29 May, 2006

The Da Vinci Code

Ok, I'm not going to add to the hype/notoriety surrounding that movie. Saw it.

Its nothing oh-so-very explosive or anything. Just a nice movie. Tom Hanks wasn't as good as I'd have thought him to be. McKellen pulled of Teabing's character with his usual effortless wryness. Among the cast, the really cool ones were Silas, Jean Reno as Fache and him.

Audrey Tatou (or is it Tauto) was good as well. At least not one of those glittering critters that rock a movie only with a sleek pair of legs.
Really, all this furore about the movie was a bit of an overreaction. Think of it, you don't even get to see Christ here. And about him and Mary Magdalene having a good time, people've heard about it already, so there's nothing very shocking about it.
Look at Passion of the Christ: the saviour's suffering not only read from the Bible as a spiritual concept of Man's redemption, but a man covered in gore, suffering inhuman torture. That is disturbing.

About the most shocking thing in this movie was Silas self-flagellating. Good one, on the whole. All the jokes drew responses. Kudos to them. WHat? Its only a thriller after all. With a plot that just happens to be Christian. Blah!

Me. I'm enjoying the summer. Sweltering. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.
Me happy too!! Will see Charulata as soon as I get home. For those ignorant sinners, it's a movie by Satyajit Ray. If you never heard of the guy, think Godard, think Renoir, think Kurosawa, think De Sica. Think films. Lofty films.
Then think India.

26 May, 2006


I'm posting without even a pause for decency. Oh, great. I'm supposed to have finished Statics. ONly prob, my brain isn't exactly agreeing wholeheartedly with this generally accepted fact. Am I going to be dead? Ok people, don't even start looking hopeful!

I'll be off to feeding my bunips (they aren't a distant cousin of turnips, in case your intellect is sufficiently abysmal to assume so.)
It doesn't take too much to be nice. Maybe I need a makeover. In all ways. Shesher Kobita isn't exactly the best thing to read before going to some ol' pals b'day.

"Hey bondhu biday"
Farewell, O friend."


Bijon's great. Supposedly, he asked of some fellow, " Is an amoeba using your brain as a gym?" Imagine, pseudopodia elongated and everything.

Here are some free-samples:
"You are digging your academic grebh."(grave)
"You are an intellectual phossseel".
"I'll vectorially displace you from the class!"

Musings for real.

There, back to the time tested ploy: got mothing to do, so well guide a wondering mind to wander over familiar rambling tracks, through the smoke-rings of my mind...
It's to dance beneathe the diamond sky... in wild abandon of the to-bes and have-tos, and live for an ephemeral eternity in the blissful opiate fantasy of the seductive 'might-have-beens', could-bes and the why-nots.

Most minds are made of contradictions (I think, I mean ur not reading a to-be Freud), but some are I believe more prone to ponder over these seemingly inane contradictions. And those are the Others: the ones who stare for hours at a book without reading a line, who laugh but that laugh is the filtrate of unimaginable tears, who look up at the night sky and beseech the uncaring Providence and the eternal immovable blaze of the firmament. The ones who write jewels in any language, then tear them apart out of care for others. Who are silent out of affection: the unheard words, the unknown feelings, the unshed tears. The might-have-beens, fallen under the wheels of a life that seems so meaningless.
Those I believe(I MUST believe) are the ones that matter. Not out of wallowing in self-pity, or to be unique in pessimism. But in reality.

The greatest works are those which are rooted in reality, even if it is the surreal reality of a Salvador Dali or a Luis Bunuel. The neo-realist films of the first masters: the touching soul-tearing frankness of Luchino Visconti, De Sica's The Bicycle Thieves fate revealed in its inescapable doomed reality.
Bergman's Knight tortured by his convictions, playing his chess-game with Death, which we all know is pathetically useless. And the part where he finds a moiety of serenity in his troubled existence, the simple peasantly joys of having fresh strawberries with milk with rustic friends.

Writing, poetry or otherwise, is a release. And a pleasure. My convictions have everything to do with it. Philosophy is merely a retreat. Reality is facing the world with a big raucous guffaw, and chewing gum in mouth.

Yeah, that's right I'm one confused blogger. I try to make a point. Only, I don't know if its worth making. Heisenberg's uncertainty seems to have been tailor-made for me.

Reality: going to watch the Da Vinci Code. Hopefully I'll like it. Have a long legacy of falling asleep when bored. To be woken by righteous felines. I do not enjoy the prospect of seeing Monsieur Sauniere though. In all his brief appearances, he certainly wasn't the model for benevolent grandaddy-type old men.

Basusu, kudos to you to sum it all up.
Did I miss an m? Sorry.

22 May, 2006

Shepherd's Crook

Yeah, I'm a crook all right.

"Uh...h'm...ze Godfather....send Clemenza. Reliable hitman..."

Oh come all ye faithful.

Adeste fideles.

Gatecrashers or not, all are welcome to the Mouse of Dog. (house of... and then I'll find some blogger fasting because I hurt some secular sentiments. Look at what's happening to the Da Vinci Code. Nutters fasting. Fasting.!!?#@$?! )

annon edhellen edro hi ammen!
Open, of gr8 Portals of Salivation.

Anyway, ,its mon cousin's B'day. Will disgrace his table tonight.

Kazarelth, poor fellow who reads ur CV.

I seem to love pessimists. I read the Brontes and Austen, found them to be pseudo-masquers in a pseudo existence.

I read Dickens, and my mind reeled. Reality. Stark.

I read THomas Hardy, I fell in love. He was slammed by critics for his insufferable pessimism. That, my dear viewer, is realism. Farmer Oak. Oh yes, there are so many Gabriel Oaks around us. And that endless we all ask.
Is there anyone out there? A shoulder to lean on, a soul to cherish?
And there will be an answer : ...
There isn't.

In modern authors, I found John le Carre. His spys aren't the 007s off the conveyer belt. The are the half-known unknown grey men og a grey existence, where ideology and patriotism and all the other isms are consumed in a featureless fog of what MUST be done. And they do it simply because there were no others for it.

Ok, I'm in a very quoting mood.
"My life will kill me."
-Pablo Neruda.

18 May, 2006


Its over.
I'm relieved.
MY head just might be still attached to my torso.
Some nasty shocks, some whews of relief (hah!).
NO whining.
No onushochona.

Laudamus, laudamus!

Let us praise!

I'm still semi-divine, and hemidemisemi atheist. After I'm th e reigning deity, so who else 'll I believe in?
btw, Life's good. NOt much suprises. Hopw fpr nothing, and no despair. Is all.
I'm still happy. There might just be that someone. Hopeless as it is.
I LOVE my pals, just realised. More than anything. Probably there aren't too many pf then

13 May, 2006

I'm God

Oh, did I forget to mention this fact earlier? Oops, just divine amnesia. (heh heh).

Me happy: Will get pic.

Me happy: Will meet.

Me happy: cuz' me happy.

Hence, I am Dog erm... GOd?

Quod Erat Demonstradum.


btw, I know for whom the bell tolls.
Now tell me, for whom does it chime?
An' they heard the chimes of freedom flashin'...

Going to SyZyGY. Felllows must have had Nordic or Russian roots, or simply IDIOTIC roots.Training for the toungue twister competition or something. Look at the blasted spelling!

Well, fare well to all the misbegotten and well-begotten brood of carbon-based bipeds. (Divine plagiarism?!?)

05 May, 2006

Hasty Snatches . . . ans Ray's Birthday

It seems that life can only be enjoyed in hasty snatches.
LIfe having a couple of bars of chocolate or a roll instead of a proper lunch. why?

Why, huh? Why?

I'll live, that's for certain. It gives me some satisfaction to see the lives around me participate in the turmoil of existence, no one trying to be dangerously emotional. On that account only anorexic dear pal can agree with me. Maybe I don't have a face left, after wearing so many masks.

striking...for the confused, accused misused struck out ones of life...
That's what I have contrived, to make the OThers, the might-have-beens and fallen cherubs to be a bit happier. Its such an extravagance for the Others, that if I can , then I should.

Very few there are who can appreciate, or even know. It is better that way. I've long since donned the mask of 'being happy in the joy of others.'
And when I see to lives so very dear to me complement and supplement, among all the other fallen ones, when I see them revel in the pure uncomplicated bonds of fellowship, for one at long last a haven, a solace... yes, I feel that there will be some light some brief spark behind the inscrutable uncaring mask of Providence.

As for me? Why, I have been the no one who's done nothing. That's the best thing to be. Unknown, uncared for, uncaring, unremembered, ungrateful, unlo-NO, that way madness lies!
TO be remembered. It gives one this sense of achievement, of fulfilment, towards friends. THat's why I blog, probably.

But yes, both my friends are happy. Sad, bereaved, but happy nonetheless. Paradoxes of existence.
And I'm happy too.

amal, thank god cancer spared him, is living too. As cynical as me, if not more. As much a realist as me, if not more. With as much caustic humour, if not more. Cheers.

Oh, and Satyajit Ray's birthday was on 2nd May. NOw that was a director. Whence comes such another?

Morbid satisfaction, to think of ones end. I can love only ideals. And my convictions lack passion, my statements lack emotion.

"For whom tolls the bell?"

Me. WHo'll bother?

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