"You suck!", said the basketball teacher and the music teacher

Recently, while talking to a few friends on the topic of mysteries behind my weirdness, I found myself reminiscing about two important incidents that happened in my school life. Actually make that three please. The first early incident happened when I was in a school called 'Little Flowers Public School' (!!?!??). Usually, most Indian parents share this common obsession of making their kids perform some stupid dance or song in front of the relatives and neighbours and sometimes in front of strangers too. But my parents took this completely ridiculous exercise to a whole another level when they agreed to my stupid school's selection of the song for an annual function or some shit like that. So ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves. I was made to dance on the song 'Nagin'. Yes 'Nagin', from the movie Nagin (Yes, there was a movie called Nagin) in which Sridevi plays an Ichadhari Nagin (where a female snake and a woman co-exists in one body!!!!!)). So I was put inside a black jumpsuit with a plastic black snake stuck on my head and to my utter dismay I was made to copy Sridevi's out-of-this-world weirdest dance moves ever on the school stage. I was in third or fourth standard and lived with this humiliation till about eighth standard after which I moved to another school.

My next school was called Harvard Academy. (There is absolutely no connection with Harvard University. Oh actually there is. So the connection is that the director of my school had studied at Harvard University for a brief period of time and decided to name this school Harvard Academy! Yes, I know. WTF. Believe it or not, a few years back, Harvard University actually filed a case against the school and now the school is called Hillwoods Academy. Ofcourse, this also provided fodder for me to write a deep philosophical story called 'The missing school') Anyhow, moving on. So when I was in ninth standard, I decided to try my hand or rather my throat at singing. I joined the optional music classes with two other kids of my class (out of the class of about 50 kids). So the first few classes went okay, from my perspective ofcourse. I thought may be I have found my calling, atleast in my school life and soon Harvard Academy would know what a talented shy singer they have had all this while) But after a few classes, one day my teacher called me to a corner, not at all far away from where the other two students couldn't hear us. So she goes on like this, "Even if you sing amongst 20 other people , I would be able to figure out your voice" For exactly 10 seconds after that, those were the greatest words of praise I thought I had ever heard. I thought I was gifted with a really unique voice. But then she shattered that vision and told me that I was probably the most out-of-tune singer she has ever come across. It took me a long time to recover from this and now I can only hum within the confines of my four bathroom walls or when I am really drunk.

Another blow came in the form of my basketball teacher. So for about two years, with my limited gift of height, I tried my level best to play basketball. It seemed so much fun and glamorous. I was constantly aware of my sports teacher's disappointed look every time I sucked at the game which was practically 90% but I continued trying. Then one day, she finally when she was left with no choice, she asked me to leave the team! Thankfully she wasn't as heartless as the music teacher. She just told me that I simply sucked and I should try other sports may be, Table tennis. To give her credit, I can play decent TT. And badminton too. And I am good at darts too. Bowling too. But never attempted playing basketball again.

So don't know how do these incidents and these few weird ass teachers have actually contributed to making the weird version of me, that you have had the pleasure of knowing now. But I have a feeling that they have. :p

Finally, he had left the room

There was a fresh coat of paint,
Bright and subtle.
Words on the wall,
Were now a spunky graffiti.
The spaces in between
Were not struggling to breathe.
Finally,
Finally, he had left the room.

We need to talk about this movie

After a lot of average, bad and good movies, I ended up watching 'We Need To Talk About Kevin'. I have been wanting to watch this movie since quite sometime and somehow was sure that it would be worth it but I did not know it would just blow my mind away. It is most defnitely one of the most interesting and dark films I have ever seen. It is based on Lionel Shriver's novel of the same name and is Lynne Ramsay's debut film. What a film to debut with man!

Right from the moment it pops on the screen, the movie weaves an intricate web between the past flashbacks and the present situation of the two protagonists of the film, Eva (Tilda Swinton) and her son Kevin (the teenage Kevin, played by Ezra Miller). Both of whom have done a brilliant job in the film. Actually, even brilliant might be an understatement. Tilda Swinton now comes second close to my most favourite actress Cate Blanchett. This role was most definitely invented for Swinton. And Ezra Miller scared the hell out of me, which basically means that he did a wonderful job! The screenplay is extremely good.

I haven't read the novel so don't know the form in which it is written but the interesting part about the movie is that it is not narrated from anyone's perspective and that makes it all the more fantastic. You can keep swinging your sympathy and blame between Eva and Kevin. Philip French from Guardian.co.uk has done an interesting review of the movie and has discussed some really interesting points. Read his article here

An absolute must watch. Not recommended for women who are expecting. Can be a rather scary experience. Really.

Recommendation of the week

"To admit that Breakfast at Tiffany's is one of your favourite films, these days, is to out yourself as the emotional and intellectual equivalent of a cupcake."

I absolutely love the way this writer has written about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'. Well written and an interesting take. Read the article on Guardian.co.uk here

Enjoy.

Random Musings

Isn't there something riveting about the phrase 'Random Musings'

It was hard to believe that after years of experience, most of it terrible, I could still get so affected by those little things that lie on the periphery of love. Why did he disappear into thin air? What did I do? Should I message him? Should I call him? Should I write a blogpost about it? At one level, it is a very easy choice. I really don't care about being alone. Really. No, the grapes aren't sour. I have tasted them (No pun intended) They are lusciously sweet. What I miss is honesty. A bit of transparency.

My mind is interestingly complicated enough; I can't attempt to read someone else's and vice versa. I say things like how they are, on my side atleast. And like a friend said today, "Human egos are overated." Yes. I am in this for a short while and I don't feel the need to hide when I am happy or when I am sad or when I am confused or when I am hysterical. I don't particularly enjoy being scared. If I am so cautious and confused, it is all because of experiences, most of which have been terrible, like I said. Not that I am complaining. Not at all.

Even if it is normal, I will find a way to make it slightly weird. I do over think. I do panic early. But I settle down quickly too. That is who I am. I still am crazy. I still am romantic. I still am hopeful. I am a bit bottled up. But that is because I have the potential to be a genie. I am so proud of anyone who is out there with their feelings, hearts tucked up beautifully on their sleeves. Hearts are meant for that. Not to be wrapped under layers of secrecy. Hearts want to feel, they want to be felt. They want fresh air. Mystery is over-rated, (unless its for a better purpose). Not when you are starting a story. Or even vaguely attempting to. And I am not even remotely interested if there is no hint of a story, however short-lived. It cannot be that difficult. Make an effort.

I am absolutely in love with these words by a lovely lady: "These are feelings, man. Feelings must be felt. And expressed. It leads to better productivity. It unleashes creativity. It protects the ozone layer. And ultimately contributes to better sex lives." Natasha Badhwar.

The most perfect day

It was a few days before this Christmas
I was dressed up in anticipation of a new love story
In a pink cardigan
The substitute of red, for the day
Colored eyes
Stood on the edge, all through the train ride
Hair flowing against the wind
She had a walking stick in her hand
Far way, she was climbing up the steps
Feeling each step with the bottom of the stick
A young boy came like a true stranger
He looked just like a long lost friendship
Held her hand
No questions were asked
He dropped her where the road was flat again
I thought this was the perfect day
It was
But there was more
A little girl stepped on my ugly green painted toes
I didnt even feel a thing
It was like the usual carelessness
Of someone you fell in love with too soon
But then she turned back
Oh man, she was an angel
She gave me the most magical smile and said sorry
Me, who barely ever smiles at strangers
Can you imagine how perfect the day was
I smiled at her, like I would just take her in my arms
And kiss her cheeks with all the love left inside of me
She got down at a station
Turned back and smiled at me,again
I felt like a bunch of flowers in a lover's hands
I did not know who to thank for such a wonderful morning
And then he forgot to call in the night
And I couldn't help but smile
It wasn't even ironical anymore
It was the most perfect day

Thank you Mr Dylan for this song