Little Women...

Nostalgia does bring out the worst in us…horrible bouts of sweepy,sentimental ramblings that we are so susceptible to, tend to overwhelm and in retrospect embarrass us…but still I shall succumb… today I viewed the 1994 adaptation Louis May Alcott’s fabulous Little Women after a long long time, apart from being a remarkably faithful and yet insightful adaptation ( the director successfully captures Laurie’s sexual tension layered chemistry, with each of the March sisters), it also happens to be one of the family favorites…we quite fancied ourselves to be the March family…sigh…me my sister and her friends…with me playing an androgynous cross of Laurie and Amy (Amy coz I was the youngest )…the sentimentalist in my sister quite liked embracing the tragic character of Beth …and there was a little bit of Joe in all of us…
It also takes me back to those heydays of reading with such unbridled frenzy…of those gilt edged pages of classics like Little Women, Secret Garden and Huckleberry Finn…and those unreasonable myths about peacock feathers doubling when kept in between pages…
Am already regretting this post….
But what the heck …

Celebrations!!!

As my city’s weathered soul wriggles towards, what the pundits want to call a metamorphosis I can see celebrations all around me…a puddle full of a promoters unfelt guilt plays host to the revelries of dengue causing mosquitoes… open drains gurgle past perfectly respectable middle class neighborhoods in such unbridled glory that they would put Le Corbusier’s carefully designed fountains to shame… and more than anything the populace is celebrating its right to relieve itself anywhere, anytime; school walls, road dividers, electric poles you name a corner and its most likely that an on- the-move Kolkata man is relieving himself there at that very moment…why go to Bohemia for self expression when u have millions of men painting the wall with what seems to be the expressions of their innermost being…

Yay my city is celebrating!!!

Of Sunday afternoons and pointless introspections…

It's Sunday afternoon… The sun is shining and you're relaxing on the couch reading the paper or book you couldn't get into during the week right???

WRONG!!!

Typing out substandard pages on nondescript painters who no one one wants to know about anyway, is more like it…you are, like all slaves of the IT industry, making up for Holidays…welcome to the soulless world of capitalism, where everything is in “lieu” of something…. and suddenly u feel your shoulders tensing up and this dark fog of rage tingle up your spine… “This is not what I bargained for,” you say to yourself “they have *beep*up my *beeping* life” …they don’t care about quality… all they want is pages …and what about my dreams of making the world a better place to live in and all that jazz??? They don’t want to change the world…and I CANT change the world by writing about painters…not unless my answer for world peace is free art classes…
This is where you ask yourself “when exactly did I sell my soul for the price of what now seems like a ridiculously paltry pay packet???” tchah I should have made a better bargain…”