Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna - well, that was all what the movie was about - people breaking their marriage vows. And I broke another vow, and I feel like banging my head in the nearest wall for doing so - I really shouldn't waste my money on such Hindi movies, desperately hoping these kind of directors will get more mature. Though this movie was a whiff of fresh air from the usual crap Johar churns out (you know I'm not a big fan!), it ultimately succumbs to be one of them too.
Now, if this contains spoilers, don't curse me for giving it away - after all, I'd rather you don't watch the movie.Why I agreed to watch this movie was plainly because my friends said it'd be fun, which well, it was in a way - we did have good fun passing random comments. Now, I just feel sad I should have saved this $11 for a second viewing of JoK to hear the songs in Dolby sound, probably.

SRK's bitterness in the whole movie, though again, a refreshing change from his usual ( I mean in Johar and Chopra movies) flirting with girls, the happy-go-lucky dude was so irritating that I should say he quite succeeded in portraying his character. Wonder how (and why the HELL!) Rani falls for this chap instead of her husband Rishi (Abhishek, nicely done!). Preity's character was great too, for a change she wasn't a woman who wept and crumbled when she learnt of her husband's affair, but instead asked him to get out. Whew, seriously.

Another thing I was desperately praying for was they shouldn't set Preity and Abhishek together, I would definitely have hunted down Karan if he had done that. Instead, both move on with their lives with ease (though the complications towards the end of the movie were unwarranted for).
As usual, the movie had its dose of 'comedy' and some relief in the name of Amitabh, Kirron Kher and the cute little kid who played SRK's son.

At the end of the whole 3 1/2 hours (without an interval, dammit, I hate these cinemas!), it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I'd probably have even accepted it if they had stopped the movie a few minutes before the actual climax (I'd been sure it was ending then, and really believed Karan Johar had grown up!!), but no, it goes on for another half hour and killed any good opinion left I had of the director and the movie.

I'd say : Don't pay more than Rs 60 if you want to watch the movie. Seriously. I'd rather say you watch the movie only if you love to watch Rani's right eye (only!!) filling and shedding tears. Even the glycerine doesn't know how to work. Gosh, what do I say, it's Johar afterall.

It's a surprise how quickly my mood changes. Oh, from bad to good only, though. I'm so proud to realise it's extremely easy to get me back to normal after disappointments or anger (maybe it has a lot to do with that I laugh for the stupidest things on earth!).
Anyways, all this talk has to do with how my computer conked out when I desperately needed it this afternoon after I came back from my first class of 3rd year, depressed, for no reason I could clearly identify. I was listening to Jillunu Oru Kaadhal (Hail Rahman for churning out this brilliant album!!) to cheer me up and sat down to blog, and right then, it happened. The network card stopped working for some reason, and after frantic uninstallations and reinstallations and a call to a senior (thanks to him!), it started working again around 45 minutes back. And the best part was, this time I didn't fret around as much as I used to before (the one week without internet at home was a huge help!), and kept going with a firm belief that things weren't bad at all, that I could conquer it all, I can!!
This is just the second most important year for me, one which lays a foundation for almost everything I hope to be, at least for a few years to come.
Entering a whole new year with high hopes, fervent prayers and confidence.
Will be back very soon with another post!

... When
I would only wear a paavadai-dhavani,
Oil my hair everyday and wear flowers,
Draw the kolam in the corridor and
be the lady my mother is proud of...
Spend 10 paise for the bus ticket
and go to college,
and be one of the five girls doing their B.Sc
in a class of 50!
Go to the beach in the lunch break,
have ice creams for Rs 3,
Drool over Amitabh or Gregory Peck,
copy Jaya's hairstyle?
Walk home to save the 10 paise
and listen to music in the turn-table
Pay Re 1 and talk on the phone for hours
Listen to the cricket commentary
in the tiny transistor radio and
cheer wildly for India!
Then crowd around the big radio and
listen to the news, and then
new Tamil music...
until mother calls us all for dinner
with sutta applam, claiming it's special,
and then chase us all off to bed while we,
sisters and cousin sisters, giggle throughout...
Wow, wouldn't living in the 70s have been fun? (Even sans the things we can't survive without today?)

Seriously. Deaths everywhere, most in man’s hands, as if plane crashes, earthquakes, tsunamis and floods weren’t enough. What the hell is happening to the world, to the cruel we who inhabit it?
Two weeks back, a series of blasts I needn’t talk about. Attacks on Lebanon. Regular blasts in Iraq. An unresolved Palestine issue on which hundreds die every week, at least. Damn, I’m irritated. And what am I doing other than just feel irritated and further still, talk about it in the blog? I’m scared I’ll just live through it, and die some day just like any other normal person. Is anything in our hands? Our protests, strikes and so on… do they have any effect? What happened to the Reservation issue despite heavy protests country wide by students?
It was a shame to watch the parliamentary proceedings yesterday on Television. Members of the ruling party and opposition literally bitching about each other, calling the other liars, and yelling slogans in the house. And a frustrated speaker, who was totally helpless, that he had no choice but to adjourn the house. It’s disgusting, it’s shameful. I don’t care if this happens in every country around the world, it all just boils down to the same thing – we are a miserable, messed up species. We all lust for money and power that in the end is not going to help even the tiniest bit.
If I could, I would have throttled the neck of one TV channel producer who decided to screen “special” movies on 26^th July commemorating the first anniversary of the day when the world woke up to the fact that Mumbai was drowning in floods. ‘Watch special movies on 26^th July and stay at home all day – don’t venture out’ the promos said. How cheap can we get? In what way are we paying any homage to the people who lost their lives or to the families who suffered an irreparable loss?
I hang my head down in shame.
I belong to such a world.
I just pray that we can do something about it. That all of us, members of the filthy race called humans, realize our mistakes. Hope that I live long enough to see us change. God save us all.

Oh, just a bit pissed off. Doesn’t mean I’m having any less fun! The Pani puris, ice creams, DVD movies, entertainment from the kid upstairs, and from kids in the garden nearby go on! (Ironic, I know)

It's amazing how one month flies by even if you're utterly bored, jobless, and desperate to get out. One month since my vacation began, and I have done nothing significant. If you'd discount knowing words like cat, dog and horse in Gujarati, shading with colour pencils, eating off roadside stalls, of course.

Worst part is I've landed with a cold, which has even cancelled my everyday little ice cream parties.
And good Lord, I heavily miss Radio Mirchi. The Radio Mirchi here is obviously entirely in Hindi, and though the RJs are decent (they have great voices!), they discuss some extremely important things like why the director of 'Dus' ended his marriage and left his wife and child abandoned. I couldn't believe it, they had an entire discussion on such a topic, and I was purley disgusted.

Well, at least if the songs were good, I'd probably grit my teeth and listen to the RJs going on and on with their gibberish. The songs are TERRIBLE! I'm left wondering at the staleness of Hindi songs... and Himesh Reshmiyya... oh my God! The station somehow keeps playing only his songs (or yeah, 'Mitwaaaaaaaaaaaa' and 'Kabhi Alvida naa..' which are better, though!), and his awful nasal voice, his similarity to Inzamam-ul-Haq (which I laugh about!) and his songs (each of which I think he insists on singing!) make me wish with every ounce that I was in Chennai listening to Suchi, Balaji or AJ or even the unbearable Chinna-thambi-Periya-thambi duo in Suryan FM. Deivam!!

And Television, no better. We have over 125 channels I used to long for in Chennai (like HBO, the Zee English series and the Sports channels) and just a few of these manage to retain my interest. Wimbledon kept me really occupied until it's amazing finish with an equally amazing Federer (awwwww.... he's just second.. Pete Sampras always rocks!)... Federer, with his excellent forehands and backhands and his calm self (excluding the weeping he does when he wins or loses) was a total delight to watch.

Yesterday, with a firm resolve, I decided to watch Bunty aur Bubli on Max. Never mind the movie, it's not worth talking about here, the ads every 15 mins (for 15 mins, bloody!!) totally bugged me! And best part was I couldn't follow what happened in the very end :( which left me even more frustrated.

Ok, if I continue at this rate, I'll be turning my blog into a moaning forum :P
Signing off,
Bored even while doing other things.

So the girl stuck in Gujju land finally got to move around with dear ol' mum.







First stop: Kankaria lake.
Pedal boating after a very long time.







Then, stopped by this mosque (whose name, err.. doesn't really register!) which was built by a possessive king who later ordered the hand of the builder to be chopped off! The designs on the windows are extremely intricate, and of course, beautiful.








And then to this temple - which, incidentally, was different - the only 'Gods' were idols of three men in kurta-pyjamas!
-- The Sri Swami Narayan temple
Saw those dark clouds?
Spoilsports, bah.





And, it rained. It poured. Winds blew. A thousand trees fell. Cables got cut. So did my internet connection.







Stuck at home, without the WWW, was forced to turn to other forms of entertainment.....







......... like this...........














...... and this........
Psst... that's a peacock on someone's terrace!!









So on, until folks at home took pity and took her out again... here...

..... the Sabarmati Ashram.







Brilliance, humbling.












Narmada, the delicate darling.... the princess of controversies?









And is back to being bored now. At least, the net connection is back after one harrowing week of yelling, cursing and a bit of silent swearing (in Gujarati :D) too!
Hmmm... and to think just 3 more weeks left to go back again!
Forgive me for the resolution of the pics... had to purposely reduce them to make the blog easier to load!

Smriti was fussing. She wouldn’t eat. I ran behind her, finding it difficult to keep pace with those cherubic little legs as she ran from one room to another, trying to avoid me, to avoid eating.

I knew what she wanted – all the running around she was doing was for exactly one end – the terrace.

‘Smriti…’ I called out, and she stopped, knowing what I was about to say. She turned and grinned at me. I grinned back.

‘The terrace!!!’ we cried in unison.

The little girl insisted on taking the stairs, not the elevator. I huffed and puffed as I climbed four floors to the terrace, a bowl of curd rice in hand – curd rice peppered with bits of cabbage – now that would require some extra effort to push into the little devil, I thought.

I sighed as I picked the shreds of cabbage and put them in a corner of the bowl – the girl simply refused to eat them. Why should I be right most of the times?

There was a glimmer of hope from among the clouds – literally – the moon came out of hiding. Cream, majestic, and resplendent. Shining. My saviour. To get my little angel to eat.

‘Amma, look!!’ cried my imp. ‘The moon!!!’

‘Yes, dear, the moon,’ I replied, absentmindedly.

She ran to the other corner of the terrace to have a better view.

I was losing patience.

‘Smriti,’ I called out. ‘C’mon…let me tell you a story about the moon while you eat…’ I said. Pointing my index finger up to the full moon on the sky, I said, ‘See those black spots on the moon…’

‘No!’ she interrupted.

What now?

‘The moon is here, ma..’ she said pointing directly upward from her corner of the terrace. ‘Not there!!’

I smiled.

‘Of course, Smriti….’ I said, walking towards her. ‘The moon is here.’

My little imp. She always wins.