Rang de Basanti (2006)

Watch it, watch it! I would not think twice of my 150/- at Innovative Multiplex, for it was a wonderful cine-going experience. Without doubts, this was one of the best patriotic hindi movies I have seen. And no, I would not write a review. I won’t do a Kaveree Bamzai and reveal a bit of the plot on “India Today”, two days after the movie was released. Again, I will put in a few snippets.

It takes quite a bit for a big star like Aamir Khan to alow the ensemble cast to completely take over, and just play a pawn (albeit an important one) in the game.

I could scarce believe that the world is not going ga-ga over the music of RDB. ‘Roobaroo’ is very definitely one of the best songs I have heard in a while. ‘Rang de Basanti’ itself is fabulous, and ‘Khoon Chala’ sees Mohit Chauhan return with a bang.

Songs come in to the narrative naturally, and there is no dancing behind trees or songs force-fed into movies. The songs actually take the narrative forward.

From my semi-trained eye, I could see either good or brilliant acting. Have not seen such a fine usage of an ensemble cast since ‘Monsoon Wedding’.

Wasn’t this Siddharth guy the one who played Vivek Oberoi’s role in the Tamil version of ‘Yuva’?

Sharman Joshi is an awesome actor. Kunal Kapoor is too good-looking to be a big star, but this was one stellar performance.

Soha Ali Khan, apart from the Pathan nose and chin, has the archetypal ‘dugga-protima’ bong looks.

Did you know that Alice Patton is the daughter of Chris Patton, the last Brit governor of Hong Kong?

Half the people would hate the precise timing of ‘Roobaroo’s appearance in the movie. I for one loved it. Could not believe of a better song to express the moment, and conversely, can not believe of a better moment to express the song.

It is during ‘Roobaroo’ that the message comes across in all totality, hits you flat on your face…. And I needed the soothing comfort of the song to grapple with the moment.

Well, the best thing about the movie is that the feelings, the emotions, even the humour is something that one can connect with instantaneously. These folks are so much you-and-me that it is normal to start identifying with them…. And that is what makes the ending shocking. It makes you believe, if even for a split second, that it could have been us. And we, in our comfort zones, would squirm at the mere thought of it, won’t we?

A little preachy, you said? Yes, I agree. A little over the top in the last 20 minutes, you said? I agree again. But know what, all those things occurred to me today. Now. And I saw the movie yesterday. You get the picture, don’t you?

Note: I was not supposed to see this movie last night at the Innovative Multiplex. We had planned to watch “The Chronicles of Narnia”, and had called up the folks at Innovative to deliver tickets for the same. Now if you have done this tele-booking thing earlier, you would know that what they give you is a coupon with numbers and weird scribblings on them, and only on reaching the movie hall do you get your entry passes. And only upon visiting the place (which is in godforsaken Sarjapur road), do we realize that RDB is playing and not CON. Now I had no complaints since I had plans of watching RDB anyway, but in the future, we will take note. If you are from Bangalore, I’d suggest you do the same, and make a follow-up call. You’d not want to watch Zeher in place of Maqbool (or vice versa) would you?

High Fidelity (2000)

And just to show that the rot has set in, I will not review the movie. Will give it four stars out of five, suggest everyone watches it, and present you with a few quotes from the movie. Borrowed without asking from IMDB

Starting from the top:

Rob: What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

*******************************************

Rob: Liking both Marvin Gaye and Art Garfunkel is like supporting both the Israelis and the Palestinians.

Laura: No, it's really not, Rob. You know why? Because Marvin Gaye and Art Garfunkel make pop records.

Rob: Made. Made. Marvin Gaye is dead. His father shot him.

*********************************************

And my absolute favourite

Barry: I wanna date a musician.
Rob Gordon: I wanna live with a musician. She'd write songs at home and ask me what I thought of them, and maybe even include one of our little private jokes in the liner notes.
Barry: Maybe a little picture of me in the liner notes.
Dick: Just in the background somewhere.

********************************************

Obituary: Chris Cairns

He had it all. All the strokes in the book and a few outside of the syllabus. The audacity to back himself and display that array of strokes to the world, even in trying circumstances. A genuine ability to get wickets off a lovely bowling acction that consistantly generated speeds in the lower 130's and early 140's. A strong throw from the outfield. Poster-boy good looks and an attitude to go with it. And what's more, a ready smile.

And the ones that say that his talent was not properly utilised, or that Christopher Lance Cairns has retired an underachiever, would have probably missed the gist of the story. Cairns it was who realised better than most others what cricket really entails. Cricket, just like the other great arts, lifts people. Cricket, through the myriad crests and troughs that encapsulate a day's play, makes one find life itself. CLR James raised the eternal question, "What do they know of cricket, who only cricket know?", and honestly, one has to look beyond the 200 wickets and nearly 3000 runs in either version of the game, to realise the true worth of Chris Cairns. He brought a smile to the face of millions across the world. He would, everytime that he had the bat in his hand, give hope to the few of us who would inveterately support the underdog. And sitting here to write his sporting obituary, I will have to say that the whole was much, much greater than the parts for this exceptional cricketer. OK, a quick question. How many of his great innings do you remember? And how many great bowling performances? Ask me and I will tell you, not too many. About five. Maybe ten. What, instead, wil stay in memory of Christopher Lance Cairns would be those moments, those spectacular 10-ball 20s.... when the proud minnows took on the best in the world, and failed often and and succeeded far less, but never let the spectator complain that (s)he did not leave the ground happy in the knowledge that it always is possible. Characters are few and far between in modern cricket, and Cairns no doubt was the best of that breed.

How could one who reveres Gary Kirsten admire Chris Cairns, you will ask. The two of them played what were apparently different games, didn't they? While Kirsten's career was a paean to hard work, standing up to responsibilities and doing the best one could with the limited talent that one had, Cairns' was a celebration of life itself. He was always the heart and the soul of the party and the one who even a partisan supporter of the opposing team would root for. A painstaking 50 off a hundred and twenty balls by Kirsten against McGrath, Gillespie and Damien Fleming at their peak would inspire one to respect one's self and make one believe that one is good enough. On the other hand, a rumbustious, rollicking 50 off 45 deliveries by Cairns would invariably put a smile on your face and make you believe in life and in the present. Kirsten's art was to respect what Cairns' was to celebration. Both sometimes failed, for cricket is a game where 22 collective wills are imposed on the same purpose, that of a win. Make no mistakes, both were equally passionate to win. It's just that they chose different ways of getting there. Two very different passions, two very different cricketers, and what makes cricket special, what makes sport special is that it can accommodate both.

Obituaries are passe. The memories will stay. He played his part, and played it well. Thanks, Chris.

Lapsus Calami

So here's what happened in the last quiteawhile.

Scrabble ... and memories of those indolent RVCE days. Soon, very soon, I will be there again. ISC, give me some time, won't you?

The legendary MNB was in town. Half an hour at platform no. 6, Bangalore station. The legend still remains, but old friends never change, do they?

Ghoti funda is a pluralism.

Guzzler's Inn revisited with the old faithful. An entire year and more has passed. Draught beer is never the same after Guzzler's. Many things aren't the same anymore. But yet, somehow, many things are.

Tubles's leaving town. Those depressing, uplifting evenings of bacchanalia at the Ranka Court house will not be there anymore.

Ma finished another story. It would have been nice had I inherited talent, you know...

Play watched. Average.

Interesting, entertaining email conversations, at completely different levels, with K and M, while struggling with a bucketload of work....

Scrutable words

Why is there so much negativity around us? Open a newspaper, watch TV, listen to the radio, and you find nothing but negative words. Ever wonder why some words almost always appear in their negative forms? It's completely evitable, as the words for the next five days prove.

This week's AWAD presents words that are scrutable and a quick peek in the dictionary shows that these are licit formations. Use these words in your writing for a gainly touch, a couth appearance. I hope you feel gruntled with this week's theme.

Forwarded by my boss at work. Check out this nice little website.

Trek: Chickmagalur, Mullayanagiri, Baba Budangiri, Kemmanngundi

Am still in the middle of my bloggers' block, so just the necessary information.

Location: Chickmagalur, Mullayanagiri, Baba Budangiri, Kemmannugundi.

Distance from Bangalore: About 300 Km.

Duration: 6th Jan '06 (evening) - 8th Jan '06 (evening).

Synopsis:

6th Jan, Friday

Left for the trek from Bangalore at about 10:30 PM on a Tempo Traveller with eight co-trekkers and a driver. Reached a hotel at about 5:30 am next morning, and promptly fell off asleep.

7th Jan, Saturday: Morning/Afternoon

Woke up at about 9-ish in the morning. Travelled upto the checkpost on our Tempo traveller, and from then on, trekked the rest of it upto the top of the mountain. Mullayanagiri (1926 m) is the highest peak in Karnataka, and is rumoured to be the highest point in India between the Nilgiris in the south and the Himalayas in the north. As for the trek, we broke up into groups of two and three, and just followed the trail. With me was the only other guy in our group who smoked. We really took our time climbing up, stopping whenever we feel like to enjoy the scenary around (which WAS extremely enjoyable), take photographs (which will be duly flickR-ed soon) or even for a smoke break or two (or maybe five, I really have lost count), steadfastly refusing to follow the trail and at times doing our version of the mountaineer's crawl as well. The route we took was almost vertical and my old faithful trek-boots did come in handy. Thankfully neither of us are first-timers, so even with all the smoke-breaks and photo-sessions, we were not too late in reaching the top. At the top, there is this Shiva Temple (which I did not enter. I do not pray) and if you go a little downhill on the other side, there is this cave which is supposed to take you to Baba Budangiri (which I didn't enter either, I hate getting my feet dirty and the cave was cold and soggy). Was surprised to see old Quizcorp pals Shreeram Shetty, Jnanesh and Suhas along the way (now how many quizzers have you seen who trek? I told you we RVCE Quizcorpers are a special bunch).

Then, we travelled to Baba Budangiri, to the sunset point (unfortunately a half-an-hour or so before the sunset). By that time, my creaky, ligament-less left knee was on the verge of giving way, so I decided to sit back and enjoy a smoke and "Allah ke Bandey" on a co-traveller's cell-phone, rather than galumphing about up and down the stairs. A lot of photographs were taken of the sunset, or so I am told.

By the way, did you know that Baba Budan was the guy who got coffee to India? OK, some more gyan. There are two types of coffee to be found. They are called Arabica and Robusta. The coffee plantations around this place mostly have the Arabica variety. Why? Of course, Baba Budan got his coffee from somewhere in the Arab countries. And obviously those beans would be Arabica beans, right? (But of course there are other reasons, like Arabica being the favoured type of coffee around the world and Robusta is mostly used for flavouring.... but that would be too much gyan)

7th Jan, Saturday: Evening

One of our co-trekkers is a native of Chickmagalur, and we visited the Chickmagalur club as a guest of Vishwanath, a relative of hers. Quaint, old-world kind of a place, has got a rather Asansol club-esque feeling to it. Nice. Isn't it surprising that even now, I find glimpses of Asansol at things around me? And all the while, I thought that I have forgotten about the place.
Ah, and of course since this is a club, there had to be some booze! Now that was the final flourish! What else could one ask for? A game of snooker, someone said? A great dinner, someone said? Hey, we had those too. Thanks a lot, Vishwanath.

7th Jan, Saturday: Night

Stayed the night over at a coffee estate (YES!). The bonfire didn't quite kick off, but then how many of you have experienced a bonfire in the middle of heaps of dried and semi-dried coffee beans? Oh yeah, an experience it certainly was.

8th Jan, Sunday: Morning

Woke up to realise that I have lost my cell phone. Unlike my last cell phone which was christened Delhi, this does not have a name as yet. But it costs twice as much as Delhi, and had some extremely important data stored in it. So "Nach Baliye" and "Kajra Re" and "Aap ki Kashish" notwithstanding, I was in a rather sullen mood all along the journey to Chickmagalur. (Stop making a face, you music-snobs! Would you listen to blessed "Sound of silence", driving down in a tempo traveller with nine others? And if you really want to know, the other options available were "Jogi" ... oh yeah the same Kannada movie, and "Have I told you lately". And OK you persistent brats, I really do like all the three above-mentioned songs)

But then Vishwanath came to the rescue. A few calls here and there, and whoa! The phone is found at the hotel that we had taken that little break in on Saturday morning. A little detour, and the smile is back on my face. The pocket's lighter by a hundred quid, but hell I'm not complaining!

8th Jan, Sunday:Afternoon

I had some work to do that night, so decided to sleep off on the journey to some lake that we were to visit. And woke up to find that I am in just no mood to take another trek up the hill around the lake. So I was just sitting around the lake, wetting my feet, smoking a cigarette and just chilling out, when there was this huge splash in the water in front of me. A man, a veritable man-mountain had dived into the water and was paddling around. And then, there was splash 2. Man-mountain 2 had dived in. So what would the dignified, classy sinfully pinstripe do? Walk away, shaking his head at this plebian idea of fun, and muttering a curse at these neanderthals for having spoilt his shirt with the splashed water?

Well, this is what I do. I wait till the hulks have moved farther off. I dive in. I swim about.

Ah the cold water! I swam for about fifteen minutes, and no more. The lungs are not what they used to be. Alas, the smoke, the smoke....

8th Jan, Sunday: Evening

The same Tempo Traveller. The same "Kajra re" and "Aap ki Kashish" and "Nach Baliye".

8th Jan, Sunday: 11 PM

Back home.



(Edit: After reading this, someone suggested that the bloggers' block might just have got cured.... )

Forced Non-conformist

n. (see also compulsive non-conformist)

A person who would refuse to call anything that is/ was/ has been praised by (other) critics as good, and would love an opportunity to pan the same. What's more, a member of this species would even call someone who professes one's liking for a movie/ novel/ album that has been praised all around, as a pseud.

Ideally, the antonym would be the "Follow the Famous". This is the person who would, in his/ her mind, have proclaimed Rashomon to be the best movie they have seen even before seeing it. Most of the reviews say so after all!

But in retrospect, they are two sides of the same coin.

(Thanks to Harish KS for creating the term)