Wednesday, February 28, 2007

on ghosts

sometimes we say things even though we don't believe it.
and then we start believing it because its a lovely thing to have said.

its like keeping a promise u never intended to keep.

this is one of those.

ghosts are supposed to be aftermaths of life, staying in as wisps of vapour because the fleshy bodied life wasn't exactly fulfilling. (this is the definition i'm gonna work with. any other definition, and ur really missing the point i'm trying to make here. if u don't think that's what ghosts are, let's call em anazoids if it helps)

anazoids are supposed to be aftermaths of life, staying in as wisps of vapour because the fleshy bodied life wasn't exactly fulfilling.
(there... happy ???? if it's not too much of trouble, i'll stick to calling em ghosts)

ghosts are supposed to be aftermaths of............. (say it with me, for effect)

now... the reason i don't believe in them is this...
there is no such thing as an unfulfilled life.
life simply works its way out.
meddle with it, tweak it, fix it, or break it, or just don't plain bother abt it... life just works its way out.
we only die when we're done living.
and we only die when we're done living happily.
i believe that. i really do.
there really is no reason why i shouldn't.
no dead man is gonna come back alive and tell me that isn't true.

i'm sure there's several several flaws in my logic.
but i'd like to be like a kid who believes in santa clause, expecting him to come dressed in red and green, noticing he's come dressed in a weird maroon and green, but still being innocent enough to believe in santa.

i believe in santa.
i don't believe in ghosts.
there ain't no thing as an unfulfilled life.

on fairness

for the first time, i entered a heading before i started writing. generally, i don't think of a heading till the very end, and most of the time i wanna title it with words like "just" or even "...", or "chumma" or "simply".. well, you get the drift.

okay, now that i've gotten that icky technical issue out of the way... fairness. its this highly over-rated, superbly magnified, confoundingly disillusioning trashy concept. there is no such thing called fairness. no such thing. its a concept invented by the selfish and greedy to get what they want, and believed by the helpless and the needy so that they can live yet another unfair day in the hope of yet another fair day. fairness is highly over rated.

and i'm not talking abt big intellectual sober things like the budget or SEZ's or VAT or MAT ( i have no idea what they mean, they were flashing all that stuff on NDTV today)- i am just making sure you get the right context (this is not abt the budget).

this is about everyday lives and everyday things. things just happen, and u'd like to believe in such things like as you sow, so you reap, and retribution and revenge, and work hard and you'll get the fruits. trust me, you don't. in the end it's the battle of selfish people trying to get very selfish things, and if its in one person's selfish interest to give, and the other's selfish interest to take- things become very fair. if it's in one's selfish interest to give, and the other's selfish interest to give too- things get strange- they aren't fair- but no one's really complaining- so this scenario is generally discounted. and finally, if it's one's selfish interest to only take, and in the other's selfish interest not to give - AH- here's where things become totally unfair.
point is... fairness is a concept. its not real. its not a constant. not everything is fair. almost nothing is. you'll find urself twisting and turning things so that they seem fair. but they aren't- you know it intuitively.

my point is, without further ado, fairness doesn't exist. whoever said the world's fair lied blatantly. and whoever believed it, believed it foolishly.

c'mon... there's no life without unachievable dreams.

Monday, February 26, 2007

cul de sac

saying something in french (not that i know a lotta it, in fact i know precious little), makes a lotta things seem grander, bigger, maybe duly staler, maybe farther away so we can distance ourselves from it.
what's the french word for "denial"- i'd like to use that a lot.

but cul de sac (or more mundanely- dead end- trust the rotten english to come up with dead end)
is this dead end place.

and if u look straight, as though like a horse with blinkers, u'll just stand there.

some ppl do smart things, they see that there's a right or a left and take the appropriate path.

i stay put, wondering if i can just break that wall and keep walking doggone ahead.
i stay put, wondering if i can just stay here, coz this cul de sac is something i'm getting comfortable with.
i stay put, wondering if i can walk right back and somehow never have come to this place.

ya... well, generally, i just stay put, imagining this gorgeous hunk in white stallion, who'll just sweep me up and jump right over the wall with me.

sheesh... i never ever miss a chance to talk abt damsels and knights in shining armour do i ?
its called the selfish gene theory ppl... procreation and so on and so forth.

but ya... cul de sac. nice lil french phrase.
(came across the word, in one of those english lessons, abt this cellist who's on his way to a performance he has to give one night, gets on a wrong bus, gets off, realizes that the address isn't on him but on the mantlepiece in his apartment, by which time its raining, and his black card board tie is leaching pink colour onto his only white *borrowed* shirt, and then tries walking to this place, but reaches a CUL DE SAC, and eventually realizes the concert is actually the next day. summat like that.... its very funny for a sixth std student i assure u. i cracked up the whole time we did this lesson in class)

but ya... cul de sac. nice lil french phrase.
french phrase i hate- au revoir. not nice.

know what's a really nice french word- randezvous. it means meeting. n that's what i'm waiting for.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

favourite movie lines

How jobless must I be if I'm sitting here on a sunday evening, googling favourite lines, copying and pasting, and annotating 'em. Very indeed !!!

I've been meaning to do this in a while. A sorta database of some of my favourite movie *quasi-monologs*. Hopefully this list will expand. May my enthusiasm for watching what is often opined to be boring movies never cease.

I love movies with dialogue. Prolly coz it remind me of me. Conversation is not just how we reveal ourselves to the world, its often how we hide ourselves from it. And the discerning know when they really are being given a chance to look through the peephole into our lives, and when they're actually being fooled into looking somewhere else. Regardless, conversation is how we project ourselves. Perhaps, so is silence. The greatest secrets are to be gleaned in dark corners, on starless nights, and from long silences and mutters, from when they look away and not when they look straight at you. Nvm... all i'm really trying to say, I like movies with a lotta dialogue and very few characters.

My fair lady-

Its absolutely my favourite movie. I crave to watch it sometimes. The kinda craving that drug addicts get. Yep, I'm addicted to the movie. I still dunno all the words byheart- but its something I'll achieve by the time its time for me to introduce it to my lil girl (or boy- but i don't think he'll get it).
My fair lady, to me, is not just a movie. Its a sybol of my parents' love for me, who for some strange reason made me watch it a million times, revelled when I sang back the song, or a dialogue. I've grown being influenced by that movie somehow- i dunno how. Its there though, etched somewhere deep. Its also one of my neuroses- what if I make my daughter watch it, and she isn't the least bit impressed by it. What if??? *shudders*.
And here's where genetics comes to the rescue. My mom loves the movie, so does my dad. The gene for "my fair lady" appreciation, is in both sets of my chromosomes. My daughter, therefore is definitely gonna get one of 'em. So unless she gets a chromosome from a dad who hates "my fair lady" (which seems impossible, coz i don't see how i'll even end up marrying that creep!!!), chances are my lil girl won't turn a cold shoulder. But ... its one of my neuroses alright!!

I know your head aches.
I know you're tired.              
I know your nerves are as raw
as meat in a butcher's window.
But think what you're trying to accomplish.
Just think what you're dealing with.
The majesty and grandeur
of the English language....
It's the greatest possession we have.
The noblest thoughts that ever flowed
through the hearts of men...
...are contained in its extraordinary,
...and musical mixtures of sounds.
And that's what you've set yourself
out to conquer, Eliza.
And conquer it you will.
Here's a line in shall we dance, where Susan sarandon describes why she thinks we want to be married. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. It is probably very simply and undecorated. Yet it's at once the most practical and romantic reason for why we wanna be married. Because we wanna know that our journey was not spent doing most of the travelling alone. I suppose she put it better than I can...

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on this planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But, in a marriage, you are promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things, all of it, all the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness."


And sometimes, you're talking about something else, and you learn something totally different.
I loved "sideways" because of that. The discussion of why maya and miles like wine is not about their love for wine. Its about who they are, and why they are so. Watch the movie- everything before this discussion and after might seem pointless, but for this one conversation, the movie was worth it.
Can I ask you a personal question?

(bracing himself)

Why are you so into Pinot? It's like
a thing with you.

Miles laughs at first, then smiles wistfully at the question.
He searches for the answer in his glass and begins slowly.

I don't know. It's a hard grape to
grow. As you know. It's thin-skinned,
temperamental, ripens early. It's
not a survivor like Cabernet that
can grow anywhere and thrive even
when neglected. Pinot needs constant
care and attention and in fact can
only grow in specific little tucked-
away corners of the world. And only
the most patient and nurturing growers
can do it really, can tap into Pinot's
most fragile, delicate qualities.
Only when someone has taken the time
to truly understand its potential
can Pinot be coaxed into its fullest
expression. And when that happens,
its flavors are the most haunting
and brilliant and subtle and thrilling
and ancient on the planet.

Maya has found this answer revealing and moving.

I mean, Cabernets can be powerful
and exalting, but they seem prosaic
to me for some reason. By comparison.
How about you?

What about me?

I don't know. Why are you into wine?

I suppose I got really into wine
originally through my ex-husband. He
had a big, kind of show-off cellar.
But then I found out that I have a
really sharp palate, and the more I
drank, the more I liked what it made
me think about.

Yeah? Like what?

Like what a fraud he was.

Miles laughs.

No, but I do like to think about the
life of wine, how it's a living thing.
I like to think about what was going
on the year the grapes were growing,
how the sun was shining that summer
or if it rained... what the weather
was like. I think about all those
people who tended and picked the
grapes, and if it's an old wine, how
many of them must be dead by now. I
love how wine continues to evolve,
how every time I open a bottle it's
going to taste different than if I
had opened it on any other day.
Because a bottle of wine is actually
alive -- it's constantly evolving
and gaining complexity. That is,
until it peaks -- like your '61 --
and begins its steady, inevitable
decline. And it tastes so fucking
Good Will Hunting-

Anyone who wasn't moved by this monologue is simply insensitive. The location was perfect- at a park bench near a lake. Robin William's rendition is perfect, so's damon's stiff posture all the time revealing that there's a softer more insecure interior.

So if I asked you about art you could
give me the skinny on every art book
ever written...Michelangelo?
You know a lot about him I bet. Life's
work, criticisms, political aspirations.
But you couldn't tell me what it smells
like in the Sistine Chapel. You've
never stood there and looked up at
that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked
you about women I'm sure you could
give me a syllabus of your personal
favorites, and maybe you've been laid
a few times too. But you couldn't
tell me how it feels to wake up next
to a woman and be truly happy. If I
asked you about war you could refer me
to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional
material, but you've never been in
one. You've never held your best
friend's head in your lap and watched
him draw his last breath, looking to
you for help. And if I asked you about
love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never
looked at a woman and been truly
vulnerable. Known that someone could
kill you with a look. That someone
could rescue you from grief.
That God had put an angel on Earth
just for you. And you wouldn't know
how it felt to be her angel. To have
the love be there for her forever.
Through anything, through cancer. You
wouldn't know about sleeping sitting
up in a hospital room for two months
holding her hand and not leaving because
the doctors could see in your eyes
that the term "visiting hours" didn't
apply to you. And you wouldn't know
about real loss, because that only
occurs when you lose something you
love more than yourself, and you've
never dared to love anything that much.
I look at you and I don't see an
intelligent confident man, I don't see
a peer, and I don't see my equal. I
see a boy. Nobody could possibly
understand you, right Will? Yet you
presume to know so much about me because
of a painting you saw. You must know
everything about me. You're an orphan,

Will nods quietly.

SEAN (cont'd)
Do you think I would presume to know
the first thing about who you are
because I read "Oliver Twist?" And I
don't buy the argument that you don't
want to be here, because I think you
like all the attention you're getting.
Personally, I don't care. There's
nothing you can tell me that I can't
read somewhere else. Unless we talk
about your life. But you won't do
that. Maybe you're afraid of what
you might say.

Right- there's really nothing I can say there, except exclaim !!!
Notting Hill.

We're all closet damsels in distresses. Often those damstrels are princesses, who are caught between pretending to be someone and wanting badly to just be themselves. Some of them are unluckier- they don't even know who themself really is. They want to find out. They need help finding out. They need the knight in shining armour. But you see... while damsel in distress ain't a metaphor, knight in shining armour is a metaphor. He's not a prince from a far away land. Not a stud using a different ferrari each day. Often not even articulate. He's the one who'll sit next to you in a park bench and just let you sit there, thinking to yourself, his hand ever ready to hold yours when you need to, at the right position which is re-assuring without being condescending, so you can take it when you need to, but is never forced upon you.
Hugh Grant, acts as though he's the lad in distress, but in reality he's the knight. We all need knights. While we're okay with all the world believing that we're cold, unfeeling, sensitive creatures, we can't truly stand the one person, who has the ability to see us for what we are, to buy the world's mis informed opinion. Yet they all do....

I live in Notting Hill. You live in
Beverly Hills. Everyone in the world
knows who you are. My mother has
trouble remembering my name.

Okay. Fine. Fine. Good decision.


The fame thing isn't really real, you
know. Don't forget -- I'm also just a
girl. Standing in front of a boy.
Asking him to love her.


That's all folks.