The alien could say “Hello, how do you do” in seven languages and a total of thirty five dialects, none known to me. So I shot him in the head before picking up a box that seemed like a bomb but was indeed his method of tongues. With the alien dead I have gained thirty five separate dialects comprised in a seven suite language pack. Heavy!
PS: word count= 66.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Hangman 2
Sometime back I had written...a game ending with the conclusion of a prisoner's hanging. The man had bombed the Indian Parliament. I am not sure what happened to that man. If he was pardoned, the news would have shown up in the papers. All the hoopla of reporting exists before the neck is strained and the limbs stop shaking. At least that's how it seems. Today the same media that tries so very hard to get balance of justice to hang heavier on a certain "mediated" side showed me a photograph- a simple snapshot of an accused bomber's sister, caressing the death row man's mother. The women were wearing scarfs. A fraction of their face was visible. Yet that little visible nature was gut wrenching. The bombers have a family who were probably not aware. The bombers probably have children who have just begun going to school. Maybe the bombers never got the red tri-cycle of their dreams.
Do we provide a free ticket to heaven or hell to these bombers? These are the same persons who took the above mentioned sentiments away from hundreds of others because they believed in a cause that required them to blow up children, women, men, vegetables, and dreams. Is then the bomber's mother's tears justified? Absolutely, yes. Wouldn't any mother weep if her government were putting a stopper to his "life"?
I must ask you, "Should our Democracy hang men?"
Do we provide a free ticket to heaven or hell to these bombers? These are the same persons who took the above mentioned sentiments away from hundreds of others because they believed in a cause that required them to blow up children, women, men, vegetables, and dreams. Is then the bomber's mother's tears justified? Absolutely, yes. Wouldn't any mother weep if her government were putting a stopper to his "life"?
I must ask you, "Should our Democracy hang men?"
Monday, July 23, 2007
Harry et al
I think I was young back when the first Harry Potter came out. The world was reading it. I did not. I was an idiot. I picked up HP in grad school. The world hadn't read Sorcerer's Stone for a while. I had begun flipping through it. I felt like a bigger idiot. All those years of vehemently attacking the Harry Potter world without actually reading through the pages seemed a waste of energy. What an idiot!...The seventh book drove up to my mailbox on saturday (21st). The book ended on sunday. It is monday today and I feel a great void. The thing is, if I had been my old self (the self who hadn't read it and b*tched about it) I could have picked up copies to read. But alas...the story has ended.
Will I be following Quidditch anymore? Will Expeliamus excite me when directed at Snape's chest. Will the Patronus bring forth awe? I hope so...I am darn sure they will, but I know now what Snape's dying thought was, and why Voldemort could not overcome Harry James Potter...the end is empty. Truly empty. I feel like I am at King's Cross, with no baby shrieking and no Dumbledore to shed tears- just me. But this cannot be about my overwhelming sense of loss.....neither about how brilliant the last installment was...nor the humorous "19 years later"...its got to be about what remains of Harry Potter- the films.....and one in particular- The Order of the Phoenix (which I've seen a couple of times). Nope, sorry to dissappoint, its not film review... if you want the review, visit IMDB. This is about film making...it is a confession of sorts, without the priest in flesh.
I love films. I would put on a T that read, "I (heart) films". This is quite something for me because my T's don't say much- they are just colored, and have patterns here and there. Yup...I love films. I began loving films because of the actors.....I was never too fascinated with the actresses in my younger years of film loving, because the actresses didn't seem to be doing much (except the Alien series). Nobody could talk like Peck- Very few could deliver justice from the barrel of a 44 magnum like Eastwood- Morgan Freeman had redifined the term "black gold"- and Terminator....ooo....I won't touch that realm of hypened excitement here. But then, the stardom of actors lost some of its spark...like every star, the one's in my mind began losing their energy. They began dwarfing... It all seemed to be up to the director. He was the unsung hero...he was the magician in charge of all others who had to perform tricks for the culmination of the final show. And this is where Order of the Phoenix comes in...given that Radcliffe, Rupert, Emma etc. have aged- given that Fienes is more solid- given that the enterprise (not star trek) has got loads of dough- given all that- David Yates changed the way I look at Harry Potter movies. I had enjoyed the movies previously with the exception of Prisoner of Azkaban, because they were cute, silver screen versions of the book. But this one---Oh hohoho.... this was far more... far far more. The camera moved with jerks. The camera was synced with the lead character's turmoil. The cuts were not smooth- just as his emotions- when Voldemort invaded his mind- the scened jumped- the expressions were not always face on... they were not sideshots to beautify the actors' Roman nose...sideshots were taken, often with the face cut off from the main screen to play the battle from all sides. I just loved the camera in David Yates' version of Potter. Ron was reserved.....many kudos to Rupert, although I think, Yates did have a say in it.
So much for the camera...what about the first scene? It looked like farmland/wheatland to me, sawying, dolling on the prospect of inevitable depression... the clouds were murky, and their shadows played shades on the broken faces of the actors. The film was not glossy. The props were tarnished---the tunnel lights (dementor attack scene) were dirty, and so were the unused windows of 12 Grimauld Place.
And finally the graphics input...Yes, Buckbeak was friendly and all laughs, but the Thestrials were haunting... they were as Luna put it, "different" for the better of all things. In short Order of the Phoenix has kept my hopes alive for Half Blood Prince and ofcourse Deathly Hallows. Yates is making HBP... and I hope he gets the final one for himself...He'll do it greater justice.
To end it.
There are some who do not like Harry Potter on principle. The principle being- Rowling becoming the richest lady in England and all from writing childrens' books. Such principle, although I held them once, is weak. Do dislike and critisize only after you've had your share of her words...otherwise it would be like saying, "I do not like chicken stew" without actually having it. And if principles mean too much to you....say this, "I will not read it" on principle.
Will I be following Quidditch anymore? Will Expeliamus excite me when directed at Snape's chest. Will the Patronus bring forth awe? I hope so...I am darn sure they will, but I know now what Snape's dying thought was, and why Voldemort could not overcome Harry James Potter...the end is empty. Truly empty. I feel like I am at King's Cross, with no baby shrieking and no Dumbledore to shed tears- just me. But this cannot be about my overwhelming sense of loss.....neither about how brilliant the last installment was...nor the humorous "19 years later"...its got to be about what remains of Harry Potter- the films.....and one in particular- The Order of the Phoenix (which I've seen a couple of times). Nope, sorry to dissappoint, its not film review... if you want the review, visit IMDB. This is about film making...it is a confession of sorts, without the priest in flesh.
I love films. I would put on a T that read, "I (heart) films". This is quite something for me because my T's don't say much- they are just colored, and have patterns here and there. Yup...I love films. I began loving films because of the actors.....I was never too fascinated with the actresses in my younger years of film loving, because the actresses didn't seem to be doing much (except the Alien series). Nobody could talk like Peck- Very few could deliver justice from the barrel of a 44 magnum like Eastwood- Morgan Freeman had redifined the term "black gold"- and Terminator....ooo....I won't touch that realm of hypened excitement here. But then, the stardom of actors lost some of its spark...like every star, the one's in my mind began losing their energy. They began dwarfing... It all seemed to be up to the director. He was the unsung hero...he was the magician in charge of all others who had to perform tricks for the culmination of the final show. And this is where Order of the Phoenix comes in...given that Radcliffe, Rupert, Emma etc. have aged- given that Fienes is more solid- given that the enterprise (not star trek) has got loads of dough- given all that- David Yates changed the way I look at Harry Potter movies. I had enjoyed the movies previously with the exception of Prisoner of Azkaban, because they were cute, silver screen versions of the book. But this one---Oh hohoho.... this was far more... far far more. The camera moved with jerks. The camera was synced with the lead character's turmoil. The cuts were not smooth- just as his emotions- when Voldemort invaded his mind- the scened jumped- the expressions were not always face on... they were not sideshots to beautify the actors' Roman nose...sideshots were taken, often with the face cut off from the main screen to play the battle from all sides. I just loved the camera in David Yates' version of Potter. Ron was reserved.....many kudos to Rupert, although I think, Yates did have a say in it.
So much for the camera...what about the first scene? It looked like farmland/wheatland to me, sawying, dolling on the prospect of inevitable depression... the clouds were murky, and their shadows played shades on the broken faces of the actors. The film was not glossy. The props were tarnished---the tunnel lights (dementor attack scene) were dirty, and so were the unused windows of 12 Grimauld Place.
And finally the graphics input...Yes, Buckbeak was friendly and all laughs, but the Thestrials were haunting... they were as Luna put it, "different" for the better of all things. In short Order of the Phoenix has kept my hopes alive for Half Blood Prince and ofcourse Deathly Hallows. Yates is making HBP... and I hope he gets the final one for himself...He'll do it greater justice.
To end it.
There are some who do not like Harry Potter on principle. The principle being- Rowling becoming the richest lady in England and all from writing childrens' books. Such principle, although I held them once, is weak. Do dislike and critisize only after you've had your share of her words...otherwise it would be like saying, "I do not like chicken stew" without actually having it. And if principles mean too much to you....say this, "I will not read it" on principle.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Sivaji
I have not seen the movie and I am pretty sure I will not view it in the near future. You may ask why? Please do. Well, I will not because I am not a Rajni fan. But thisi post is not a review of the movie, rather its a spin off of the humor Sivaji brought into my online existence. How so, you may ask once more. Please do. I like question and answer sessions- makes me feel political, which I am not otherwise.
This is the bit where I introduce the snippets-
A Marathi friend asked me, "Have you seen Sivaji?"
I said, "Why should I?"
He said earnestly, "It is Sivaji!"
I said, "Not your Sivaji...but a software Sivaji."
He said, a bit disgruntled, "Oh...not my Sivaji...I thought well..."
I found this regionalism humorous. Now there are people who tell me to take matters such as capitalism, communism, regionalism, socialism and all other isms seriously, including jisms that is, but for the life of me, isms tickle my funny bone.
If my friend was a Southie and had come across a Northie's Sivaji, he would have probably delivered similar sentences..."Oh...not my Sivaji..." I am not supposed to use slang. Well, I was never supposed to call myself a Bengali, but I do, and you call me a bong.
Now, the second story line- this is more serious. I am a tentative blogger. People do not often read my blog. And if they do, I do not come to know that they do, because nobody seems to be leaving any message, but what if I was a serious blogger with a blogfull of followers who blogged in and out of my blog and I had my firm nose grinding through the blogosphere in an attempt to outsmart others in my blogathon? Would I have the permission to make fun of Sivaji- the movie? The many bloggers who commented on this article did not find the blogger's blog humorous- they found it insulting (reference a thesaurus for better words please). Here's my beef- I am not supporting the blogger or her blog, neither am I discrediting it- now to my beef (yum yum?): Why do we as a people get hurt so darn easily. Somebody calls Gandhi a stick figure and we go all ballistic. Somebody claims the Taj Mahal isn't anything better than its Jamuna backdrop, and we start a petition in its support. A few others beat our cinematic sense and we begin calling them "immature" and comment, "Hey in our films we sell dreams. But you wouldn't understand." WHY THE HELL ARE WE SO DAMN NAZUK? So what if a Calvin Clein wearing idiot calls Gandhi a stick figure (just making it up)... its more important to let him do so. In the long run, after the sticker on his garment has faded he'll come follow our line of people who honor a stick figure and have come to call him the Mahatma. And so what if the Taj isn't pretty anymore- its memory is, and that memory is for us, those who love it. Finally coming to our films- enjoy what you enjoy and let the critiques, or in this case, the blogger say anything they want to...one shouldn't give a hoot.
To end this let me say, long live Sivaji and Rajni.
This is the bit where I introduce the snippets-
A Marathi friend asked me, "Have you seen Sivaji?"
I said, "Why should I?"
He said earnestly, "It is Sivaji!"
I said, "Not your Sivaji...but a software Sivaji."
He said, a bit disgruntled, "Oh...not my Sivaji...I thought well..."
I found this regionalism humorous. Now there are people who tell me to take matters such as capitalism, communism, regionalism, socialism and all other isms seriously, including jisms that is, but for the life of me, isms tickle my funny bone.
If my friend was a Southie and had come across a Northie's Sivaji, he would have probably delivered similar sentences..."Oh...not my Sivaji..." I am not supposed to use slang. Well, I was never supposed to call myself a Bengali, but I do, and you call me a bong.
Now, the second story line- this is more serious. I am a tentative blogger. People do not often read my blog. And if they do, I do not come to know that they do, because nobody seems to be leaving any message, but what if I was a serious blogger with a blogfull of followers who blogged in and out of my blog and I had my firm nose grinding through the blogosphere in an attempt to outsmart others in my blogathon? Would I have the permission to make fun of Sivaji- the movie? The many bloggers who commented on this article did not find the blogger's blog humorous- they found it insulting (reference a thesaurus for better words please). Here's my beef- I am not supporting the blogger or her blog, neither am I discrediting it- now to my beef (yum yum?): Why do we as a people get hurt so darn easily. Somebody calls Gandhi a stick figure and we go all ballistic. Somebody claims the Taj Mahal isn't anything better than its Jamuna backdrop, and we start a petition in its support. A few others beat our cinematic sense and we begin calling them "immature" and comment, "Hey in our films we sell dreams. But you wouldn't understand." WHY THE HELL ARE WE SO DAMN NAZUK? So what if a Calvin Clein wearing idiot calls Gandhi a stick figure (just making it up)... its more important to let him do so. In the long run, after the sticker on his garment has faded he'll come follow our line of people who honor a stick figure and have come to call him the Mahatma. And so what if the Taj isn't pretty anymore- its memory is, and that memory is for us, those who love it. Finally coming to our films- enjoy what you enjoy and let the critiques, or in this case, the blogger say anything they want to...one shouldn't give a hoot.
To end this let me say, long live Sivaji and Rajni.
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