Neelakasham Pachakkadal Chuvanna Bhoomi - Random opinion...

..that doesn't matter in the big scheme of things.

It had been a while that I had gone for a malayalam movie. Mostly because of the difficulties in moving one's own lazy ass to take the effort. Plus I am feeling awesomely bleh most of these days for most part of the day. Perfect state of mind.

Ok, so first things first. The name - Just so lyrical.
Bullets - Two gorgeous ones at that. Do I need to say more.
Posters - kickass.

There are some, no, many stunning visuals through out the movie, and so credits to Mr. Gireesh Gangadharan. But I also think that it isn't so totally unexpected, firstly because Sameer Thahir himself was an accomplished camera guy before he moved into direction and so he might have made sure of them, and then because it would have been criminal of the cinematographer if the visuals were any less beautiful, even after getting such an exciting canvas as a road movie in your hands that throws in a lot of possibilities.

Rex seemed the natural choice for composing the score for such a movie. I cannot think of anyone who would have done justice to that, among the current crop of Malayalam composers that is. And you know how thankful I am that Rex did a solo job and that they didn't think of roping in the Avial band as such for the music or anything? I mean, the tunes would have sounded awesome all the same, but all the songs would have suffered with Tony singing all of them.

I have an issue with the plot. It takes too many unnecessary detours and is too unconvincing. There are just too many loose ends. To start with, the firebrand left-wing idealistic leader for a college guy is a cliche. And in the plot, the sidekick character who seem to have no life of his own but to assist the hero, the curious murder of the Syam guy, that absurd incident with the lorry stalking Suni's bike and almost killing him, the militants wanting to kill Assi on the night Qasi reaches her home (seriously, they waited all that time to finish her off and couldnt have killed her already the moment she arrived?), this can go on. The whole romance side track which is the main reason for the skewed storyline, comes off as a forced attempt to make a reasoning for them riding that far. I mean, its like if the scriptwriter thought that the only objective that would justify that sort of an adventure would be the hero's intent to unite with his estranged love. No seriously, I felt it would have been much more enjoyable if they had done away with that completely, and instead focused on the great affair of the ride itself - the places, the ride, the hurdles, the people they meet, the lessons learnt.. but yes I have to admit this is like treading on the Motorcycle Diaries territories and that the movie would have become more of a documentary but at least it would have been honest.

With the above paragraph,  my intention was definitely not to pan the movie in its entirety or anything. I am the average minimally demanding viewer who overlooks a lot of incoherence and loopholes in the plot if the movie kind of hooks you to it. Like Ustad Hotel for example.  Its just that I believe this was a very interesting premise and offered many possibilities, for a movie. As far as my limited knowledge goes this is the first road movie made in Malayalam, and they had the opportunity to make a memorable film to start the genre with. On those fronts it disappointed me quite a bit.

All that being said, it gives a good hard poke to the wanderlust in you. Movie wins.

The Weekend Rant...that's just one week late.

The less said about the game the better, for me. We shipped in like 6 or 7 goals, and I could be the reason for at least 2 or 3. If Jewel bhai had not come on and joined it could have easily been the double of that. He is a pro, and the kind of reassuring presence any team's defence would love to have. Someone like a Puyol.

So it finally seems to shape out that the position where I can play with the least number of blushes is defence, at last. Well, who'd have thought ? When I reached the ground there was this old chettan who was coaching a kid. He joined our team, and he put out a performance that defied his age. So after a while his advice to me was this : "Use the best of your abilities. Six pack clearly doesnt seem to be one. You've got long legs, lad. Use them". I didnt ask his name, but the chettan tried to give me lessons in going forward to support your nearest team mate who has the ball - be present in a free position to receive the ball to give him options.

*
The interview was, well, meh. I should be surprised if they call again. Anyways the guy was quite nice, and didn't make much of a mockery of my knowledge, or lack thereof. It was very discomfiting experience anways, to be honest. I didnt think I'd say this, but blatant lying is the hardest part. And the B.S we make up.

"How much do you rate yourself in WCS ? Java?"
If total honesty were a the part of interview agenda I'd have frankly said, "Dude do I sound like someone who suffer from excess self esteem?"

Another awkward part is when I don't know the answer, and I make random incoherent noises expecting him to smugly tell me the answer but he doesn't, and what does he do ? He devilishly waits for the "well.."'s "er...."s will grow up into the answer he expects.

*
The interview was scheduled for 3:30 and they called me at 5, (do I have a choice but to wait ?), so my Life of Pi plans had to be cancelled. Anyways I found that they were playing this German movie Wintertochter (Winter's Daughter), at the Goethe Zentrum. I made it just in time, and there were some odd 15 people gathered already at this comfiest tiny amphitheatre you can imagine. [Could spot some firangs too. Germans ? I dont know.] Which turned out to be very good, by the way. Rightfully has some 7/10 cumulative ratings on IMDB too. Nice.

*
Oh depressing game man. To lose to Swansea is one thing, but its the manner in which they lost that hurt more than the loss. There simply wasnt any intent from anyone, just some blokes passing the ball around aimlessly ("Oh I dont know man, you take it"). It hurt more than those times when the norm was that we'd be the better team on pitch and still the losers on the scoreline. I hate Mancs and United for all I know, but have you seen them when they are in a losing position in a match ? They dont give up. They give it their all. All that coming back from goal downs can be a fluke. Its just the mentality that's accepted there.

Going down without a fight like that - Not acceptable. I saw the game on TV, I can only imagine how frustrating it would be for the people who actually pay that much money for season tickets (already one of the costliest in the league anyways) and see this.
No, I am not among the WengerOut brigade and dont think if I ever would be.  He genuinely loves this club, and I want him to succeed once again, to may be see can still stand tall against the Sheikhs and the crazy Russians. I want him to change though. Like you know, be a bit more flexible tactically ? Sell deadwood ? Spend some money on reinforcements wherever needed? Try to hold on to your best players ? Not play Gervinho ?
And then after the match what do I see ? Man U coming back twice to win, RvP scoring the winner. Meh.

*

I am at the Book Fair, finally. I told that part of my mind which still wanted to hold on to the "no-more-buying-until-finished-with-all-the-pending-ones" resolve that I'd just go, look around, and come back. The moment I stepped in, as RvP would have said, the little boy inside me shouted "Buy!". It was beautiful. I was like a 6 year old let to run riot in a chocolate shop. What do I pick ? Books, lakhs of them.

At the end of some lazily and well spent two hours, I ended up with a English Short Story Compilation, Anne Frank's Diary (Finally! Been planning to buy/read this for a long time now), മയ്യഴിപ്പുഴയുടെ തീരങ്ങളില്‍ (Mukundan) and a short story collection of Kesavadev.

 

There was a small makeshift stage near the fair, and a book release function was about to soon start. I saw this really beautiful lady who was running around. I asked the DC Books guys who was organizing it, and they told me  (after gaping at my ignorance of course) that she is a well renowned dubbing artist, named Bhagyalakshmi. The book was her autobiography, named "Swarabhedangal". Here's an article on the book, and a video of the function.

And here are a couple of snaps (the best my retarded phone camera could manage), since I am getting verbally challenged, by the day.

Srikumaran Thampi presents a copy of the book to Sibi Malayil. The lady in between is Bhagyalakshmi.

Balachandran Chullikkaadu delivers the Book Introduction address

 So long.

Weekend Rant.

I reached in time, to find out that no one else had. Lesson learnt : 6:45 AM means no less than 7:15 AM, as Vishnu himself tipped to me later. I waited in front of the RCC, helped by the coffee, not wanting to remember the times I came here last, which was some months back with blood donors for Shallal. Some of the scenes flashed by, filling the forms, the wait in front of the donation room, the hope in Alikutty Uncle's eyes,..

The ground, of red gravel, was muddy and swampy at parts due to the heavy downpour the previous night. Within half an hour everyone who had replied in affirmative to Vishnu's mail had reached, and we found some area sandwiched between two cricket matches to play on. A guy came and tried to issue threats if we were seen attempting to trample on the main cricket pitch, covered with a tarpaulin sheet, prepared for some game scheduled for the day.

Aswin was seen fuming at the team split, which left us again as the much weaker side. I mean, nobody really cares much for the result on a Saturday morning game, but such an imbalance in the sides' strength kills the game off as a healthy contest. Also their team had Govind, about whom I had only heard of till then, as the younger brother of the Infy Team Captain, Anandettan. We were playing with only a very small portion of the ground to ourselves, so the goalposts were only 6 footsteps wide. The game started, and I ran like a headless chicken in the middle for sometime, unsure as to what position to play in. I found it difficult to pick anyone upfront to pass on the occasions I had the ball too. (Reason to follow.) They had like three forwards almost lazily idling around our goalpost all the time, and most of the time the moment we lost possession in front, they countered swiftly and all the time it was a case of Viswa against two or three of their attackers. There was this guy whom I was seeing for the first time (ex-Infy ?). People dont care two hoots about offside rule in a muddy ground in an 8-per-team game, so he made a nest and chilled out near our box, feeding off the balls coming on to him. Pippo Insaghi would have been proud.

So after a while the guys who were playing on the side of the ground closer to the entrance had finished their game and we moved. By now Aswin stepped up, and asked me to play in defense along with Viswa. That helped, since I was running around puzzled. I chose to man mark Insaghi, along with other defensive duties. This went on for sometime, and to an incredible sense of victory, Insaghi grew frustrated and retreated to centre. It may not be that I was able to stop his supply, but I know for a fact most of the people gets irritated like hell when they are marked individually. At least I am. But hey why would anyone man mark me?

Viswa is the central defender in Infy team, and though he was clearly limited by some extra fat in his body, it was lesson for me to see that rather than frantically trying to clear the ball away from danger, he was actually using his clearances to feed players up front.

Ok that’s it. I’m feeling way too lazy to type all the details. And I am feeling lazy to remember all that.

Govind is an exceptional player. He simply eases past players, using both his feet well in controlling the ball. He doesnt exert himself much, as in he doesnt race around the pitch, but the technique makes up for it.

I think we ended the game evenly. Nobody really kept track of the score after some time. At the end of the game, Aswin came and told me I played with my eye on the ball all the time. Instead he told me to hold my head up and play so that I could spot teammates to pass to. And then his customary Iniesta impersonation :“Stop. Think. Pass”

Tired. Drawn. Exhausted. I could even feel the chilled orange juice as it trickled down my gullet. An unbelievable sense of fulfillment filled up inside even when it started aching in muscles I didn’t know they existed in my body until then. That feeling you get at the end of giving something your all. Best bath ever, after that.

Really sad I couldn’t complete the play. I was totally charmed by it. It was the stage adaptation of Vayalar Rama Varma’s poem, “Kuchelan Kunjan Nair”. Should see more of theater. If anyone of the ninety six thousand followers of this blog knows any link where I can read the whole poem, let me know.

So much for the weekend rant.

Give me a hug, lethargy dear.

Yawn.

28.10.2012

Oh Leukemia you heartless murderous bitch.

22.08.2012

What is the worst thing that can happen to you in a masjid?

I don't know about you but what tops my list is getting next to you in the line someone who literally has to SHOUT all their prayers during a namaz. You do a sujood, and while you really want to be all submissive in humility and all, all you can think of is to stuff something into his mouth to choke this guy who's next to you going at the TOP of his voice "SUBHANA RABBI AL A'ALAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA". Something like an irritating high pitched whisper. Heavens sake, whats the matter with you weirdos? How hard is it to understand and follow a basic code of conduct, huh?  How I wish to God there were some verse which went something on the lines of "Oh those of who you believe, I am very much being capable of reading even your thoughts, that too even before you actually think of them, so do NOT shout them while you pray (with them). Verily, the best among you are those who shall not be a irritating nuisance to others" in one of the surahs.

Written in high emotions after one of these kinds ruined a prayer.

20.08.2012

Kids,

So this story happened because Dr Sriraj, a good friend, decided to get married, by actually winning the war against the zillion obstacle monsters that his horoscope kept putting along in his family's quest for a legal match, or may be because it happened because he remembered to invite me for the same, or may be because I happened to be in town, available and free on the day, or may be.. forget it. So he invited me for his marriage reception today at this auditorium about 9 kms from yours truly's home. So le me is chilling out doing what he is best at - doing nothing - and still in the Eid hangover. You know, the drowsiness induced by excessive sleep on the day of Eid? Some celebration. Way to go.

So I pick myself up in the evening, act all important before Mom saying "Oh I have this marriage to attend. So dont count me for dinner" talk. Kicks myself up for the action and chooses to go after Magrib, lest I be tempted by the food there to delay the prayer. And I am riding for about a couple of kilometres, when the bike chokes, pants for dear breath, and turns off, in a NO MAN'S LAND on the way. Since I am not very adept at understanding the Language of the World and in taking hints from the Omens, I didn't turn back and head for home. I vented myself at the kick starter of the bike, because the self starter has been dead for some days you know. Also the horn. Basically anything that would require battery. Even the neutral indicator. I kicked on, and the bike would rumble like a lion who makes growls in his sleep when annoyed by a tick. I stood there, kicking for dear life, enacting a Just For Laugh Gags scene to the people in the house in front of which I had stopped to do my show.

If you are itching to make a sadistic smirk now, do it with all grace. So on one eventful kick the bike wakes up, and I flee. Only to reach a small junction where it dies again. Now I am doing the show again to a bigger audience. Offering entertainment with my life since 1987. Once again after 5 minutes it starts for some reason, and I go for some half a kilometre by some engineering miracle, and stops again. Now I am at an even bigger junction, so I walk with my stud looking for a workshop - to just leave the stupid thing there and make a run. And quite expectedly, after pushing it for about half kilometres, I find out they are not open for the day. Apparently the Eid hangover is a much more widespread phenomenon than I thought. And this kept on happening, but I didn't turn back, because of the food that may be waiting for me at the function as the fruit for my efforts. Oh and also meet Sriraj and wish him, if I get the chance. I reach the auditorium and what do I see? The function has been over for good, and the security is actually closing the gate. I called Sriraj, and he said it was cool.
If that had happened to someone in a sitcom you'd have heard a chorus laugh in the background by now wont you. How we love to laugh at someone else's misery.

And now I have to cover the whole distance back. I dont want to elaborate with all the gory details as to how I did it, but I will give you some stats. The bike covered a distance in quantums of 400 metres when it was hit by the life-particle-boson. It took some 5 minutes of activity/inactivity to actually kick life into it after every pseudo death. I pushed along the thing with my own hands for 2 kilometres. Number of potholes I ran into because of  the absence of streetlights = 6. Number of bridges on the way = 2. Probability of me dragging the thing uphill = very high. No.of times it happened = zero. So I am alive.

Bruised, humiliated, exhausted, one reaches his home and Mom asks, "Did you sweat yourself by eating or what?"

So whats the moral of this not-even-remotely-funny story?

There is nothing like you cant hit more embarrassing lows in your life.
The worst is only yet to come. 

Always.

27.5.2012

Funny I didn't think of it till now, but blogspot does have a cool android app which I'm using to pst now.
Dear millions of readers who frequent this page and check for updates every second minute, I know you aren't treated to much of my awesomeness as I want to these days, but my laptop has screwed up me very royally by committing suicide. These gadgets man. I feel crippled.
See ya when I see ya.
*limps away*.

25.3.2012

One of those days - lethargy run through every vein of your body. Wait, it doesnt run. It seeps down, with an excruciating slowness. No wait, for want of a better term, it just prevails.

You dont feel like doing absolutely anything that would include moving your rear end from the dead-to-the-world posture you are lying down in, and you loathe yourself for it.

The prospect of awesomeness in a million frames in hundreds of GBs of DVDRips dont interest you, listening even to your own phone's ringtone is a torture, lest listening to any uplifting mad music, you dont even notice the smell of virgin pages of the newly bought and unfinished book which otherwise excites you, obviously - reading it requires you to take the book from your bag for starters, which needs moving your rear end from the bed - so thats ruled out.

You cant go out - the prickly summer sun waits outside in its full evil glory, and even if you think you can survive that, you dont have anywhere to go or anyone to meet. You dont even feel like watching the replay of the Arsenal game the day before - this when they won it in style.

All you see is the ceiling of your room behind the shady circle formed by the fan blades rotating above you, and it kills you to do it - but you are trying to find out the rhythm in the creaking of that fan.

May be I am already dead.
Let me check.

21.1.2012

When I create a player/Virtual Pro in Fifa, if I decide to make him frail, I give him a fair chance by boosting some of his other attributes, like Stamina, for instance.

God, I'm just saying.

Damned fever again.

15.01.2012

I started out to make a demotivational poster, actually. I lost motivation to do it midway and then this happened.
I kept thinking about random stuff. Now, being an expert on the subject of mediocrity (I should be publishing my findings. Later.), it was only natural that this poster evolved.

Used free images and GIMP.