The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey

Ah, the anticipation takes form at last! We were finally in the theater at Prasad's iMax, nice and snug. 3D glasses - check. Popcorn & Cola - doublecheck. Excitement - "oh yeah!" check.

First things first, I've read The Hobbit - There and Back Again, so I know how it all ends. But it just made me all the more eager to watch it all on the big screen.

The story is one that is universally known - Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit from Bag End, is content with his peaceful life when one fine day the wizard Gandalf comes knocking at his door, and leads him into a fantastic adventure with 12 dwarves. The modest party of 14 crosses hell and high water to reach the lonely mountain and to defeat Smaug the dragon. A while later a terrific battle between 5 armies ensues, some good people are lost, many bad people are lost, and finally the book ends on a happy note.

This movie however, ends somewhere on the way between the path to the lonely mountain and Bilbo's home. It is just Part I of The Hobbit movie trilogy, after all. Peter Jackson needs to go as slow as possible to be able to fit that tiny book into three 3-hour movies. I was skeptical about how he would achieve that feat without expanding unimportant sub-plots, but he did it all beautifully. Granted, some scenes in the movie are absent from the book altogether, but hey, it's middle earth. I enjoyed my ears off :D

Oh, and yeah, our old friend Gollum makes a brief but terrifying appearance. In the span of a mere 5-10 minutes he made more of an impression on me than all the orcs, goblins, and wargs put together. Live long, Gollum! Also, this is where the infamous ring makes its first appearance - slipping from Gollum's fingers and ingratiating itself with Bilbo Baggins, paving the path for Sauron the Dark Lord to rise again.

Martin Freeman IS the Hobbit, and it is impossible to imagine anyone else in the role. Nothing to say about Gandalf, really. And the dwarves are exceptionally cast, with both their bravery and comic timing portrayed impeccably.

Overall, an amazing movie, and an absolute must-watch. As if it could be anything else :-)

And as a footnote, I cannot resist adding these immortal lines -

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

                                                      - From The Lord of The Rings

A Short Poem

Gravel in my shoe,
I found some gravel in my shoe,
Yes I found some gravel,
Erm, I really did,

La la la,
Hmm. Bye.

When Men Cook

In the average Indian middle-class household, guys are usually quite content to take the backseat in the kitchen, but some days, if the girls are especially lucky, they decide to cook.
Like today, when my husband decided he wants to cook the chicken. My mother-in-law, hovering near the kitchen, has that nervous look on her face that says something will go wrong any second now, just a matter of time before it does.

The kitchen is a flurry of activity, and every single well-meaning piece of advice is struck away with the force of a thousand suns.

Me: "Here, shall I cut the onions?"
Husband (starts attacking the onions with great force): NO!!!

Me: "Listen, did you remember to add the spices?"
Husband (gives me a withering look): "Yes."

He says yes, but his look says, "Of course I did you dumbass, I'm a better cook than you are!"

The chicken is cooked in ten minutes flat, give or take a couple of minutes. Normally, with the tender ministrations of a female hand it would've taken about three quarters of an hour. My mother in law assured me the chicken was tasty (me being a vegetarian blah blah). Luckily for me and my mom in law, my husband, while not a great cook, is definitely a good one. Others are not quite so lucky. Take my brother for example.

A few years ago, when the rest of the family was out of town, my brother decided to call his friends over for an evening snack. He had planned on making vegetable soup and astonishing the hell out of them with his cooking capabilities. How he thought people would applaud for emptying ready made soup sachets into a bowl of boiling water is a mystery we'll never solve.

So, he puts the water to boil and goes into the hall to regale his friends with some PJs, when ka-booom! There was a resounding exploding noise from, you guessed it right amigo, the kitchen. Everyone rushed to see if aliens had just somehow crash landed inside the kitchen but were instead faced with the gory sight of my mother's favorite glass casserole splattered across the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that my brother put some water into a glass bowl and set its ass upon the stove to burn. His friends were rewarded with the unwelcome task of cleaning the kitchen out before my folks came back. To this day, my mother has no idea where her favorite casserole dish went. She blames our maid. My brother blames her too, and all women for good measure. For failing to tell him what would happen if he set a glass bowl on fire. Go figure.

The One With The King Cobra

The place where I grew up, Parlakhemundi, was a hotbed of adventure. We used to spend our days like the Hardy Boys and the Famous Five, solving crimes and catching criminals. Just kidding, apart from the occasional fight about whose turn it was to hog the remote control, we seldom saw any action.

Except for that one time when we were face to face with a full grown king cobra.

Our home is located in a cul-de-sac - a small pond marked the end of the road, making the entry into our street the only exit. The pond, its surrounding shrubs, and other wayward plant growth also ensured a steady stream of slimy reptiles and insects and other creatures paying us unwanted visits every once in a while. With time, we grew accustomed to their presence, and would greet them with a brisk nod of the head and a strong whack with the nearest broom/wooden stick/similar object.

So it was, that on a perfectly calm evening, without any knowledge of the impending storm that was to follow, I cycled home from my Maths tuition. I noticed a few kids lined up on our street, goggling into a neighbor's home. My Mom told me the good news the moment I stepped in.

"A king cobra has been found just inside Murthy Uncle's gate. Do NOT go there."

Predictably, the next few seconds found my brother and me racing off like rockets to the place of the scene. The Murthys had a huge gate and the cobra had nestled just inside it, coiled like a rope, its hood wide open. Now, make no mistake, the snake was huge - a fully grown king cobra, it probably was around 6 feet in length. KKR Uncle (Dad's friend and another neighbor) was sitting some way off holding a large stick (we all stocked large sticks in our houses for the same reason). Every time the cobra made an attempt to move he would pound the ground with the stick. Snakes detect vibration, and that made the cobra stay where it was. The next course of action hadn't been decided yet.

By this time a small crowd started gathering outside the gate, everyone standing a short distance away. The decision was made to let the snake go - it was some auspicious day and some elders announced it would be bad to kill the snake. The gate was opened completely so the snake could slither out and make a run for the nearest bushes, and then for the pond or wherever else it was supposed to be that night. By then it had become dark, the road illuminated by streetlamps and light streaming from within the houses. Everyone was gathered a few feet from the Murthys' place, intensely waiting for the snake to make its appearance. It happened like in a movie - the gate was yanked open by someone, the reptile finally free to escape. We saw it slither quickly onto the road, just a few feet from us - and, as if on cue, the lights went out and it was suddenly pitch dark, too dark for us to even see each other's faces.

The ensuing cry that erupted from our little colony could probably have been heard for miles. We screamed and yelled and fell over each other in our haste to escape. I ran into the nearest house and stood on an elevated surface and yelled for my brother. "I'm here!!", came a reedy cry from the terrace - how the heck he managed to clamber onto the terrace within 5 seconds is a mystery I'll never solve. After about 10-15 seconds of pandemonium the lights came back on. Which is another mystery in itself, since in our town if the lights go out they come back again only after about a week. The lights came on just in time for people to notice the snake slip into another house. It clearly didn't understand the concept of escape - maybe it was on a suicide mission, we'll never know. That house had as residents two small babies, and their very hot-blooded uncle. Now, that was its death warrant. He ignored the pleas of his mother to spare the snake and did what should've been done in the first place. He grabbed a sturdy stick, and with a brisk nod of his head whacked the snake with it. Everything was over in a flash.

For us kids the excitement of the day ended here, and we trooped back to our houses to face the wrath and fury of our parents. For the elders, however, it wasn't over. They insisted on having a proper funeral for the snake, and that too with sandalwood. Jeez! Everyone had to reluctantly give up our little precious sticks of sandalwood so the snake could attain nirvana and not haunt our grandchildren. Sigh.

Finding Home (Part One)

He stood on the edge of the precipice, his small beady eyes on the constant lookout for danger. He had just started rebuilding his home at a new location that he had finally decided was safe after weeks of careful deliberation. He took a deep breath, and as his eyes rested on his pregnant partner they visibly softened. He had never really thought of himself as a family guy until he had taken one look at the pretty lass preening herself at the small pool he and his friends frequented. It was love at first sight, and he had hopped over to her as fast as he could without raising eyebrows, stumbling in his haste. His friends thought he would get shooed away in seconds and were visibly surprised when she looked at him coyly and smiled, marking the beginning of a relationship that would withstand the test of time.

That was all several months ago. A lot of things had happened since then. They had tried building a home of their own for several times, getting thwarted every time by the blue and white monsters. The world abounded with them; they were everywhere. Even here, from the lonely precipice he stood on, he could spot around ten of them in the distance. It was just a matter of time before they came and took over this spot too, he thought ruefully. This time though, I won't give up without a fight, he vowed to himself. His partner was busily giving their home a few final touches, making it comfortable enough for the babies.

This time he had chosen to make his home atop a huge concrete cave, which housed giants that were too advanced for his taste, and though the world abounded with them as well, they usually gave his brethren a wide berth. They were not in direct competition for survival. He found he might be able to trust them, with time. Twice the giants had offered him food, and made no visible attempt to catch him, or kill him. Perhaps, he might have found a safe place after all! The giants might actually give his family the protection they required, both from the living and the natural elements. He just prayed the blue monsters wouldn't find this haven and make it theirs.

His prayers went unanswered, however, and he heard a great fluttering of wings and two of the monsters swooped in to usurp the food the kindly giantess had left out for him. How dare they! How dare they get into his territory unasked, unannounced, as if it was just theirs for the taking! He flew into a terrible rage and let out a murderous roar that would have sent chills down the spine of lesser mortals.

The two pigeons paused for a moment to stare at the little sparrow who was chirping away as if his life depended on it. They paused for a few more seconds to grab the remaining grains that the people had sprinkled on their terrace, and flew away unperturbed.

How about a peanut butter sandwich?

My recent indulgence with peanut butter sandwiches led to musing about the Shel Silverstein poem we learnt in school, and since I love it so much I am inclined to share it with y'all. Read, and enjoy!

Peanut-Butter Sandwich

by Shel Silverstein (1932-1999)

I’ll sing you a story of a silly young king
Who played with the world at the end of a string,
But he only loved one single thing --
And that was just a peanut-butter sandwich.

His scepter and his royal gowns,
His regal throne and golden crowns
Were brown and sticky from the mounds
And drippings from each peanut-butter sandwich.

His subjects all were silly fools
For he had passed a royal rule
That all that they could learn in school
Was how to make a peanut-butter sandwich.

He would not eat his sovereign steak,
He scorned his soup and kingly cake,
And told his courtly cook to bake
An extra-sticky peanut-butter sandwich.

And then one day he took a bite
And started chewing with delight,
But found his mouth was stuck quite tight
From that last bite of peanut-butter sandwich.

His brother pulled, his sister pried,
The wizard pushed, his mother cried,
“My boy’s committed suicide
From eating his last peanut-butter sandwich!”

The dentist came, and the royal doc.
The royal plumber banged and knocked,
But still those jaws stayed tightly locked.
Oh darn that sticky peanut-butter sandwich!

The carpenter, he tried with pliers,
The telephone man tried with wires,
The firemen, they tried with fire,
But couldn’t melt that peanut-butter sandwich.

With ropes and pulleys, drills and coil,
With steam and lubricating oil --
For twenty years of tears and toil --
They fought that awful peanut-butter sandwich.

Then all his royal subjects came.
They hooked his jaws with grapplin’ chains
And pulled both ways with might and main
Against that stubborn peanut-butter sandwich.

Each man and woman, girl and boy
Put down their ploughs and pots and toys
And pulled until kerack! Oh, joy --
They broke right through that peanut-butter sandwich.

A puff of dust, a screech, a squeak --
The king’s jaw opened with a creak.
And then in voice so faint and weak --
The first words that they heard him speak
Were, “How about a peanut-butter sandwich?”

The Pigeon's Egg On The Windowsill

It all started when my mother-in-law found a pigeon's egg on the window sill.

It isn't everyday that you wake up to a thing like that. An egg sitting nonchalantly on your fourth floor windowsill. My mother-in-law picked up the egg gingerly and called out to my husband who immediately set to making a makeshift nest. A shoebox was produced, the top removed, and some old cotton clothes arranged neatly at the bottom, with some coir acting as a tiny mattress. The egg was laid inside gently and the nest was put on a shelf in the balcony beside our kitchen. All that remained now was for the mother pigeon to dutifully take her place, and boy, she did that with gusto. In fact, she was so impressed by the turn of events that after a few days she decided to make friends with the people.

One fine morning the mother pigeon sauntered in carelessly to the kitchen, completely unafraid. Mummyji was alarmed, but there was no sign of nervousness in the bird; her attitude showed she was there for a leisurely stroll. It took quite a bit of hollering on the human's part for the bird to go back to her nest, and her face showed she was more than a little miffed at this blatant rejection. Ah well. A few days passed this way, and the egg showed no signs of hatching. We were all almost resigned and had given up hope when the egg cracked. The much awaited telephone call came (we weren't married then), and yoohoo! It's a boy!

Alright, we didn't really know whether it was a boy or a girl, but hey, we decided the baby pigeon was a he. I rushed over to take a look. The mother pigeon was all protective now; she allowed only mummyji and my husband near the baby, fluttering her wings angrily if anyone else went closer. The moment she left to get food I hurried over to get a good look. He looked like a tiny untidy bundle. A teeny tiny ball of feathers. No, not feathers, he was more like a ball of fluff. He didn't move, just sat there all puffed up like an angry kitten. I thought he was more than a little stupid, with his little beak and bulging eyes. Hard to say now.

Both of them were terrified of each other.

Days passed, mother pigeon grew bolder and started venturing inside the house. The people woke up one day to find her perched royally on top of the bookshelf. My husband decided to put an end to these uninvited visits. He caught her unawares when she was trying to fly out of a closed door - yes, she was flapping her wings and clawing at the door when he caught her - and introduced her to Rocky, our not-so-ferocious Pomeranian. He was petrified of her, but hey, she didn't know that. Let's just say that after that day, no pigeon has ever dared to come inside our house again :P

The baby, meanwhile, grew into a most handsome young guy. He would give us these tough looks whenever we went to the balcony, but was meek as a kitten and would offer zero resistance whenever my husband picked him up to clean his nest. The day came when his mother took him out for his first flying lesson. We have no idea how it went, or whether he enjoyed the outside world, but my mother-in-law said he didn't venture out again for several days. But it had to be done, and as he grew older he started going out of his nest more and more, albeit for short periods.

It happened suddenly one day, and without warning. We were greeted by the sight of him sitting forlornly on the ledge; his mother was snugly tucked in his nest with another pigeon (hopefully his father, we don't know for sure). We shooed them away so he could have his home back, but this little episode started repeating itself frequently. Once a bunch of the mother's friends came over for a little pigeon kitty party, promptly rewarding us with a ton of pigeon poo on our washing machine. We saw less and less of our baby pigeon - he was quite clearly building a home elsewhere. We took the hard decision to finally take down his nest and turn out all of them. We covered the empty space with cardboard cartons so the birds couldn't nest there.

As time passed and he became a fully grown bird, we could barely recognize him anymore. We still have pigeons resting for a short while on the balcony ledge, but we don't know if one of them is our baby. Nevertheless, my mother-in-law religiously kept a bowl of water everyday throughout the summer months out there for him and his friends. We never know if he was among the numerous birds that came by for a drink everyday, but it feels good that just in case he needed it, we were there for him.

This episode, in its entirety, is something that our family will never forget. Perhaps, neither will the pigeon. Like Shakespeare said,

How far the little candle throws his beams, so shines a good deed in a naughty world.

My favorite quote - Of Human Bondage

William Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage contains some masterpieces that make you rethink your whole outlook towards your life. If I were to pick one, and only one, from that book, it would be this.

"He realised that he had deceived himself; it was no self-sacrifice that had driven him to think of marrying, but the desire for a wife and a home and love; and now that it all seemed to slip through his fingers he was seized with despair. He wanted all that more than anything in the world. What did he care for Spain and its cities, Cordova, Toledo, Leon; what to him were the pagodas of Burmah and the lagoons of South Sea Islands? America was here and now. It seemed to him that all his life he had followed the ideals that other people, by their words or their writings, had instilled into him, and never the desires of his own heart. Always his course had been swayed by what he thought he should do and never by what he wanted with his whole soul to do. He put all that aside now with a gesture of impatience. He had lived always in the future, and the present always, always had slipped through his fingers. His ideals? He thought of his desire to make a design, intricate and beautiful, out of the myriad, meaningless facts of life: had he not seen also that the simplest pattern, that in which a man was born, worked, married, had children, and died, was likewise the most perfect?

It might be that to surrender to happiness was to accept defeat, but it was a defeat better than many victories."