Dec 30, 2008
So this friend of mine called me up yesterday to catch up and stuff and watch a movie at her place. Till I landed at her place, chose a movie out of the Palador 5 movie collection set she had borrowed from a generous friend and landed into this completely surreal world of “Away with Words”, I had no idea that this could be one of the most interesting bit of my holidays.
The movie is a directorial debut of Australian cinematographer Christopher Doyle. Now the reason I chose to start the post about this movie with Virginia’s quote is because somewhere the movie reminded me of her style of writing, free flowing, in a “sequence” in which you remember them in your mind, which is necessarily not how they happened... “Stream of consciousness” is how this style of writing is described. The movie,ofcourse, goes far ahead as it’s completely dazed, if you can understand what I mean. It is WONDERFULLY shot, but that doesn’t come as a surprise as this guy is an acclaimed cinematographer. I wouldn’t delve into details of the story but I found an extremely interesting review and a gist online. You can read it here if you want:
Anyways, my personal favourite quote from the movie is when Azano (one of the two protagonists) says that there was a sailor who had all the plans and directions, but after three years he realised he was in the same position. I (Azano) feel the same way. I have been right where I always wanted to be. It’s kinda interesting.
Another interesting bit is that the other protagonist, Kevin, says that he can only remember the way to “home” when he is drunk...
So do check out the movie if you can. Like a said (somewhere!), I am obsessed with wanderers and this movie is about them and by one of them!
Just some faltu observations:
1. I almost hate the book Shantaram and his character but as a matter of principle I don't wanna leave the book mid-way (which I once did with Madame Bovary: worst book I have ever read!). So I am still struggling somewhere in 600s. I think a lot of people would agree with me when I say the author of Shantaram is highly narcissistic. It is not a bad thing but somehow, I just feel that to elevate his character he sometimes goes pretty ridiculous and somehow I always sense an exaggeration in his accounts. Anyways, the one thing which I love in the book is his descriptions when it comes to Karla, the woman he "loves" (one character he has etched out nicely)...Somehow I feel he is most honest when he is talking about Karla.
2.There is a road I never wish to take,
There is no sky and there is no ground,
The plants are cracked and there is no soil,
Sometimes, when I am dazed, I wonder,
If I am already there or heading there.
Your eyes look into mine to put back dreams.
Then you turn away, without your address.
Where do I find you now?
Am I on that road, which has no sky?
Can you let me know?
I am waiting...dazed.
Is there somewhere I could find a way to home?
I feel lost.
And I am scared to land on the ugly road.
So let me know, if you can,
I want to know where I am.
Dec 29, 2008
Just some scattered ones; here and there.
1. I watched three movies yesterday: Sex and the City, Break-Up and Mumbai Meri Jaan. The movie which makes it to this post is Mumbai Meri Jaan. Not that it is a spectacular or a brilliant movie, but topicality always scores and the movie had some interesting screenplay moments (Yes! I have a thing for screenplays). The movie is based on the bomb blasts in Mumbai local trains couple of years back. It is a “tribute to the resilience of the city”. The whole point is that watching the movie after Mumbai has been through its second and the most gigantic tragedy, it all seemed a bit ironic to me...
The movie is predictable, ends on a predictable note. BUT there are some really interesting moments which are worth mentioning. There is a scene where reporter Soha Ali Khan (who worked for a channel called TV NEWS which has a logo similar to TIMES NOW!) has lost her fiancée in the train blasts and has her editor and colleague over to her place to plan a “story” around the whole incident with her as the protagonist... The moment that I am talking about is there is a shadow of Soha’s face on the ground on which the editor and the colleague stomp after presenting the script. I thought that was interesting. There is also an interesting chemistry between the Paresh Rawal who plays an old cop on the verge of retirement and who has lived all his life playing a “silent actor” in the whole drama and a young cop who is living in a massive greyscale trying to figure out if he wants to be the silent actor or play an actual role in the drama. The other character worth mentioning is Irrfan Khan who turns into a hoax bomb caller from being a simple buffoon of the society who gets kicked at everyone’s expense. So that’s about the movie. It ends, like I said, on a cliché scene where everyone in Mumbai is observing a two minute silence to pay a tribute to those who are dead. I might have not called it ironical, per say, if Mumbai hadn’t seen what it recently witnessed.
2. Just the other day, this friend of mine mentioned an article written by Vir Sanghvi where he compares the Joker of The Dark Knight to the terrorists that took Mumbai by storm recently. It’s an extremely wonderful article and a good observation. Read it here: http://www.livemint.com/Articles/2008/12/11223028/Why-the-Joker-is-the-terrorist.html
3. Was flipping through The Economist yesterday trying to find some interesting stories amongst the boring political stuff and luckily stumbled upon this small article on the poet Seamus Heaney (pictured). Here is some stuff he says which I could relate to! :
“Good poems are not willed into being but come from things remembered with a certain aura.”
“Poems can also be unpredictable and unbiddable creatures. They can arrive at all hours of the day and night, and woe unto the poet who is not ready to receive them.....But when a poem has come through, and has been tested to its limits by revision and repeated re-readings, it can seem as solid as an iron bar.”
Dec 27, 2008
Had stumbled on a beautiful thought when I woke up today,
Left home hiding it in my arms,
I smiled as I looked at it .
It’s quite fragile but somehow I managed.
Let’s catch up over coffee or a beer,
And will let you meet the thought.
It might look like an invisible bubble to you,
But wait till I make you see it.
You surely would fall in love with it.
It looks like a stone which has been picked up from a faraway land,
Brought home as a token of happy memories.
It smiles exactly how the tree near my window rustles against the glass panes.
Dec 23, 2008
There is this secret impossible wild bizarre blissful dream in almost everyone’s heart. There is one in a million who lives that dream. Christopher was one of them. Rest, like me, often secretly imagine going “into the wild”.
Christopher Johnson McCandless (February 12, 1968 – August 18, 1992) was an American wanderer who hiked into the Alaskan wilderness with little food and equipment, hoping to live a period of solitude. Nearly four months later, he died of starvation near Denali National Park and Preserve. In 1996, Jon Krakauer wrote a book about his life, Into the Wild, which inspired a 2007 film of the same name (with Emile Hirsch portraying McCandless).
The movie is insanely beautiful. The story of course overshadows the beautiful screenplay. The most beautiful scene is the moment when Christopher is staring at the sun and taking his last breath.
"I HAVE HAD A HAPPY LIFE AND THANK THE LORD. GOODBYE AND MAY GOD BLESS ALL!"
PS: I was quite surprised to see few cynical reviews on how Christopher lived his life. "Insane", "Stupid" is how some think of him. This is beyond my understanding. A dreamer/ a wanderer is beyond petty adjectives, Anyways I guess the world is an ironic place with more useless cynics and less fascinating dreamers.
Dec 11, 2008
Dec 7, 2008
My friend called me up last to last week and asked if I am game for a Hindi-Urdu play called Tumhari Amrita on Saturday. I just vaguely remembered that I had seen Shabana Azmi in an ad of this play in Bombay Times several times. And as I am a huge Shabana fan, I said yes without thinking twice. That week, as we all know, the time stopped in Mumbai and the play eventually got cancelled.
Anyway the play was staged this Saturday. I had almost lost the excitement to watch the play but had to go as someone had already got the tickets and stuff.
When we entered St Andrew’s auditorium, my curiosity and excitement levels were constantly on an upswing. I spotted the the stage which had two chairs and their respective tables adjacent to each other with a bunch of papers on each table. There were spotlights above each table. Absolutely no other prop. The director (Feroze Khan) came on stage along with a resplendent Shabana Azmi and a poised Farooque Sheikh and paid one minute tribute to all those who lost their lives during the recent Mumbai attacks. I found a brochure on my seat which described the play as "A poignant love story told through letters spanning a period of thirty five years. This lyrical journey in time and space, chronicles the lives of two very different people, who cannot live with or without each other."
After a few minutes the actors appeared on stage again, this time as Zulfi and Amrita.
Then began a journey, a beautiful, emotional and an involved journey. Though I wouldn't take you into the story of the play (which obviously means that it’s a highly recommended play), I just want to mention some really beautiful characteristics of the play.
The play is an adaptation of an English pay called Love Letters (A R Gurney). It was first staged on February 6, 1992. There is just one setting in the play and two acts.
The entire play consists of these two characters reading out letters which they have written for each other. The story navigates 35 years of the two characters’ lives. The most beautiful part of the play is the words. It is an extremely beautifully written play (by Javed Siddique). The lines were beautifully woven like chime to the air. Both Shabana Azmi and Farooq Sheikh were just superb in the play. The modulation in Shabana's voice as she grows from an innocent young kid to a playful, bold teenage girl to a creative and highly emotional woman is just mind blowing. The play had me engrossed in each moment. I was overwhelmed when I came out of the theatre and was extremely touched by Amrita's predicament.
So those who haven’t seen it, go catch the play when you can . I am looking forward to watch Aapki Sonia which takes forward the story of Tumhari Amrita with exchange of letters between Amrita’s daughter (played by Sonlai Bendre) and Zulfi.
Dec 3, 2008
So there was something wrong...And just few days back I figured that I spent last one year without a “study table”...I know it might sound really childish but a study table has always been an almost indispensable part of my life...Back home in Delhi, I have spent soooooo much time on a study table pretending to study, reading newspapers,magazines,novels, making cartoons, painting, cursing the world, dreaming,dreaming, dreaming, sometimes actually studying and most importantly flowing the ink of my thoughts on paper (the thing I love most in life)...Even when I came to Mumbai, I stayed at this Parsi guy’s PG where we lived in a rat hole kinda place but our room was huuuuuge and most importantly we had the good ol' study table there...not one but two of those lovely creatures..And so my tryst with the “study table” continued...
However, I missed it badly since last one year....But thanks to this friend/colleague of mine who told me that she is getting new furniture at her house and wants to dispose off her computer/study table. I gladly accepted the offer.
This is the inaugural post at the “study table”
Nov 30, 2008
“I was expected to have a Muslim guy in my fantasies and imagination too,” she said while chatting with her old friend. A decade had passed or so it seemed since the time she willingly nailed the coffin of her heart for a lover, a Hindu lover. The romance started like a whiff of air which took her with it before she could even comprehend what happened. When it all settled, she found herself miserably alone as her parents made her believe that they will die if she even thinks about it.
“But how could you just accept it?” asked the friend. There was a slight lull...She got up to refill the coffee mugs with black coffee and to light a smoke, she twitched a bit. “There is nothing I could do. It’s not their fault. They always told me that this is how it is. They told me to hunt for a Muslim boy.” “Hunt for a Muslim boy!” the friend said sarcastically. “Yes,”she replied.
She looked out of the window of her thirteenth floor apartment in Mumbai where she stayed alone. Her beautiful black hair was covering a bit of her fair marble face. She finally tied it in a bun and gazed outside again. “So is it over?” asked the friend...she looked at her, smiled and lowered her eyes and then looked out of the window again.
Her hair had opened again as she busied herself in the kitchen chores. Her friend watched her intently as she prepared the curry. “Can I pour some wine for you?” she asked. The friend said, “I remember that drinking was against your religion”. “Haha.. yes...but it is not against your religion”. The friend finally broke her stupor and smiled.
“So what next?” asked the friend again assuming the tone of finality and sombreness. “Mother wants me to get married by early next year. She often asks me to see some or the other guy in Mumbai. So hopefully, I will be married to a rich Muslim guy by next year,” she smiled as she served the food on the dining table.
She cleared the last bit in the kitchen as her friend announced that she was ready to leave. “Whose photograph is that?” the friend asked as they reached the living room. “I am seeing him currently.”
“Looks like it”
I thought right now I just needed a friend and not her goddamn lover;
There seemed an abyss ahead.
I thought a cuppa coffee with a "good old friend" would take me to some light,
I would walk the dim lit roads knowing I am heading somewhere.
Here I am sitting right where I was...
On a huge stack of Nothing.
A sea side walk might be a good substitute.
Nov 29, 2008
The night was waiting to seep in,
Looking beyond the sky to reach my heart.
The wine went through my lips all the way to my senses....it felt beautiful.
It was a perfect setting.
I was right between the moonlit sky and the green moist earth....
The sky was coming down gradually...
I thought about someone and smiled...
That’s when it happened....somebody called someone...
Someone else’s sky had fallen over their head....
It wasn’t the moonlit beautiful sky that lay over my head and would have felt like a feather when it fell...
It was the dark ugly naked sky sans stars which was eager to devour lives...
My senses were numb as the dirty sky broke into pieces...
I couldn’t see it....but people told me about it...
It seemed surrealistic....still does....
Nov 15, 2008
Water is a life-giver, thats what I had read somewhere,
I dozed off,
Nov 11, 2008
Nostalgia is such a beautiful moment. I figured this when I visited Chandni Chowk during my recent visit to Delhi (home). I realised that I had probably not gone there even once after I shifted to Mumbai.
As a child, Chandni Chowk trip used to start with my famous cribbing sessions. I used to simply hate going there because it was and is always sooooooo crowded, congested etc. That time my mom could easily use her force on me so she often would drag me along even if I cried during the way or not prayed in the temple at all.
And if she had to buy something from there like some spices or some sari or whatever, she would take me to those dirty narrow gullies where u have to turn left and right, left and right atleast ten times before she could get to "her shop" or I remember going to this aunt’s place (forcefully ofcourse) in the famous paranthe wali galli (again a narrow zigzag kind of weird lane with weird smell of all kind of parathas which were famous for some weird reason that I could never figure).
The only little ray of light used to be Haldiram’s. I would freak out on their kachauris and dhokla and kaju barfi. We would often get loads of stuff packed from there and then I would have a smile on my face while coming back home!
Anyways those were those days. There was something different that I felt during this recent visit to Chandni Chowk. Since the time I have started living on my own in Mumbai, I have gradually kind of become a “traveller”. I look at things with a new perspective , with a new meaning. I actually, for the first time, saw that inspite of all the things I used to hate about the place as a kid, Chandni Chowk is a such an exuberant, beautiful and absolutely unique place. Interestingly, there is amosque, a Gurudwara, a temple and a church within few steps of each other ( a fact that my brother was pointed out that day).
Overall, there is wonderful air around the place. There is that sense of rush, a positive rush in Chandni Chowk which lacks in almost the rest of the Delhi. The name itself is one of the most interesting names of places that I have ever come across! The architecture is undoubtedly extremely interesting. It looks like it has been there since eternity in a rather beautiful way. The old open cycle rickshaws, which have been replaced with new swanky ones in most part of Delhi, still exist in here (I absolutely adore them). My brother told me about this new Cafe Coffee Day which has opened there which has been designed in a beautiful Mughal style...(Unfortunately I could just get a glimpse of it from the car)....It looked quite unique n fun! And as usual my trip ended with the good old Haldiram’s kachauris, dhokla n amazing Kaju sweets.
Oct 29, 2008
A long walk was all that needed,
The road was clear and there was a slight nip in the air.
The moon smiled from across the dark clouds,
It was a beautiful night; Sure it was.
The stars were on their way to heaven and so was I.
And I kept on walking with a zillion thoughts in my mind.
The night was spread far across and I decide to go till the end.
The tranquillity spread its wings and settled in my heart.
There was slight dew on the leaves that I passed through,
They all smiled and felt shy when they saw a stranger.
I walked slowly and shook hands with them,
All the way, chasing the stars that were on their way.
And I wondered if you are there beside me.
And I felt you were...smiling...right beside me.
Oct 17, 2008
Oct 14, 2008
Last few weeks had been pretty wierd and interesting and slightly unusual...Lots has been happening around...Professional, personal and some amazing discoveries about myself....One such "great discovery" is that sometimes it’s so refreshing and interesting to hang out with complete strangers...I used to do this kinda "reckless adventure" when I was in XIC (Xavier Institute of Communication)....And I used to always have a blast...Sometimes it’s nice to not know most of the people around u and most importantly, when its not required to "know" them...Cuz all of u are there for the common purpose to completely chill out....its kinda amazin....Had almost stopped doin these fun things since the time i started working....Would try and avoid any such plans with friends (who eventually stopped invitin me for such hangout things)...But just recently realised from the many things that had gone missing from my life, this was one of them...
So here came a friend (an angel in disguise: she always cheers me up) who just called up one day and said "We are going to Daman this weekend ..Do u wana join in?" I said "Yes, count me in"...That’s the only conversation we had...I had no idea who this we constituted of; apart from her...I was slightly jittery at the night before the trip but decided to go ahead....Though the place turned out to be quite drab (On the sidelines: Its a great place for alcoholics: The booze is reallllyyyy cheap....a breezer cost Rs 35!!!! a beer pint: Rs 40;n similar interesting prices for the hard drinks also BUT the beaches are fake and there is one beautiful church which is forver shut!!!)....but I realised that I could just hang out randomly....n I really enjoy doing that....Especially with people who I know won’t be judging me...even if they were, I would give a damn because most of them are random people ...so basically, my point is now m trying to get back to my usual reckless-super impulsive self.... and it def feels lot better and good:)
Sep 28, 2008
Sep 26, 2008
I keep coming back in your eyes,
I die in them and then live again,
Thousands death, zillions lives.
You walk me through the passion,
The music and the rhythm.
I say the words to you so often,
The meaning changes every time.
You listen to them and smile,
And even mock sometimes.
There is no end to this,
And this is the end.
Let me tell you how I feel today.
Sep 19, 2008
Passed through her lips and never went up in the air.
She sat thinking about the old lovers, whose beloved she never was.
There were two rooms in the house,
The house did not have a room for her.
A friend was sitting alongside, sipping coffee with her lover.
She waited and waited for the hour to pass,
And then she remembered that she forgot to turn the hourglass.
She could never know what hour it was,
The moment never went on as did the unending hour
She cursed the moon because it never showed up at the door.
The night knocked on the door and went out of the window.
She refused to smile and refused to cry.
All in all she knew where to hide.
Sep 18, 2008
Sep 14, 2008
The air is slightly suffocating.
There is no parallel to walk on, and there is a long walk,
Which doesn’t take me to the sea.
Labyrinth of passage brings me to the same room,
Again and again and again.
The room doesn’t talk,
The air gets more stifling
Little birds chirp right outside the huge glass door,
I try very hard but can’t crack the lock.
Its pouring heavily,
Drops of mirth, drops of gloom.
Waves look me in the eyes,
And I often think of the time
When the passage would cease to exist,
When the room would cease to exist,
When the lock would cease to exist.
The sea is right across,
Then do I need all this!
Sep 10, 2008
Ready to take the plunge.
What should be the route, I wondered!
Icarus said wings were of no use!
The grass was wild, really wild,
My feet bled and I couldn’t take it any more
The silky water it was that I needed
Left the bags far behind,
The lights were dim and the sun was dark.
I floated on the water like in the rusted dream.
Stopped for a moment and though about you,
Felt the water again and waded.
Sep 8, 2008
A little about the movie: the fight between the friends was quite kiddo and unbelievable. The brain tumour bit was tooooo Bollywoodish...Rampal was just too much of a loser (a friend came up with this ‘observation’ )....Best actors: Rampal’s wife, Farhan and Purab! Hottest of them all: Farhan of course!
Sep 3, 2008
The caked face looked more parched.
The half smoked cigarette didn't find its way to the ash tray.
The vase looked broken or is it the design!
The dream time was lost in the sleep.
Looked for a trigger to dive,
There was no water around,
Seemed like a desert land.
All the faces were black,
And black was the favourite colour...
Were they black or were the eyes?
The whole night passed away in trance....
It was too long a night....
Too short for the dreamer though....
Morning they say always comes...
Whole night passed and ended with this thought...
Don’t remember the end though!
Aug 30, 2008
Aug 22, 2008
OK now the second part of the story....Now it’s been more than fifteen days since she is gone...I am getting a huuuuuge urge to smoke (FYI I am not an addicted smoker..not a social smoker . In fact I hardly smoke except for when I really feel like it...when I have silly mood swings...it’s been two years and its limited to that) Anyways...me being an emotional fool....can’t seem to break the promise I made to mom....Fuck... Why is life so difficult!....Then saw this movie 'Thank you for smoking' at a friend's house few days back...Awesome movie....Thought it will help me to take a call....But what the hell ...After the lobbyist in the movie took away my heart with his awesome speeches in favour of smoking (tobacco increases revenue), he broke it badly in the end by taking a moral stance when a question was asked about his stance when his son would ask for a smoke at 18....Damn!
And for that friend-who-insists-on behaving-like-a-bimbette-at-times: Din’t speak to her for many many days....got bored...have resumed talking....
One sky, one life,
Where I would be a part of me...
The colours shone black and white,
The eyes go deep and deep,
In the finer truths and beautiful lies.
I smile, I laugh and I cry.
I am the stone for the years gone by,
I am the phoenix for the years to come.
The roads are the home,
The home is the place which is forever eluded.
It is as far as the roads.
I walk, I run and I crawl
This is the moment, the sky and the life where I become a part of me.
Aug 13, 2008
It does not seek me.
I want it to move beyond this room, roof, beyond air and eternity.
I want it to hold me down,
I want it to take me in its wings and wade through the water.
I want to take it in my own eyes and feel it.
I wonder what it does when it’s not in my eyes!
Sometimes it calls itself life, I wonder why!
Aug 3, 2008
Aug 1, 2008
Jun 18, 2008
Jun 3, 2008
The stiffness of the air is finally taking a bow.
The moon is hiding behind the dark clouds,
and the night is reigning like a queen
The little stars are on a holiday,
swimming in the pool of joy.
Birds are taking a shelter,
between the roof and the ground.
The wind is flying as high as it can,
taking away all the pain and gloom.
The drops are already rhyming with the sea…
The beautiful rain is back again.
May 30, 2008
Me just out of my nest, desolate and lonely;
waiting to get intimidated.
Lost my friends, the branch of the tree could hardly stand.
I could not sing,
Nor could I dance.
Then it was the melodious healing voice of cuckoo that crossed my heart.
Thanks for being there my friend.
May 26, 2008
May 23, 2008
May 19, 2008
Yes there were
A little blue sky
No hut for me
Just the plain vanilla sky
Music of the clouds with a dash of raindrops
Each raindrop falls on me like a piece of heaven
Twinkling laughter, crackling leaves, budding flowers
Joy abundant when the cloud are dark
Beautiful shadows when they are bright
May 9, 2008
Apr 29, 2008
That much I am sure of.
His smile is not the same anymore.
He doesn’t talk from his heart anymore.
His passion for life seems quite diminished.
And I wonder if he is still the one.
He walked across a tightrope always and behaved like a footloose while walking there. Now it seems vice versa.
He looks at me like I don’t exist anymore.
He has killed our moment forever, buried it somewhere.
May be deep inside him or may be at some place even he doesn’t know.
He is scared of something when he meets me. I am his mirror. May be he knows.
I asked him if he doesn’t want to walk against the tide anymore.
He couldn’t answer and I lost him.
He is moving up it seems, I am watching him from the ground with a blurred perspective. He is moving ahead, he says.
But why with the crowd I ask.
He doesn’t have answers to my questions.
I have collected my questions too and finally trying to pack them all.
I am planning to throw them into the sea.
From where I know I will pick them up at the end of it all.
I wish this wasn’t the real world that he and I ever met.
May be I am nothing for him but a speck.
Yes I am the speck and he is the universe from where I can see it.
It’s all imagination but insanely real imagination.
Touched my feet only to sink me further in the ground.
I felt like I was moving with the waves.
The sky’s horizon was one with the sea.
I smiled at the waves with open arms,
Because I know one day they will take me home.
The waves lost their fury for sometime.
Was lying like a lazy dog on its shore.
It was looking ugly and in its lowest phase.
No turbulence at all but a deep desire.
My dream was floating on the calm sea.
I knew it was an epiphany which will come to an end.
Then it will be the same old sea again,
Ferocious and ready to take my dream far and deep.
It will ensnare the detractors and will swallow its lovers.
The fury will have its way and will call me some day.
The water is rhythmic right now,
It will soon be trumpeting in all its glory.
I will be a part of its celebration as its lover,
Will get merged with the waves to dance.
The time will come when I will find my dream deep inside.
Mar 21, 2008
Mar 20, 2008
a sense of loss,
broken dreams and emptiness.
Was it all worth it i wonder,
a moment full of stars and an unbearable sunshine thereafter.
Its bitter sweet they say,
this feelin of love.
Cant stop lovin love even if its always a dark abyss in which i fall,
its the oxymoronic phase i have lived in,
extremes to the hilt,
nadir and pinnacle often together.
Mar 17, 2008
Mar 16, 2008
Mar 14, 2008
You actually get a sense that he is on dope and just pouring the words on the paper unfiltered and thats the most wonderful writing according to me. I have just read three of his books til now, 100 years of Solitude, Love in the times of cholera and Chronicle of a Death Foretold and somehow each book has taken me to the other, if you know what I mean. However, they are completely disconnected with each other. Such amazing themes; themes which i can only associate with Marquez and no one else.
I am looking for 'General in his Labyrinth' these days....Gettin addicted to Marquez I guess...:)