tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83982335976162074212024-02-07T01:11:27.539-08:00The Floating BedNow on http://thefloatingbed.tumblr.com/payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.comBlogger389125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-90048941085556502482014-02-15T06:40:00.001-08:002014-02-15T06:48:59.676-08:00 Now on...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://thefloatingbed.tumblr.com/"><span style="font-size: x-large;">http://thefloatingbed.tumblr.com/</span></a><br />
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-55414272658823615522014-02-07T02:09:00.001-08:002014-02-12T09:21:28.082-08:001 to 5 in Goa.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So far, via the much maligned HTC phone camera.<br />
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1. Jan Shatabdi<br />
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2.Ride<br />
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3. Red Door Hostel<br />
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4. Hunting<br />
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5. Resting in peace (thanks to Sonali's (my Goa crime in partner) friend). Blue House.<br />
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-49300860392060345402014-01-19T01:37:00.000-08:002014-01-19T01:39:43.953-08:00Looking for the Sun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-67897908592976618702014-01-19T01:25:00.000-08:002014-01-19T01:25:37.851-08:00Hustler. Sarnath Banerjee. Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So I promise I am not plugging in work stuff but this conversation was one of the most exciting conversations of my work life. I absolutely loved doing this interview, transcribing it and then finally putting it together. Banerjee is a genius, ofcourse. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #404040; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“There was this feeling of stumbling about in the city, waiting for things to happen, like the characters in the book Corridor. We all had this strange feeling that life is elsewhere. There was a sense of melancholy and this sensation that there are great things outside, while you are walking on the Ashoka Road. The evening would fall in Connaught Place and your mind would fill with expectations that something would happen, but nothing was going to happen and you were just going to go back home.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You can read the whole piece <b><a href="http://kyoorius.com/2014/01/story-boxes-sarnath-banerjee/" target="_blank">here</a></b>.</span></div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-22434619313843670232014-01-19T00:57:00.003-08:002014-01-19T01:16:12.470-08:00Orange is the new Black<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have a few really random things to say about this show. </div>
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First, the obvious stuff. Orange is the new Black (Season one) is fantastic. It's the definition of subtle brilliant entertainment. Subtle plot, subtle dark humour, subtle characters, more or less. The coolest thing about OITNB is the moment you start figuring out any character, the character just turns around and laughs at you. Oh, oh and also, I got to know after some ten episodes that Piper Chapman is actually based on <b><a href="http://piperkerman.com/" target="_blank">Piper Kerman</a></b>. This is like the moment when I figured Jenji Kohan is a woman after watching some six odd seasons of Weeds. Kerman has written a book of the same title (love the title by the way) sketching her experience in a minimum non-security prison upstate. </div>
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It's just funny that while I was on the fourth or fifth episode I was looking at Chapman and just falling in love with her imperfections. Everything she gets glided into, her subconscious desire for adventure, for trouble even and then her constant fear of the extreme wild, it's insanely real and I was like wow, she is going to be one of my favorite fictional heroines. And then Kerman just validated Chapman for me in flesh and blood. She is for real. That's what makes her so much more cool. </div>
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I love the whole mellowness of the show. There are these wild scenes and then everything snuggles into a huge comfortable cloud. They rest and they they fall. They fall and then they go back and rest again. They show us some the wildest sides of some of the characters and then in another 5-10 minutes make them silly humans again. Mendez, probably the most poisonous officers in the jail, is left a love-fool at the end of the season. They have done something of the sort to all characters. Made stupid ones wild, made wild ones stupid. The super nice friendly uncle Healy metamorphoses into an almost murderous homophobic insecure sick bastard. It's lovely basically. In the end you will just love of them and want to enter into the lives of each one. The mini plots are woven nicely. </div>
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And ofcourse, a special word for our very own That 70's show's Donna! Laura Prepon plays the super freaking hot drug smuggling adventurous heart broken lesbian Alex Vause and she fucking kicks ass. </div>
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So don't wait. Get inside the OITNB jail now. Season two is on its way. </div>
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-52884636689714764602014-01-04T01:39:00.003-08:002014-01-04T01:48:23.402-08:00Fairytale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">About 4-5 years
back, my friend Urvi was kind enough to enroll me along with her in a volunteer
program to teach 9-10</span><sup style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> standard underprivileged children through
this NGO called <b><a href="http://www.preranaantitrafficking.org/" target="_blank">Prerana</a></b>. What made these children “underprivileged” was that
they were all born to sex workers or prostitutes in the red-light district area
of Kamathipura in Mumbai, India. To be honest, more than opportunity to teach
those children, I was truly fascinated with the idea of visiting Kamathipura on
a weekly basis and may be getting a chance to talk to these women just out
sheer banal curiosity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">First a bit
about <a href="http://www.preranaantitrafficking.org/" target="_blank">Prerana</a>. I am always a bit cynical about NGOs. Don’t take me wrong, they
are doing something that we all just probably will be fortunate to even be a
small part of. But I am apprehensive of the holier than thou images of NGOs.
Anyhow, I don’t want to justify this by any means. <b><a href="http://www.preranaantitrafficking.org/" target="_blank">Prerana </a></b>is probably the only
NGO so far that I respect from all my heart and soul. They do some absolutely
incredible and solid work in one of the most difficult spaces to deal with. They
provide education, stay, guidance and most importantly, an alternative lease of
life to the children of sex workers. I truly respect them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Urvi and I used
to go there post work about two times in a week. We would usually go while
there was sunlight and come out from the school when the night was beginning to
open its eyes wide awake. Over those few months, we had heard some despicable,
some incredible and some absolutely life changing stories from those children. We
both had our favorites. We both were fan of this one girl who defined what
having potential meant. She was the brightest of them all. And on a few days
she would come with all her signature enthusiasm but tears in her eyes. After
maneuvering one day, she told us “they” were going to get her married off in a
few months or so. Urvi and I looked at each other and wondered was there any
way we could kidnap her out of there. This other 13-14 year old girl who was
also quite good in studies was way too happy to be engaged and just wanted to
finish all this off and settle down with her would be husband. We often thought
she might actually be sad about it but she really wasn’t. Some of the students
used to come with this fire in their eyes and some couldn’t be bothered. There
was this one boy who, after days and days of tutoring and frustration, I realized
was dyslexic. I actually figured out for the first time what dyslexic was. I
started giving him more and more attention. He made a sincere effort while
other boys in the group laughed at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The room was
always lit up with a white tube light and there were <i>chatais</i> on the floor. We would often have to wait for at least 20
minutes before the children started pouring in. Sometimes there would be just a
couple of students and sometimes as many as 15 would land up in that tiny ghostly
room. After we would get done, they were preparing the night beds and food for
some of the smaller children who spent the night in the schools while their
mothers were working. A couple of times, some of the mothers visited the school
while we there and they would have this look of awe and pride in their eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We only taught
there for a few months till their final exams which we were told that everybody
cleared. Yay! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Early this year,
someone from the NGO got in touch with Urvi and invited her and me to an exhibition
that was taking place in JJ School of Art and Architecture. They were portraits
of the kids (shadows/backs etc.) and some of the inspiring stories. After
seeing the exhibition, we asked the woman (<a href="http://www.preranaantitrafficking.org/about/team.htm" target="_blank">Preeti Iyer, Project Director)</a> who has coordinated with us for
everything about the girl we thought was probably the most intelligent girl we
had ever met. Had she gotten married? Where was she now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">She didn’t get
married. She was selected in this scholarship program to go and study medicine in
another city. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And you thought
there were no fairytales in life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">This was it. Magical.
Real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-51945959313931995972014-01-03T09:24:00.001-08:002014-01-19T01:17:24.636-08:00Envious<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Happy new year.<br />
<br />
By the way, I am going to be updating this blog much more often now.<br />
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I started the new year's on a great and on a low note. My work situation right now is possibly what work dreams are made of. I am a freelancer now with some fixed work. On my own time. On my own space. On my own vibe. I am moving out of my (still) beloved Bombay next month. Moving to Goa to start off with, then hometown Delhi, and then wherever.<br />
<br />
I recently had a married friend telling me that she is extremely envious of my life. To be honest, sometimes, I am envious of the person I really want to be. I am full of contradictions and I am crafted out of extremes. The extreme that actually does want to live this pure and natural vagabond life, with no strings and almost no "sins" attached is the person I am envious of. The person I still am is still far far away from this despite of doing everything that I do. My heart still lingers way too much at places, at people. Sometimes, places and people I barely know. And I still struggle with ways to express myself in ways other than too blatantly honest or completely vague. I can't hold people I actually love too comfortably. I get unbelievably awkward when my closest friend or my mother hugs me. I have only had the <i>most </i>honest conversations of my life with complete strangers.<br />
<br />
I am always running away. That's one extreme. And yet constantly yearning for what I am running away from. That's the other. <br />
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-3752546051515656342013-12-30T09:23:00.004-08:002013-12-30T09:23:39.895-08:00Birthday Girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-8458400986048953802013-12-28T02:10:00.000-08:002013-12-28T02:10:08.081-08:00Happy Holidays<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-29839004089742316952013-12-19T01:31:00.000-08:002013-12-19T01:44:26.244-08:002013<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Yet another year to close. Yet another wonderful year to close. Can I say some random year ending stuff? I am presuming you have said, 'Why, yes of course. We are all dying to know how the year was for you personally and the entire world is waiting to hear all your random, weird, almost nauseating thoughts of the year'. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So there we go. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I finally fulfilled my wish of visiting London. I loved London. I think I more or less fall in love with almost every place I visit. I felt I matured a lot even as an amateur traveller. I knew exactly what I wanted to do on most days which also included a whole lot of aimless walking around the city. I remember this one day, I had gone to a small town called Egham, an hour and a half's drive from London, to my friend's university. After she went for her lecture (she is a professor), I ventured forth like a predictably excited migratory bird. So usually my experience has been that if I keep walking and walking, I am bound to discover something really cool, even mindblowing at times. So I kept walking and walking and after about half an hour I realised I have gone completely off track and have come to a highway of sorts. Then I turned back and started walking again. Before I was about to reach my friend Kopal's university, I found a pretty left with pretty houses. I took the left and started walking. I went to this spectacular cemetery as the winter sun grazed my skin and flowers bowed over loved ones' graves. I have been to at least six cemeteries in Europe so far and every time I am inside it, I feel weird. I feel almost scared. But I also feel a deep sense of calm and a sense of being (weirdo). I love the messages on the tombstones. I love the flowers, flower pots. I love the little paraphernalia of each grave. Anyhow, I then walked into a local coffee shop. Sat near a window, had half of a sandwich and coffee. Walked into another right, found a local arts and crafts shop, found some really beautiful houses. Walked ahead and found a huge park. Sat there for hours, finished the leftover sandwich and made a terrible sketch of a house I could see on my left. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And by the time I was done with all of this, it was just 2 pm. I don't know what I am trying to say. When you are in a wonderfully strange new place, something happens to time. I love big cities but they eat up time. They swallow time and leave no traces of it. But in smaller towns, time walks next to you, tickles you, plays with you. I love that. I love the feeling that it is possible to hold time in your hands. And mix it with all the beautiful things around you and you are bound to be amazed by what you feel. It really does feel something. Trust me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">London was London. So handsome. And so wonderfully reckless at places. Full of art. Full of passion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Moving on. I celebrated my 29th birthday with my parents. I was with my parents on my birthday after some eight odd years. There was absolutely no plan except that my parents had booked their train tickets two months in advance to be with me on my birthday this year. They wanted to surprise me but then they gave in. So when they came, we decided on this impromptu, completely impulsive trip to this place called Jadhavgadh Fort, a little outside of Pune, recommended by my friends Urvi and Nikhil. It's a fort turned into a hotel. We stayed there for a night and left the next morning. All we did on day one was to explore the place (My dad makes fun of me for trying to "explore" everything). At the cost of sounding sentimental, the most brilliant part of the entire trip was to look at my mom and dad trying to work out the photos and videos on their mobile cameras. My mom was the last entrant from the family in the cell phones department. You should have seen her working that camera. Focus. Clarity. My god! At the end, she realised most for her pictures never got clicked since there was no memory in the phone. But she was just brilliant any which ways. She quickly hopped onto my camera. My dad was working on his newly acquired video making skills. They were a sight, both of them. Precious. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Look what my friend Arundhati wrote for me on my birthday. </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"My beautiful, wish you a fantastic birthday. I wish you a year of travels, stories and poems. A year speckled with bright mornings and dark coffee. White boys and scarlet drinks. Engaging encounters and careless abandon. Lots of love to you."</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lovely right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And now you wana see something cool (okay my kinda cool), my another soulmate friend (and role model) Anu wrote this message for me: "....<b>W</b><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><b>ishing so many things for you on this glorious day sista sparkles...red wine, cake with too many candles, good company, endless abandon, and a lotta love!</b>"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Notice something? Two of my closest friends, who don't really know each other, but know me, wished me careless and endless abandon. How fucking cool is that!!</span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, I got introduced to Roald Dahl (yes, yes, as usual, I am late to the party but at least the party is still on). I read Kiss Kiss, given to me by my friend Clare. I love the mischievousness. I love the comic darkness. I love the twists, the bends and the spunky knots. </span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Also, thanks to the motivation of some of lovely friends, been editing/polishing some of my own short stories written over the years. I want to do something cool and fun with them. </span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Working towards it. </span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I want to go to Greece next year. </span></span><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I also want my friend Anu to have a boyfriend soon only so she can write a lovely poem and I can read it. </span></span></div>
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-65721176014792998282013-12-11T02:50:00.002-08:002013-12-11T02:50:59.580-08:00Thought of the Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-27589942433500849312013-12-09T02:31:00.000-08:002013-12-19T01:33:02.850-08:00Recommendation of the week: The Ladykillers (1955)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just two words while recommending this movie should suffice: Peter Sellers.<br />
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However, there is much more to the movie than him including a delicious plot, the wonderful ensemble cast, brilliantly timed dark humor and above all a charming 1950s London.<br />
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Also, what makes it more special for me personally is that I stumbled upon this movie in London. One of the days of my wonderful wintery London vacation, I decided to go to Southbank Centre for the fifth or sixth time to catch a breath after walking aimlessly for a few hours. At the BFI Centre, they had an ongoing program in their media library where you could get a personal computer, couch and headphones to sift through and watch some 200 hours of original British content. And this is what I chose.<br />
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Highly recommended for two hours of clean legal fun.<br />
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-46778348858045578932013-11-30T07:35:00.001-08:002013-12-09T02:31:36.218-08:00My Wall Project<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The landlady is going to be angry. Very angry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSYw8ZtorxfZ-Nk1NgVdWH5cRSNP0vxHBlAqMmuzBIaCI63mTAoWCNaF3Wb63-Y2LZZ2jUS2L-asuuxTshyjwkBAJcyZ0sgznm8MjKgU5t3M4XhEquyV6Rl-2xkyh3sWYf3yiA0MMxPWu/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSYw8ZtorxfZ-Nk1NgVdWH5cRSNP0vxHBlAqMmuzBIaCI63mTAoWCNaF3Wb63-Y2LZZ2jUS2L-asuuxTshyjwkBAJcyZ0sgznm8MjKgU5t3M4XhEquyV6Rl-2xkyh3sWYf3yiA0MMxPWu/s400/2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-20454145940973915402013-10-29T03:18:00.001-07:002013-10-29T03:18:54.159-07:00I’ll be damned, it’s been a good year<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 22px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don’t believe in optimism. I believe in optimal behavior. That’s a different thing. If you behave every day of your life to the top of your genetics, what can you do? Test it. Find out. You don’t know—you haven’t done it yet. You must live life at the top of your voice! At the top of your lungs shout and listen to the echoes. I learned a lesson years ago. I had some wonderful Swedish meatballs at my mother’s table with my dad and my brother and when I finished I pushed back from the table and said, God! That was beautiful. And my brother said, No, it was good. See the difference?</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 22px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Action is hope. At the end of each day, when you’ve done your work, you lie there and think, Well, I’ll be damned, I did this today. It doesn’t matter how good it is, or how bad—you did it. At the end of the week you’ll have a certain amount of accumulation. At the end of a year, you look back and say, I’ll be damned, it’s been a good year."</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 22px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 22px;">
<b><a href="http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6012/the-art-of-fiction-no-203-ray-bradbury" target="_blank">Ray Bradbury via Paris Review</a></b></div>
</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-17754670632497179142013-10-23T05:21:00.003-07:002013-10-23T05:21:49.425-07:00One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYoOA1jE2ROlApd50xJJGlcvWovQeLgkP9uf1T5XTgZq6GCtB9xaH-64CDgzrobxuE-lcuDGTdwE3hiakNcxYXmbeJ96FY5GuLoVf8pHvelsH_SgGIdyLUvdK5GdPkM8fld2zi2lwayhI/s1600/DSC04687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYoOA1jE2ROlApd50xJJGlcvWovQeLgkP9uf1T5XTgZq6GCtB9xaH-64CDgzrobxuE-lcuDGTdwE3hiakNcxYXmbeJ96FY5GuLoVf8pHvelsH_SgGIdyLUvdK5GdPkM8fld2zi2lwayhI/s400/DSC04687.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(At Trafalgar Square, London)</i></div>
</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-71532859937720120632013-10-23T05:13:00.004-07:002013-10-23T05:17:16.724-07:00My London Trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lunches in parks.<br />
Walks in museums.<br />
Soup in a museum.<br />
Aimless one way roads.<br />
Deserted park.<br />
Picnic parks.<br />
People-watching benches.<br />
Pigeons on the benches.<br />
Glorius buildings. Red buildings.<br />
Victorian houses. Symmetrical houses.<br />
Flower pots.<br />
Wide variety of morning and evening sky.<br />
Moon, often in flesh and blood.<br />
Dark ale. Fuller. Noisy warm pubs.<br />
Metro newspapers. Metro crush.<br />
Play posters.<br />
Scattered theatres.<br />
Angry art. Street art.<br />
In your face art. Subtle art.<br />
Rat art.<br />
Directions.<br />
Photos.<br />
Coffee and lunch at Auntie's Tea Shop.<br />
Cambridge. Egham. Colchestor. Outside London.<br />
Bicycles. Flowers. Posters.<br />
Supermarkets. Cheese. Wine. Green apples.<br />
Sketch in a park. Really bad sketch in a park.<br />
Australian hairdressers.<br />
Blocked metro line. A man jumped in front of a train.<br />
Long drives. Sheep.<br />
A little loneliness. Too many distractions.<br />
Coffee. More coffee. Some more coffee.<br />
Old friends. Conversations.<br />
Dinosaurs. Grills. Statues. Gates. Doors.<br />
Ladykillers movie.<br />
A few scribbles. A few lost lines.<br />
New thoughts.<br />
New plans.<br />
Beautiful city.<br />
Fresh and crisp air.<br />
Hope.<br />
Spectacular. Culture. People. Variety. Fish. Prawns.<br />
Tea. Lots of it. Butter and bread too. <br />
<br /></div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-49820751531525106122013-10-23T04:55:00.002-07:002013-10-23T04:55:30.971-07:00A Spaceman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYTkIm6O-9V6tZ5LDSOduqAK6yIvV1J0hT01fWtcYYhbZ2LKfOf08ALYXFjNTmfuZ-06-IFO8bSKrQZDXC5bbmbnHEFZ_ZZAEgKoLBskCm8-uxC9W6X_2tfVNtJiI7CS18pvaPGUd3Po1/s1600/DSC04264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYTkIm6O-9V6tZ5LDSOduqAK6yIvV1J0hT01fWtcYYhbZ2LKfOf08ALYXFjNTmfuZ-06-IFO8bSKrQZDXC5bbmbnHEFZ_ZZAEgKoLBskCm8-uxC9W6X_2tfVNtJiI7CS18pvaPGUd3Po1/s400/DSC04264.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(At Southbank Centre, London)</div>
</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-18558722288904114212013-09-17T10:35:00.004-07:002013-12-11T03:26:41.728-08:00Vacation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDBV5XcVeblJnmgOp1lJ-qswSDaeJ7-ANagctELHj3sHuSuKw_bqlGpBqwWYovCYDI6CzJHz-k2JB5m21R8YwP3KzNZG1f9Z_-Gq-3JIHkwbEXsyIQZ_Y4qEFg14iOMvA7GajQdXrxA3l/s1600/fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDBV5XcVeblJnmgOp1lJ-qswSDaeJ7-ANagctELHj3sHuSuKw_bqlGpBqwWYovCYDI6CzJHz-k2JB5m21R8YwP3KzNZG1f9Z_-Gq-3JIHkwbEXsyIQZ_Y4qEFg14iOMvA7GajQdXrxA3l/s400/fish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a class="irc_hol irc_itl" data-ved="0CAQQjB0" href="https://fisher.osu.edu/blogs/ftmba-admissions/category/fisherosu-news/page/2/"><span class="irc_ho">via: fisher.osu.edu</span></a><span class="irc_dim"></span></div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-40635651397392822092013-09-17T10:23:00.003-07:002013-09-17T10:23:52.008-07:00At Carters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxieJJk2lGfuqpZA8JkarHsMesK6fFVD5xh2Y8rUPjUi8DQwkdu4Nme19Y6tV9OF9-2G2Hm1NgjueOSFPnERmOBGDjHXEiRlYBLoryKy2WE_WjEJ_ZnIVuytaFwKITH8hlvp3Wa3NYNPsm/s1600/DSC04199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxieJJk2lGfuqpZA8JkarHsMesK6fFVD5xh2Y8rUPjUi8DQwkdu4Nme19Y6tV9OF9-2G2Hm1NgjueOSFPnERmOBGDjHXEiRlYBLoryKy2WE_WjEJ_ZnIVuytaFwKITH8hlvp3Wa3NYNPsm/s400/DSC04199.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-86500105804525348412013-09-16T01:33:00.000-07:002013-09-17T10:37:54.650-07:00What happens in a cup of coffee<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write
poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—what happens in a cup of coffee
when the cream goes in—these things are full of mystery, as mysterious
to us as the heavens were to the Greeks.”
</span></span></h2>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Tom Stoppard</span></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>
</i></span></span></h3>
</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-81952338303705940642013-09-14T03:24:00.002-07:002013-09-16T01:23:31.624-07:00 A letter for Ms Blobfish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQouxbEVlyYHgpGksDJz3Eti5wwmrotYsEpwZvWIC8cw3KNTxJtl5iubO92qU968JBUAGipwJVbYFVGH6KEElEVWQP9rWpBbzNAb4FWjgJ5Yl8q4iUj9vEB0-sMVHBGvfxodMjATNq6a2/s1600/blobfish_1565953c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQouxbEVlyYHgpGksDJz3Eti5wwmrotYsEpwZvWIC8cw3KNTxJtl5iubO92qU968JBUAGipwJVbYFVGH6KEElEVWQP9rWpBbzNAb4FWjgJ5Yl8q4iUj9vEB0-sMVHBGvfxodMjATNq6a2/s320/blobfish_1565953c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear Blobfish, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They have no idea what they are talking about. They just wanted to use you as a mascot, without paying you any commission and that's why they thought it would be funny to call you the ugliest animal in the world. Plus whatever said and done, just forgive the <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span><b><a href="http://uglyanimalsoc.com/" target="_blank">Ugly Animal Preservation Society</a></b><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">. </span>They are actually kind of trying to do something good by trying to preserve your kind.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> P</span></span>lease ignore the silly method. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You just know how fucking cool you are. You are not grumpy. You are just a bit serious and thus you are always lost in thought, pondering over life's big questions. They will shut the hell up once they know the brilliant insights you have about the age old existential dilemmas. The late Mr. Samuel Beckett would have loved to chat with you and get inspired! I am not ruling out a possibility for coffee and conversation with the late Kafka too. If Murakami wasn't so obsessed with cats, he would be obsessed with you. You get the point right. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And please, you are so not lazy. You are just what they call 'chilled out'. I mean what are they even talking about. Your food walks upto you! Like, just how amazing is that!! You are almost divine man. Just try and not disappear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And come on, you of all the animals know that this world is so transitory. Next year, the tag of world's ugliest animal will go to some other poor being. And I know you are too proud and intelligent to ever feel sorry for yourself. Enjoy all the publicity. Like they say, all publicity is good. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So stay cool man. Just stay cool</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lovingly yours,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Me </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-20341844244848577002013-09-09T03:12:00.001-07:002013-09-09T03:16:01.600-07:00Parade's End. Rebecca Hall.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjefzvrZpoWQV9eC3UkuEi0QFc63idVf2XKx5K9ih-cMbw3UHmgOUv_C_V8guOWR-ImGJdq6xxGxI0O55QWDHR29ZzG4AyO34_8y4pRSVr1Q8gijEcsXiVJ9SIRm7FAFfp2snhWnh8fqTET/s320/rh.jpg" width="320" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After an extremely justifiably restless day yesterday, I settled down for a show that I had just somewhere briefly read about and knew that a friend had saved it on my hard drive along with some other fantastic (Read Bernie, Smashed and many more) movies. I easily glided into <b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1956017/" target="_blank">Parade's End </a></b> (despite of not being a very huge fan of British dramas). Probably just a few minutes passed before I wrapped up four hours of the miniseries, directed by Susanna White and written by Tom Stoppard. I am four episodes down right now and I am quite high on the show. And one of the most important reasons for that (apart from the sheer brilliance of the show, the costumes, the slightly muggy storyline and truly intriguing <span style="line-height: 22px;">Benedict Cumberbatch) is Rebecca Hall. Right from the scene one, she held me captive. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vxDd8pmI6EtKt2s6LJ-sJX-EEFn8qPclEXv3bakxQMWeezrOro5Ma8qIgv2_k0OalED9tGRYoxew1AdGul-Gs7JSoBdiJa1mBYxRtCE27V-8a2P8E4wyApKloEpdSp0xuW_t4QoF1heB/s1600/rh2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vxDd8pmI6EtKt2s6LJ-sJX-EEFn8qPclEXv3bakxQMWeezrOro5Ma8qIgv2_k0OalED9tGRYoxew1AdGul-Gs7JSoBdiJa1mBYxRtCE27V-8a2P8E4wyApKloEpdSp0xuW_t4QoF1heB/s400/rh2.png" width="332" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Okay first. I have a huge girl crush on her right now. Honestly, I hadn't seen anything Rebecca Hall so far except for Woody Allen's juice box movie Vicky, Christina, Barcelona where somewhere she might have been burnt alive (along with Scarlett Johansson) by the fire that Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz on screen are. But there is absolutely no one in Parade's End that could come near her. Her character, Sylvia, is probably the most brilliantly etched out character in the show. Don't take me wrong, Christopher's character is interesting too but personally, every time I look at him, all I want to do is either punch him really fucking hard on his stomach or shred his clothes and make him have sex with Sylvia. (Don't worry I am not a nympho, you will know the sex angle when you watch the show).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiS_luYuIN7Yus3McOti8W5OxrmlTRUyMmBlPg20BrEaaDWoQdi_kSFsaLnxBXu0zLfOfBQKWCyqlCi9zJc9EJgloMhy7ISbNM_sv_edtWehIrEsmxCDQZo64XKt3-OJ1_9coD3dlG9mo/s1600/rh1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiS_luYuIN7Yus3McOti8W5OxrmlTRUyMmBlPg20BrEaaDWoQdi_kSFsaLnxBXu0zLfOfBQKWCyqlCi9zJc9EJgloMhy7ISbNM_sv_edtWehIrEsmxCDQZo64XKt3-OJ1_9coD3dlG9mo/s400/rh1.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It would be an understatement to say that Hall brings so much raw life and energy into the character. She looks breathtakingly spectacular in each scene. She weaves the complexity of the character even through her breathing. Right from the moment she asks pale Christopher for a cigarette, instantly infusing blood in his veins to her breaking the glass plate in the next to next scene when she finds him making corrections in Encyclopedia Britannica. From her casual dalliance with Potty who makes her laugh when he threatens to shoot her to her announcement of her vows to be chaste for her husband to her various pitiful, sharp, ridiculous, on the verge of breakdown attempts to be with her husband, to illicit any ounce of emotion out of him, emotional, physical, whatever. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Rebecca Hall is the fire of Parade's End. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>(Pictures' courtesy: tumblr.com)</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-34323403714749963842013-08-27T09:34:00.000-07:002013-08-27T09:58:30.991-07:00Anti- Manic Depressives<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUwZt7rW_PKlnwGvfhAsSR29pGHpdkeginCainCyh7NrjimRTMb2IwEbAtiMNJLxpfHq5lCH5EulTgqZ9CKm78tVEk2arCisUBLYQPLBL6v8nyeYgjTkeA2XPqVIsgoyW-Xdyh5b8rCVz/s1600/toon532.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUwZt7rW_PKlnwGvfhAsSR29pGHpdkeginCainCyh7NrjimRTMb2IwEbAtiMNJLxpfHq5lCH5EulTgqZ9CKm78tVEk2arCisUBLYQPLBL6v8nyeYgjTkeA2XPqVIsgoyW-Xdyh5b8rCVz/s400/toon532.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I
recently was telling someone that it is hard to remember the last time I was
this insanely almost peaceful and happy the way I have been since the last few
months. Happiness can be very addictive. It is light and it has a sense of
surreal calm about it. It feels sweet like a nap after a glass of wine in the
afternoon. I have been having way too much fun with it. It wasn’t easy to get used
to it initially. But once I did...oh man! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">However,
obviously, to say the least, this is life. Things constantly change for better
or for worse and all that shit. Suddenly the road leading to some great anticipated
adventure suddenly folds up or takes a sudden sharp turn and all that shit. It
is easy (and I did for a bit) to get crushed. Unhappiness is always right
around the corner, waiting for you to slip right in, feel miserable, recall all
the crappy things that have ever happened to you since the moment you were born
(Yeah, I am wired weirdly), curse all the men that inhabit this planet and all
that shit. It sometimes makes me write better but now I have realised that I am
now learning to write averagely well even without being depressed. Also, when I
am unhappy, it is usually much more difficult for me to take decisions (I often
end up using shampoo on my loofah and coffee in my tea which leads to a lot of
practical wastage), to decide what to wear for work, to listen to other people,
to look out of the taxi window and feel the wind and little snippets of life
floating all around! And last but not the least, ALL the bad decisions in my
life can be attributed to this little monster. And it is absolutely fatal when
it mixes with alcohol. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">So
basically, I am on a mission. I cannot afford to be unhappy. It sounds like a
sloppy philosophical statement, but I am not going on that road again. Even if
it is hard work and requires a very rational process (I am watching a lot of
Dexter and Alfred Hitchcock Presents these days to stay inspired), staying happy
is fun. And totally worth it. I am not saying I am not slipping. Constantly. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Life
has a weird way of punching you on your nose (mine sometimes literally does
that by making me fall on my nose in my own house) but the idea is to just cry
a little, get up, clean up and put on a band-aid and move fucking on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">On
another note, I think I will make a highly shady and questionable motivational
speaker. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i>Special mention on this post: My more than dearest friend, one of my soulmates and my anti-manic depressive machine-- Prinki (Priyanka Pereira). Only she will understand this reference. Rest of you, carry on and check out delicious semi-naked Don Draper (Jon Hamm) below. </i> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-77195309308797274052013-08-24T05:24:00.001-07:002013-08-24T05:27:45.970-07:00The Summer Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8398233597616207421.post-77204943371270896432013-08-24T05:22:00.001-07:002013-09-17T10:11:09.428-07:00Past<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(Via: tumblr.com)</div>
payal.khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02607425431893295006noreply@blogger.com0