Lamhaa - Review.

Old Legacy saying, “You almost always regret your impulsive decisions.”

I had almost thought I had won over such old-world-thinking in the past few months because all my impulsive decisions had come out winners. Not this one. Not yesterday night. Blame it on PVR. Blame on the director of this movie.

So here’s the backdrop – I went yesterday night to this much-frequented Mall ( which in my opinion should always be the monument for love – you ask me why? Ah. We sidetrack here – well. Picture this – You would say I’m yanking yours as how can you compare the grand-gala-in-stone Taj Mahal to this piece-of-crap monstrosity built on Glass and Concrete called the Mall? Ahem. It’s a convoluted argument – love probably is one of the causes for man to create his progenies. I’m referring to the process of continuing our lineage through reproduction. So this leads to population explosion when it comes to passing on more and more of our genes through unconditional love. So there, love leads to over-population. And the Mall is always filled to the nano-inch with over-populated crowd of Bangalore. Hence the Mall being a monument of love. Holy Crap. Yes. Now that I’ve got you pooh-poohing at me for such trivial pursuits of leisure, let’s get back to the review.

Blame it on the director. So yesterday I went to watch a night-show. There was only this hindi movie called Lamhaa at this time. I had read about this movie – it purportedly captures the untold story of Kashmir. I have been fascinated by movies on Kashmir. I totally loved Mission Kashmir, Maachis, or even Laqshya if you wanna call it a Kashmir Movie. And this one had Sanjay Dutt who always commands respect with his towering screen presence. So without too many misgivings in my mind about this one, I decide to bite the bullet. I buy the tickets.

We’re already ten minutes late and the first scene that hits out at me, is a confused police raid happening and Sanjay Dutt, full with a salt and pepper beard and dark sunglasses and a heavy scarf tied around his neck rescues Bipasha Basu ( Oh Did I say Bipasha Basu?!! Yes, I did. There, you sat up and took notice did you? Unfortunately for all you Male with flaming libidos, Bipashu for the first time ever since I saw her on silver screen is fully clad from head to toe, and not a hint about her lascivious figure he flaunts in her Gym Video. So switch off!) – after which he tries some flirty lines with her when she questions him about who he was. We understand maybe that’s his introduction to the story-line.

After this, we’re taken on a heady ride, into the dark convoluted minds of jihadis, political maestros, bloody-thirsty businessmen who profit through running gun-rackets, drug-peddling, selling the dream of an Azaad Kashmir, Pakistani and Afghani terrorists, the do-gooder revolutionary activists who really care about the dreams of Kashmir. Interesting to note is that the movie goes on about Kashmir having an independent identity for itself. And it’s not really an India-bashing-Pakistani ISI movie. That was a fresh take.

And yet at the end of a short two hours, we still come away untouched, feeling empty and glum because the story never moves you. It’s brutal. Unapologetic. Raw. The manner in which director has captured the extend of infiltration of the Terrorists into every-day Kashmir is indeed admirable.

But the reason I believe we come out without having any of our chords ringing, is that it does not really have that one hero or protagonist for whom I would have felt like cheering. That was missing. All lead characters went through their lines without too much emotion. Kunal Kapoor, hunk, beard, sunglass et al. Completely insipid. Should go back to drama school. Your heart goes out to the poor soul trying to incite a crowd for his new political party that is supposedly the good-guys-party. I mean, C’mon! You wouldn’t be able to incite even a mosquito for your campaign the slow mechanical way in which you gave your “Fiery” dialogues. Bah!

Sanjay Dutt. Ahem, I really don’t know where he came into the plot. Or the reason why he was there. The only connect which should have been pursued, was his Commanding officer who was interacting and giving him instructions. But the director felt that it was a useless loose end and ends up killing off that character in a surprise coup by some unknown assailants on Sanjay and his CO.

Spoiler Alerts: Anupam Kher. What a waste of this talent powerhouse. Lame and insipid villain. Hardly a few lines to mouth.

Bipasha Basu. Surprisingly I found her okay, as a woman of substance. Played her role as a fire-brand activist well. There were a few other side characters who could have been pursued and built upon, but never really end up as substantial. The brooding Afghani Jihadi who is masterminding everything, menacingly called Badshah had tremendous potential. But sadly never realized in the movie. I don’t even remember what happened to this guy by the end.

In fact the movie doesn’t even have a climax. It just ends on a very tepid tame note. And suddenly the end credits begin to roll. I was like, Hullo? Ashamed to admit this, but the last ten minutes of the movie, I actually was nodding off. Drifting in and out of sleep.

A very shoddy script. But some positives. A very brave effort to keep it out of the ordinary. And try new stuff. Like the camera shots. The camera keeps panning and jumping, even on a normal scene, expecting you to believe that, yes, maybe something nasty is going to spring out. Watch out. But alas. The script doesn’t go along these lines. And yes, Bipasha Basu can emote and not just do jhatkas or gym exercises.

So much for movie on Kashmir expectations. Shall be more careful on my next impulsive movie decision.

A midnight sojourn with God.

An Assassin series by a new author.

A gunner hunting down digital zombies and on the run from the system.

A tear-jerker SRK movie that surprisingly wasn’t overboard and mostly enjoyable.

A Hallmark-driven marketing campaign, otherwise known as Singles Awareness Day.

A taut thriller of a movie, obscure and off beat, but simply marvellous.

You take your pick, as to what I should be expounding on. Personally, I pick the last. But for those who are stalking me ( ah, the very unfortunate rarefied set of nincompoops!) I shall deliver the details of everything else before that too.

So, this was the first time in my life when I decided I would go say Hello to God (ahoy there! Howdy?) for one of these festivals that celebrates staying up all night and playing cards/ludo/street-light cricket ( Nay, I ain’t exaggerating when I say, this one is celebrated by staying up all night – My dad does a suprise on all of us by going this place called Aluva Manappuram – literally translated to Aluva sandy beaches where Shivarathri is pretty huge deal !!) anyways coming back to me, I pay a visit to a nearby temple to pay my respects and pray for the general good of Humanity, more so for me and near ones. After close to an hour of waiting in the queue, i finally glimpse the God, fund the pundits’ welfare association by dropping money into the Hundi. I came away with two things that stuck with me – the duo of music players playing nadasvarram and dholak ( if I may call it so). Largely ignored by the public, quietly sitting in the corner and gustily playing the instruments. Let me tell you, it takes a lot to play that wind instrument. Strong pair of lungs. The easy effortless camaraderie between the older man playing the reed-pipe instrument and the younger man vigorously going hammer-and-tongs on the tavil or the traditional drums was a treat. It takes years of practice to reach that level of easy confidence. But few have tried to translate it to the rock scene - take a look at this:

http://mani-neumeier.de/guruguru/guru_01_guruguru.htm

The second was this lanky guy wearing a black t-shirt. And the message on that t-shirt:

www. giftwrapped.biz :-)

lets say I found another e-comm site to surf around.
Well tomorrow, as all of us know is the Singles Awareness Day celebrated with a lot of pomp and splendour by couples-struck-by-that-bald-silly-kid with a bow and arrow. Lets rest it that now, shall we.

Okay I skip the rest and fast forward – the books are passé, good stuff but fiction that dies out a week after you put them down. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of promising new writers on the fantasy horizon. I love it. For all you fantasy-hungry waiting to devour a new author who can finish his series within countable number of parts to it ( unlike Robert Jordan who passed away leaving a lot of us hanging over the precipice or George RR Martin who sleeps for years after he finishes any book in the series) – Brent Weeks, Jeff Somers, Brian Ruckley, Mark Chad Newton. Tip of the iceberg. I am slowly devouring that berg :D

So coming down to the last item on the list, the taut thriller movie. Manorama, Six Feet Under. A very obscure, low-budget movie set in rustic Rajasthan. About a struggling author and the strange intriguing circumstances that befall him. Its beautifully shot, the camera capturing the lovely desert landscapes of an ancient rajasthani village, doing full justice to this land. It’s no secret, I love this land as I spent four years of growing up at Pilani. That was another reason why I loved the movie, drenched deep with nostalgia at the lovely dunes that unfolded on the screen. Apart from that, the linear and yet convoluted storyline that keeps making you grab for that edge of the chair, lest you take a fall yourself. Twists, intrigue, mystery, murder, everything that you need to form a crackling dark thriller. I was very impressed with this small-time movie and have resolved to dig up such gems from the past and devour it myself. Abhay Deol, the quintessential off-beat hero, pays full justice to the role of the unwilling author-turned-detective with his dark brooding on-screen presence. But that said, I believe what lends credence to the movie is the small and colourful sidekicks. Be it the mysterious old taxi-driver who has just 2 lines in the movie “Raat Toofani gayi ka?” or the goons with rib-crackling punch-lines or be it the brother-in-law, mouthing guttural rajasthani wisecracks ( take this, “baal hi kaatwana, naada math katwaaana jeeje” – meaning – “take down the hair and not the pants, brother-in-law” ) all in all, a neat package. Thoroughly enjoyable, haunting soundtrack, great measured performances.

Now I shall wing it, coz I got to celebrate love. After all, today’s valentines day. Wink!

One in a Million

What happens when Masala Director from Kollywood, known for dishing out potboilers with always a racy ( read rated A with a big fat circle around it) twist to it, attempts big budget Hollywood movie? You get a completely botched up attempt at South Indian history, a movie called Ayirathil Orruvan. Meaning one in a thousand.
I subjected myself to this horrific torture that lasted more than three grueling hours, all in repentance for some past life sins I think. Now I can breathe easy my Karma Counter ain’t ticking.
The plot is ambitious. A adventure across the seas to find out the Lost Island City where Chola kings have been hiding for centuries, so that they can come back to their original lands in India. Movie starts well enough, with an old archeologist going missing and another team setting out to trace him. This quest forming the whole meat of the first half. Now, time-out – Unfortunately when the movie ends, you have NO CLUE as to, WTF happened to that old archeologist. Director doesn’t seem to care. Plot derail number one.

Throughout, we are subjected to lot of gore. I think, this movie perhaps beats John Rambo part 4 in terms of number of killings per minute. I lost the count at perhaps around two hundred per minute. Insane. Gross. Disgusting.

Songs, picturised on zombies and blood sucking vampires break out for no apparent reason in the middle of forests. Another one, shot on the two lead heroines and our unfortunate hero, happens as soon as they sight the lost city. Agreed, director has to yield to the general public who cannot live without songs and dabban-kuthu dance movies in tamil movies. But this one, had me diving for cover in shame and desperation, as the two ladies gyrated in complete disdain for Indian moral values and even has a ménage-a-trois with our unfortunate hero. You need some 377-plus for this now.

The first half is linear and still pretty much okay, except for a few insane killings when villagers get slaughtered by army men in quest for the city. It has it moments, the snake-fest when camp gets over-ridden by pipe-like graphic cobras. (snigger) or the word-war in English between the two lead heroines involving a lot of F-words, B-words and use of female anatomy wholly unheard of in Tamil Cinema Or the sand-dunes and whirl-pools which is negated only by the shadow of the stone-henge ( I thought ths was a brilliant ruse!) Agreed, I haven’t seen this level of sophistication in cinematography for kollywood.

It is only when after having found the Lost Empire of Cholas, that director gets a brain-seizure and lets the plot go haywire and completely bizarre. Our three main protagonists suffer some kind of soul-invasion. From here on, I was just baulking at the screen.

We’re transported to the underground city of malnourished, black and skinny cholas ruled over by a fat, madcap of a King who keeps grunting and making a lot of animal noises in general. The black, (disgusting looking painted on-coal black) I presumed because these poor bastards have not seen sunlight in ages and are living on scraps of meat that the King brings in for them. Given to dancing like possessed witches, starved to the point of cannibalization, and bloody games involving giants thrashing out unfortunate prisoners head with a plastic boulder on a chain. I mean, Come On! Mr. Selvaraghavan, who the hell taught you History of South India? An uninhibited massacre of our rich Pandya and Chola culture.
This was their main repast? Phew! Dude, wake up. Such grossly horrific misinterpretation of precious past leaves a lot to be desired.

The plot just kept going downhill on turbo-charged nitro boosters. One of the heroines suddenly gets reminded that she’s a blood-thirsty Pandian lusting for the fat madcap chola king ( Played to the perfection by quirky weird Parthibhan who I think is the secret weapon in the movie, Director’s surprise for viewers. Sorry, if this was a spoiler.)

I was literally cringing in my seat at the attempt of bharatnatyam by Reema Sen ( the blood thirsty Pandian, remember?) and what follows as supposed seduction scene of the King. My stomach was hurting from the bouts of laughter at the end of it. I mean, Hot Damn! Reema darling, you are such an underrated actress, you ought to get more such meaty roles to sink your vampire teeth into. ( God, I still cant stop smiling at her antics, it was simply hilarious!)
The climax which involves another round of mindless killings of the chola foot-soldiers braving blazing uzi sub-machine guns with just iron shields and spears, is another example of how deranged the director’s mind has become. I think the movie must have consumed the poor guy. Such a disastrous depiction. The army men, hungry wolves in human form, then go on a killing rampage and rape every living soul in the Cholan empire. Here’s where our hero ( Yeah yeah, there is a hero, Come On! Time to wake up and play the role, my son.) rises up to be the Aayirathil Orunvan ( One in a Thousand) and disappears into the darkness with the heir-apparent of Chola Empire. Leaving a lot of room for part-II. Of course.

Our Hero, Karthi who does one movie in three years ( Yes, Aamir Khan here comes your competition, ha!) provides comic relief and is probably the only bright spark in the movie. But otherwise, a perfectly good way to mess up your weekend. Buoyed on by promises of an adventure quest and time-travel, I fell prey to this grand epic of a cataclysmic disaster in the movie world. Am sure, critics have reviewed this and touted it to be an achievement in Tollywood. Well, I would put it as the same. The achievement of how a wholly deranged mind (subject to a troubled childhood) interprets and slaughters our dear South Indian Culture.
Go read your textbooks sir, before you make Lara-Croft meets Mummies- meets – The Ruins- part two for this One in a Million grand gala.

No wrinkles, Only Smiles.

I realize it has been like close to some ten-times-haley’s comet-passing-over since I penned down something. Suffice to say, life has been moving on nitro-turbo-boosters.

You would be glad to know I have come back to love all the small things of life.

I sat basking in the early morning rays of sunlight, glinting from between green glades, winking and teasing me, as the light breeze caressed my sleepy face.

I sat listening to the sibilance of myriad of insects going about their day in the woods.

I hummed along as the radio played a stupid mushy love-ballad bollywood-shtyle.

I’m reading one of my school-day-favorite-authors, Gerald Durell. Surprisingly, am cruising along on the book. I have always loved reading up his books, the hilariously funny anecdotes on exotic animals and his mad capers around the world, trying to conserve some of the most adorable fauna.

I’m rediscovering how much fun it is, to finish a book in good time.

To splurge on books.

To wander around the myriad cute little garden-café’s in town, tucked away in little obscure corners, away from raucous noisy college-going-wannabe-banglorean-kids.

Drinking jus one cuppa and staring into nothing. With not a thing in the world that can bring a crease onto your forehead. No wrinkles. Only Smiles.

Coz I’m falling into the void again.

It’s funny how you try to measure your life by the things you’ve done and not by the things you want to do. I realize there are a lot more things I would like to do. And for that, my life is very rich and well-lived 

An old acquaintance who was once a good friend, passed away into the shadows and surprisingly, the hurt never came. New friends keep greeting me everyday. But the warmth never shines through from their eyes. I care less.

Coz I found warmth elsewhere.
A warm that suffuses through my soul and never lets the cold touch it again. And it never will, thank God for small mercies in life.

I love my life.

Train-Jack.

What do you get when you mix two of the most critically acclaimed talented actors of Hollywood, a treacherous train-hijack plot, a heady mix of edgy nerve-wracking music that pitches you on the edge of your seat in anticipation of some explosion onscreen, colorful side-characters and an extremely talented director behind the camera panning those taut thriller shots?
You get Taking of Pelham 123.
A potboiler of a thriller, minus the mindless la-transformer style explosions & skimpily clad-Megan fox but a lot more edgier and intelligent and definitely more gripping than ever. John Travolta carries off his role with such ease and panache, that you have to stand up and clap when he almost gets off with the loot at the end of the movie, but then, you clap even louder when Denzel Washington, playing the common man, stuck in a government job, trumps him in the end. Sorry for giving away the plot, but there. Denzel Washington packs in such an amazingly measured performance, of a resilient man, who stands up for his family, an honest train-dispatcher who keeps his wits around him while the whole of New York is sent into a tizzy by the erstwhile-wallstreet-whizkid-turned-terrorist “Mr.Ryder” who nurses a grudge against the system.
This story talks about an honest man, who in spite of having been humiliated and pushed to a corner by the unjust system governing our lives these days, stands up for it, and becomes the Hero for the state of New York by trumping the angst-ridden Wall-Street Swindler in the end.
All said and done, stale story line, common man getting stuck in a rigmarole coz of the government screwing up someone’s life who decides to become an anarchist and takes on a state. But John Travolta and Denzel Washington breathe magic into the characters and the whole slick editing makes the whole film immensely enjoyable. I walked out of the theatre feeling as smug as Denzel Washington, like he’d saved the State of New York and was walking back home to his wife and kids with half a gallon milk in his hands.
Good Movie after long!

Spooky

Have you ever had objects spring to life and spook the beejesus out of you?

Welcome to life after Autobots and Decepticons. Yesterday, the most creepiest thing happened and I kid you not, when I say, my Car CAME TO LIFE!I almost had this Sam-Witwiki-moment in my life, when I thought my heart would jump right through my mouth and I would have to get out of my car and chase it on some bike down Koramangala.

Having parked my car on the side of the road, I was enjoying this breezy conversation with Boddah, rather intense and heady (for want of better words!), it was late night past twelve and the street lights bathing the street in phosphorescent waves. I suddenly feel a slight jerk, I notice the radio is dead. Or was it?
"94.3 stops playing after 12, Dude" Boddah points out.
It's eerie and disconcertingly quiet. and the radio cracks static. and then It happened.

The Car started moving!!

My heart was hammering in my mouth, I looked at my reflection in the overhead mirror, eyes wide open and mouth open in a soundless scream. Then I looked outside. We really were moving!! The streetlight was now behind us and fast moving away!
Locked inside a moving autobot? What if this was a decepticon? My brain had synaptic explosions where fleeting images of Sam being flung out of the moving car and then being chased by a monster police car raced through my head. We just silently sat as the car rolled along, fearful any moment it may roar to life. I looked at the road beside the car, was the plane inclined so? My rational part of the brain, fast dying out, croaked to me, YES of course, but the part rendered immobile and irrational by fear, now a live thing wrapped around my mind like a cloak, refused to see it. I almost could feel the engine slowly come to life.

and Just when I thought, I had lost my mind, the car stopped. and it stopped exactly at the same spot, under this huge shady tree, where something monumental had happened about two weeks back in my life. I looked at the tree, I looked back at the car dash. All needles down, no movement, no life. But it was as if the car knew. The Car Knew!!!
I shout Hallelujah, my breathing comes back to normal. "Creepy ride, huh Boddah?" I'm sure he would have agreed. "The Car Knows, Sach. It understands you better than yourself" Boddah replied. I smiled and shook my head...Nonsense. and Yet, I knew at the back of my heart, he was right. The car seemed to feel my pulse. My desires. and it spooked the living daylights out of me. To be confronted so. I winked at Boddah.
"Time to go home."

Post Script: Boddah is my imaginary childhood friend with whom I always have long conversations at cross roads of life. He was also Kurt Cobain's childhood imaginary friend.

Fuzzy Disoriented Inc.

Pre-Script: Yes, you're doing a peek-a-boo into the state of my mind.
Those undying stygian depths never before explored. and This one goes out to someone who dared. and who has managed to fuel up a lot of things left untouched and discarded in the corner of that dark attic inside my mind. It was like opening a pandora's box, except the last thing coming out may not be necessarily hope. You're forewarned!

Okay, moving onto sunny side up of mua C'est la vie, I did a round of the dreaded sweat-soaked humidity-ridden Metro called Chennai last weekend. My first social kind of visit in a long time to this city often derided by most of my friends (non-chennaites of course!)for being what it is. and Surprise, surprise, I think I kind of liked the city. I realize, the city is what it's people make it to be. and you spend a day or two in the company of true blue chennai lovers, you might still like it! The social infrastructure of any city that would help me blend in and embrace me in like a long lost son, now I think I can live in any such place on Gaia. ( Oh that's Mother Earth, I tend to get flashy at times, humble apologies.)

Fortunately for me, that ways, I seem to be blessed with friends. the Good Kinds, I just never saw them for a long time blinded by the pox called Love. Which thankfully has long died out. and I never intend to be afflicted again.

3 Days in Chennai wasnt bad at all. The Weather Gods decided to be friendly ( What can I say, my charm works in most places)it was pleasant weather, cloudy and NOT sunny. but that dinn help with the humidity which was the killer. Bathing twice a day might not even keep you from feeling clean. I think the first 2 days I musta lost 3 Kgs of my body weight sweating. Was staying put with Dr.M, and hence, came back enriched with a lotta medico jargons and names of prescriptions and wierd afflictions, thanks to his non-stop lectures on anything under the sun which he could twist to sound incongrously disease-like. For a wannabe-God-with-Scalpel, I'd say he talks too much.
Beach-bopping was fun, it rained like crazy the evening we decided to head out to the beach. Finding walking space was treacherous, with the sands teeming with the weekend-chennai-crowd having flocked down to watch the goddamn sunset at sea. But thankfully, Rain Gods decided to clear us some space and everybody fled when this alien thing ( Otherwise known as RAIN in other cities) poured down from the sky. People ran, screaming and flailing thier hands for cover, we naturally followed the crowds ( Rem, when in Rome, do the romans..err..be like them rather) We picked up this Barista. Thinking thats the best thing that happened to you on a rainy day at the beach ? Duh! Wrong! this place was smaller than Ratatouille's paradise and was so crowded that I had some four people jostle me in turns and made me pour my latte down my shirt front.
So later when the Rain Gods got bored and I finally decided to taste the spray of the ocean on my face, Me and M. legged it to the sandy stretches, overlooking the litter-ridden areas and the hawkers hawking God-knows-what-all (I suspect one of them was even selling "Poombukkar" shining from beneath Jockey and Haenes-with the extra 'e' merchandise) M. looked at me and shrugged. "Globalisation, apparently has even struck the fishermen folk, They would only wear such brands now!"
I was happily watching the waves crash and race each other to the shores. Then I noticed I was getting the looks from a lot of people, I as usual, put it down to maybe I was a little over-dressed for a beach evening by Chennai standards and tried to give back the girls a coy smile. Then to my horror, i noticed the lookers werent restricted to the female gender. M. nudged me and said "It's your shirt. It's a designer look with that graphic coffee splash across the front."
I groaned, but could not help that much. Light coffee riddled with Hazelnut syrup all over my t-shirt front.
The Beach was peaceful. The moon playing hide and seek with those black clouds bearing up and down in the sky like battering rams, the lilting breeze ( Olfactory adaptation took care of the strong smell of rotting fish that assaulted our senses early on) After that, caught up with other friends, ex-colleagues from Wipro and tried out Chettinaddu food for dinner. Oh friday was indulgence, when the Boys invaded the kitchen and whipped up an amazingly palatable chicken dish. We are proud! M who had never ever seen the insides of a kitchen ( am not kidding!) now feels that any girl who claims she does not know cooking deserves one tight slap backhanded. Cooking is extremely therapeutic according to Doc.
Oh But the best day was reserved for the last of course!
When I did finally catch up with true blue Chennai-tes. So A. one of my recently good friends who's fast broken into my circle, decided she has to take me to the "Good Places" in Chennai and make me experience the city's old world rustic charm. We catch up outside one of those swanky malls (a little run-down by UB City standards but hey, Chennai is kinda old). I had this travelogue clutched tightly in my hand, that I thought she'd adore and an exasperated look on my face 'coz the city-heat was playing havoc with my clothes and looks (that I'd much deliberated on!). So she finally turned up, struggling to avoid the maverick-auto drivers, she parked her red Honda city near the pavement next to where I'm, with a bright wide smile on her face. I notice her eyes are lined black-kohl, and she's kinda put on some wierd eye-liner color just above that! Sigh!
Conversation on the lines of "hi Barbie" "Hi Ken" "Need a Ride?" "Sure!" "Jump right in" were dispensed with, we drive out listening to some eclectic mix of music that she claimed her brother had messed up with on her CD. She kept profusely apologizing for the delay, talking non-stop nineteen to dozen about various happenings in her life while I listen with a bemused but polite smile with the right grunts. Man, I realize at some levels, people are uncannily similar! A. would never divulge anything in her mind and can keep talking trivial stuff all her life. and one would only scratch the surface of that mystery. How, so like ME!
So we head to this beautiful garden heritage cafe, lush green and good-looking crowd spread out on summer and lounge chairs. We sip latte and a lotta good clean air, laden with effortless conversation about olden days at ISB, eternal cribs about non-existent girl/boyfriends and stalkers. She's visibly excited about showing me this favorite haunt of hers, and drags me inside on a tour of the exotic jewelery/clothes for sale inside. Am awed, smitten by how much a girl would invest her time on all these pursuits. In the middle, she would swoon and whisper something, proclaiming her longing for some particularly ghastly-looking metallic jewelery of which I know jack-shit about and I would nod seriously. But I must admit I came back enriched by a peek into a girl's world of jewelry and kalanjali-shtyle tops :)
We next thought would go catch up with another of our batchmates from college, but then I hit upon this ingenious idea of me wanting to get a saree for dear old Mom. She obliges of course, we swing by another of her favorite haunts, Shilpi much like our Fab India Joints in Bangalore and embark on a saree-selecting mission. Extremely difficult, mind you as I know as much about Sarees as much as I think a girl would know about the Duckworth-Lewis method in cricket, but brave me, gives it a try. and I told you, am charmed. Drunk on Felix Felicis (Liquid Luck from Harry Potter, you less-nerdy one!) I sift through tonnes of kanjeevaram silk and cotton, guided of course by dear sweet A. behind me. I finally decide I like a black and red cotton-silk one, A. is impressed by the speed and accuracy of the transaction. I decide its been a long time since I really got anything for my mom and Onam is round the corner. A. is like, wait, lets check it out properly na. She proceeds to model the same, I thought she looked extremely ravishing in that seven yards of silk smiling to myself. I nod yes, this is the ONE I been searching all my life baby! For this, am awarded the epithet of being the best shopping companion ever and for ever, to be shopping with her when in Bangalore. $%#%$!!!! (my reaction, ending with WOW!)
Anyways, after this, was catching up with another batchmate of ours at yet another Garden Cafe ( Intellectual Hot Spots as Dr.M terms it!) very interesting conversations over Club Sandwiches and hot chocolate. That reminded A. there was this new place opened up, a sinful indulgence for all chocolate-lovers. Next trip on agenda, this gelatino-chocolat place. Dissapointingly small and ridiculously out-of-ice-creams at 8 o'clock in the night. Then S. suddenly pointed out that I'd not seen the temples in Chennai. Watte Shame! So we decided to go check out the nearest one, so that I can lay my demons inside to rest. It was unbelievably cute, to be doing the rounds of a temple with A. While S. quickly dissapeared doing multiple rounds of the temple, I was left confused with A. I had not been inside a temple ever since my 20th Birthday if I remember right. After having prayed before the central deity, smart me decides to shadow the knowledgeable one. And with a happy blissful smile, completed the pradikshinas of the temple with her, praying for happiness and companionship. Grin!!
Well, that kinda concluded the Chennai trip, with she dropping me back that night and me taking an early morning train back to Banglore ( seen off by Faithful Dr.M). I decided I'd exactly fallen in love, but I think I will definitely give this city one more chance. The drive on the East-Coast-Road next to the beach is pending. and a lot more other things of course.
But for now, am glad am back in banglore, enjoying God's blessings and an unbeatably amazing weather keeps me company....
Adios Amigo for now.