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."

The Scream - Short Story

It happened some time during the night. A shrill, piercing scream let itself loose with a vengeance, lasting for several seconds. At 11:30pm, to be exact.

No one who heard that scream could sleep for several hours, such was its horror. People tumbled out of their houses with worried faces and with that faint thrill the human mind associates with a mystery. It was a gated community - secluded, safe, and boring. The monotony of their lives was such that the poor things craved some excitement, and this scream held plenty of promise. No one could scream like that without something unspeakable having happened.

"Mrs. Dunlop, did you hear that? !" That was Ms. Sheila Bishop, the kindly spinster from across the street.

"Yes, it was awful! I wonder which house it came from? " Mrs. Dunlop lived with her septuagenarian sister and at that moment could kill for some excellent gossip-worthy incident.
" It came from the Jennings's place. I hope nothing's happened!"
"I hope so, too!" Mrs. Dunlop's face showed that she hoped for the exact opposite.

People had started gathering in twos and threes around the Jennings' place, no one mustering the courage to knock. Greg, the Jennings' teenage neighbour, stepped forward bravely. He pressed the buzzer for several seconds without success and then looked uncertain about what to do. Someone called out, "Call Lisa or Jerry on their phone! They can't still be asleep, we are all pretty sure that was their little kid screaming. "

When the phones did not yield any success the police was promptly called onto the scene. They arrived quickly, tried ringing the bell again to be sure, and broke open the door. The entire neighbourhood waited outside breathlessly while the police went inside, guns drawn. It was somewhat of an anti-climax when after a few minutes they came out of the house proclaiming no one was inside.

The entire house was thoroughly searched, they said - no one was in. Maybe the people misheard? The people were adamant. They were positive that the scream came from that house.

"Moreover, the house was padlocked from the inside; how could you explain an empty house that was locked from the inside? ", was the standard dialogue on everyone's lips. The police promised to look into the matter. The house was sealed, and a policeman put on guard there.

The people talked about it and exchanged theories as to what might've happened until they finally called it a day and went back to their homes to sleep in peace. That peace was short-lived.

It happened some time during the night. A shrill, piercing scream let itself loose with a vengeance, lasting for several seconds. At 11:30pm, to be exact. People rushed outside, some of them still sleepy-eyed. Ms. Sheila Bishop was the first on the street.

"The scream came from Mrs. Dunlop's house this time. . . " Her voice was shaky.

People knocked on the door. They instinctively knew there would be no answer.

Everyone stared wildly at each other, terrified about what was going on. The question running in everyone's minds was,

Who is next?

The Caffeinated Joys of Filter Coffee

Growing up in a Telugu household, this is only predictable. One develops a deep rooted love for filter coffee. One tends to get irritated if the early morning shout of, "Amma, coffee!" is not complied with alacrity. One might even say, one is addicted to it.

I got hooked on to coffee at a tender age of I-don't-remember-when. That occasional drop of decoction in my daily glass of milk was a reward - a reward for being a good kid, or perhaps for having completed the necessary homework without too much prodding. I don't recall the exact day when my big glass of milk laced with decoction was substituted for a steaming glass of filter coffee. I can only imagine it must've been a big deal for me. Almost like an acceptance into adult society, that one.

Pictured: Little glasses of heaven.

Tea for me was always the poor country cousin - only drunk under extreme circumstances (meaning, when coffee isn't available).

College was hard. I was in the heart of Orissa, no relatives for miles on end, and the few hotels that served coffee had only the Instant kind. Yuck. FYI, Instant Coffee isn't coffee. Just another hot beverage. After four years of making disgruntled faces at the chai-wallahs, my luck made this abrupt U-turn, kind of like what the auto-wallahs do when they see a potential customer.

I came to Hyderabad.

Life did a full circle when I camped at the same aunt's place with whom I grew up, and - surprise, surprise! - her entire family were coffee people, just like yours truly. Ah, those magical stainless steel filters, they should be a part of Hogwarts studies! Another stint of coffee drinking followed, which went unhampered for several years. I got completely hooked onto it - I woke up to the smell of coffee everyday; and when I came back from office a steaming glass of the magical brew would be waiting for me.

Fast forward to the present day - married to this great guy who loves black coffee, and what's more, even makes it for me every morning. I know, I know, black coffee is filter coffee too, and what if he makes it with brown sugar? Isn't it kinda like Irish Coffee, with just the cream and whiskey missing? I could live with that!

But that little imp in the back of my head nags at me, "Itsss not the same, preciousss!"

I've found a workaround though - weekdays are dedicated to my husband's recipe; and I make my beloved filter coffee on weekends. On the days when I visit my aunt, she looks at me with an unspoken understanding, and makes sure that I am plied with all the filter coffee I want. Hell, the tummy can take care of itself later.

What is Fascism?

Perhaps this picture explains it best.

I was reading an article about the Nazis and the Second World War, etc., when this word Fascism leaped out at me. Everyday I come across many words that I do not understand, but I work out some kind of meaning based on the sentence, get some context, and move on. Some times I check in on a Thesaurus to know that word better. Today, I wanted to learn what Fascism means. And perhaps use it in conversations to impress the other mortals. So I Googled it. And since Wikipedia is the mother of all encyclopedias I clicked on that first.

So, what is Fascism? Let's see what these sites have to say.

Wikipedia:

"Fascism is a radical authoritarian nationalist political ideology. Fascists seek rejuvenation of their nation based on commitment to an organic national community where its individuals are united together as one people in national identity by suprapersonal connections of ancestry, culture, and blood through a totalitarian single-party state that seeks the mass mobilization of a nation through discipline, indoctrination, physical education, and eugenics."

Really, Wiki? This is the definition you give to a person with little or no knowledge of this word?!

Lower your voice, you!

Urban Dictionary:

Fascism: The Bush administration 

I loved this one! :P

Dictionary.com:

A governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism.

Okay, quite easy to understand.

Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

A political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition.

Hmm.

I should now confess I already used Fascism in a conversation today. With a straight face.

Daruvu - Movie Review

I was fortunate enough to watch this insanely awesome movie this weekend.

Move over Bala Krishna, you with your almost impossible fight sequences, laughably silly dialogues, and improbably young heroines! Ravi Teja is here to make you quiver in your shoes and give you a run for your money.

So, we have Bullet Raja (played by Ravi Teja) who falls in love with a girl, Swetha (played by Taapsee). She is a dancer, and is learning her dance moves from her Guru, Vidya Balan. No, not Vidya Balan the actress, it is our very own king-of-comedy Brahmanandam. His name is Vidya Balan, and his male assistant is named Neetha Menon. Duh, not funny! Alright, it is a little bit.

Just look at those buffoons!

Long story short, Swetha cares tuppence about our Bullet Raja and loathes the very sight of him. One fine day - just about a week after he knows her, that is - they go to a club and some guy tries to manhandle Swetha. Bullet Raja leaps to the rescue and - we did not see this coming - Swetha falls for him immediately.

Where there's a hero there is a villian, and for Telugu heroes one villian is simply not enough, they get insulted and refuse to sign. The first villian of this lovely movie is this goonda who wants to marry Swetha (why, is a mystery to me). He descends on the hero with some hundred sidekicks, who turn to dust in Bullet Raja's hands. Finally, some serious shit happens and our hero falls off a cliff, and as if that wasn't enough this bigass SUV falls on him and explodes. The writers were adamant that even Rajnikanth couldn't survive this kind of shit and so the director reluctantly kills Bullet Raja off.

End of story.

Ha-ha, you wish! Bullet Raja goes straight to hell, where after a series of stupid scenes involving Lord Yama's son and Mr. Chitragupta he is sent back to earth into the Home Minister's body. Who also happens to be - surprise, surprise! - Ravi Teja. Now the second, third, and fourth villians make their entry and we are treated to a series of cringe-worthy incidents where they try to kill Ravindra (Bullet Raja's soul, Home Minister's body) and fail horribly.

For the epic final scene, all the four villians get together and plant a bomb under the stage where the CM, HM, and other big guns are giving speeches. The time bomb ticks closer to exploding and killing the hero a second time, when the Home Minister gives a moving speech and what the fck! All villians have a change of heart and become good citizens. They even run to the stage and warn everyone about the bomb and everything. Ravindra (formerly Bullet Raja) leaps off the stage, but not before clutching a small kid and saving him. Because you know, he is such a noble man.

The. End. Whew.

This was when the end credits started rolling, and my brother yelled loudly demanding a refund.

I've read a couple of reviews on the internet, and I have to say I was surprised to see them praise it. I know, Ravi Teja has got impeccable comic timing, but jesus! I am so sick of seeing the same comedy over and over and over again! He seriously needs to try something different. Then the whole shebang of Yamalok is also something we've seen countless times before - and nicely done, as well. In this movie it was plain creepy. God knows what Taapsee was doing in this movie - she seemed to be there just for the occasional navel glimpse and song sequences. She dances well, but looks yuck.

The only highlight of the movie was that "Dhinkachika" devotion move by fake Swami Pavitrananda, played superbly by actor Raghu Babu. That guy never fails to impress.

Bottom line, Daruvu has some laughs, but the sheer absurdness of the movie will leave you wincing. Watch it if you absolutely must; or wait for the DVD.

Dear Jane - Short Story

Lady Luck had taken an instant dislike to Jane from the moment she was born.

A series of complications ensured she plopped out of her mum prematurely, resulting in being trapped in the incubator for a good couple of months. Then followed a series of incidents that can only be put down to pure bad luck. A sleepy nurse had handed her to the wrong parents; as a result, she had grown up with an alcoholic father and a bulimic mother.

Jane was almost always picked last in school for games owing to her small frame, was a wallflower when it came to parties, and being underdeveloped at seventeen ensured she still hadn’t gotten her first kiss yet.

Jane ran away from home at nineteen, hooked up a ride with a some hippies and, when their truck was stopped by a policeman for speeding, was promptly arrested along with the group for drugs and whatnot. Lady Luck perhaps decided to throw the poor kid a bone here, since the policemen who took the hippies in gave Jane a once over, checked her belongings, and told her to get the hell out of there before they changed their collective minds.

The first town she chose had a sleepy little population of 400 people.

Prosecutors would later argue that the murders started exactly two days after she entered town.

Jane just smiled.

Tsongmo Lake: Sikkim Diaries

Having visited Gurudongmar Lake at 17100 feet, anyone would think Lake Tsongmo would be a piece of cake. At least, we did. And we were wrong.

Road to Tsongmo Lake. Piece of cake.

Tsongmo Lake is around 40 kms from Gangtok, and stands at a proud 12,400 feet above sea level. The road is treacherous, and that is if you can call that a road at all. Frequent mudslides in recent times have caused the road to be really bumpy, and if it rains even slightly, it gets muddier than a mud hill.

That said, almost all drivers there are experts at navigating this road; they know each nook and cranny, and they know each bump and turn. So fear not if you are not able to view the road because a huge cloud decided to make its presence known just then - the driver will just race into and past the cloud without blinking an eyelid.

Anyway, finally, we were there, we had our rubber boots on, and we were making the tricky little climb up the slope from the parking lot to the lake when, suddenly, our nostrils were assaulted with a strong, overwhelming smell of poop.

"I just pooped all over this place. Hope that's okay."

The next minute we were face to face with the yaks. The yaks are there duly earning their daily bread and studiously pooping it all back. For a few hundred rupees you can have a yak carry you around the lake and get you back to where you started. Unless you're a raging lazybones who is simply not bothered to make the 1km walk, I wouldn't recommend riding the yak - firstly, you won't be able to enjoy the view of the lake because you're holding on tightly to the yak and trying not to fall; secondly, the yak smells so bad that you frankly can't wait to get the ride over with.

Pictured: Heaven.

We stepped gingerly onto the snow; the first few yards the snow was completely brown in color, and by this point I am sure you know the reason why. I was reminded of Calvin somehow - maybe because brown snow is just the kind of thing he loves.

Slowly, slowly, as we made our way up towards the lake we could see the pristine landscape taking shape.Oh, it is beautiful! The stark black and white landscape, coupled with the crowd in their colorful sweaters screaming with excitement made for a really pretty setting.We spent a lot of time throwing snowballs at each other, sliding in the snow, and basically acting like children.

Everyone had this huge patch of wet on the back of their pants - the result of trying to slide down. Aw hell, we didn't mind! The only thing we minded were our wet gloves which we heedlessly used to make our snowballs - they didn't dry for several hours.

After a couple of hours of crazy time we came back, returned the rubber boots, and sat down for some yummy wai wai noodles. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

No wait, we then went to the Institute of Tibetology, and were looking at books at their in-house store when the lady in charge told us there was a huge snake loitering inside somewhere, and would we please keep an eye on our legs from time to time. But that's another story for another day.

Pig hooey!

Is George Orwell's Animal Farm coming true or what!

Pigs are apparently causing havoc in a Chennai neighborhood - they've chosen a cozy vacant lot that belongs to the government (ha!) and started breeding like rabbits. Right now their number is about 50-odd, and they come out in a herd during the evenings and terrorize the residents. 50 pigs running around in the street, oinking all over the place... yes, reason enough to run for cover.

The town I grew up in boasted of many stray pigs strolling around like they owned the place, but never has anyone been afraid of them! These mutant monster pigs have reached a point where they're attacking stray dogs (!) and biting golfers, and the question we need to ask ourselves is, what next? Chickens flying around pooping on our heads?! :-|

What the hell is happening?!

The Long Dark Tea-Time of The Soul - Douglas Adams

(Might contain some spoilers)

The Story

Strange things are happening in London. Police are baffled by a mysterious death - a man is found dead in a room, all doors and windows securely locked from the inside. The police would gladly term it as suicide; only, the man's neatly severed head is sitting a few feet away.

 Around the same time, an explosion at a check-in counter of Heathrow airport has the authorities puzzled - no one has gotten seriously hurt, and there are no explosives to be found at the place that would actually explain how the explosion happened.

Dirk Gently, holistic detective and lazy bum, decides to look into the matter.

Just so you understand what kind of detective you're dealing with here, let us get to know Mr. Gently better, shall we? It has been a full 3 months since Dirk has opened his fridge, and, afraid of what unspeakable things might be taking life inside, he opts to throw it out and buy a new fridge instead. If Dirk Gently's in his car heading someplace and needs to ask for directions, he doesn't. No sir. He just chooses a car that looks like it knows where it's going and follows it.

So, anyway, Dirk Gently starts his investigation and runs into Kate Schechter.

Kate Schechter has gotten herself involved in the matter purely by an unfortunate coincidence. She is waiting at the check-in counter for her Oslo flight, minding her own business, when she notices the man before her is being impossibly obtuse. First, he doesn't have a ticket; when the check-in girl asks him to buy a ticket, he doesn't have the cash; he opts to pay by cheque instead, and gets deeply roused when the check-in girl tells him they don't accept cheques.

On the verge of missing her flight, and exasperated beyond endurance, Kate offers to pay for his ticket, and will he please write the cheque over to her –

"My name is Kate Schechter. Two 'c's, two 'h's, two 'e's, and also a 't', an 'r', and an 's'. Provided they're all there the bank won't be fussy about the order they come in, they never seem to know themselves."

 At this point he thoughtfully replies he doesn't have a cheque book. Kate pays nevertheless, but the last straw is when the girl asks for his passport and he slowly replies he doesn't have that one, either.
Kate walks away then leaving the man and the check-in girl to argue in peace, and moments later the explosion happens. The obtuse guy happens to be none other than Thor, the God of thunder and a lot of other things, as he introduces himself to Kate at a later stage (unfortunately for him, when she’s in a foul mood) –

"I am Thor. I am the God of Thunder. The God of Rain. The God of the High Towering Clouds. The God of Lightning. The God of the Flowing Currents. The God of the Particles. The God of the Shaping and the Binding Forces. The God of the Wind. The God of the Growing Crops. The God of the Hammer Mjollnir."

"Are you?" simmered Kate.

The plot also includes Odin, Thor's dad, Toe Rag, Odin's weasly side-kick not unlike Gollum of LOTR fame, a green monster, and a couple of others who are unimportant, so I've forgotten their names.

You've got to read the book to uncover the mystery of the death, the explosion, and other things - it wouldn't be fun if I wrote everything here.

My Take

Douglas Adams had already wowed me with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so when my husband suggested reading The long Dark Tea-Time of The Soul, I didn't need to think twice. Since Douglas Adams had already achieved perfection with The Hitchhiker's Guide, I consciously had somewhat low expectations from this one. I was pleasantly surprised - he dealt with the serious topics of death and explosions and father-son relationship strain with due respect, and he had me in splits at the same time.

Some parts of the book are particularly funny. At one point along the way, Dirk picks up a newspaper and turns to the horoscope page, and reads his horoscope for the day -

"You are very fat and stupid and persistently wear a ridiculous hat which you should be ashamed of."

The horoscope for that paper is written by The Great Zaganza, an old friend of Dirk’s who knows his birthday :P

Whatever his plot might be, Douglas Adams manages to infuse a hilarious riot of humor into all his lines. The only complaint I have with this book is, he ended it much too abruptly. He could easily have gone on for another 50 pages or so without boring anybody, but he chose instead to end it with an abruptness that must’ve surprised him as well.

If you found the plot and the story gripping, go ahead and read the book. If you haven't - well, read it anyway because it is so awesome :D

I suddenly realized...

that Gimli the dwarf from the Lord of The Rings saga was once Sallah, Indiana Jones's friend!

Gurudongmar Lake: Sikkim Diaries

To put it quite bluntly, Gurudongmar Lake is the Big Daddy of all lakes.

It stands on a really cool altitude of 17100 feet, a feat very few other lakes can boast of. It is considered sacred, so people cannot really go and take baths and do other unspeakable things that the other lakes have to endure. Oh, and yeah, you can't find any kind of vegetation around the lake; not a single plant, not a single bush. The land there is as barren as a slate. It is all mud and stones, my friend. Plus the occasional block of muddy ice.

The Journey
The road from Lachen to Gurudongmar is like an ever winding coil of rope, and the Avomin tablets weren't helping; within an hour into our journey I started retching violently and puked my guts out. This delightful episode repeated itself a couple of times, and thankfully, as a result, I went into a weakness-induced sleep that I did not come out of till we reached the lake.

We were mid-way when the driver told us that if I felt any worse we were to turn back; the pukes could be the result of me not being able to adjust to the altitude. He grimly pointed out that first-aid options at the Lake would be minimal, and if any of us had even a headache, we were to turn back immediately or it would get real risky, real soon.

The Lake
The lake is pure awesomeness. You could sit there for ages, just marveling at the picture before you - a perfectly blue, cloudless sky (the clouds are all around you), a beautiful frozen lake, snow covered peaks, and the utter serenity of the place renders you almost speechless. We didn't have much time though - barely enough to glance around and take it all in, and yes, just enough to click a couple of pictures.

The army
Within no time at all we were on our way back, and I had to fight the urge to wave to the army guys as we passed. It was a new found respect I had for the army - braving such adverse weather conditions away from their families... not easy! Not to mention the Chinese border sitting prettily just about 3 kms away - as if the bitter cold and the scarce Oxygen weren't enough.

Getting there
We had to submit 4 passport photographs, along with our ID proofs and address proofs to get a permit to reach the lake. The army divisions there have strict rules about this, and a vehicle cannot pass beyond their checkpoint if the travelers are not prepared with these beforehand.

I can go on and on about this, but I see that this has become quite a lengthy post already.

Lachen: Sikkim Diaries

Our first destination after Gangtok.

Lachen is bitterly cold. From the minute I set foot in that place the mind-numbing cold was the only thing I was aware of. We settled in our hotel and, after we freshened up (another word for piling on extra layers of sweaters), went out for an evening walk. The walk was to get us acclimatized to the high altitude - we were standing at an altitude of roughly 9800 feet.

So, we started on our little walk, and within a short distance came to a shop. We could hear little cries of, "Tourists are here! Tourists!", as if we had come from another country, pockets jingling with gold coins. We bargained hotly for a pair of mufflers and woolen gloves but the kind lady in the shop did not budge even a little bit. She obviously knew when a person was desperate. We paid the asking price and walked away, tails between our legs.

Lachen is the stop for all Gurudongmar Lake aspirants. We left Lachen at 5AM the next morning. I cannot recall the journey from Lachen to Gurudongmar very much - I had a bad case of the vomits. (Thank you, Kolkata airport Subway!) After getting back from Gurudongmar Lake we rushed out of Lachen as fast as we possibly could, and headed for Lachung.

How else is Lachen historical, you ask? Well my friend, Lachen will forever go down in history as the place that made me long for the unbearable heat of Hyderabad.

Now Reading: The Warden, by Anthony Trollope

"The Warden" is the first novel in the series, "Chronicles of Barsetshire", and Trollope's fourth novel.

This is my first Trollope - I love Victorian literature, let's see how it goes.

The Hollow: Agatha Christie

One of her best works!

The Sikkim Diaries

The taxi was waiting for us even as we got out of Bagdogra airport - within a span of a couple of minutes the driver had whisked our luggage into the Qualis and started at full speed towards Gangtok, our first stop.

Somehow, when we decided on this trip, the matter of mountainous roads and motion sickness escaped my notice. In my naivety, I asked the driver some time after the ghat road started - "Bhaiyya, ye ghat road kab khatam hoga?" He looked at me with some amusement and replied that the road is going to stay this way for the reminder of the trip. My heart sank a little.

Luckily for me our friends had a never ending supply of Avomin.

And so our trip started. We had signed on for a tour of North Sikkim, and our tour guide, Mr. Deepak Rai of Omega tours did not disappoint. The entire tour might become one lengthy post if I write down everything here, so I've decided to break it down into parts -


Lachen

Gurudongmar Lake

Lachung

Tsongmo Lake

Gangtok

If you would like to have specific details about cost, or the contact details of the tour operator, you can contact me or leave a comment on this post.

The Calcutta Diaries

Calcutta has always high on my travel to-do list, and by the time I finally got around to visiting it, it was Calcutta no more.

The first thing I noticed after reaching the city is the hospitality - we received a warm welcome from the groom's uncle (we were there for a friend's wedding), and the moment my husband responded to his welcome in Bengali, he stopped trying to communicate in Hindi and turned on Bengali, full on. I nodded my head vigorously to everything he said, trying to understand the language through my knowledge of Oriya.

There was a vehicle waiting for us, and we started for the hotel. The part of the city near Dum Dum airport has got an old world feel to it and the word that stuck in my mind was laid-back. The city made me want to sit back and be lazy. Nothing of this kind can be found in the peoples' actions, though - the driver was dashing ahead at a breakneck speed and I wondered how our hosts could sit placidly and look so nonchalant. I clutched onto the nearest handle, hoping we'd reach the hotel soon.

Coffee was served to us in little earthen jars that instantly reminded me of mishti doi and rosogullas. Uncle ji took us out for lunch at a nearby restaurant. I opted for a vegetarian thali; my husband needed only a little prodding to take the fish thali which he pronounced was absolutely delicious. Veg thali had an assortment of tasty stuff - dal, rice, potol posto (yummy!!), drumsticks in gravy (don't know the Bengali name for this), sweet pineapple chutney (again, don't know the Bengali name), and, finally, rosogullas. What a fitting end to our meal! Rosogullas! Just the name is enough :P

Soon friends from Bangalore, and other parts of Calcutta began to arrive, and when the group was complete we decided to take the Metro to Esplanade station. I had heard enough about New Market from my friends back in Hyderabad that I was adamant I would visit that place. I had visions of myself with lots of shopping bags and a contented expression, but unfortunately, New Market fell short for me. Whether it was the time constraint, or whether I didn't like the goods, I cannot tell. Within a short time of us reaching New Market we started for Free School Street where we checked out the second hand bookstores and walked around the block till our legs gave out.

The Kolkata Metro deserves a special mention - the sheer speed of the trains, the crowds, the short stops of 10 seconds at each station... I have no clue if Hyderabad will ever be able to reach that level of perfect rhythm. I loved it all, and I would love to visit again, if I could.

We did not visit all the places we should have - we were there, after all, for a wedding. We left the next morning for Bagdogra, and from there, on to Gangtok for our Sikkim trip.

Cracked on Nicholas Sparks

I admit there was a time when I almost took Nicholas Sparks seriously - I had just finished reading Erich Segal's Love Story, and naturally turned to The Notebook. Never got to reading it though.

Cracked.com has this amazing article on Nicholas Sparks, and his formula for a successful novel / movie.
I have included a short part of it here -

Please oh please, read the full article. Will make your day.

Agent "The Dud" Vinod

::Warning - Contains spoilers::

The entire family was in town, and Agent Vinod seemed to be the only option available (we had already watched Kahaani, and somehow we decided to skip Paan Singh Tomar. Bad decision, dammit!)

I must admit we went to the movie with very low expectations. Agent Vinod surpassed all of them in the worst way possible.

The story starts with Vinod in a prison from where he makes his daring escape, James Bond style. Imagine this - he is fleeing terrorists blazing their guns from all sides, in the middle of the desert, when suddenly he notices a gunny bag wriggling around. He cuts it open, and lo and behold! Just like a fairy tale, out pops a maiden, sexy dress and all, makeup intact, and whatnot. Score one for heights of improbability!

This is what BORING looks like.

Quite some bullshittery later we reach the main plot which revolves around the number 242. Many crime overlords are using this number in their secret conversations, and the task obviously falls to Agent Vinod to check the whole damn thing out. Vinod goes to one country after another in pursuit of the truth, gets caught by the bad guys a zillion times like the perfect nincompoop he is, and escapes an equal number of times like the James Bond he is.

Kareena Kapoor somehow enters the whole shebang as a certain Dr. Irum Bilal, actually a good guy but masquerading as a bad guy. Agent Vinod tags her along for the adventure, GOD knows why. He could simply have left her behind to live her life in peace, hell, she isn't even a goddamn agent, she's a doctor, and she even tells him all she wants is a clinic and some patients. Unfortunately, the director had other plans for her.

Yet another thing that hits you is the way Agent Vinod lets the masterminds go scot-free. He has no compulsions killing scores of nameless goondas who are the extras, but where it really matters, the big guys, he lets go. In the first scene he lets the Pakistani police officer go; the same thing happens with Prem Chopra, though the Colonel finishes the job for him; and then when the main baddie, the Colonel, is helpless before him, he just... lets him go! Of course, this comes back and bites him in the ass, since the Colonel promptly repays him for this act of kindness a few scenes later by shooting Kareena Kapoor. Even that scene is handled like shit -

Vinod: Hello Irum, is everything okay?
Irum: Hii Vinod, wassup, no ya, that bastard shot me! Two times in the liver! I am not gonna make it!
<dies>

Sriram Raghavan ji, what were you thinking?!

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (Movie)

What a movie! One of the finest espionage thrillers I have seen in a long time.

The story starts with Mr. Smiley (Gary Oldman), a retired intelligence officer being assigned to find a mole in the British Intelligence Agency, a mole who is right at the top of the ladder, supplying information under the table to the Soviets. The movie features a perfect cast - apart from my personal dislike of the actor Ciaran Hinds, that is. I just don't like that guy, somehow!


There are no car chasing scenes in the movie, guns blazing, or any other James Bond-esque shenanigans. The story brings a simple point home - you don't really need all those theatrics to have a nail biting thriller on your hands. Yes, that means Gary Oldman doesn't pout his lips either. Take the hint, Daniel Craig. You might get nominated for an Oscar too, if you stopped that awful pout.

This is one sepia-tinted thriller that is a must watch.

The Famous Five turn 70

Five on Finniston Farm

 The much loved Famous Five series turned 70 recently. And to think, if they were real people, those five kids we loved to read about would now be grandparents!

When I first read the news on The Guardian I was taken by surprise - somehow, every time I read these books I like to think those adventures are happening right now, in the present. To think that Enid Blyton dreamed and penned those books more than seven decades ago can only make us envious of her imagination.

Would you like to relive those books? If not in entirety, here is a short paragraph about each book's story. A review, if you will. "Five on Finniston Farm" is one of my favorites. Yours?

Comics and kids

I started reading books when I was about eight to ten years old. My earliest memories of reading books include my Dad - he would buy stacks of Chacha Choudharys, Champaks, and Tinkles and hide them somewhere at home. Every time me or my brother did something constructive (could be as simple as walking on my Dad's back for five minutes) he would produce a book with a flourish, make us yell and scream for it a bit and then leave us in peace to read.

When I look back and think about my childhood, I am sure it wouldn't have been the same if all those books weren't in my life. I cannot imagine a world where I didn't know Chacha Choudhary and Sabu, or Billoo and his famous hair which always hid his eyes. I cannot imagine how it would have been if I didn't know who the Famous Five were, or how the Secret Seven won their battles. Half my childhood was spent in that world, a world where anything could happen - it was my world. Thus said, I want to stress that this habit of mine never adversely affected my studies. If and when my grades suffered they did because of various other reasons ;-)

I know several people who won't let their child read any book apart from what is in their academic syllabus. Maybe it is because they feel their children might score better if they spent the same time doing some math sums. I want to say to you, don't rob your children out of the incredible joy of reading. While they might enjoy watching the occasional Tom and Jerry on television, the happiness a kid gets when he reads a Tinkle, or a Calvin, is unparalleled.

For all you parents who might not be able to afford the costs of buying storybooks, that is what second hand bookstalls are for. You can easily get Tinkles, Amar Chitra Kathas, Chandamamas, etc. for as low as 10 rupees per book.


Perhaps this activity can be on your To-Do list for this weekend.