The long arm of the Law

It should be made compulsory by law that all fathers-or-lawyers-to-be be given a copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. Never has a book had as admirable a central character as Atticus Finch, be it in his gentle but firm style of parenting, or his silent determination as a defense attorney.

For whatever reason, lawyers have always been looked upon somewhat derisively, while the law itself, as George Bernard Shaw informed us,is but an ass, and the cornucopia of lawyer jokes doing the rounds is perhaps representative of this image.

Case in point:
Q)If you were stranded on an island with Adolf Hitler, a lawyer and the Devil himself, and you had a gun with two bullets, whom do you shoot ?
A)The lawyer twice.

I am beginning to like lawyers though. Despite my abhorrence of John Grisham's yearly forays into the bestseller lists, and his now innumerable imitators, I've always had something of a soft spot for Ally McBeal, and am now wholly in awe of James Spader's Emmy winning performance in The Practice.

Just shows how the long arm of the law has tightened its grip around the neck of pop culture.

frankly, my dear

If there's one thing that really puts me in a bad mood, it's a movie with a sad ending. Especially if it is three-and-a-half hours long, like Gone with the Wind was. Of course, not that i would mind ogling a bit more at old Vivien Leigh ,or Clark Gable for that matter ;) , but for god's sake, why can't everyone live happily ever after ?

I had read the book a few years before, and i knew what was coming, but that didn't make it easier to take. It's depressing to watch pretty four-year-old girls die in horse-riding accidents.
Sigh.I'm such a sucker for sentimentality.

And I can't understand Scarlett O'Hara.First she wants to marry Ashley, who is attracted to her but loves another, in order to make him jealous she marries Charles, who dies in the American Civil war, whilst Ashley battles on grimly; then she saves Ashley's wife from death in labour, and proceeds to slyly marry her sister's beau to pay off taxes on her family plantation, all this while Rhett wooes her with characteristic panache; when the second husband dies, she gets married to Rhett, produces the doomed afore-mentioned pretty girl, and oh if you forgot, she still 'loves' Ashley during this tumultuous period. And so, finally, when Ashley's wife dies and he is there for the taking, she decides to stay with Rhett (?!), who utterly put off by her Ashley-obsession, walks out on her with the immortal words, "Frankly my dear,I don't give a damn. "

Phew. Talk of confused women .
I can't help wondering if they are this way in real life too.

Ode to a squishy stomach

I hate looking up at billboards and seeing those muscular, brawny body-building types smile their fake plastic
smiles and cavort in their Jockeys or Calvin Kleins.

I don't have a six-pack. Or a four-pack. Or a one-pack. Or any abs to speak of. If you want to know the bare truth, I have a nice squishy stomach.

And what's more, I'm proud of it. Proud of having dropped 4 inches across my waist over the last year, down to a very respectable 30. Proud of not letting my self-esteem suffer at the hands of gym-obsessed image addicts with a penchant for giving individuals less statuesque than themselves inferiority complexes.

Maybe I'm just averse to sweating it out. Big lazy bum, I can almost hear you say, grimly nodding your all-knowing head. Maybe you should try sitting around with my books and my music, with a bit of football thrown in, just for fun. And who says fat people can't play a bit of the beautiful game ? Just look at good old-Che tattooed hand-of-god junkie Diego.

I'm sure a killer body feels good. And impressive to some too. I'm just happy with my squishy stomach thankyouverymuch.
Somebody pass me that chocolate cake.

beauty

" ...her beauty is superhuman ; for in her are realized all the impossible and chimerical attributes of beauty that poets assign to their ladies; that her hair is gold; her forehead the Elysian Fields; her eyebrows rainbows; her eyes suns; her cheeks roses; her lips corals; pearls her teeth; alabaster her neck; marble her bosom; ivory her hands; and her complexion snow; and those parts that modesty has veiled from human sight are such, I think and trust, that discretion can praise them, but make no comparison. "

- Don Quixote


Wow.
I wonder who old Miguel had in mind when he wrote this.

peace

I'm back home.

And it didn't take me too long to settle down into my daily rigmarole of food, sleep, more food, television, sleep. Oh, did I mention hot-water showers?

After living in that hell-hole for four months returning home is my yearly (over?)dose of hedonism, the elixir guaranteed to exterminate all the evils that germinated over the course of one semester in college.

Admittedly, home may not offer some of the finer joys of life, such as high-speed-internet or Miguel , but it does make up for some of its shortcomings with an abundance of pampering; my wish is very much my folks' command, atleast for the first one week or so, and bad exploitative melon that I am, I intend to cash in. *evil grin*

Of course, I probably will have to look for an internship somewhere, but for now I'm content with putting my feet up, reading a good book, and leading the good life.
:)

Currently reading -
Don Quixote , Miguel de Cervantes

I can't believe I missed this one growing up. Salman Rushdie called it 'the best novel ever written', and despite his propensity for the hyperbolic, that's a not bad recommendation to have.

tired

I am really tired today.

tired of staring at my cell for messages that never arrive of studying endlessly for exams to make them happy of my ego of giving so much and getting so little of empty email inboxes of checking certain blogs for new posts that never come of pretending to be "all right" when i am not of broken promises of praying for somebodythingthatwillneverbemine of dying of a broken-heart disease of being lonely and wishing things would be different but knowing that they never will be because im merely a little pawn in His great game and He hates me.

somebody hug me today.
please

Serenity Prayer

God,
Grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change,
the courage to change the things i can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

Whenever in doubt, I turn to Epictetus.
Unlike others, he doesn't let me down.

More think than you drunk i am

This past week saw the passing of another "Hostel Night", our yearly testament to the ability of adolescents on the throes of adulthood to relinquish any semblance of self-control and willingly submit to the joys of public inebriation, in an astonishing mockery of the expectations that are believed to burden those studying in a college, which according to CBS TV's '60 Minutes' programme, is "Harvard, MIT and Princeton all rolled into one." (hehe, funny that)

This being my first such occasion in my present hostel of residence, I was a little unsure of what exactly to expect. I might even have been excused for believing it was going to be a nice put-your-feet-up-and-relax evening, especially after the rendition of a few songs by some of my co-residents in wonderful spirit, even if the original singers might have cringed in their graves at the attempt. Even the food, in all fairness, wasn't too bad. Given the kind of rubbery rot that is the norm in our mess halls, we quite appreciate any change.

As the night wore on, and the programmes on stage grew more tedious, the bottles and rolled up sheets of tobacco (and marijuana, i would think) came out, and thus began the great orgy of bacchanalia. And poor lonely teetotaller that i am, all i could do was watch as one bottle after another was emptied down some dying liver, and one man after another began lolling around and dropping off like bowling pins.

It made me sick.

P.S
Incidentally, the hostel night is the only occasion when girls are allowed inside the hostel premises.
Thats a rant for another day.

P.P.S
If I met you on a train going from Budapest to Paris , and was getting off a couple of stops before you , in Vienna , would you get off the train and spend one single night with me walking the streets of Vienna, talking about life, the universe and everything , until dawn breaks and our paths diverge forever?

Things I've learnt this week

1)I hate pretentious chauvinistic over-self-assured men who claim that they don't cry. I'm very much a crier.
2) Some people will always hate you no matter how nice you try to be to them.
3) Some people will always be nice to you no matter how indifferent and ignorant you are of their presence.
3) I suffer from a chronic shoot-yourself-in-the-foot-and-self-destruct syndrome.
4) I'll never get tired of watching "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset". They just keep reminding me that the possibilites are infinite.
5) Having something dedicated to you feels really good. Thanks, Sid.
6) I am destined to remain a misfit all my life, wherever i go.
7)There's absolutely nothing like a conversation on a moonlit terrace.

sick

i hate myself and want to die
And we die as we are born

ALONE.

the Turn of the Screw

"Ah yes, Tweedledee , come come , what can i do for you. You know how much i am relying on you to smoke out the big bad Wolf, don't you? How about a few F-16 'Falcons' for you? Would that keep you happy, my favourite brother-in -arms ?

Now, now Tweedledum, don't take this so personally. Don't you know that I love you as much as I love Tweedledee ? And i can't have you take away all of my jobs , can i now ? Some nice crunchy F-18's for you perhaps? We call 'em Super Hornets, the cute darlings. "

And now lets join hands, Dee and Dum and Dub, and ignore this evil-hippie-looking lady holding up obscene posters, and do our little jig, our very own private Dance of Death, like fireflies who play wih the light till they get burnt and die. Sounds fun, what?

Rain

When I was a kid , I was told by the all-knowing-elderly that when it rained, it was merely a display of collective indecency by the gods, relieving themselves in public like little street urchins who never understood what 'Trespissers will be Prosecuted' meant.

Well, old Dionysius must really have thrown a big party last week to leave Them with such heavy bladders. You know that he did because of the smell of the heavenly ale, which , in our eagerness to ascribe a reason for everything, we simply called the smell of wet earth.

The downpur has been torrential the past few days , and the incessant pitter-patter is a welcome relief from the deafening silence that has become the defining sound of my life these last two years.
And even if roads are filled with little muddy puddles that make your reflections look uglier, and slushy piles of mud that swallow you like quicksand, you know what? It makes me happy.
And today, I even felt like sharing an umbrella with somebody.

Ah yes, there nothing like the rain to put your life in perspective.

P.S
It has just come to my attention that there are some people who read this blog whom i am under a certain amount of pressure to impress, so hold on to your horses tight darlings, fasten that seat belt and get the bit between your teeth for henceforth this is going to be one wild rollercoaster ride, and if you're not careful you might just die die die .

say a lil prayer

Before you get along with your all-too-exciting lives, just stop, take a deeep breath, and say a little prayer today.

for all those who are too hungry to envy the crumbs which you ,and me, for that matter, throw away without as much as a second thought,
for the differently abled, and i hate the term disabled, who deserve so much more of our encouragement and so much less of our sympathy,
for those waiting to walk the green mile, to whose judges i ask, are you without sin to throw the stone at him?
for those hopelessly vegetating individuals who have no way back, and are denied a dignified, relatively painless passing by asinine legislations and god-quoting politicians,
for those men and women who would rather prefer the company of their ilk, and are prevented to do so by a Neanderthal insularity,
for little children who are violated by smiling uncles and kings of pop, and live their lives battling a guilt that should not be not theirs to feel,
for fire and aid and health-care workers everywhere, whose lives are so much more meaningful and precious than mine,
for two countries who just cannot stop fighting, even if their people share so much more than merely a common border,
for the departed soul of an omnipresent father figure who will undoubtedly be humanity's flag-bearer at the Divine Olympics, God's Athlete that he was.

Rest in Peace, Father. You'll be missed.

Return of the king

After a protracted period of inactivity owing to assignments , quizzes, presentations and other horrors, i am back to take the blogosphere by storm , seize it by the scruff of its neck and set it afire with my dazzling displays of literary prowess.

Ahhhhh.
So much for the bluster.

Even if John Lennon maintains that life is what happens when we are busy making other plans, it sometimes scares me to think of how little of my life I've planned out. Everyone around me seems to have their life all chalked out, right down to the minutest details, and here I am, nearly deciding impulsively to choose a minor in Communication because it contained a course on Rhetoric,being the same course old Robert Pirsig taught in "Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance".

I was eventually put off by the excessively theoretical nature of the courses, replete with linguistics and phonetics and the like. And if there are two other things i can't stand, they are grammar and incompetence, both of which form the core of the college's English Department.

Oh and by the way, question in my English quiz:
Synonym for 'Resilience' - Fl________

All you self-anointed gods of the language, take a shot.

the Donnie Darko experience

Gretchen : " What kind of name is Donnie Darko ? It makes you sound like some kind of Superhero ."
Donnie : "What makes you think I'm not ? "

After infinite recommendations and as many chidings ("What ? You haven't seen Donnie Darko ?"), I got down today to seeing this little gem of a movie, the sort of film that you may never have heard of earlier, but after watching it, one that you are never going to forget, especially when you consider the fact that you might have to watch it more than just once to understand its true meaning.

Essentially based on a science fiction back-bone, it runs through an entire gamut of themes, from quantum physics and wormholes (there is even a discussion on this in the movie :), yay for old Stephen Hawking), mysterious tangent universes, a budding romantic relationship which is more than just vaguely reminiscent of the one between Thora Birch and the weirdo neighbour in "American Beauty", and a fiercely critical look at the American schooling system.

And as i looked through the credits, my eyes nearly popped out when i noticed that the character of the psychiatrist was played by Katherine Ross, the same actress who was the beautiful, beautiful Elaine in "The Graduate" all those years back. Didn't recoginse her at all.

So what makes the Donnie Darko experience so magical ? A terrific performance from Jake Gyllenhall (interestingly, his real life sister Maggie plays his sister in the film), a superb soundtrack, and the verve and depth of vision that is so conspicious by its absence in big-budget productions.

Yay for indie films. :)

Donnie : "What does it feel like to have a whacko son ? "
Mother : "It feels beautiful."

*wipes tear*

fit the bill?

My favourite lines from one of my favourite books ,Jack Kerouac's "On the Road"

"
..the only ones for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn burn burn like fabulous Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centrelight pop and everybody goes 'Aww' .

"

Anyone fits the bill ?

right now

right now, i am

hungry, sad
jealous
missing someone
being missed
regretting
waiting watching wondering hoping
humming, listening
lyrical, prosaic
boring, bored
yacketayakking screaming vomitting whispering
worshipping
quoting, plagiarising
praying
waiting watching wondering hoping
disappointed, depressed
strong,
pretending
admired, revered
admiring, revering
reviled, hated
hating,
tolerant, trying
trying,
trying,
lying
sleeping
crying
DYING

there is no spoon

Spoon boy: Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead... only try to realize the truth.
Neo: What truth?
Spoon boy: There is no spoon.
Neo: There is no spoon?
Spoon boy: Then you'll see, that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.

I wore a full-sleeved formal shirt for the first time in two years today. It was a compulsory requirement for an English presentation that I had to make.

It was comical to see the bewildered expressions of my classmates as I expounded sagely on the philosophy of "The Matrix"; but i guess Plato's allegory of the cave and Descartian thought and Buddhist theology is a little too much to handle for individuals who have hitherto been subjected to topics as thought-provoking as "Waste Management" and "The Kyoto Protocol".

Oh, and by the way, I never knew that the buttons on the cuffs are that difficult to fasten on your own. Just goes to show that we learn something new everyday.

I have been wondering about another little issue recently.
I don't dream anymore.
No no not those i-wanna-be-a-punk-rocker kind of dreams, but the real ones -the types which creep up on you in the throes of deep sleep and kiss you ever so slightly and leave a little imprint like faded away lipstick on a shirt's collar that refuses to go away but reminds you that it actually happened, even if only in the playground of your mind's eye.

And i don't know if i'm in a minority here, but it always seemed to me that most of my dreams were bad ones, not to the extent of being nightmarish, but simply pointless journeys into nothingness where you met people you knew and just hung around waiting for someone to pull the plug ; or perhaps it is just a manifestation of our selective memories, a self-conscious-imposed negativity that makes us look at the world with dung-tinted glasses that makes us forget all the nice ones.

And i cannot , for the life of me,recollect whether my dreams were in colur or black-and-white. It is a wonder that people remember such things....

big toe?

Well correct me if i'm wrong, but after extensive observations, i have arrived at the conclusion that an alarming percentage of the human male population have their second toes LONGER than their big toes.

Interestingly, this appears to be far less prevalent amongst the female of the species.

I wonder why.

the walk of life

Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-Bop-A-Lula, Baby What I Say
Here comes Johnny singing I Gotta Woman
Down in the tunnels, trying to make it pay
He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah the boy can play
Dedication devotion
Turning all the night time into the day
And after all the violence and double talk
There's just a song in the trouble and the strife
You do the walk, you do the walk of life


I hate to be overtly melodramatic about anything, but as
i sang 'Walk of Life' along with Mark Knopfler on Monday night,i
damn near cried with joy. It simply has to be the highlight
of my life.

The man is such a legend that he even has a dinosaur
named after him, Masiakasaurus Knopfleri

Back today in college, life has got back to being what it really is,
a bitch.