An Ordinary Love..

There may be countless ways to pen a story and yet there is only one to tell this one, just as it happened. However i shall allow myself the concession of a third person's account with an albeit false hope of escaping the rush of memories this account may precipitate..

He had lost the plot in its entirety, a whole semester stared back at him, with a gamut of unanswered questions. And yet here he was, his borrowed 350 cc two wheeled demon fired up under him, waiting for lady luck to emerge. There in the distance she appeared, a ruck sack hanging loose from her frail frame. He must have witnessed this sight a million times and yet he knew he must cherish this one.
A gruelling ride lay ahead of them, 200 kms of he most scenic yet arduous landscapes. The iPod came in tow, and she shared her music, just as he had shared his. Eddie vedder's smoky voice around these lyrics come to mind "All I ever taught her was, everything". A 100 km/hr is no time to let your thoughts meander, not in this terrain, and so he regained composure as they arrived at the half way point, a restaurant. Neither were too hungry, but meals have an interesting way of imposing themselves on you, a lunch for instance must be had around noon, so they did. Rice held together, or kept apart, depending on how you perceive it, with a generous lacing of curd, some fried okra by the side. She loved it, he loved her for it...
The ride continued and they entered the periphery of their destination. The traffic, meanwhile had furtively built up in force around them and at such a crowded crossroad, he pressed on the brakes too hard, lost grip on the road and fell over. It was the first time he had relinquished control by accident, how ironic he thought to himself, picking himself up before his pride.
Back home, his friend had done the most stupendous job of making himself scarce over the new year's eve, so this would be their time alone, a first in all their years of courtship. She was tired from the journey and demanded a warm bath, he was burnt much too deep in his desire for a warm embrace, one in which he could hold her to eternity, to himself, for himself. He didn't know if it was still alright to hold her, the tension was immense and almost audible. But she would give in ultimately, and he would be allowed the pleasure of holding her in his arms, perhaps one last time. There was an air of finality about everything this evening. How much could he hold on to?-----------TO BE CONTINUED

I have always felt that the 'Rich' look a certain way..that there are some common traits to their looks. And i don't mean they have fair skin or well manicured hands or any of that. Just that almost all of them seem to have this slightly arrogant confidence about them..it's like their pampered egos pervade their selves and surface on their skins..there have been times i have looked at a person and having found the same traits in him/her known in my heart that they're gonna make heaps! While most of this may seem a little weird to the uninitiated..i believe that somehow this baseless theory that i hold may have some deep seated proof in the principles of natural selection...why do they call certain foods as rich..isn't it because of the way they look and taste?(so the food isn't rich because it has a lot of vitamins, but it's more a superficial concept)..and yeah the statement 'the food is rich in vitamins' doesn't count because that is far from the statement 'this food is rich'..i know there are exceptions to every rule..and this isn't even a rule..but next time some rich folk step out of their swish sedans..just run this article around in your minds..maybe you'll relate to me. Irony is no matter how much i stare into the mirror..i can't find that streak in me! we'll just have to wait and see huh?

Yeah so the slumdog millionaire swept the oscars..yippee yay yay. Seriously i can't believe what's gotten into everyone..it's a rank disaster of a movie. i slept through the last part and never bothered to play it again. I've suspected this for too long now.. The movie to me was a pathetic mix of salaam bombay and satya..(both good movies in their own right).anil kapoor was as tacky as they come..the dialogues stuck out like sore thumbs..you can't fucking bhenchod blurt out expletives in one language and yakkety on in another and expect the same effect..so while iam left sitting here wondering what the real deal was with the movie..it's just walkin away with Oscars. Oscars have come to represent standards and benchmarks in movie making over the years..i can't believe they couldscrew up this bad. Either ways it only presses home the point, that all you need to play to the west pavillion is to give them stereotypes that they have come to accept or are blown out of their wits by. It's pretty much the same story with indian novelists i guess. In an effort to relate their 'india experience' to a broader audience they tend to get a lot more indian than any of us indians could ever hope to be..(Irwin Allan Sealy is a huge respite though). All in all i would've been happy if a truly indian film would've sweeped the stakes..and not a charade made to order for the unawakened sensibilities of an ignorant race..can i get you some more popcorn sir?