At Carters

What happens in a cup of coffee

“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.”

Tom Stoppard

A letter for Ms Blobfish

Dear Blobfish, 

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  Ugly Animal Preservation Society. They are actually kind of trying to do something good by trying to preserve your kind. Please ignore the silly method. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

So stay cool man. Just stay cool

Lovingly yours,

Me 

  

Parade's End. Rebecca Hall.

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 Parade's End  (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 Benedict Cumberbatch) is Rebecca Hall. Right from the scene one, she held me captive.  

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).

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. 

Rebecca Hall is the fire of Parade's End. 

(Pictures' courtesy: tumblr.com)

   

Anti- Manic Depressives

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!

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.

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.

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.  

On another note, I think I will make a highly shady and questionable motivational speaker. 

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. 

   

  

The Summer Man

Past

(Via: tumblr.com)