tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357554302024-03-05T12:26:40.731+05:30By The RiversideAlongside the banks ..of my mind..a quiet story washes up...manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-10110442570475559412023-05-31T08:27:00.000+05:302023-05-31T08:27:24.505+05:30Day trip to Watson’s Bay<br>
After the festivities and high spirits of the Vishu celebrations, was the next catch-up going to see a bit of a lull? Nah. Not among our “Changayimar”! It was a catch-up, day trip, adventure, and bonding exercise ..all rolled into one fun-filled day!
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On a bright and sunny autumn weekend on the 27th of May, we headed out for a day trip to Watson’s Bay - a peninsula situated on the east side of Sydney harbor. A bunch of new faces, some recent friends, and long-timers all came together for a fun meet-up and walk, along the beautiful bayside. Having got together at Circular Quay, we then proceeded to board the ferry from Wharf 2 to our destination. Off the ferry went, skimming on the blue waters, the Sydney skyline disappearing behind us and onwards among a multitude of white little sailboats. At Watson’s Bay, the ferry arrived on a wooden pier hugged on the beach end by a floating restaurant called Doyle’s - a renowned landmark in the area having stood in the same location since 1885!
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The group convened here for our first group photo of the day! What a lot of hugging and hand shaking, exchange of introductions and so much warmth there was, like a bunch of old school mates really !!
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Right near the landing was Robertson Park - a beautiful space with manicured lawns and quaint white park benches, welcoming the troop onshore. From there we set off across the park, to our first stop for the day - ‘The Gap’ - an ocean cliff, facing the Tasman Sea. The lookout point offers amazing views of the blue waves crashing onto the steep vertical cliff faces. We followed the walkway to a slightly higher viewpoint and after having spent some time sightseeing, taking photos, and merry-making, we returned to base camp. The party broke up to buy lunch and regrouped at the aforementioned park benches for a sit-down meal and more conversations. Afterward, we found a sunny spot nearby and settled down in a circle for a round of friendly introductions and everyone participated with full enthusiasm, asking questions and getting to know each other really well.
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The second leg of the day was the expedition towards Hornby Lighthouse. It was an easy walk, peppered with amazing views and lots of laughter. The first stop was Camp Cove Beach - a cute little beach tucked away from the crowds with beautiful beach views. From there we walked along the shoreline, navigating neatly constructed pathways, climbing slowly toward the top of the cliff face, and finally reaching the Hornby lighthouse. Along the path were breathtaking views of the ocean on our left side, with different types of boats gliding along the waves, glimmering in the afternoon sun. The weather was perfect with the gentle warm sun and lovely breeze. At the top, we regrouped again for group photos against the stunning backdrop. Needless to say, everyone went crazy taking a zillion photographs. We found a resting spot near the lighthouse where many of us were seen taking in the scenery sitting on top of the cliff face. After spending some more happy time near the lighthouse, we started our slow descent and walked back to the wharf side. A gentle sunset accompanied us as we took the return ferry from Watson’s Bay to Circular Quay, hugs and kisses followed as we said bye-byes and went our way home.
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A beautiful day, spent at a beautiful location with amazing friends - could it get any better? Not that I know!
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When life feels weary with all of its struggles, here is this space of friendship and camaraderie, that has been built up with a lot of care and love - the Changayimar group - just come and spent some time and one is sure to get all refreshed and recharged. It is the loving energy that each one of us exudes whenever we come together that makes this possible. To us, our group, and the future - hip hip hurray !!!
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<blockquote></blockquote>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-44117986396662978222019-07-03T03:03:00.000+05:302019-12-05T14:54:59.040+05:30Luca Movie Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Review Summary</span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A movie mixed
in equal parts with romance and intrigue, artistic vibes and gloom, but found wanting
in the making department. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Directed by<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Arun Bose</span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Starring<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Tovino Thomas, Ahaana Krishna</h4>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Rating 2.5 /5</h4>
<div>
*Spoiler Alert</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Review </span></h3>
<div>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US">The opening
credits roll by with beautiful visuals and background music, showing a man on a
bike in heavy rain – the man is a cop investigating the death of an artist and
the rain, his constant companion. When the movie opens, Luca - the eponymous hero
played by Tovino Thomas, is already dead. The cop, Akbar - played by Nithin George,
takes stock of the situation and gets the investigation rolling. The investigation
follows the stories of Luca and Niharika through the journals of Niharika. Akbar,
as we find out later, is entangled in his own weakly explained personal struggle.
He has decided to “give divorce” to his wife because he is unable to forget his
ex and would like to set the wife free. Wife is compliant with Akbar’s wishes as
they are also good friends as he keeps reiterating. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US">
</span>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US">
</span>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Cut to
Luca. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Luca is a
reasonably successful artist and has a brilliant installation at the Kochi Biennale,
built all from trash over months of effort and is a beautiful exhibit. Niharika,
an industrial chemistry PhD student in Kochi as part of her research, walks in
with zero knowledge or taste and well, trashes it. The artist overhears this and
quibbles and tada, hero meets heroine. This is so relatable though; people with
little insight dissing masterpieces being my current pet peeve and all. *rolls
eyes* <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Anyway,
what matters is that they meet, her a precocious, hard-nosed girl and him, a
dreamer and childlike. In a classical case of opposites attract, they fall in
love, but not before an endearing friendship. Now here’s a relationship arc
that can be tagged #relationshipgoals. The ‘Ore Kannal’ song is a happy, peppy
number set to beautiful visuals which brings alive the artsy vibes of Luca’s
world and introduces it to Niha as well as the audience. Music and camera are
two nicely executed departments in this movie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/V-csb9wh4gE" width="480"></iframe></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">All is not
hunky dory in their world and they have their own personal demons to battle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Niharika was
sexually abused as a child by her maternal uncle and it is portrayed through a
telling depiction of the child’s trauma and confusion. It is this bitterness
that forces her into a shell as she struggles to deal with the ordeal all by herself.
Niharika’s encounters with her abuser changes in nature overtime as she slowly
learns to stand up for herself and is able to better take care of herself. Her
dilemma though at having to act normal around her abuser in order to keep the
secret from her mother, to whom he is a pillar of strength, is a reflection of her
sad reality. How tragic it is when a child has to grow up before its time and
lose out on childhood in order to protect the parent from emotional distress. Could
this also be why girls mature faster than boys, not because it’s the law of
nature but it simply is never safe enough for a girl child?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Later when
the investigators learn about her travails from her journal, the assistant who
is also an adoptive parent is incensed and seethes resoundingly, “If ever a
child’s face is dull, the parents get so anxious thinking about what could be
the matter. Then how can blood relatives do this to a child? And how can the
parents not know ??”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Luca, on
the other hand, struggles from phobias and panic attacks – he is phobic to
death and anything related to it. He is shown to be disturbed after seeing a dead
fish and faints after seeing a dead body. His condition is explained to have
been triggered by seeing his father’s suicide as a child and his mother’s
sudden demise in the recent past. Art is his escape and therapy from such
debilitating mental health issues. These two discordant souls fall into perfect
sync and become each other’s support systems in a short period of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Through it all,
Luca shines as a sweet and romantic yet vulnerable and dependent person who is at
times protected by his stronger girlfriend. As a friend, he makes her feel
welcome in his house and his world but the doors are left open because it is
her decision whether to stay or not. As a lover, he has no qualms in openly
admitting that there are more chances of her leaving him than the other way around.
And under difficult circumstances, he chooses for her to leave rather than stay
and suffer with him. In our mind-fucked world of acid attacks and other revenge
crimes in the name of love, and obsessive, toxic relationships as espoused by the
movie Kabir Singh, Luca is hope. Luca shows us a love that’s selfless, tender
and enriching. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To people
who say Kabir Singh is just a movie, don’t over analyze it – it’s regressive
enough to not want to take a second look, thank you very much. But bear with me
a second. Contrast the relationships portrayed in both movies. Here, there is friendship
and getting to know each other phase, personal space and freedom, and a relationship
on equal terms. In Kabir Singh, he decides straight away about their
relationship and warns all the other guys away, she sleepwalks into it, there
is emotional abuse and (lots of) substance abuse, and basically an owner-doormat
relationship. In the first case, characters could be reversed and the relationship
would still stand – that’s an equal relationship. In the second case, can you
think of role reversal at all? That’s why its unequal and holds zero value for the
girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">From such
happy premises to the lead character’s sudden, unexplained death is a whodunit that
gives the movie it’s intrigue quotient. Neither the red herrings nor the actual
ending does any justice though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Two things
stuck out from the death scene – a dead man kept lying in the rain – who does that?
Why was he not shifted inside but kept lying outside in the rain, except for
the dramatic appeal? Also, in the same scene, the cop does not get drenched as
he walks back inside without an umbrella even though it is still raining. This
quirk of the rain is seen again in another scene where the cop and his side
kick are seen having tea outdoors with rain in the background but the characters
remain untouched. In fact, the rain is so omnipresent in all of the cop scenes that
it gets downright annoying after a few scenes. It made me sick wondering how
much water was wasted to shoot those scenes when there are places like Chennai that
went into drought this summer. The rain is so ubiquitous and heavily so, that I
kept waiting for some sort of significance to crop up in the story. Other than
the allusion to the fact that the lovers did not live long enough to drench in
the rains together as they had hoped, and the cop’s personal misery, there’s
nothing else that calls for so much rain! This could have been conveyed through
a couple of actual rain shots and some shots of puddles or dripping leaves etc!?
I mean I have never been so annoyed with rains before!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Tovino lives
and breathes as Luca on screen, but the same cannot be said for Ahaana Krishna.
There were a couple of jarring cuts and the sub titles lagged behind the dialogues.
So technical department was not really up to the mark. Some dialogues sounded
too artificial like where Niha talks about feeling like her childhood had kickstarted
again and the way she explains her visit in their second encounter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The
parallel track of Akbar’s personal life and the characters therein were not fleshed
out enough. Their dialogues felt very artificial and scripted. The clipped
conversations and stiff body language between Akbar and his wife seemed contrived.
It seems inconclusive that Akbar who goes after a mostly suicide looking death
just on a hunch, does not bother to find out why his ex left and lives on in
her memories rather than do something about it. And even that, after going
through Niharika’s journal which really talks about a until-death-do-us-apart style
love story , decides to let go of his own and move on .If it’s because it was
his wife that gave him a nudge in the right direction before the puzzle solved
itself , was that all it took ? What if that pointer had come from somewhere else,
like a colleague? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">All in all,
the movie works in parts and would have worked well as a longer duration short film.
The social aspects that peeked through like adoption, child abuse, healthy
relationship etc were good. The music, visuals and art work were beautifully done.
In the end, it was a mixed bag that could have been executed way better. It had
the potential ya know!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span></div>
<div>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<br /></div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-21839325330666921762017-09-25T09:47:00.000+05:302017-09-25T09:47:03.127+05:30A Sudden Happiness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its been raining heavily this morning . The sky was so grey and overcast that it looked more like the dusk than the dawn today . I woke up to the incessant ringing of my mobile alarm , but I wasn't dragging my feet like most days . Today I woke up with a spring ,fresh from the sleep and strangely ,wanting no more . The scene outside my big sitting room window was white like fog , only it turned out to be rain upon closer inspection . Now rains early in the morn is usual back home in Kerala .In Bangalore though the rain times itself more conveniently towards the evenings .So this was unexpected .<br />
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No matter that I got ready quickly I was still running late for my early morning bus to the office. When I got out of the house , the rain was a heavy drizzle,water flowing on the roads and I had to splash my way through . Luckily I got an auto to take me the rest of the couple of hundred meters to where my bus usually waits . But today no bus ! Oh no , not today .. Quick thinking and I asked the auto to speed on to the next stop where the bus takes a loop around the block and arrives . I cut to the chase quite literally and went there straight and voila , minutes after I reached ,the bus snaked its way slowly there . Thus relieved , I climbed into the bus , settled myself in and after a quick status check call with the husband , snoozed off .Head lolling ,wrapped in a warm stole and eyeing the heavy downpour whenever I shook awake ,I reached the office around the regular time . Rain or no rain , the morning traffic seems to be kinder to the office goers in this traffic nightmarish city .<br />
<br />
I alighted in front of my office building and splashing my way even more than earlier , I made my way in, shivering . Usually I loathe the office going part of the day . It only gets worse on Mondays . Today turned out to be different though . Was it because of the rain , you ask ? No .. It was despite the rain . I even have a song playing on my lips ; that sweet voice of one of my favourite singers ringing in my ears , "Aaja piya tohe pyaar doon.." . So that's why I settled in with a hot cup of ginger tea to type away as soon as I reached . Well before my team mates arrive because of my bus schedule that ferries me half way across the city to my office and back home in the evenings . So all in all , I like today . This day looks good !<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
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<h1 class="quoteText" style="line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>"A sudden happiness catches me unawares. I feel it trickling into me, and my eyes go liquid with gratitude and hope.”</i></span></h1>
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><b>― <a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/569.Khaled_Hosseini" style="text-decoration: none;">Khaled Hosseini</a>, <span id="quote_book_link_16115612"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/21933087" style="text-decoration: none;">And the Mountains Echoed</a></span></b></i></span></div>
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manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-68697011408109523702016-01-28T12:32:00.000+05:302016-01-28T12:32:33.299+05:30Turning 30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
There’s
something amazing about my birthdays .They more or less coincide with
the calendar, so when it’s new year in the calendar, it’s also new year
in my life. Yeah, I’m a January born! So unlike kids who went, “When’s
my birthday this year mommy?” at every other kid’s birthday, mine was
always right at the beginning. There’s no better way for a year to start
than with a birthday of your own!<br />
<br />
<span id="more-51"></span><br />
Now it is a different matter altogether that I have never really
‘felt my age’. The last age I remember clearly feeling was 25. I used to
await my 25<sup>th</sup> birthday excitedly as the true rite of passage
into adulthood and the grown-up-world. Even though you are officially
an adult since the age of 18, I don’t think that quite holds in our
family circles. Twenty five on the other hand is respectable enough for
your opinions to merit more attention. The years since did not seem to
make any difference to the status achieved on the 25<sup>th</sup>
milestone and have passed by as uneventfully as the passing seasons. In
that sense, 30 seemed to be the next milestone year. Or was it?<br />
<br />
The weeks leading up to the milestone day were a curious mix of
trepidation and incredulity.An alien space ship had suddenly appeared
and hovered menacingly over my mind’s sky .It bore the sign “30” in big
neon lights on its forehead and intoned to me , “Awaiting clearance for
landing “ . “Roger that. Need time for preparing the mind for touchdown
“, I tried biding time wearily. But then, when has time slowed down to
accommodate my willingness for age change! Meanwhile the day called for
celebrations and that I was game for any time!<br />
<br />
A grand privilege enjoyed by people in this part of the world is that
we have not one but two birthdays! One on the date of birth as the rest
of the world, and one based on our birth star per astrology. In fact
the second one is of more import for us and this year it was just 2 days
before my actual D.O.B. Right on this day arrived my first birthday
gift of all, from my dear younger brother. So what if he was also the
main competition for my parents ‘attention throughout childhood and we
fought innumerable battles in good old sibling rivalry , we also grew up
to be the most loving brother-sister duos of all time . Suffice it to
say, it was the most heart warming feeling to get this special birthday
gift from him and it not only made the day for me, but it will
invariably light me up with a smile at its mere memory though out the
year. Along with a lovely dress and a tiny li’l book of birthday quotes,
came the cutest birthday card that had pages adorned with pictures of
us from our early childhood that climaxed with a picture from my pre
wedding evening and a big “I love you Sis”. It now stands proudly on my
drawing room cupboard filling my home with cheer unbound! I love you
back to bits, brother; you are such a precious part of my life, my
dearest!!<br />
<br />
My husband meanwhile, coached by myself on gifting options by way of a
casual gift shop visit the prior week where I Ooh-ed and Aah-ed at
their curio collections and remarked loudly about my love for cute
greeting cards , was not to be left behind ! This step had to be taken
as I have quite the serious ,matter-of-fact person image with my husband
and so had to be reminded that I am also just as faint-hearted when it
comes to all things pretty . Things started rolling the morning of my
birth-star-day with my newspaper-hungry husband asking me to, “Get the
newspaper dear”, while he held back pseudo-casually. A lovely birthday
card came for me with the papers that day. I wonder to this day, who in
the newspaper office dares call me “darling wife”! Humph!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Mid night birthday wishes are something I am infamous for shunning. I
love my beauty sleep so much that history states an instance where I
even kept my mobile in silence during a birthday eve and slept through
it! Of course when love comes into life, it also turns some of our pig
headedness on its head. What’s a birthday when you don’t sit up with
your soul mate, count the hours till the stroke of mid night and then
indulge in a hearty birthday kiss? When midnight turned into my 30<sup>th</sup>
year of existence, I was happily beaming into my husband’s face and
rejoicing at the joy of having found each other in this big bad world –
two people whose hearts beat together since that first meeting .If my
narration is mushy by now, you should forgive and look the other way for
a minute while I try to lose my stupid grin and then I shall tell you
the remainder of the story in a bit.<br />
<br />
Out came a procession of small gifts – each one something I had
mentioned most probably in passing, fancies and little wishes of mine
.They had all transformed into little beautiful gifts for me. A charming
album to be filled with photos from our travels, a small mp3 player to
fill music in my days , the movie CD of an obscure Malayalam movie I
have been wanting to watch and had looked for everywhere but in vain .
The list is topped by a serene watch we shopped for together. On
Republic Day , my date of birth, when I get a holiday every time to
celebrate my birthday , we also celebrate my parents wedding anniversary
.It’s always a day of double joy in my household as we reminisce two
wonderful beginnings on this day – that of my parents marital life and
my own birth in the subsequent year. Being away from home this year, my
brother and I had sent our presents online to our parents – a bouquet of
the loveliest pink roses to mark the beauty of the day and an
anniversary cake to savour the deliciousness of our togetherness.
Distances can well nigh diminish the joy of our hearts as we all
celebrate together!<br />
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<br />
Back in Bangalore, the two of us made our way to one of our favourite
entertainment options – a movie to mark the turn of the decade for me.
An inspiring tale of a woman’s struggle out of mundane life and into
reaching her true potential set the tone for the evening. The movie was
followed up with a dinner at a quaint little café in one of the hangout
areas of the city. An open terrace affair, the café had decadent
furniture and tastefully done low key décor. Kitchen island and bar
counter made up the centre of the whole area, while the tables were set
along the periphery looking out into the palm fronted night sky. The
food was so delicious that it satiated not just our famished tummies but
also our foodie souls with its taste, texture and pretty looks. The
candle light glow and soft music began seeping into us once we were so
taken care of. The gentle breeze and romantic ambience combined to
transport us back to our honeymoon days in Maldives and we reminisced
those lovely days of our life. After the dinner, we went for a quiet
night stroll gazing at the decked up shops and night crowd. A beautiful
night was coming to a slow end.<br />
<br />
Thus unwound the 30th memorial day of my birth on Jan 26<sup>th</sup>
of 1986. And this is the story of the day I turned 30 .Not that I
wanted to. But the world has seen much worse. So I make my peace with
it.”Remember being 25?” I ask myself .Hold on to it and never mind the
numbers change!<br />
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manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-86015397991742919342015-06-30T14:06:00.000+05:302017-05-23T11:25:27.303+05:30കുന്തിബെട്ടയിലെ സൂര്യോദയം<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>കുന്തിബെട്ടയിലെ സൂര്യോദയം</i></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">ഹൃദയത്തോടു
ചേർത്തുപിടിക്കാവുന്ന ഒരു പിടി ചിത്രങ്ങളും ക്യാമറയിലാക്കിയാണ് ഞങ്ങൾ
കുന്തിബെട്ട മലയിറങ്ങിയത്.ആകാശത്തിന്റെ കറുത്ത ക്യാൻവാസിൽ ആ മഹാചിത്രകാരൻ
വര തുടങ്ങുന്ന നേരവും കാത്ത് ഞങ്ങൾ അതികാലത്തേ കുന്തിബെട്ട മലമുകളിൽ
കാത്തിരിപ്പുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. തലേന്ന് അർധരാത്രി തുടങ്ങിയ യാത്ര പക്ഷെ മനസ്സിൽ
കയറിയിരുന്ന് മോഹിപ്പിക്കാൻ തുടങ്ങിയിട്ട് ആഴ്ച്ചകൾ പലതു
കഴിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു.സ്വതവേ സാഹസികരൊന്നുമല്ലാത്ത ഞങ്ങളെ മലമേട്ടിലെ സൂര്യോദയം
കൊതിപ്പിച്ചുകൊണ്ടേയിരുന്നു.അങ്ങനെ ഒരു ധന്യമുഹൂർത്തത്തിന്റെ ഓർമപുതുക്കൽ ഈ
യാത്രയിലൂടെ ആകട്ടെ എന്നു നിശ്ചയിക്കപ്പെട്ടു.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">ബെംഗളൂരുവിൽ നിന്നും 130 കി.മി അകലെയുള്ള ഗ്രാമപ്രദേശമായ <a data-mce-href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pandavapura" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pandavapura" target="_blank">പാണ്ഡവപുരത്തിലാണ് </a>കുന്തിബെട്ട
സ്ഥിതിചെയ്യുന്നത്.മഹാഭാരത കഥയുമായി ബന്ധപ്പെട്ടു ഒരു ഇതിഹാസവും ഈ
സ്ഥലത്തെക്കുറിച്ചു പറയപ്പെടുന്നു. ആ കഥ ഇങ്ങനെയാണ് -</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">അഞ്ജാതവാസക്കാലത്ത്
പാണ്ഡവർ ഇവിടെ താമസിച്ചിരുന്നു എന്നുള്ളതുകൊണ്ടാണ് ഇവിടം പാണ്ഡവപുരം
ആയിത്തീർന്നത്.കുന്തീദേവിയുടെ മനം കവർന്ന </span><span style="font-size: large;">മലനിരകളോ, കുന്തിപ്പാറ
അല്ലെങ്കിൽ കുന്തിമല എന്നു മലയാളത്തിൽ അർത്ഥം വരുന്ന
കുന്തിബെട്ടയുമായി(Kunti Hill).ബകാസുരനെ ഭീമൻ വധിച്ചത് ഇവിടെ വച്ചാണെന്നും
ഒരു ശ്രുതി കേൾവിയിലുണ്ട്! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">യാത്രയുടെ പ്രത്യേകത ഇതൊരു
രാത്രികാല trekking ആണ് എന്നുള്ളതാണു.രാത്രി , മഴക്കാലം - ഇങ്ങനെ രണ്ടാണു
പ്രതിയോഗികൾ.കൈയിൽ ഓരോ torch light-ഉം മിന്നിച്ച്, മഴക്കോട്ടും ധരിച്ചാണു
മലകയറ്റം.രാത്രി പത്തരയോടെ ഞങ്ങളെ pick ചെയ്ത ബസ്സ്, വഴിയിൽ മറ്റുള്ളവരെയും
ചേർത്തു ബെംഗളൂരുവിൽ നിന്നും അർധരാത്രിയോടെ രാമനഗരം എന്ന സ്ഥലത്തുള്ള pit
stop-ൽ എത്തിച്ചേർന്നു.അവിടെ ചായയും പലഹാരവും തന്ന് സംഘാടകർ ഞങ്ങളെ
സ്വീകരിച്ചു.സാഹസിക യാത്രകൾ സ്ഥിരമായി നടത്തുന്ന ഒരു ചെറിയ സംഘമാണു
യാത്രയുടെ വഴികാട്ടികൾ.അവർ പറഞ്ഞതനുസരിച്ച് ഇനിയും 70 കി.മി അകലെയാണ്
ലക്ഷ്യസ്ഥാനം.യാത്ര പുനരാരംഭിച്ചു.പരിചയപ്പെടലും , ഉച്ചത്തിലുള്ള സംഗീതവും
നൃത്തവും ഒക്കെയായി ബസ്സിനുള്ളിൽ ഞങ്ങൾ അപരിചിതർ ഉറക്കത്തെ അകറ്റിനിർത്തി. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">പിറ്റേന്നു
വെളുപ്പിനെ മൂന്നു മണിയോടെ ബസ്സ് കുന്തിബെട്ട base camp-ൽ
എത്തിച്ചേർന്നു.രണ്ടു മിനിട്ടു നേരം സംഘാടകർ ചില നിർദ്ദേശങ്ങൾ തന്നു.ശേഷം
സംഘം trekking ആരംഭിച്ചു.ഒരു ജാഥ പോലെ, ഇരുട്ടിൽ torch-കൾ തെളിയിച്ച് ,
“ജയ് മാതാ ദി ” വിളികളും മുഴക്കിക്കൊണ്ട് ഞങ്ങൾ മുന്നോട്ട് നീങ്ങി. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">ആദ്യമേ
തന്നെ കുത്തനെയുള്ള ഒരു കയറ്റമാണ്!തുടങ്ങുന്നതിനു മുൻപേ തന്നെ
അവസാനിപ്പിക്കേണ്ടി വരുമോ ഈ സാഹസം എന്നു ശങ്കിച്ചു പോയ നിമിഷം.രണ്ടും
കൽപ്പിച്ചു കയറ്റം തുടങ്ങി- രണ്ടു കൈയ്യും നിലത്തു കുത്തി
കുരങ്ങന്മാരെപ്പോലെയായിരുന്നു ആ കയറ്റം മറികടന്നത്.അവിടുന്ന് അങ്ങോട്ട്
ഉരുളൻ പാറകളെ ചവിട്ടുപടിയാക്കിയും , മുൻപേ പോയവരുടെ കൈത്താങ്ങിൽ പിടിച്ചു
തൂങ്ങിയും ,പുറകേ വരുന്നവർക്ക് വെളിച്ചം കാട്ടിയും,ഇടുങ്ങിയ
പാറമതിലുകൾക്കിടയിലൂടെ ഊർന്നുകയറിയും,നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളെയും താഴ്വാരത്തിലെ
മിന്നാമിന്നി വെളിച്ചങ്ങളെയും കുറിച്ചു കൗതുകം കൂറിയും , കിതച്ചും പകച്ചും ,
അല്പവിശ്രമങ്ങൾക്കുശേഷം വീണ്ടും ക്ലേശിച്ചും ... അങ്ങനെ മലമ്പാറകളുടെ
പരീക്ഷണങ്ങളെ അണ്ണാറക്കണ്ണനും തന്നാലായത് എന്നോണം ഞങ്ങൾ നേരിട്ടു.ഒന്നര
മണിക്കൂറത്തെ കയറ്റത്തിനൊടുവിൽ ഞങ്ങൾ മലയുടെ നെറുകയിൽ
എത്തിച്ചേർന്നു.അപ്പോഴേക്കും വിയർപ്പിൽ കുതിർന്ന് ,ആകെ തളർന്ന് ഞങ്ങൾ
ദാഹിച്ചു വശായിരുന്നു. ദാഹശമനം നടത്തി കുളിർകാറ്റേറ്റു നിന്നപ്പോൾ മലയുടെ
തലയെടുപ്പിൽ തൊട്ടതിന്റെ നിർവൃതി !</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">താമസിയാതെ camp fire-കൾ
ജ്വലിച്ചു തുടങ്ങി.അങ്ങിങ്ങായി കത്തിച്ച മൂന്നോ നാലോ തീക്കുണ്ടങ്ങൾക്കു
ചുറ്റുമായി ചെറുസംഘങ്ങൾ പാടുകയും പറയുകയും ചിരിച്ചു വിശ്രമിക്കുകയും
ചെയ്തു.അവരിൽ നിന്നും തെല്ലൊന്നു മാറി ഞങ്ങൾ മലയുടെ മുതുകിൽ മലർന്നു
കിടന്ന് നക്ഷത്രങ്ങൾ എണ്ണി.മലങ്കാറ്റിന്റെ തണുത്ത പുതപ്പിനുള്ളിൽ ഞങ്ങൾ
നേരിയ വിറയാർന്നു കിടന്നു.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>താമസിയാതെ camp fire-കൾ ജ്വലിച്ചു തുടങ്ങി</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">അധികം
കഴിയുന്നതിനു മുൻപേ കിഴക്ക് കറുപ്പ് അലിഞ്ഞുതുടങ്ങി.വെറുതേയുള്ള
തോന്നലാണെന്നു കരുതി ഞങ്ങൾ വീണ്ടും കാത്തു.സമയം ഇഴഞ്ഞു നീങ്ങവേ വെളുപ്പ്
കൂടിക്കൂടി വന്നു.തീകായൽ ഉപേക്ഷിച്ച് പലരും കിഴക്കുനോക്കി
നിൽപ്പായി.അപ്പോഴേക്കും എന്റെ ക്യാമറയും പുറത്തു വന്നിരുന്നു.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>കാത്തിരുപ്പ് ...</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">പിന്നീടത്തെ
അരമുക്കാൽ മണിക്കൂർ നേരം സൂര്യോദയം എന്ന master piece-ന്റെ ചിത്രരചനയാണ്
ഞങ്ങളുടെ കൺമുന്നിൽ അരങ്ങേറിയത്.മാനത്തിന്റെ കറുപ്പ് കലങ്ങി നീലയുടെ പല
വകഭേദങ്ങളായി പിരിയവെ കണ്ണെത്താദൂരത്തോളം താഴ്വാരത്തിന്റെ പച്ചക്കമ്പടം
കാണാറായി.മേഘക്കീറുകളുടെ അരുണിമയിൽ ചക്രവാളം കനലെരിഞ്ഞു.അരുണോദയത്തിൽ
മൂടൽമഞ്ഞ് മലമേടിന് ഒരു സ്വർഗ്ഗീയ പരിവേഷം ചാർത്തിക്കൊടുത്തു.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>സൂര്യോദയം എന്ന master piece !</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>മേഘക്കീറുകളുടെ അരുണിമയിൽ ചക്രവാളം കനലെരിഞ്ഞു</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">പുതച്ചുറങ്ങിയവർ
എഴുന്നേറ്റിരുന്ന് ഈ മാന്ത്രിക സൗന്ദര്യത്തിൽ ലയിച്ചിരുന്നു.ഈ
വർണ്ണവിസ്മയത്തിന്റെ കൗതുകത്തിൽ ക്യാമറകൾ ചിലച്ചുകൊണ്ടേയിരുന്നുവെങ്കിലും
,ശാന്തമായ നിശബ്ദത ഭഞ്ജിക്കപ്പെട്ടതേയില്ല.താഴ്വാരത്തിലെ വലിയ തടാകം ഒരു
വെള്ളിത്തളിക പോലെ കാണപ്പെട്ടു.സൂര്യോദയത്തിന്റെ സ്വർണ്ണവെളിച്ചത്തിൽ
കാഴ്ച്ചകൾ എല്ലാം തന്നെ ഒന്നുകൂടി മിഴിവുറ്റതായി.ആറര മണിയോടെ സൂര്യൻ
പൂർണമായും ഉദിച്ചുകഴിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>To sleep under the open sky is to cuddle up to the stars ...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br data-mce-bogus="1" /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>അരുണോദയത്തിൽ മൂടൽമഞ്ഞ് മലമേടിന് ഒരു സ്വർഗ്ഗീയ പരിവേഷം ചാർത്തിക്കൊടുത്തു</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">ഇനിയുള്ളത്
മലയിറക്കമാണ്.പകൽവെളിച്ചത്തിലാണെങ്കിലും മലയിൽ സുഗമമായ മൺപാതകൾ
ഇല്ലതന്നെ.കയറ്റത്തെക്കാളും താരതമ്യേന ആയാസം കുറവാണ് ഇറക്കത്തിന് എന്നു
വേണമെങ്കിൽ പറയാം.പക്ഷെ പാറക്കെട്ടുകൾക്കിടയിലൂടെ വളഞ്ഞു പുളഞ്ഞ് ,
ചാടിക്കടന്നും ഊർന്നിറങ്ങിയും , ചിലയിടങ്ങളിൽ ഇരുന്ന് നിരങ്ങിയും , മലയുടെ
ദാർഷ്ട്യത്തെ ഒരുവിധം ഞങ്ങൾ മറികടന്നു.മലയിറക്കത്തിൽ ഇടയ്ക്കു
തിരിഞ്ഞുനോക്കിയപ്പോൾ താണ്ടിയ ഇറക്കത്തിലെങ്ങും പാതകൾ തെളിഞ്ഞു കാണാനായില്ല
.എങ്ങനെ ഇറങ്ങി എന്നതായി അദ്ഭുതം! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>മലയിൽ സുഗമമായ മൺപാതകൾ ഇല്ലതന്നെ</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">മല
സുന്ദരിയാണ്.പതുപതുത്ത പച്ചപ്പിന്റെയും മിനുസമുള്ള ഉരുളൻ പാറകളുടെയും ഒരു
ചാരുചിത്രം.സൂര്യോദയത്തിൽ അതിന്റെ സൗന്ദര്യം ഒന്നു വേറെ
തന്നെ.മലയിറക്കത്തിനു ശേഷം അടുത്തുള്ള തടാകത്തിൽ ചില ജലക്രീഡകളും
തരപ്പെട്ടു.ഫാക്ടറി വിസർജ്ജ്യങ്ങൾ മലിനപ്പെടുത്തിയിട്ടില്ലാത്ത
ഗ്രാമാന്തർഭാഗത്തെ പരിശുദ്ധമായ ഒരു ജലാശയം.അതിന്റെ കുളിർവെള്ളത്തിൽ
ശരീരത്തിന്റെ ക്ഷീണം തെല്ലൊന്ന് അലിഞ്ഞുപോയി.ശേഷം പ്രാതലും മടക്കയാത്രയും.
.ഭാഗ്യവശാൽ യാത്രയിൽ ഉടനീളം മഴ മാറി നിന്നു!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>മല സുന്ദരിയാണ് ...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">തിരിച്ചുവരവിൽ
കൂടുതൽ നേരവും ബസ്സിൽ ഉറക്കം തന്നെയായിരുന്നു.തലേന്നു നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട
ഉറക്കത്തെ ശരീരം തിരിച്ചു പിടിക്കുകയാണ്് എന്നു തോന്നും.കൂടണഞ്ഞതിനു
ശേഷവും ഉറക്കം കുറേ നേരം കൂടി നീണ്ടുനിന്നു.നീണ്ട ഉറക്കത്തിൽ നിന്നും
ഉണർന്നപ്പോൾ പക്ഷെ കണ്ടതെല്ലാം ഒരു സുന്ദര സ്വപ്നമായിരുന്നോ എന്നൊരു സംശയം
മാത്രം ബാക്കി...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>താഴ്വാരത്തിന്റെ പച്ചക്കമ്പടം</i></span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Reference</span></b></h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.escape2explore.com/">http://www.escape2explore.com/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.thrillophilia.com/tours/night-trek-at-kunti-betta-bangalore">http://www.thrillophilia.com/tours/night-trek-at-kunti-betta-bangalore</a></span></div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-74553503866546934822015-04-01T20:56:00.000+05:302015-04-02T12:19:17.725+05:30Ennum Eppozhum Movie Review : Old wine in old bottle <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When it comes to writing reviews, I have usually been moved
to do so by works that in turn moved me .There’s something about a good new
movie that makes you want to talk about it. But that is not why I am reviewing
Sathyan Anthikad’s latest directorial venture “Ennum Eppozhum”,in fact it is
just the opposite . Going by the mixed reviews the movie has been garnering so far,
I felt it imperative to clear the air from my part. The only way in which the
movie moved me was to make me want to make a move out of the cinema hall while
waiting for the ordeal to get over.
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Spoiler alert from here</h4>
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The movie has a wafer thin plot written by Ranjan Pramod
based on a story by actor Raveendran , or so the wiki page says . A lazy
reporter past his prime, professionally and personally, tries to get an
interview with a new-age, up and coming female advocate. Both the lead actors,
Mohan Lal and Manju Warrier, look the part quite effortlessly- delightfully in
the case of the heroine and woefully in the other case. Much to the viewer’s dismay,
both these talented actors have been reduced to playing themselves on screen. </div>
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Manju plays a socially responsible, hardworking and talented
advocate who is a divorcee and mother to a seven year old girl child. If you are
a fan of this talented actress and went to the movie just to catch her on
screen like I did, you wouldn’t be disappointed, as she lights up the movie
with her screen presence and gentle charisma. She is in her best shape and
looks inspiringly beautiful in her role as a successful single mother. The
credits end there as her role does not have much acting scope in terms of
character depth or variety since Adv.Deepa is just like any other modern woman.
Manju’s comeback in the dance field has been exploited to good length and even
overused what with her dancing to a full length song and then again
periodically ‘practising’ every now and then .These prolonging techniques had
best been avoided.</div>
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Mohan Lal plays the slothful Vineeth N Pillai whose only
reason for still having a reporter job is his late mother’s connections with
the magazine’s senior management. In a bid to oust him from his job, the new
kid on the block in the magazine’s owning fraternity gives him the job of
getting an exclusive interview with Adv .Deepa, who gains overnight fame
through her activist stand in protesting against potholed roads and getting
civic bodies to promise quick action. Including contemporary news items in the
story line is a staple in movies but this movie goes so far as to get the real
Mr.Kouchoussep Chittilappilly to offer the heroine 5 lakhs amount as reward for
her socially responsible stand which she turns down in turn . Comedy sequences
from Lalettan falls flat and the chemistry between him and his comic sidekick,
Gregory of Akkarakaazhchakal fame, does not have the desired impact. The scene
where Lalettan is asked by his friends over a few drinks about his still
unmarried status and his reply of not having found a woman with the qualities
of his mother, a line repeated ad nauseam in Malayalam movies, reeks of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>distasteful machismo. His supposedly touching
statement to the heroine as the only woman he has seen possessing his mother’s
virtues in the movie’s climax, fails to deliver the punch. It his high time
Lalettan became weight conscious and did something about his looks or stopped
making such frivolous statements to today’s heroines. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_IhsE1yQDxo/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_IhsE1yQDxo?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Music by Vidyasar and lyrics by Rafeeq Ahmed gets a good
mention from me, especially the song ‘Malarvaka kombathu’, rendered in the
enticing voices of P.Jayachandran and Rajalakshmy . Vijay Yesudas has sung another melody for
the movie which is worth a mention too. Cinematography is fresh and sits well
with the overall mood of the movie. Support roles done by Innocent, Lena and
Gregory are all the usual stuff displayed time and again and goes with the plot
line. Sathyan Anthikad, regretfully, has nothing new to offer and is no more
guaranteed to make good movies going by the string of his latest movie outings.</div>
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Overall the movie is a onetime watch, worth catching on TV
during the next festive season for this year’s Christmas if not for Onam; nothing
worth spending multiplex movie watching expenses over. Our take away from this
movie-going was the lovely caramel pop corn <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that we munched on ,the taste and rich aroma
of which still lingers fresh in memory . So let me wind up this review for now
and go find out where I can find some more caramel pop corn! </div>
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PS: The opinions stated here are personal and does not
reflect the general trend. I personally know people who found the movie “okay”
and even “enjoyable”. </div>
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manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-2150463792026433832014-02-20T20:23:00.000+05:302014-02-20T20:23:49.114+05:30The Story Seeker - Short Film Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When a friend shared a link to a short film he had made all on his own ,
little did I expect it to really catch my eye .Mostly because I was
watching more popular ones at the time , ones featured on a recent TV
show. But I stand happily corrected by this one-man-act that works
wonderfully well for several reasons. It narrates the story of ,well ,a
'story seeker' - a character I can relate very well to . He is someon<span class="text_exposed_show">e
for whom every sight, sound, passage of time, feeling and thought is
rarefied, affording a deeper connection and a minutely detailed
perspective .The film is a marquee of sights that catch his attention
,from the novel to the mundane, with the back ground music playing the
important job of conveying his reactions to each visual.<br /> <br /> The
writer is in perennial search for creative inspiration and everything in
his field of vision is potential 'material'. He drinks of the world
;there are abstractions born in his mind ,but the river of expression
runs dry.With the eye-glasses in most frames alluding to an intellectual
outlook , he looks to the vast oceans of wisdom for respite . Writers'
block frustrates his mind and bogs him down . But it's not long before
his attention is drawn back into the world and it's many curiosities.
Because sometimes the writer is just content to watch .Until the river
of thoughts unfreeze,he prepares to sit down and watch ..and think ..
and ponder .. for the world tells such stories with every sight and
smell... stories beyond the reach of words or even language , only to be
felt and known in the writer's soul.And thus unwinds each day in the
life of the story-seeker.<br /> <br /> Without so much as a word uttered (or
penned), the story-seeker's tale is narrated to the viewer and the
short film signs off beautifully through one of its last frames that
says - " കഥാകൃത്ത് -- സാക്ഷി " .<br /> <br /> Well done , <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100002161810270" href="https://www.facebook.com/basheer.anaz">Anaz Basheer</a></span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B2L0g45TE2FDT3ViT3hUQVc0VTQ/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Watch the short film here </a> </span></div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-26057074044674518412013-11-24T14:49:00.001+05:302013-11-24T14:52:04.753+05:30എനിക്ക് ഇഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട സീറ്റ് <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
സമയം - 9:15 AM . <br />
KSRTC ലോ ഫ്ലോർ ബസ് . ഓഫീസിലേക്കുള്ള യാത്ര .<br />
അനദർ യൂശ്വൽ ഡേ .<br />
<br />
ബസ്സിൻറെ മുൻഭാഗത്തെ തിരക്കിലേക്ക് കയറിനിന്നു കുറച്ചു നേരം കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ സ്റ്റോപ്പുകളിൽ ഇറങ്ങുന്നവരുടെയും കയറുന്നവരുടെയും ഉന്തിലും തള്ളിലും പെട്ട് ഞാൻ പിൻഭാഗത്തേക്ക് എത്തിക്കപ്പെട്ടു . ബസ്സിൻറെ താളത്തിൽ ആടിയുലഞ്ഞു അങ്ങനെ അധികം നേരം നില്ക്കേണ്ടി വന്നില്ല .തൊട്ടടുത്ത സീറ്റിലെ യാത്രക്കാരി എഴുന്നേറ്റപ്പോൾ ഞാൻ അവിടെ ഇരിപ്പായി . പതിവുപോലെ ജീവിതത്തിൻറെ നൂലാമാലകൾ കെട്ടഴിക്കാനുള്ള ചിന്തകളിലേക്ക് വഴുതിവീഴാൻ തുടങ്ങുമ്പോഴാണ് ആ സംഭാഷണ ശകലം കേൾക്കാനിടയായത് .<br />
<br />
മധ്യവയസ്സും ഒരല്പ്പവും കടന്ന , ഒറ്റയ്ക്ക് യാത്ര ചെയ്യുന്ന , എൻറെ അടുത്ത് ജനാലയ്ക്കരികിൽ ഇരിക്കുന്ന സ്ത്രീ .ഫോണിൻറെ അങ്ങേത്തലയ്ക്കൽ ഭർത്താവോ മക്കൾ ആരെങ്കിലുമോ ആയിരിക്കണം . " ഉവ്വ് . കിട്ടി . എനിക്ക് ഏറ്റവും ഇഷ്ട്ടപ്പെട്ട സീറ്റ് തന്നെ ! " <br />
<br />
തിരക്കിനിടയിൽ കിട്ടിയ സീറ്റ് , ജനാലയിലൂടെയുള്ള കാറ്റ് , കാഴ്ചകൾ , ജീവിതത്തിലെ ചെറിയ സുഘങ്ങൾ - സംതൃപ്തിയുടെ ഒരു കുമിളയ്ക്കുള്ളിൽ ആ അമ്മയുടെ കണ്ണുകൾ പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചുകൊണ്ടേയിരുന്നു .ചിരാതിൻറെ പ്രകാശം പോലെ അത് എൻറെ മുഖത്തെയും പ്രസാദിപ്പിച്ചു . ആ കുമിള വളർന്നു എന്നെയും ആഗീരണം ചെയ്ത പോലെ . ഞാൻ ചുറ്റിലും കണ്ണോടിച്ചു . കാഴ്ച്ചകൾക്ക് ഒന്നുകൂടി ഭംഗി വെച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു !<br />
<br />
പിറകിൽ ഒരു സീറ്റ് ഒഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ അവിടെ നിന്നിരുന്ന സ്ത്രീ ധൃതി പിടിച്ചു അവിടെ ഇരുന്നു . എന്നിട്ട് എന്റെ അടുത്ത് നിന്നിരുന്ന ഒരു സ്കൂൾ കുട്ടിയോളം പ്രായമുള്ള അവരുടെ മകളെ വിളിച്ചു ,നിർബന്ധിച്ചു അവിടെ ഇരുത്തിയിട്ട് സ്വയം എൻറെ അടുത്ത് വന്നു നിലയുറപ്പിച്ചു . എനിക്ക് ഇറങ്ങാൻ ഇനിയും 4-5 സ്റ്റോപ്പുകൾ കൂടി ബാക്കിയുണ്ട് .സാരമില്ല . "ഇവിടെ ഇരിക്കാം " , ഞാൻ എഴുന്നേറ്റു . ആശ്വാസത്തോടെ അവർ ഇരുന്നു . തിരിഞ്ഞു നോക്കിയപ്പോൾ കണ്ടു , പ്രകാശത്തിൻറെ തിര അവരെയും സ്പർശിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു . ജീവിതത്തിലെ ചെറിയ സുഘങ്ങൾ !<br />
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പടരട്ടെ ... പ്രകാശം പടരട്ടെ ! </div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-1628894201990465742013-11-23T22:31:00.001+05:302013-11-23T22:31:57.710+05:30ഇന്നത്തെ മഴയ്ക്ക് ഒരു പ്രേമലേഖനം <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /><br />കരച്ചിലിനിടയിലാണ് മഴ തുടങ്ങിയത് . അതുകൊണ്ട് ആദ്യം ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചില്ല .<br /><br /> തുള്ളികൾ അങ്ങിങ്ങ് പൊഴിയുമ്പോൾ മിഴികൾ പ്രവഹിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു . അപ്പോൾ മഴ ഒച്ചകൂട്ടി പെയ്യാൻ തുടങ്ങി .ഉറക്കെയുള്ള മഴയുടെ പറച്ചിൽ കേട്ട് എൻറെ ശ്രദ്ധ അതിലേക്കു മാറി . എന്നാൽ പിന്നെ നേരിട്ടാവാം വർത്തമാനം എന്നു കരുതി ബാൽക്കണിയിൽ ചെന്നപ്പോൾ ആകാശം ചിരപരിചിതനെപ്പോലെ പൊട്ടിച്ചിരിച്ചു . പിന്നെ മിന്നലിന്റെ പുഞ്ചിരിയോടെ കുറെ നേരം വാതോരാതെ കലപില കൂട്ടി . കൈകളിലൂടെ നനഞ്ഞൊലിച്ചു . സങ്കടം തീരെ മറന്നു കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ എന്നാൽ ഇനി ഞാൻ പോകട്ടെ എന്ന മട്ടിൽ മഴയും നിലച്ചു . യാത്ര പറഞ്ഞു അകലുകയാണോ എന്ന് പരിഭവിക്കാൻ തുടങ്ങിയപ്പോൾ ഒരു നനുത്ത കാറ്റായി വീശി അനുനയിപ്പിച്ചു . അങ്ങനെ ആട്ടെ എന്ന് ഞാനും യാത്രാമംഗളം നേർന്നു ... <br /><br />PS : മഴ ഇതൊക്കെ അറിയുന്നുണ്ടോ ആവോ ! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.madhyamam.com/en/sites/default/files/imagecache/w604/rain%20-%20kerala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.madhyamam.com/en/sites/default/files/imagecache/w604/rain%20-%20kerala.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-40916755004263942042013-08-15T22:51:00.003+05:302019-02-16T00:05:16.506+05:30Movie Review : Neelakasham Pachakadal Chuvanna Bhoomi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d5/NPCB_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d5/NPCB_poster.jpg" height="320" width="241"></a></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<b>Movie : Neelakasham Pachakadal Chuvanna Bhoomi</b></h3>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Direction : Sameer Thahir<br />
Cast : Dulquer Salmaan ,Sunny Wayne ,Surja Bala ,Dhritiman Chatterjee ,Joy
Mathew<br />
Rating - 3.5/5<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
*Spoiler Alert</div>
<br />
<br />
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“<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neelakasham_Pachakadal_Chuvanna_Bhoomi" target="_blank">Neelakasham Pachakadal Chuvanna Bhoomi</a>” is an imaginatively titled movie ,
Neelakasham depicting the start of the road trip , Pachakadal - the Puri
sojourn and Chuvanna Bhoomi alluding to the naxalism and bloodshed in parts of
East and North-East India,to the writer’s best guess. But the imagination has
not run strong through the entirety of the script leaving it jaded in places
and the end result is a watered down <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">naadan</i> version of
“The Motorcycle Diaries”. It’s a road trip movie braided together with
the twines of love and friendship , interspersed with beads of unrelated
anecdotes, each one shining with insight. Hashir Mohamed’s script though has a
jagged ending, under developed side kick character and an unnecessary,
unexplained murder in it. An intellectually subpar second fiddle who openly
idolises the hero’s machismo looks less like male friendship and more like gay
behaviour. A good actor looked sadly wasted in such a stunted role.<br />
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<br />
The dialogue department has delivered a generous sprinkling of catchy
one-liners like “<i>My fate is my decisions</i>”, that are sure to resonate with the
audience. Delivered in Dulquer’s baritone voice ,which seems to have got
industry wide acceptance going by its repeated use in voice-overs in most of
his recent movie outings , they entertain . <i>Rex Vijayan</i>’s music is lilting and
jells with the movie, keeping the tempo upbeat through out. The absolute
delight of the movie is in its cinematography – <i>Gireesh Gangadharan</i> excites us
with his visual treat of the rider and his bike in full glory! The bliss of wanderlust
explodes beautifully onto the screen through his camera‘s lens-work. The goodness
of the movie is topped off by expected yet commendable acting performances by
Dulquer Salman and Sunny Wayne and the delicate beauty of Surja Bala .<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
</h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
കൈക്കുംബിൾ നീലാകാശം ...കൺമുന്നിൽ കത്തണ ലോകം ... !!! </h4>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/mPgT4nBGT9s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
NOM</h3>
<br />
The following good movies kept flashing in the writer’s mind while watching
this movie:-<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0318462/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank">
</a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0318462/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank"><b>The Motorcycle Diaries</b></a> – the bike and the wanderlust! Che
keeps journaling throughout his journey in TMD and Dulquer keeps a very similar
looking book handy for his sketches and musings.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://medias.unifrance.org/medias/96/22/5728/format_page/the-motorcycle-diaries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://medias.unifrance.org/medias/96/22/5728/format_page/the-motorcycle-diaries.jpg" height="213" width="320"></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0367110/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank"><b>Swades</b></a> – <i>Jugaad </i>which has become the rockstar of all things
<i>desi </i>started becoming movie center piece material with this one. Couldn’t help
chuckling out loud at the scooter-turned-rice-flour-machine for its sweet
cockiness.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758758/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank"><b>Into the Wild</b></a> – That avid reader and adventurer called
Chris McCandless came to mind the two times that Dulquer is shown reading a
book, but our hero looked oh-so-not-interested in the book ;would someone
please relieve him of it!? Did anyone catch the book title by the way? The
journaling too repeats here .<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://lotteslifestyle.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/large20into20the20wild20blu-ray2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lotteslifestyle.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/large20into20the20wild20blu-ray2.jpeg" height="180" width="320"></a></div>
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0337692/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank"><br /></a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0337692/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank"><b>On The Road</b></a> – Nah. That movie was mindless in itself. Jack
Kerouac turns in his grave as we speak .His book on idealistic beat generation
kids was turned into a road show of irresponsible dunderheads .’Nuff said !<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~ Signing off with a Kerouac quote that drives me insane every single time </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Do yourself a favour . Read Kerouac . </h4>
</div>
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<br />
Edit : The gay reference is in bad taste and I apologize unconditionally. Didn't know any better back in 2013 when the post was first written, but here I am in 2019 making amends , not that I am much better now or anything. I still complain about the under developed side kick though .</div>
</div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-11552457759087825352012-10-08T20:09:00.000+05:302012-10-08T20:09:20.997+05:30A Day at the Kovalam Lit Fest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F_MLlkV3IMDm6LlN7vJgBZ3PCMFDdWJXuqzQVRWC6qiTyVg2LsoQOVDmeduDAbmWsQOlQ7_M99x0vs9Rf7QT3HpGeASfra0zVxz5iWUHR1gHX6QZPTehG46ffcWjg2cKl_PaBA/s1600/litfest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F_MLlkV3IMDm6LlN7vJgBZ3PCMFDdWJXuqzQVRWC6qiTyVg2LsoQOVDmeduDAbmWsQOlQ7_M99x0vs9Rf7QT3HpGeASfra0zVxz5iWUHR1gHX6QZPTehG46ffcWjg2cKl_PaBA/s320/litfest.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The weekend wasn’t looking special devoid of any plans whatsoever, so I
let my beauty sleep run its course and then some more ,finally stumbling
out of the bed half past nine on Saturday morning. Groggily leafing
through the day’s newspaper as I do most days till the sleepy stupor
leaves me, I caught sight of the write-up on Kovalam Literary Festival
.The 5th annual edition was happening on Oct 6th and 7th and was being
held at The Kanakakunnu Palace , a grand old palace originally belonging
to the Travancore royalty and now under the Kerala government ,used
mostly for exhibitions, seminars and such like these days that stood in
the leafy heart of the Trivandrum city .<br />
<br />
The stupor gave way to sudden imaginary bulbs glowing above my head as I read the following –<br />
“The two-day event starts at 10 a.m. with human rights activist Binayak Sen delivering the K.C.John Memorial Lecture. ”<br />
<br />
“10 a.m.” stood out in bold as I glanced at the clock that said 9:35 and
between the time I looked back and forth at the write-up and the clock a
couple more times, an exciting train of thoughts had warmed up and was
stirring up a racket within my brain , debating between the heavenly
pleasures of lazing around on an off-day morn and dashing off to listen
to the man I’ve been reading about for a while now. To my surprise , the
second option won and with “Binayak Sen” ringing in my mind , I rushed
through the morning rituals and was out of the house in no time . Time -
9:55 a.m<br />
<br />
“Were the literary people and general intelligentsia sticklers for
punctuality? Or were they like politicians who were always late? Since
they were always criticising politicians, chances weighed more heavily
towards the former.” Thoughts ran amok at 10:15 a.m. while I waited in
an auto rickshaw stalled at a traffic light, my own two wheeler being so
old and badly out of shape that taking it out was high risk for self
and other wayfarers. At the entrance to the palace grounds , the huge
gates stood open and my rickshaw winded up its curvy path passing
overheard banners that announced the 5th Annual Kovalam Literary
Festival ,a bolt of excitement shooting through me – the first event of
the sort I was attending! “Will there be real authors ? That’s what the
write-up promised “,I thought rubbing my hands in glee.<br />
<br />
A TV camera crew sped past in an SUV ,more lined the way and a few
people with microphones and coiled wires in their hands stood scattered .
As I got out of the auto , I saw important-looking people alighting a
white mini-van and talking pleasantly among themselves , none very
Indian looking .Hiding any traces of nervousness, I walked to the Multi
Purpose Auditorium ,familiar from many college fests ,hoping the all
important lecture wouldn’t be over by then. It hadn’t and neither had
the proceedings for the day begun at 10.30 a.m. as people milled around
patiently, the gathering dominated by news people and I wandered over to
the book sellers arranged beside the venue. Tables of neatly stacked
books stood gleaming as sunlight bounced of shiny book covers from the
huge open windows behind them, manned by polite people wearing official
tags. The collection was not huge but had all the titles that had come
out recently, was popular and being talked about – in short they were
just the thing for a bibliophile with a wish list.<br />
<br />
The titles from the ‘Recent’ section of my wishlist jumped out at me and
in no time I had quite a stack in my hands .Reminding myself of
Flipkart and the handsome discounts they offered , I let go of some of
them from my stack and was left with two books I couldn’t bear parting
with – the Kerala Literary Academy Award winning Benyamin’s
‘Aadujeevitham’, freshly translated into English under the name ‘Goat
Days’ though I bought the Malayalam version and ‘Around India in 80
Trains ‘ by Monisha Rajesh – a brilliant first book by the author who
toured India on its rail tracks and brings us a delicious desi
travelogue. A beautiful small hardbound pink book titled ‘Rumi’ caught
my eye and I was trying hard to suppress my smile reading the beautiful
first poem in it when I overheard bits of a conversation from right
behind me . A petite small white woman in a frock said in heavy accent
,” I quite love this book’s cover. Isn’t this your new one? And what
about this here ? “. A white man in a black kurta with silver hair
replied cheerfully ,”No ,not that .But this is mine ,and this is mine
and this is mine .. “, pointing to stacks of books of different titles
,the third time pointing to the stack from where I had picked up “Rumi”.
I looked at the book cover again . Rumi ? Hardly . The full title of
the book read “Rumi:A New Translation” and the author was Farrukh Dhondy
!
<br />
<br />
Presently , there was a tap at the microphone and an announcement that
things were about to get started . I moved into the audience section and
took up seat where I could get a good view of the stage ,while the
auditorium filled up quickly with TV cameras with zoom lens on high
tripods ,big microphones, news people with scribble pads, young people
who looked like students of literature or journalism ,and stereotypical
images of literary people – women in cotton saris with oversized bindis
or wearing salwar kameez ,sporting Diana cut and men in long kurtas -
fleshy ,gleaming people with sharp eyes and beak nose. I wondered how
them who talked about non-conformity and swore by originality, had the
same dress sense ,wore chunky jewellery and heavy kohl ,and sported
cloth hand bags . Perhaps , lit fests were to authors what red carpet
premieres were to actors and they were merely propping themselves up for
the viewing pleasure of readers and journalists .<br />
<br />
I shifted focus back to the stage as the guests came on the dais for the first event –<br />
Fifth Annual K.C.John Memorial lecture by Dr.Binayak Sen. ‘Are the poor
getting poorer’ .In discussion with Ilina Sen and Vrinda Grover .<br />
<br />
Dr.Binayak Sen,the human rights activist who worked in the naxal
affected areas of Chattisgarh , spoke softly and declared the topic
redundant as it was a foregone conclusion and that the real situation in
India was that of famine settling in slowly but steadily over the years
.He quoted statistics on India’s alarming levels of malnutrition both
among children and in the adult population. He also talked about the
need for food security and the plight of facing food shortage on the one
hand while food rotted away in govt storehouses on the other.He spoke
without passion but in an even tone,with supporting facts, like a man of
science .He concluded his speech by welcoming the many Israeli writers
attending the fest ,but reminded them that the people of Palestine
deserved justice.<br />
<br />
Ilina Sen ,his wife and an academic who currently heads the Department
of Women’s Studies at the Mahatma Gandhi International Hindi University
(MGAHV) , spoke next and took the discussion one step further from food
security to food sovereignty . She spoke of how the system of producing
food in one part , storing somewhere else and then transporting it and
delivering it to people in entirely different parts of the country was
inefficient and bound to fail . Food sovereignty will enable communities
and local populations to meet their food needs themselves and was the
way to answering the disturbing shortage of food faced by large parts of
the country .She also talked about the abundance of local farming
knowledge that indigenous people had which was getting ignored by the
authorities in their scramble to promote high yielding seed varieties
which demanded high fertilizers and how these traditions needed support
and nurturing .<br />
<br />
As that informative and socially conscious session came to an end , I
hardly had the mind to leave though I was overstaying my own time limits
and the next event was announced -<br />
The Evolving Indian Novel : Farrukh Dhondy , Timeri Murari ,
N.S.Madhavan,Nilanjana Roy , C.P.Surendran .Anchored by Suresh Menon .<br />
<br />
There was no delay and the speakers promptly came on stage . After a
brief introduction by the anchor , the writers were invited to read from
their books to the audience and it started with Nilanjana Roy .The name
was familiar to me through the good reviews she had garnered for her
first book in The Hindu’s Literary Magazine –‘Wildings’ , a tale on the
cats of Nizamuddin in Delhi. A pretty lady with a prettier voice, she
read out rather sweetly from her book and the short passage about a
cat’s thoughts and description of the settings was interesting. Next to
read was Timeri Murari , the author of the much acclaimed ‘The Taliban
Cricket Club’ .He preferred to read standing up , adjusting thick
glasses and read slowly in heavy British accent like a professor to his
students . The protagonist was a girl who had played cricket in India a
long time ago and was living in Afghanistan now under the strict Taliban
regime- Rukhsana ,the journalist .The Taliban had just announced their
decision to promote cricket in Afghanistan and men were going to be
screened for it .If they were selected , they woud be sent to Pakistan
for proper training and then would have to return to the country to
teach cricket at home and also play cricket for Afghanistan’s national
team. Women , of course , will not play . The passage ended with
Rukshana’s brother Jahan saying that this was their one chance to get
out of the country , his cousin mourning ,”But we don’t play” , to which
he replies , “We don’t , but she does”. He went back to his chair amid
loud applause and I made a mental note to try and get hold of this book.<br />
<br />
Next to speak was C.P.Surendran , a dark bespectacled man who reeked of
arrogance . He checked with the audience if he could be heard properly
and complained that he hadn’t been able to hear any of the previous
readings . He announced he was known for causing offence to other
people, the passage he was going to read might offend and to just “put
up with it”. In his mind, he must be the high priest of the unsung art
of offensiveness,I thought . I did not catch the title of the book but
the passage was of a drunk woman getting raped in a local train by a
drunk man . The very act tottered between consensual and forced as the
woman was drunk and even when she protested, her protests were not
strong enough for the man to need to apply any extra effort on his part .
The passage went into a detailed description of the organs involved,
the sequence of unfurling of events ,the sounds and sensations , and
brought to life a very graphic depiction of the scene. He must have
expected the audience to shift uncomfortably in their seats at the
brazenness, but as I looked around, people hardly batted their eye lids,
leave alone look ashamed . Defeated , he retreated .<br />
<br />
Farrukh Dhondy took up stage next but was unarmed with any of his books ,
so he expounded on ‘Evolution of Indian Novel‘ and opined that too much
was getting written and published because of the mad race among
publishers and novel in India was becoming something akin to Bollywood.
N.S.Madhavan continued insightfully about the same subject and said that
the medium of novels was dying a slow but natural death .He compared
the novels at the beginning of their evolution to the current ones ,
saying the early ones which included Russian literary novels where
treasure houses of the authors’ original thoughts and how this was
replaced by mere conversation and no grand thoughts in today’s novels.
He also made another interesting comparison between writing in regional
languages and Indian writing in English – In the entire Malayalam
section of the Trivandrum Central Library , there would be hardly two
coconut trees but in Roy’s ‘God of Small Things’ ,there would be ten
coconut trees every twelve pages – he observed. By far, N.S.Madhavan had
been the most riveting speaker and garnered the loudest applause from
the audience .<br />
<br />
While the readings were underway , I had noticed a skinny dark girl
wearing a delegate tag .She looked familiar but there was no way to find
out who she was. I checked my copy of ‘Around India in 80 Trains‘ for
the author’s picture to confirm my suspicion , but the book did not have
one .The proceedings on stage had pulled my attention back and I left
it at that .Promptly after N.S.Madhavan’s talk , I gathered my stuff and
hurried out ,having over stayed by an hour and a half and headed home
.’Aadujeevitham‘ being prised out of my possession by a very relentless
dad , I settled down with the second new buy of the day and boy , was I
absorbed ! Monisha Rajesh had written a sparkling, witty travelogue
riding the Indian railways, good naturedly pointing out India’s
idiosyncrasies with delicate understanding . On Sunday night I casually
googled the book , by now addicted to it , and the results threw up the
familiar face of the dark girl again ,whose firsthand account was more
like a girl friend’s narration of her travel tales to me now. Whether to
throw up my hands in desperation over the missed opportunity of getting
a much-loved book signed by its much-loved author ,or smile contently
at getting the opportunity of at least spotting an author for the first
time ever in my life – I still do not know !<br />
<br />
<br />
PS: Monish Rajesh , your first book is an absolute blast . It’s a must-read , people !</div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-16407284448756599392012-07-20T23:15:00.001+05:302012-08-02T19:33:18.951+05:30SHADOW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walked hurriedly into the alley, a large brick wall rising
high in front of me. Maybe I wouldn’t be followed in here .But was this a
dead end? I kept walking towards the wall, every cell in me alert to pick up
the slightest of sounds in the vicinity .The half moon and many clouds of the
night sky cast an eerie blue light everywhere and in the absence of streetlights,
I had to scrunch my eyes and peer into this low light .Suddenly a long shadow appeared
on the wall from behind, growing bigger with each step. I had definitely not
lost the tail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I broke into a run, footsteps echoing everywhere. Damn! The
noise was definitely going to give me away. The alley turned left just in front
of the wall and I sprinted into it headlong. I ran out into an open desert,
sand shimmering in the noon sun and a <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=35755430" name="_GoBack"></a>stark blue
cloudless sky hanging low overhead. Panting , I ran into the expanse , every
foot fall sending a shower of sand behind me .Cacti and sparse vegetation was
strewn around and low mountains seemed to rise at the horizon or was it a
mirage ?An illusion played on my tired
eyes by the cruel desert? A cliff appeared in front of me and I took cover
among its rocky folds, my heaving chest breathing hard. Footsteps were behind
me now! Slapping my mouth shut, I worked my way around the rocks in the other
direction noiselessly. Sweat flowed onto my face as I retraced my tracks in the
sand .The tracks! They had betrayed me to her! But what did she want?
Following me but never approaching… always staying at an arm’s distance
but never backing off. Thoughts flying wild in my mind, I stumbled and fell down
but picked myself up quickly and continued running, tears of frustration
mixing and flowing down my cheeks and neck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ran back into the alley. There were metal ladders attached
to the side walls which probably were fire exits from the building. I climbed up
one of them up frantically, not once glancing down but kept climbing higher and
higher whilst echoes of running feet ricocheted off the alley walls. I tumbled
through a large open window into a long hall that ran the entire length of the building.
It was white and Narnian! The floor was covered in snow and tall pine trees, their
branches blanketed in snow, rose towards the high ceiling. Powdery flakes of
snow floated down slowly from nowhere up above and invisible bells chimed. I
took care to hide my tracks this time .Walking backwards, I carefully ruffled
the snow and covered my tracks one foot step at a time. Reaching a bush covered
in snow, I hid behind it shivering in the cold, sweat already beginning to
crystallize on my skin. It seemed like an eternity when I opened my eyes though
it was probably just a minute. Snow had settled on my eye lashes. I felt a
shooting pain on my face where ice had formed in a thin line where my tears had
flowed just a while ago. I patted my cheeks dry and started crawling through
the snow floor not waiting for any signs of her approach. Climbing over another
window, I rolled onto a corridor with wooden flooring, evening sun glaring off
its polished surface through a giant window at the far end. There might not be
a ladder outside that window , so I started backing away from it .Towards
the other end of the corridor was a narrow stairway and I flew down
them jumping across 2,4, 6 steps in my flight. Several landings later I
heard a second set of footsteps at the top of the stairs and I doubled my speed
down the darkness. Reaching the ground floor, I ran into the open and got in a
cab that was just pulling away crying, “Go, go, go”.<br />
<br />
I got off the cab at the water falls. I figured the place would be
swamped with tourists and that I’d be safe in a crowd. Surely enough,
the water front was a sea of colours of brightly dressed people … orange
caps and purple bags, red balloons and white frilly frocks. I spotted
and picked up a cheap yellow sunglass from the floor, obviously a
child’s toy, and put it on turning the whole world yellow. Throwing
anxious glances backwards and taking care to stay out of clearances, I
was weaving my way through the crowd when I bumped into a kid. Just a
toddler, he fell into a sitting position from the impact whilst a
multihued ball that he had in his hand bounced away. I quickly caught it
and returned it to its young owner all the while rasping breathlessly
to him,’”I’m sorry …I’m sorry …I’m sorry “. He just stared at me open
mouthed .I got away from the kid on all fours through the crowd when I
suddenly reached the iron railing overlooking the water falls. Water
cascaded down over the edge like someone was emptying bucketfuls of blue
ink from just beyond our line of sight.<br />
<br />
Walking along the railing I reached a flight of steps that led into an
underpass. The crowded scene was suffocating me and I suddenly wanted to
escape this overbearing human presence. I took the stairs in two, and
walking down I felt the whole underground tremble as a train passed
overhead. As the handrails rattled and the air rumbled, I stopped for a
second; eyes closed and felt the vibration passing through my body. I
reasoned there had to be a train station nearby and headed out in search
of it. The train I got into was filled with people and their ubiquitous
earphones, so I stood leaning against a wall, swaying with the train’s
rhythm. Tears flew freely from my eyes now as I sniffed and wiped them
at my shirt sleeve. How did this happen to me? How did I let this
happen? I thought I was intelligent and had it all figured. But it’s
been months now. I had shifted from my cosy apartment to a dingy one
hoping to wipe the trail clean, but she had surfaced again. I’d been
found out; exposed. What was going to happen to me now? I looked around
frantically for answers, choking on my own tears but people hardly
noticed. . ‘A plan ... a plan ... I need a plan. That’s what I need. I
can do this. I am a smart woman. Focus .Focus. Make a plan..! OK. I will
run again .Pick up from where I left and make a dash for it. I will
head home right away, get my stuff, draw all my cash and be gone...For
good .That will be my plan’. . I calmed down somewhat and punched the
air with balled fists – ‘That will be my plan!’<br />
<br />
I walked around my room, throwing in clothes and other essentials into a
rucksack .The getaway had to be fast .Next stop will be the bank and
then I will be gone. Vanish .Disappear. Tying the strings of the
rucksack shut, I walked out the door. It was when I turned around to
take one last look that I saw it. The bag dropped from my hand and I
started screaming.”She’s here too! I can’t lose her and I have been
trying for months... She just won’t go away... what do you want from
me??? What the hell do you want from me???” I was hollering and crying
abuses in the hallway, backing away from the door and hitting the
opposite wall. People from nearby apartments came running and milled all
around me. I doubled over and fell to my knees shouting like a mad
woman now. I felt hands patting my shoulders and smoothing my hair in
failed attempts to console my deranged mind but I only kept crying out
loud.<br />
<br />
Faces peered into mine, trying to decipher my incoherent rants.”What are you talking about? Who are you looking at? “<br />
<br />
<br />
And the faces that looked at me froze in a confounded daze.<br />
<br />
<br />
Far away, Mrs Carter turned around in surprise. Did she just see the
shadow of her small outstretched hand trying to grab the coffee mug on
the table, drum against it with bony fingers and long pointed
fingernails?<br />
<br />
<br />
In the children’s park , little Emma thought it was funny how her shadow
seemed to have sprouted a tiny impish tail in the last two days .Not
that she would mention it to anyone . It was her secret!<br />
<br />
<br />
Sean couldn’t believe the hawkish nose that he saw in his shadow .How could the light play that same trick all the time?<br />
<br />
<br />
“What??” they gasped.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“My shadow… My goddamn shadow. That b**ch ….! “ </div>
</div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-46275435763585280902012-07-11T22:51:00.001+05:302012-07-12T23:26:29.499+05:30Good Things Come In Small Packages<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">They
walked along side by side, feet falling in rhythm, trudging along the
familiar path which leads the way home .Evening sun bounced off the
paved road making it look like spilt orange juice, the gentle breeze
tugging at their shirt collars. An interesting conversation seemed to be
under way from the animated gestures of the shorter one, the taller one
nodding along. It was the second time I was chancing upon the duo on
the same street .On one of those rare days that I got off work by the
first bus home, I choose to walk home from my stop - a 30 min walk. I
had spotted the interesting pair on one of my evening strolls home. I
noticed it again today – the burden of the little travellers seemed to
be shouldered by the taller one. He wore a big school bag across both
shoulders and then a smaller one on top of it, lunch bag hanging lazily
from one hand. His free arm wound protectively over the smaller kid,
burden-less and talking excitedly oblivious to the surroundings, while
the elder one kept an eye out. I had now caught up to them from behind
, walking on the other side of the road .Shameless eavesdropping
brought tidbits of their chatter to me – long tales from school ! Unable
to contain my curiosity any longer I turned and took a sly look at the
brothers .A picture perfect post card of childhood! Stealing my glance
away I walked on beaming to myself, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading
within whilst their ramble continued undisturbed – “and then you know
what he said?”. “Hm ...? “ .</span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.harrylapow.com/Kids2walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.harrylapow.com/Kids2walking.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span></span></h6>
</div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-62539102018268239992012-04-01T20:36:00.001+05:302017-11-22T14:12:02.279+05:30I Miss You ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: large;">If
you ever do miss someone , you have to miss them like in this
song..till the longing becomes a rain ,each drop heavy on the skin ,
soaking every layer in the soul , arresting time's flight , memories
flooding from times gone by and washing you away ,making you lose all
your bearings , miss them so hard ,so much that when your heart pounds
in desperation the vibrations traverse the world to them<span class="text_exposed_show">
, and in a sudden moment in between all the pointless madness of life
they suddenly gasp as your name occurrs in their mind , opening an
invisible passage through which will rush the the waters of flooding
memories from your mind to theirs and then ... they miss you back !<br /> -Anon [For fear of being labelled a romantic]</span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}">
<br /></h6>
</div>
manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-68849068373646319732012-02-20T22:09:00.001+05:302012-02-20T22:14:56.560+05:30Perfidious one, Goodbye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just two days ago, he had left me for another girl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been a mere passing fancy .All around me,
my world was crashing. That night, I sat staring at the sky like I so often did,
only this time it was not a lovely azure sky or a dreamy gaze … it was an ink
black night and a fixed hollow stare. Not a soul stirred in the world outside the
bay windows, nor within. Summer heat was suffocating the air and along with it
the darkness made a cemetery of my bedroom. A power failure was on and the time
must have been well past midnight; I had lost touch altogether, for
everything was still as if dead.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Clinging to the iron bars, there I sat at the window sill
that looked south upon the face of the sky <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>marked by coconut tree tops. Drenched in sweat
and fists clenched white, I heaved at the night air through the only window
pane that was open. Not a muscle in my body moved, the eye lids refused to bat.
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.What was I thinking? Was it the deceit or the heartlessness that so broke me?</div>
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<br /></div>
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All that was yesterday ; today seems slightly better .The moonless
dead sky made as if to wink at me through its starry eyes, like those eyes had
done once upon a time. I don’t know about the stars but the moon knew…I had
told the moon myself of my dreams… dreams inspired by his beautiful deep eyes. What
were to become of those? Why does it all seem like such a long time ago though
it had been just two days? I should say my mind took it remarkably well, oh it
took a lot of courage .For today, he is on ventilator .Right now, in the dead
of this summer’s night, he is battling for his life .There would be so much
chaos surrounding him when he lies there half-asleep, only he wouldn’t know. I
did what I could, the rest I shall leave to fate .He may come back alive, but
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<br /></div>
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It was raining hard when I woke up in the morning .I love
morning showers and this one had come after testing times of dry heat. The
sunlight and rain mixed and danced at my windows, now all open, and gently
sprayed on my face waking me up. That morning, soaking in the scene of
this world getting cleansed by heavenly rain , the world regained a semblance
of what it should be – truthful and righteous. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The sleep had been rather fitful – throughout the night I kept
hearing murmurs, waking with a start every now and then giving me a bad head ache,
but now nature was consoling me. The moist air cooled the heat in my mind, the
sight of water flowing everywhere soothed my eyes, and I don’t know why but
they started flowing too. I rose and took up seat at the window sill again
leaning my head against the iron bars, and gazed at the sky with tearful eyes.
The rain drenched me and the wind stuck strands of wet hair against my face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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The world was washed and dripping from head to toe like
someone preparing to do the last rites of a dead man. The leaves on the tree
tops drooped, like his head would have hung, in sorrow. An unexplainable sense
of gloom had started rising in me, the seeping in of the first grains of
emotion since the breakup .Then, a hand gently touched me, and said, “You have to
be brave to hear this …”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS- A piece of dark fiction I had scribbled on yellowing journal pages eons ago ,which this song reminded me of today ... </div>
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</div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-10368803447673853142011-11-04T22:39:00.000+05:302011-11-04T22:39:31.057+05:30Quarter Life Crisis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">The fourth anniversary
of my joining an IT behemoth was a few days back , Oct 29th to be precise. I am a
dimwit when it comes to numbers and dates and have trouble remembering
important dates like birthdays and anniversaries ,but try as I might
this date is stuck in my head . Its been a bitter sweet 4 long years and
I can't say I feel the way I did on my second anniversary <a href="http://blogs.ad.infosys.com/users/lekshmi_m/9419.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></a>. So I take a moment to pause and analyze why . </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Its all too common to
find people complaining about their worklives and blogosphere itself is
inundated by these hate posts .Suffice it to say that I have a mountain
of complaints,frustrations and worries myself which I want to let out
too .Important question is , what can be done about this ? Hmm .. I'm
stumped . </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Mid life crisis has
been in popular parlance for a while now but the latest one is the
quarter life crisis . May be that's what's happening .Maybe I need a job
change ....or a career change itself . Its prolly time to go back to
acads ... or get married and sit at home for good .. There are so many
girls who do that cos they can't stand the ordeal anymore , people who
were good at studies and wanted careers for themselves .. so whats the
way out ?? I dunno .. But I think all people who consider themselves hit
by this particular malaise should put their heads together to find the
solution . Maybe something might come out of it and actually fix the
problem .Ah,wishful thinking ! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Many of you would
suggest ,go follow your dream . This implies that you actually know a
course of action to realise your dream which you are consciously
resisting for whatever reasons . If that's the case, you ought to be
kicked on your behind and be made to see sense. There are other poor
souls ,like me , who have financially or otherwise unviable areas of
interests - like the creative fields,literature in my particular case.
These could be followed as hobbies , but unimaginative workplaces can
kill the passion and stoke stress , which is why I can't wait to escape
..only I don't know where to . I would have just shut up and told myself
to sort out my problems on my own instead of blogging about it , had I
not seen and heard so many other people going through the same problem.
Looks to me like some disease that's infecting a lot of people of my
generation .</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"> I have a lot of
questions but no answers . But I have this to say to the generation
coming after us . If there is some subject you really love in school ,
go on to college and learn it .Because if you go to one of those
run-of-the mill engineering colleges , you will end up with a neatly
paying IT job , but you will always keep wanting to go back in time and
undo that damned day when you told your parents ,"Alrit people , I will
do engineering ok .. now get off me ! " . Pursuing a subject of your
liking only can help you realize your true potential and keep you
interested in your work ,and remember you will have to work for most
parts of your life . I now know that the pursuit of your interests ,no
matter how unattractive it may look in terms of money or opportunity,
can be quite rewarding . I know this from my younger brother who is
learning Physics and I see him spend so much of his time reading books
on physics ,talking about the subject and spending All of his hard
earned money [he takes tuition for a +2 kid] buying up books .He talks
about some uber cool experiments he gets to do as part of his course
project and its been an eye opener for me in terms how cool research
work really is .. and its all happening right here in Trivandrum . I can
see how his interest is leading him on in his pursuit and it is such a
pursuit that so many of us covet . My bro's no geek by the way , just
followed his passion is all . </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Its very simple really . If there's something you are good at , that Is your pursuit . </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Now if only I could find a way to go back and learn literature !</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;">Anybody knows time travel here ??</span></div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-74974771905741214742011-10-25T20:40:00.000+05:302011-10-25T20:40:20.820+05:30Grey ,Rainy Grey ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://islamicsunrays.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/rain-falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://islamicsunrays.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/rain-falling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="color: #c00000;"></span></b><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">It’s
a white rainy day today . Right now there’s a brief lull and everything
is white – the sky is chock-a-block with gigantic white clouds and all
the water puddles and glass high rises are reflecting it .For a bit ,
you can even imagine it being Narnia with its perpetual winter . The
drizzle murmured through the windows as we rode the morning bus to
office, its moist breath against the panes condensing into tiny water
rivulets that flowed happily along the roof and across the glass. The
air is all wet and cold making noses quiver and people sniff away .</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> But
yesterday ,it was totally grey . In the afternoon ,the rain flew into
quite a rage ,roaring outside the house and coming down at us in a loud
barrage . It seemed quite angry throwing down its might on the brown
earth and the greenery , that the trees and plants seemed to shake under
its weight . It drummed against the asbestos sheet roof of the
neighbour’s house rhythmically ,the volume waxing to a crescendo and
waning a little before peaking again like a war cry . The behavior
seemed quite out of place for someone who was whispering sweet nothings
to a dazed me through the bedside window just this morning ; wonder what
set it off … and wondering , I wandered around the house, its insides
all grey since the rain was not allowing even a stray ray of sunlight
inside . </span></span><br />
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<a href="http://simplycatbreeds.org/images/singapura1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://simplycatbreeds.org/images/singapura1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">The
mother cat and its very new-born kittens lay in a large wooden box
outside the house in the car porch . There were four kittens and they
really looked just like loafs of meat with their raw skins not yet
covered with fur . The white cat had been straying ,totally pregnant and
looking for some place to give birth and it chose our house to do the
honours. That was five days ago and now the cat family was happily
cuddled up together in its box home when the rain went mad all of a
sudden . So I opened the door and leaned out of the verandah cooing into
the box, “All ok guys ?” .She looked back at me with her green eyes
unblinking , as round as saucer pans . Of course they were okay , they
were underneath her and busy feeding themselves ..so I let them be ..I’m
sure she values her privacy a lot . But hey , she doesn’t give two
hoots about our privacy and walks right in like she always lived here .
So I told her to just stay there in the porch and to call out or just
meow when she was hungry and we will try and find something for her to
eat and <i><span>Bring</span></i> it outside to her .. Cat , you can’t
just walk into the house and raid our fridge ..cats are not allowed to
do that . Well, I don’t think she listens to me anyways . Sigh .. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VPSwAMNpi3ff71SuZQwB9_9WOijTrbCc6lDbFvrcymJR4dAJSpmGj1u3EJFGL0YoVvaamZ-v98ee4xSfHzV2dXTJKxdpBYe4ZgiuLNeMtEUuD1xVePE9dTelDPAiL9ZBcw4k/s1600/rain-trees1-by-laffy4k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VPSwAMNpi3ff71SuZQwB9_9WOijTrbCc6lDbFvrcymJR4dAJSpmGj1u3EJFGL0YoVvaamZ-v98ee4xSfHzV2dXTJKxdpBYe4ZgiuLNeMtEUuD1xVePE9dTelDPAiL9ZBcw4k/s320/rain-trees1-by-laffy4k.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">On
our terrace , rows of clothes hung out to dry in the sun , lay limp and
helpless on the clotheslines soaking in the rain . The rain happened so
suddenly that by the time I had raced to the terrace , the water was
already running through the clothes and I just stayed there at the door
and watched. A layer of water collected on the terrace floor and flowed
towards the pipe that took the water down to the ground. Fist sized
raindrops fell on the water ,splashed and rose in the air scattering in
all directions , whirled like a flamenco dancer and fell back on the
floor ending its brief dance . I watched the rain drops dance for a
while and sauntered off to watch the rain from each and every one of our
windows and doors while the foamy air pressed in on me . The rain was
coming down in sheets of water like someone had placed us in a basin and
was pouring mug fulls of water on us ,the thunders like the reprimands
to a kid to stand still while being given a bath.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> It
must have been evening by the time the rain died down ,but by the time
the sun had also gone down and it indeed was a dark grey rainy day for
the most parts of it . </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">PS: I am saying No to crackers this Diwali because : </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">1.I think I may have grown up after all for that</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">2.The environmental pollution , the smoke and the noise … uff ! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">3.It scares the poor animals ,including strays . Read how it kills strays in thousands ,<a href="http://www.peopleforanimalsindia.org/articles-by-maneka-gandhi/309-help-stray-animals-on-diwali.html" target="_blank">here</a> </span></span><br />
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</div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-55751607692666044622011-09-23T20:48:00.001+05:302011-09-23T20:50:43.397+05:30Beautiful Stranger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I had gone out to my second floor balcony one evening few days ago , when I met this handsome guy there .He was perched on a bunch of flowers and looked quite majestic in his ruby red body colour.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbXJ0mmBnnYJqP7OxeoTFc-2D7d6gmgY16wNHzRI-nWqa90G64QWr00y5m5V-TNluxVXDNeJ3rLITMtNsQnn2BXtXfZX7lEfFI_8Z4RWiw0IHbY_TcV9NWShGnCmFIDpHHqZvVA/s1600/tenderwings.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653740014239741186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbXJ0mmBnnYJqP7OxeoTFc-2D7d6gmgY16wNHzRI-nWqa90G64QWr00y5m5V-TNluxVXDNeJ3rLITMtNsQnn2BXtXfZX7lEfFI_8Z4RWiw0IHbY_TcV9NWShGnCmFIDpHHqZvVA/s320/tenderwings.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a> <i>This guy came visiting ...</i><br />
<br />
Check out his tender wings<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;"></span><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653737240455454130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_HUi1k5sF60EhpklgWiVap1XZifjVjP_sH9y6yWceJvK4axV4fwySE6DJV_pYKP2OHs1iEmz2SNjDrl4jZHOPnFfQ1yN23rvGdRhRcN4lidefM0TAusNehBzKyjfCzJ6JRD79w/s320/thisguy.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><em> </em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And face from another angle ..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnA9RHBum1Qwg_TDEJVd6vSvffApjt-O4bFSV4EVA-teAq7ZwpSvAnNiPZ1PUd8yjnAufffdWRX9pOuUiwRx4elLgnRbo0Vrh9JpsG8TcbXR1VSbbUpC5IhPBc1KZvLWMKVG_VQ/s1600/nface.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnA9RHBum1Qwg_TDEJVd6vSvffApjt-O4bFSV4EVA-teAq7ZwpSvAnNiPZ1PUd8yjnAufffdWRX9pOuUiwRx4elLgnRbo0Vrh9JpsG8TcbXR1VSbbUpC5IhPBc1KZvLWMKVG_VQ/s320/nface.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Initially I tried with the balcony light on and flash,but
the pics didn’t look right . So I switched off the balcony light which seemed
to be more hindrance than help and clicked this one before turning the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>flash on. Can you spot the silhouette?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6DGfhTv6iN2qFEwINswE2AIyciRRGw5InZp_Z7IpdZRMx30tzwBKvQx-dJDUe4tha0jhj2wWegTFbMzTKa4Yo6zmMQUO0LhwcMtUnth2OyK5cJABu-gghTxPt5y_vk26gHgZyA/s1600/silhoutte.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6DGfhTv6iN2qFEwINswE2AIyciRRGw5InZp_Z7IpdZRMx30tzwBKvQx-dJDUe4tha0jhj2wWegTFbMzTKa4Yo6zmMQUO0LhwcMtUnth2OyK5cJABu-gghTxPt5y_vk26gHgZyA/s320/silhoutte.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em> Silhoutte</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the shots were shot in pitch darkness , pointing
and clicking at the stud .My fears that I may lose him any instant turned out
to be misplaced as he was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>absolutely
unruffled by all the attention and the blinding flash lights upon him. Going by
the good looks,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he must be used to girls
swooning over him ! ;)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA0YWG5ddokEmZUlDHRR6Svk7eabf0hPTu7s_65ZuLfUjjVYqbSk9lpQGpsgM14pnbS_fWVgkt5k_fy6g1Fq-TZHHydBnghvfUnn10Ee7MVueggSqQ5eLVkmDqqQ5yP2p-j5GRg/s1600/icanseeya.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA0YWG5ddokEmZUlDHRR6Svk7eabf0hPTu7s_65ZuLfUjjVYqbSk9lpQGpsgM14pnbS_fWVgkt5k_fy6g1Fq-TZHHydBnghvfUnn10Ee7MVueggSqQ5eLVkmDqqQ5yP2p-j5GRg/s320/icanseeya.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<o:p><em> I can see ya ..</em></o:p></div>
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<br /><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clicking in the dark with nothing but a guess of what
actually the lens was seeing was fun .So I clicked these beauties as well to
see what they would look like. Turns out , they are attractive any time!</span></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuGbU1mq2gc7s7dzW0h0CzRAWF65Epp5ENN2lj6HZ_nRADK034TYmc2ZLoWlmUG0glE_NmW2ziEh5GDiIdKBjtOcRo_KsbuVXfGEohuab21UepWIipnAvlzLgewZ6UobPXHtFiw/s1600/blindshot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuGbU1mq2gc7s7dzW0h0CzRAWF65Epp5ENN2lj6HZ_nRADK034TYmc2ZLoWlmUG0glE_NmW2ziEh5GDiIdKBjtOcRo_KsbuVXfGEohuab21UepWIipnAvlzLgewZ6UobPXHtFiw/s320/blindshot.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-42509386912540383142011-09-12T20:59:00.004+05:302011-09-12T21:05:41.468+05:30Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.free-extras.com/pics/p/pooh_and_friends-1133.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.free-extras.com/pics/p/pooh_and_friends-1133.jpg" /></a><br /><div> </div><div>Friends are actually marvellous things, ain't it ?<br /><br />One to discuss the world and its afairs with<br />One for the times when I need pep-talk and encouragement<br />One to wallow about the slime pool that my life resembles now<br />One to go gaga over movies and old hindi music over<br />One to share the girl woes with<br />One for the fun times and merry making<br />One to share the ,'I only talk like this, but I'm not such a witch' attitude with .<br />One to fret over weight loss with<br />One to just send and receive kisses and hugs over facebook ..<br /><br />So many ... I just don't tell this to them but I like all of them so much !They have a way of making life so so much easier to handle ... Like right now , I am looking for the pep-talk one cos I'm all jittery for reasons that cannot be disclosed here and no, whatever you assume is not that reason ! But she's off on a week long vacation :-( Oh well , her absence did make me mull over how amazing these people are .. and hoping this post would relieve the tension somewhat ..</div>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-28065990297883167502011-07-23T19:46:00.002+05:302011-07-23T20:00:00.438+05:30It All Ends - HP 7 movie review*Spoiler Alert *<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.therealstevegray.com/wp-content/uploads/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-part-ii-movie-poster-1020540381.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 520px; height: 325px;" src="http://www.therealstevegray.com/wp-content/uploads/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-part-ii-movie-poster-1020540381.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br />The HP movie adaptation, as always, does not live up to the book . I still remember the wait for the book release of the last and final episode -HP and The Deathly Hallows - how the wait was driving all of us HP fans, including myself ,insane. There were Orkut communities of those who were pulling their hairs out in anticipation and people spawning their own versions with tons of followers for these stories too. On the whole, those were pretty exciting times for an HP fan. The night before the actual book release was a sleepless one and the book was devoured in a single sitting spanning hours and hours of non-stop reading..Mind you , the book was a pretty huge one ,but that was hardly a deterrent. For all the wait and anticipation , the book turned out to be a brilliant finale tying up all the loose ends tidily and giving us ,all the drama and adventure we could ask for. Undoubtedly, JK Rowling did give us the best ending possible to the most favourite magic tale of our times beating all the clones hands down and were we satiated !<br /><br />The movie labours to be , but still is, a far cry from anything that the book conjured up so easily .If anything ,for an HP fan the movie is just a reminder of the book reading experience, since its been a while since the book was read. The movie does start off pretty well ,but loses its grip on the audience as it progresses. On two occasions towards the end I turned around to the back wondering if they had cut off the sound - there was no background music and it was glaring ! Whatever effect they intended out of the heavy silence ,just did not work. The end scenes after the victory looks like plain lazy direction .Did they forget to put some awesome music in the background and mutual back slapping scenes to drive in the sense of victory and relief? To me , the actors looked like they had just come out of a boring movie! "Its over" ,"Yea right" sort-of !<br />Personally ,I had hoped they would leave out the very end portion of the story ,but they wouldn't spare us even that .Frankly, the 21 year old actors looked like they were participating for one of our school fancy dress competitions when they appeared as their older selves.<br /><br />I would still say , thanks for the movie adaptation .Sometime in the future when I want to go back and get a dose of the HP adventure once again , I may watch the movies if I don't have time to read the books all over again. I would also add ,not all of the movie episodes were below par , some of them were actually good .The credit and admiration though goes to JK Rowling, for her incredible imagination that has created this stunning tale and I'm sure legions of HP fans around the world are thankful for the magical experience she has steeped us in . Sadly , it all ends like all good things are destined to be .<br /><br />Signed<br />A true blue HP fan !manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-86543808398755797732011-07-13T20:22:00.001+05:302011-07-13T20:23:48.327+05:30The DreamBlood smeared , guts splayed<br />I lay with a gaping hole<br />Where the heart had been,<br />Wrenched open and emptied<br />Of that gift I was born with,<br />Unburdened of that dream,<br />My only reason for existence .<br /><br /><br />Like a rag doll ,my body lay sprawled,<br />The last of the shrieks silent on the lips .<br />Lifeless ,eyes wide open,<br />And stood over me a shadow<br />Clutching that dream and shaking with tears,<br />"Go,I have now relieved you of the pain<br />Of a dream unfulfilled ",said ,<br />My shadow to me .<br /><br /><br />Into a coffin , they placed me<br />In a room washed in blue, they crowded<br />And put even more nails on me ,<br />While the shadow watched from the far corner<br />Murmuring to the dream in her hands,<br />"Shouldn't hurt now ....<br />Those nails had to come ,the pain inevitable<br />Let life seep out , don't struggle<br />The struggle cuts it deeper. "<br /><br /><br />With the last nail, the dream crumbled<br />Into tiny shards of glass and shined,<br />Cutting the hands that held them<br />The way they had been tearing at that heart,<br />Turned to dust and mixed in the breeze<br />That blew over the coffin and out of the room,<br />Into the cold moonless night and a world<br />Of unforgiving, unfulfilled dreams .manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-86756096209513000332010-06-13T12:11:00.003+05:302010-10-09T21:20:37.514+05:30Back when we were youngLove was when we were young,<br />You were seventeen and I, sixteen.<br />That one moment of the first sight<br />And the denial in every minute that followed<br /><br />Evading the looks and shutting my ears to your laugh<br />I told myself day in and out to get a grip<br />Until my sleepy eyes would open with your face in them<br />Washed up on the shores of a sea of dreams<br /><br />Spring had descended upon me to stay<br />An irrepressible blush playing on unknowing cheeks<br />And butterflies flitted in the shadows of silky black strands<br />That waved when memories came in the scented air<br /><br />A golden vein of frozen words had come to life<br />Flowing onto every stray scrap and classroom bench<br />The love gilded my books with poems<br />And the songs rung in every pal’s ears<br /><br />On that rainy dusk years ago, on my long walk home<br />When we were joyous in the festival of lights<br />Soft lights had lighted up my way and it was then<br />I still remember, the air had quivered with your invisible presence<br /><br />Our paths though had to part forever<br />And the day came when, under the cherry tree we bade goodbye<br />My blistered heart thirsted for solace and in vain<br />I traced your footsteps to catch at least a glimpse.<br /><br />Years have passed by and we have grown in age and apart<br />No more do I pine for a comeback, now hopeless<br />I wish we never cross paths again, for it may be sadder still<br />If we stand yet again eyes locked, and the rose petals don’t shower<br /><br />Because my pain, my love<br />The wide eyed girl and a shy smiling boy are lost forever<br />And all the love was back then, when we were young,<br />You were seventeen and I, sixteen.manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-65247515343429481662010-05-30T21:44:00.004+05:302010-05-30T22:05:20.279+05:30Things To Do Before I Die - Notes to myself<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.artsjournal.com/realcleararts/Machu_Picchu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 764px; height: 558px;" src="http://www.artsjournal.com/realcleararts/Machu_Picchu.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>
<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMRUTHULA%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} /* List Definitions */ @list l0 {mso-list-id:328675733; mso-list-type:hybrid; mso-list-template-ids:-1723039654 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715;} @list l0:level1 {mso-level-tab-stop:.5in; mso-level-number-position:left; text-indent:-.25in;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]-->
<br />1.Be Independent <p class="MsoNormal">Because there’s only one life and you at least have to be able to be the real you, if you have to do anything at all with your life! Being yourself may seem to be the most natural thing that there is, but it ain’t that easy. There’s always the social norms and hypocrisy to be satisfied, leaving you with little room your originality. There’s just too many pressures trying to “mould” you into the most acceptable format, making me wonder,” Do they really want everyone to be just the same? All the girls this way, and the guys, whichever!?”</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Independence entails having the freedom to self expression and realization ,choice of life style ,career ,job and much more .Above all this ,my independence also includes self-dependence .This is where I reproach myself for keeping in pending the plans to take up driving lessons.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">2.Chase your dream</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Self explanatory! Regretful as it is, so much of our life goes in a job which we may not care about, but for the pay check. Blame it on the special makeup of the society where educational streams are pursued keeping in mind their employability factor alone, we all...all of us… end up being engineers. I see several people bemoan their life for they wanted to do something else with their lives and find themselves helpless. You may or may not have the guts to switch careers mid stream, but don’t let that keep you away from the things you desire the most. They could be your hobby too. Today’s hobby may well become tomorrow’s vocation!</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3. Work for a cause you believe in </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As much as we blame the society for its ills, we are also a part of the very same society and in our own small ways, responsible for the way the society is today. I often think of something that happened a while ago, when I was working in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangalore</st1:place></st1:city>. The city is infamous for its crowded roads and pollution, and having come from a relatively cleaner place, I could not help but complain about <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">the Bangalore</st1:city></st1:place> traffic to a fellow team mate. Despite being highly educated and forward thinking, my friend said that there was no point in me complaining as nothing constructive would come out if it . Her argument was,” When we can do nothing to change the situation for the better, why simply complain?” I have wondered ever since, “Is there really nothing we can do?” One person is too small in a system and ordinary people are no real life heroes to go around campaigning for change, that too when they have their own lives to keep them more than occupied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I have discovered, much to my own relief, from personal experience that it is possible for us to make a change. When people come together with a common motive and work towards it, things will happen. It doesn’t always have to be a fight against anything, for fights usually scare most people and they would rather not invite any attention upon themselves in such cases. Let it be so. You could work towards a humanitarian cause like child welfare or the environment. There are N number of institutions and initiatives which you can join to do your bit for the society .After all; all that the society asks of you is to return the favour it did to you.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">4. Build my own private library. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The bibliophile in me is talking now. Books have been objects of my affection since early childhood and they have served as my companions through all phases of life. The joy of simply beholding one of your favourite titles is priceless. I have always depended on libraries to feed my appetite for books and have paid innumerous visits to the libraries in my hometown. Books have always been borrowed commodities and one of my reasons to want to start earning for myself, was my desire to own books.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I believe everyone should have a private heaven, a shell to withdraw into and hibernate and spend spells of solitude in .My private heaven can only be a library. There’s also one more secret reason for building this library .I want my kids(When I have kids) to be lovers of books too.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">5. Travel</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Travel does not have to be an expensive indulgence .There’s the whole of the nation to be explored, with its villages, mountains and lakes. In that way, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place> is blessed with its variety in topography and different ethnic groups which forms its inhabitants .A traveler’s paradise for as much as the natural beauty as its rich culture and heritage, I should travel to as much of the heartlands as possible.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could add some of my more fanciful wishes like visiting <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Machu Picchu</st1:place></st1:city> at least once in my lifetime and authoring a book .Since these are not entirely in my hands to decide, I would rather not add them to this list. Machu Pichu will always be my most romantic dream and will be so even if it remains unfulfilled. And the book…it is always being written in my head, word by word every minute of my life …</p> manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-87101531073088736102010-05-10T20:51:00.003+05:302010-05-10T20:56:32.923+05:30Heal The World<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.212cafe.com/boardvip/user_board/cm99/picture/01669_51.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 775px; height: 420px;" src="http://www.212cafe.com/boardvip/user_board/cm99/picture/01669_51.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br />There's A Place In<br />Your Heart<br />And I Know That It Is Love<br />And This Place Could<br />Be Much<br />Brighter Than Tomorrow<br />And If You Really Try<br />You'll Find There's No Need<br />To Cry<br />In This Place You'll Feel<br />There's No Hurt Or Sorrow<br /><br />There Are Ways<br />To Get There<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Little Space<br />Make A Better Place...<br /><br />Heal The World<br />Make It A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br />And The Entire Human Race<br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">If You Want To Know Why</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">There's A Love That</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Cannot Lie</span><br />Love Is Strong<br />It Only Cares For<br />Joyful Giving<br />If We Try<br />We Shall See<br />In This Bliss<br />We Cannot Feel<br />Fear Or Dread<br />We Stop Existing And<br />Start Living<br /><br />Then It Feels That Always<br />Love's Enough For<br />Us Growing<br />So Make A Better World<br />Make A Better World...<br /><br />Heal The World<br />Make It A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br />And The Entire Human Race<br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">And The Dream We Were</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Conceived In</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Will Reveal A Joyful Face</span><br />And The World We<br />Once Believed In<br />Will Shine Again In Grace<br />Then Why Do We Keep<br />Strangling Life<br />Wound This Earth<br />Crucify Its Soul<br />Though It's Plain To See<br />This World Is Heavenly<br />Be God's Glow<br /><br />We Could Fly So High<br />Let Our Spirits Never Die<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">In My Heart</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">I Feel You Are All</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">My Brothers</span><br />Create A World With<br />No Fear<br />Together We'll Cry<br />Happy Tears<br />See The Nations Turn<br />Their Swords<br />Into Plowshares<br /><br />We Could Really Get There<br />If You Cared Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Little Space<br />To Make A Better Place...<br /><br />Heal The World<br />Make It A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br />And The Entire Human Race<br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br />Heal The World<br />Make It A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br />And The Entire Human Race<br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br />Heal The World<br />Make It A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br />And The Entire Human Race<br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br />There Are People Dying<br />If You Care Enough<br />For The Living<br />Make A Better Place<br />For You And For Me<br /><br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br />You And For Me<br /></span></span><span><span><br />I love you,MJ !</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35755430.post-43339430604251532932010-04-15T22:39:00.002+05:302010-04-15T22:45:03.583+05:30THE DESERT<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQ2p9ClBx5UtFrXmnEPb6Vxp-XrOzmf2f49MicMRCTaOFPPKRMSQS2tJSR1DxMZbtt1JlFfw9tVEUrWMqe_HdXXMYGUub8iRibA7ZEEEZuLwwQ5HNL9K02TehJ2UMRLirTWpDmA/s1600/desert1_opt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQ2p9ClBx5UtFrXmnEPb6Vxp-XrOzmf2f49MicMRCTaOFPPKRMSQS2tJSR1DxMZbtt1JlFfw9tVEUrWMqe_HdXXMYGUub8iRibA7ZEEEZuLwwQ5HNL9K02TehJ2UMRLirTWpDmA/s320/desert1_opt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460412940988785122" border="0" /></a>
<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMRUTHULA%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s not just the sun that’s burning my skin </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The solar flares blind my eyes causing tears to stream,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s not just the undulating dunes of sand </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Waves of dust blow at my face making me choke,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At times it’s not even the cloudless sky </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s all the hopelessness that’s parched my soul.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my aimless wander , the eyes search </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For a fellow traveler to curse the heat with,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As an egotist of a mind looks on </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Feigning nonchalance all the same,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And finding not even a shadow of a soul </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Says my mind, “You’re better off alone!”</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then the night falls and cold embraces</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The solitary traveler, beneath the palm,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sits down and waits for daybreak</p> <p class="MsoNormal">With watchful eyes and wistful dreams,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Listening to the rising howls of the coyotes </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Under the night sky, to the pack or a mate.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another day, a new dawn of the desert </p> <p class="MsoNormal">May bring cooler breeze and gentler sun</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The unknown path may even lead to an oasis </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Where pebbles adorn crystal blue waters</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The mind <span style=""> </span>nudges me in its reverie </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And says,” The journey may be well worth it! ”</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The mind shows the direction and I set off </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Following the song of the wind and the flight of the eagle</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Over treacherous knolls and past the cacti </p> <p class="MsoNormal">To escape where the doomsayers cannot reach </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And let the wounded soul heave in peace </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Across the desert, I flee to my freedom.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">PS: I crossed 50 with my last post.A miracle given my inconsistency!
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> manoranjinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07454996025059955422noreply@blogger.com4