately needed an outlet, which is why am putting them here.
been a while since i wrote and even longer since i actually sat down and made an attempt!

today a statement that i encountered made it imperative that i write here, because looks like am finally gonna get the freedom and space i fought for and now am not sure i want and hence my sole way to express will be this.

seems a little lonely and pathetic as well, this, writing for me to see and me to read and me to understand and empathise, but this is the best there can be, if i want to respect me.
to ask of someone to listen, to share with me my life, to understand and feel the way i do about me
is too big a risk to take and coward that i am this nagging silence is company enough.

this story of me, as crappy as it is, is still precious and at the same time something which i want to share but cannot for the fear of chains and bonds, if not rejection, and also for the basic lack of an audience who i can count on to value this enough and also the audience that i can value enough.

so sad as it seems, to wait is the only option i get to choose, for the audience i want i cannot yet decipher but am sure is not the one i have.

the exodus that has begun now causes me to wonder on the fate of two things,
1 will new winds come in to take the place that is empty or will there be vaccuum
2 is the departure really for true and is it the finality, or is life truly too long and will there be a chance not too long from now for which this vaccuum needs to be exist and no new winds should be allowed or should life move on in another direction and cease to hope the wind to turn back in this direction?
do i wait as well as move on, that is keep the space vacant and still build other bridges and bonds
or do i move on and away, looking back once in a while but never stopping to clean the dust and rebuild bonds of old
the first option would leave me hollow and the second sad,
both clearly display the want, but which is right and which is wrong
the threads are all muddled up in my head
and all because i do not have that single ONE being i call my own
but to call my own do i have me at all or is this too an illusion like everything else?

---------------- ------------------ ----------------------- ----------------------

MY AUTO-BIOGRAPHY 437

and as I got closer to the counter, it just got more pronounced, the leading moments that brought me today to my life’s climax, the pressure of appeasing a fury that hell does not possess, the fury of a woman, never been scorned..
as has been the unwavering dictum of my bountiful, curvaceous life, there it stood in front of my Oracle like eyes, something that I had for the first time forgotten to foresee, in all its unassuming glory, the cracked, bent, blunt edged, mute testimony, the “HOUASE PHUL- whit,blak, all selled” board.

So amazing, how a paan inked, ash decorated piece of cardboard, can be a loud changing lanes signal, that again a sensitised urban rule following God believing man like me could be blind to..

Even before fact or the ingenious spelling could get translated to untold joy of the unexpected blessing, in that split second of bliss devoid of complaints and foreseeable tantrums, even before the moves that would let me flee to freedom were properly planned, my overloud attaché on the arm wailed loud enough to express the pain of all the other queue members and overwhelm them away to seek other options for their special weekend evening, while she like the Rajdhani came up with ours.

Then when reality finally managed to make her whining presence felt and destroy my moment of silent revelry, I found myself already being manoeuvred with the aide of a blubbery arm, this time squeezed up between my own inconsequential bicep filled out arm and a highly threatened ribcage, towards the car park to take up the pole position all over again.

Then amidst shrill blasts of what you honeybun should not have done, not today at least, and while all those lists of special attributes that made me ME, and hence perennially faulty, the all too familiar brainwave of lets-go-walking-on-the beach was announced to a fumbling searching me, partly to loosen and extract her hold, and honestly searching for the keys, at the corner bend was waiting my link to the present.

Like in the typical turning point in the movie that we luckily didn’t see, kaboom and I crashed unknowingly, uncomplainingly with a soft somebody.
This is why I had earlier made a point about a woman always hitting us poor stronger gender hard and literally for me, as the one on my arm fell down flung away and I came down and tumbled after like jack, but with jane in my arm, and was met by the first most heart warming frown.

While in the jolt of the collision, a hairy forearm was let go in search of other follicles, from an oversized purple-veined upper arm, another grabbed a waist. As expensively parlour cared hair got rudely fussed up, nature’s most well thought out position, Man on the Top, got carried out and finally the evening’s climax was brought about...

et tu brutus!!

chustu chustu...enni maarpulu ochhayo...anni mana mnchike ani anukovadanki kooda saadhyam kaakunda...
nammina valle netturu kakapoyina neery karpiste etu povaalo artham kaakunda undi..
ennadu lenattu kopam munchukostunte, daanni control etta chesedi...baadha padali ani ika nirnayinchaka etu chusina manchi kanapadadu ani telisina...without cutting the slightest slack for the most negligible mistake, ilage mondiga ennallu undalo, emi sadhinchalo teliyatledu...
so want to give in..kaani the anger doesnt allow such a thing to happen...so prastutam sameepam lo unna manchi tananni overlook cheyyalanukuntu, etu chusina chedu ne gurtinche prayatnam lo munigi potunnanu...