And it’s November

Self-explanatory, don’t you think?

I am becoming really unoriginal with my titles, aren’t I, when in reality the name of a good chapter really excites me, the quirkier the better. One of the first things I do when I get a book (after checking it has the requisite number of pages, you laugh but one can’t be too careful, I have suffered greatly in the past), is take a good look at the contents. To say I am disappointed when there’s no contents page, and worse the chapters are just named 1, 2, 3, 4 would be an understatement! Jasper Fforde has completely spoilt me. I spent a large part of my day lost in a good book (and chuckling to myself), which has chapters like Five coincidences, seven Irma Cohens and one confused Thursday Next.

Looking warily at me as if to say quit staring

A day of rest (mostly) when it rains like the world will end, with animals (the pigeons in my gully, and the garden lizard who temporarily seeks refuge in my window) for company, and me being completely content not opening my mouth (screaming inwardly in agony doesn’t count). Is this a trailer of how my old age is going to be? I am suitably numb from the painkiller I took after lunch, which allows to me write this, so I don’t miss another month. Sigh, I missed even my one update a month rule. Something substantial, something weighty I’ll post I think, and then I end up putting stuff (something half-baked?) on Instagram, a platform which I’m beginning to get disillusioned with. No, I haven’t been neglecting the blog, for what it would appear, a few paltry likes on the gram but for the community (and the ease because it’s been a while) and, of course, the instant gratification it offers. The friendships, the mateships I have built there, and how comfortable I am with them, is also what keeps me going back though I am yet to find a way to navigate the new world of reels. I’d better get cracking or get happy being irrelevant.

The Big Sick

I had wanted to see The Big Sick since I heard the name and now I want to see it again for the razor sharp dialogue and the insights it provides. And, of course the humour.

Love isn't easy. That's why they call it love I thought. Maybe staying untethered isn't all that bad. But at the same time it has given me unrealistic expectations (and hope?) that other than my parents and friends someone significant will stand by me. Damn, I thought I was past this.

Spoilers ahead. 

Would you stand by a very sick if not dying (but the threat is imminent) girl when you have just dated her for a couple of months, and broken up with her because you could see no future with her? Then, while waiting for her to wake up from a coma you realize you are in love, and willing to go that extra mile for her. I know! Truth is always stranger than fiction. Can this happen for real? Apparently, it has. Isn't cinema the fantasy that we escape to? I found out that this was the story of the writers Kumail Nanjiani and Emily  Gordon around the time they started dating. I was done waiting for Augustus and now here comes this guy. How will real people match up to their standards? I realized that if I have to watch movies and read books I have to believe in things working out, and not be sister grim(m).

Emily doesn't magically go back to Kumail because she heard from her parents he stood by her during her illness. She takes her time to figure things out. He was there but she wasn't there there to witness it (Okay, how many theres is too many?). In a relationship two people have to be on the same page for it to work out and being in a coma does change things to say the least.

The intense scenes were done well by Zoe Kazan whereas Kumail Nanjiani looked like he was a throwing a fit or having a nervous breakdown but I have to say signing up with an acting coach was a good idea. Her parents played by Ray Romano and Holly Hunter (I dare you to see The Piano and not be in awe of her.) are superlative as Emily's parents.

The jokes about 9/11, ISIS and religion were really out there and it was brave of them to put it in the movie.Family, rejection, heartbreak,the question of race - all so wonderfully handled with humour. 
 
I realized as a writer you cannot be embarrassed about using things in your life as fodder blatantly as long as you don't really break someone's heart (things like these do get under my skin). I know asking for permission or waiting for it to be granted isn't realistic but you could at least avoid the heartbreak.
  
This was my first white movie which had a Pakistani protagonist (Next will be The Reluctant Fundamentalist which has been on my watchlist since I read the book). The family values are very similar and their expecting you to do certain things or you will be kicked out of the family is quite relatable. India and Pakistan have so many similarities because the germline is the same. Anupam Kher played the father without making it desi. You will know what I mean when you see it. 
  
Ray Romano seemed familiar too but I couldn't put my finger on it and then I found out he's the voice of Manny the mammoth in Ice Age! And later on when I saw Parenthood, I remember being mighty impressed by his awkwardness. He plays that rare character on TV who's a loner and very comfortable in his own skin.

Go watch it for the cast if not the subject matter.

Miss me? Not really.

Miss me? Not really is the short answer. For the long answer read below.

I do but I don’t want to deal with all the things that follow in your wake. It’s a chore and like blizzards always intense. Why is it never sunny? It was a deadly winter and I need to survive.

Why so many lies or omissions of truth, in your words? Why promises that you won’t keep and had never intended to keep in the first place, made only for the sake of making yourself look good?

I catch myself thinking you would like Inspector Montalbano or tell you that I found peace in volunteering. I wanted to tell you the person who loved me most in the world was dying and ask you what the right thing to do was. But I could never get past how formal and cold we had become. And you had never shown any interest before in spite of knowing the circumstances. So I absolve myself from all guilt.

It doesn’t matter now because I have seen through you. Perhaps there is a price you pay for being naive stupid. Believing you was my Achilles heel. The amazing thing is the disbelief because I am not usually the kind of person who gets caught up in this kind of drama. You proved me wrong yet again and my only consolation is for everything in life there is a first time (and hopefully a last time).

Why is there never a straight answer but only roundabout clues? It’s a maze I am tired of navigating and red herrings I am tired of dodging. You probably think people have a lot of time on their hands to brood over things. Let me correct you. They don’t. Survival takes precedence. Wading through your mess without complaining, I laugh to myself thinking about it now. Didn’t anyone tell you I don’t even like getting my feet wet and here I am drowning. I don’t even know how I got here. Oh wait you knew I disliked it yet continued to pour water saying it will quench my thirst.

What’s the use of saying pretty please, listen to me? What will I do with it, you selfish pig? Once someone tells you truth, instead of acknowledging it, you wave it aside and walk away only to come back to stomp on their hearts later. I wish you would vanish into the unknown never to be seen. Wait, that’s not completely true. In this age of social media I check if you are alive by stalking you online like normal people.

To forgive or forget that is the question

Forgiveness like betrayal comes in all shapes and sizes. And you have many options at your disposal but you have to figure out how to go about it.  They are peddling instant gratification, and we are drawn to it like honey to bee, which in the long run turns out to be fatal like white sugar. And, no it won’t stop me from biting into a macaroon or eating a gulab jamun (or two) once in a while but it’s a good comparison, isn’t it? Technology for all its advantages is making our lives more complicated and giving birth to mindless drama pregnant with chaos.

One can forgive and forget, the best thing to do really. Grudges are a colossal waste of time and energy. Also, they tamper with future connections without you being aware of it because that’s the vibe you are sending out into the world. I know because I used to be a champion grudge holder, and the queen of sulking. (Yes, I used to be that stupid.) The other person doesn’t have a clue or has forgotten or moved on and there you are waiting for an apology to make things right. People aren’t mind readers true but there are always signs and silence screams louder than words, or so I thought. Some people are plain stupid or they are too busy to notice or don’t care. Take your pick of the reason least harmful to your ego!

One cannot forgive but still forget (a rare breed but they do exist). And as I grow older this is becoming easy for me on account of being more forgetful. You heal yourself, put a stop to the nonsense and get an apology from the person in your head by playing out different scenarios and you are done. Simple, eh? What if the person shows up again and again interfering in the healing process? Not to worry, use their stupidity obstinacy to your advantage. The more they show up, the less it bothers you. No jolts, just the reassurance that one fine day it won’t matter. In a fit of rage you might feel the need to delete or block. I won’t tell you it’s a childish thing to do because it has its benefits but it’s a waste of limited energy reserves. Along with numerous social media accounts, people now have multiple numbers, and change phones like they change shoes so you can’t actually keep up (if you are like me).

One can neither forgive nor forget. Time will do your work for you so no point in losing sleep over it. (Didn’t anyone tell you that patience is a virtue? Me neither!) So many ways to deal with forgiveness. What if you are the one seeking forgiveness? Do the same rules still apply? Or do you become a hypocrite?

Of Gates of Heaven and Angels

The song “Streets of Philadelphia” by Bruce Springsteen won the Academy Award for Best Original Song (for Philadelphia of course), and four Grammys. But that’s not why its one my favourites. For me the song is inextricably linked with Philadelphia (the movie) and the compelling story it told. At the time I had thought that the song had no independent existence without the movie because I felt that the strong feelings it conjured up in me had everything to do with the movie and not the song itself (I was young and naive). But with time I understood the bigger picture (or at least I think I have) and the song is powerful as a standalone piece – the lyrics poetry and the theme universal.

There’s something healing about the song, something hopeful and at the same time there is an element of pathos in it, bleakness descends upon you, leaving you vulnerable and raw, yet in the end you emerge somehow stronger. These are the kind of sentences you get from my feeble pen (and might I add limited vocabulary) when I try to explain the profound and far reaching impact music has on me (and everyone else).