Life and other weird things

Lesson One. A little smile and some politeness doesn't hurt. In fact it goes a long way. The first thing noticed about this place was the fact that everyone greets everyone with a cheery 'Gruesse' even if they dont have a clue who the other person is. 'Please' and 'Thank You' too are liberally used. It wouldn't hurt to take this back to India.


Lesson two.Preserving one's heritage isn't that bad a thing. Cleaning it isn't wither. Infact it gives a city some identity. Meaningless and unaesthetic construction is an eyesore.


Lesson three. India's tourist destinations are NOT to be underestimated. I have seen a lot of places like this in Munnar, and some in Goa. With a bit of trouble from our side, we can be up there with the best.


Lesson four.Without a tripod this would have been impossible to take from a moving boat. Hooray for my decision to buy one in India.

Lesson 5. Cinemas in India rock. As in the theaters. When I went out to what is supposedly one of the better theaters here are like, I puked. The menu features a pathetic sound system, a small screen and some shitty people. I am thankful for the multiplexes in India.

Just when things look bleak, sometimes - just sometimes - some light shines through.

Maybe you don't realise right away how bright the light is that's coming to drive away the dark, but eventually it strikes you.

All right, it hasn't really struck me yet.

Still I got thinking about writing this post after listening to a Billy Joel's masterpiece 'You're My Home' this morning.

YOU'RE MY HOME (Billy Joel)

When you look into my eyes
and you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
it always comes as a surprise
when I feel my withered roots begin to grow.

Well I never had a place
that I could call my very own
but that's all right my love
cuz you're my home.

When you touch my weary head
and you tell me everything will be all right.
You say use my body for your bed
and my love will keep you warm throughout the night.

Well I'll never be a stranger
and I'll never be alone
wherever we're together
that's my home.

Home could be the Pennsylvania turnpike
Indiana's early morning dew
high up in the hills of California
home is just another word for you.

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
but that's all right my love
cuz you're my home.

If I travel all my life
and I never get stop and settle down
long as I have you by my side
there's a roof above and good walls all around.
You're my castle, you're my cabin
and my instant pleasure dome.
I need you in my house
cuz you're my home,..
you're my home.




I was reading Greatbong's latest post , and realised how true it was when I visited the page on 'all about the Digital Camera' and realised that something that is becoming so much a part of my life, has no "inventor's" name listed.

Sometimes you get the picture exactly as you want it to. For someone like me, with no knowledge of photography, it's lucky when that happens.

A couple of days back, while driving down from Bombay to Pune, I chanced upon the sunset. And what a sunset it was. Unlike anything I had ever seen before. Reminded me of the scene in De Mille's Ten Commandments where The Commandments are being written into the stone tablets.

My camera had nearly run out of batteries, and after this shot, they went completely dead. I didn't realise it at the time, but now I feel lucky to have been able to capture this.

Don't know why but the sense of awe and freedom I feel on seeing this picture reminds me of a poem. It sounds a hell of a lot better in Bengali, but the English, translated by the poet (Tagore) himself goes :

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Sometimes I think Pulp Fiction is what defines the world best. The confusion of it all.

Honestly, is there were ever a Nobel Prize for movies, this would win hands down. Much as I admire the works of masters like Satyajit Ray, Kurosawa, Bergman, Orson Wells, and the rest, their movies are nothing compared to the raw intensity and kick ass entertainment that Pulp Fiction is so full of. Yeah, I can say that again.

I have seen the movie an uncountable number of times, starting with after my father bought the VHS tape from someplace and gave it to me when I was about 18. Yes, I am probably the only person in the world who has had a copy of Pulp Fiction given to him by his father. In all fairness, I have to say that I don't really think my father knew what the movie was about when he picked it up for me.

Anyways, coming back to the film itself, did I mention I think it's a work of pure genious ?

The reason for this sudden passionate 'verbiage' in favor of Pulp Fiction is because I recently picked up a copy of its soundtrack. And oh boy, is it great. I honestly, truly, really can't remember another movie in which the music fits into the narrative so well. The music almost defines the movie.

And now when I listen to the lyrics of songs like Flowers on the Wall (Statler Brother), Girl You'll be a Woman Soon (Neil Diamond), You never can tell(Chuck Berry) and If Love is a Red Dress (Marian McKee) the feeling that 'this movie IS IT' intensifies.

Oh man, here's the lyrics to If Love is a Red Dress :

My heart is empty.
Your eyes are dark.
Once we were hungry,
Now we are full.
These chains that bind us,
Can't beat these chains.
If love is shelter,
I'm gonna walk in the rain.

You were my angel.
Now, you are real.
So like a stranger,
Colder than steel.
The morning after,
You know what you bring.
If love is a red dress,
Well, hang me in rags.

Away.
There goes the fairy tale.
Lord, ain't it a shame?
In all this comfort,
I can't take the strain.

If we played even,
I'd be your queen.
But someone was cheatin'.
And it wasn't me.
I've laid it on the table,
You had something back.
If love is Aces,
Give me the Jack.

Each time I listen to it, I can see Marcellus Wallace being beaten to a pulp by Butch, watched by the storekeeper with the shotgun, with Maria McKee crooning in the background. And that haunting whistle.