Once

It's the most incredible film I've seen in quite some time. The actors, the story, the spontaneity with which things unfold, the realism in the way the 'Guy' and the 'Girl' start feeling the nuances of the melody as they sing Falling Slowly; it's sheer brilliance. It's a film which gave me goosebumps and I don't even know why. It's a film which I knew I would love from the very first shot. It's a film which just keeps getting better and better with every scene till it ends and you are left with the scenes and the songs buzzing in your head. As musicals go, this one beats the few I have seen with its uniqueness in weaving the songs into the narrative of the story in a way which you have to see to know.

Right now, I'm just in a different place. Yes, this movie is that good. At least that's what I felt. So I'll leave you with two of its most beautiful songs. Get hold of the soundtrack. I could do a separate post on it. Each song, even the 'Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy', is a gem. But watch the movie before that. It's magical.

Falling Slowly

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

If You Want Me
Are you really here or am I dreaming
I can’t tell dreams from truth
For it’s been so long since I have seen you
I can hardly remember your face anymore
When I get really lonely and the distance calls its only silence
I think of you smiling with pride in your eyes a lover that sighs

If you want me satisfy me
If you want me satisfy me

Are you really sure that you believe me
When others say I lie
I wonder if you could ever despise me
You know I really try
To be a better one to satisfy you for you’re everything to me
And I do what you ask me
If you let me be free

If you want me satisfy me
If you want me satisfy me

Questions

Why can't we start with a clean slate.
How can you know a person by reading 2000 words he has managed to write about his life.
Why does every action that you do and every passion that you have, need to translate to something tangible.
Why doesn't the world like nice guys who are underachievers.
Why do we hope for something which has very little chance of happening. Or is that why we hope.
Why are there so many Indian techie males who want to get an MBA
Why don't miracles happen in my life. Why doesn't anything even surprise me. Why doesn't anyone surprise me for a change.
Why do I sometimes absolutely love my life even though there is nothing great about it.
Why do I, on days, feel that there were somethings I did differently.
And why do I feel that there are so many things I want to write about but am waiting for a right time to actually do so.

Getting Edgy

What if your best is not good enough. Not that you can define best in this case. I mean theoretically, I could have always done better. Started earlier. Thought more clearly. Done things differently. Right? But you know what I mean. What if even after all this effort I end up where I started from.

The essays are coming okay and nothing unusual happened today. I'm still the optimistic applicant I was a few days ago but for some reason, this thought came to me today. Really, till now I have not even thought about what happens if all this comes to a big nought. 

Ignorance or otherwise, most of my friends think that I have already put much more effort than they have heard people putting. And I have enjoyed it actually. If for nothing then for having a different answer to 'aur, kya chal raha hai be aaj kal..' . And also because it makes sure that I haven't had to worry about how to spend my weekends and evenings. In short, it has kept me occupied. And if you are thinking what's so great about that, well, ask some of my friends. They will tell you about the virtue of being occupied. By anything. 

Coming back, I really wish that there was someone who knows me, who knows about this process and what it takes, and who would take a look at the drafts I have and say something like 'Not bad.....kaafi achche hain drafts.' The few to whom I have randomly thrown questions like 'Give me 3 things you would like to improve upon professionally' or 'Has growing up in Bokaro had any impact on the person you are today' or more demanding ones like 'Tell me what according to you was a very challenging time for me'; have been quite helpful in their replies. But sometimes the enormity of this process just makes me go numb. Content, structure, theme, tone, dazzle-out-factor, personal touch, anecdotes, coherence, transitions, uniqueness..... How do I take care of all this! And even if I think I have it in place, how do I know I'm right! Then I visit people's LinkedIn profiles and wonder why on earth would someone give me an admit! Ya, it can be a very very very humbling experience.

Anyway, enough of it. Bottom line is that this process can get to your nerves. Even when the going is good. It has this ability to take over you life. And sometimes you feel like having some sort of an assurance. That things will work out. That there will be that push from somewhere which will make the difference between a 'there' and 'not quite there'. So till then, it's back to how my 'unique background, values, activities and leadership experiences' will make an earth shattering difference to whichever school admits me. It's funny actually!

Cinema From Iran

There's a palpable sense of conflict throughout the film. The visuals are breathtakingly beautiful and shots of Mohammad feeling his hands through the garden only accentuate the sense of contrast between the natural scenery and the impending misery in the lives of the characters.

Rang-e Khoda is the story of Mohammed, a blind boy who comes home from his school to spend his vacations with his widowed father, two sisters and granny. From the scene where a blind boy is beating his chest and letting out whistles to imitate a steam engine to the one in which Mohammed picks up a baby bird from the ground and climbs up the tree to put it back in its nest, director Majid Majidi's attention to detail stands out. The acting is inspiring and I have never seen an actor play the role of a blind with so much reality and restraint as the boy who plays Mohammed. From his twisted smile as he recognizes the chirping of a bird to the way he moves his hand over his sister's face to know how much she has changed, every action of his gives you a peep into the world of a blind but inquisitive boy.
On one hand, Mohammed's granny is the quintessential grandmother as she treats him with the kind of love and care only a grandparent can give. She's tender and delicate. She cant see Mohammed cry and tells him that she will die for him.

His father, on the other hand, is someone we don't like from the onset because he is keen to find out a way to let go of his blind son. Its only when he manages to send Mohammed to the blind carpenter and comes back to lament to his mother about how life has been hard on him and he has no one to look after him in his old age, that we get to feel his pain and his conflict.
Rang-e Khoda is a movie replete with very touching but very real portrayl of human emotions. The camera work is jaw dropping and will leave you with a dozen images long after you have watched the movie. It's the final image, however, which is heartrending in its simplicity and yet manages to say so much in but a few seconds, that will keep haunting you.

Have you ever wished that you finished third in a race you won. Well, Ali, the central character in this film does!
Bacheha-Ye aseman or Children Of Heaven has one of the most simplistic story lines that you will ever come across. A brother loses his siter's shoes and tries to find a way to get them back. How Majid Majidi managed to weave a story around this which kept me rivetted to the screen will remain a mystery to me.
Zahra and Ali are adorable as a brother and a sister. The sense of guilt which keeps eating into Ali because he has lost his sister's shoes and the small things he does like gifting a pen or a pencil, to sort of compensate for it, makes for an engrossing watch. Zahra's role is characterised by a sense of understanding beyond her years as she manages to keep the story of the missing shoe to herself. Empathising with each other and showing tremendous maturity in comprehending the situation they are in, Ali and Zahra's actions in the film are simple and real. And yet, seen through the artistic eyes of the director as Zahra goes chasing her brother's shoe which has fallen into the gutter; these very scenes turn into magical moments.
With the same eye for detail, the director takes us through the everyday life of an Iranian family and the bond which exists between the members. And even though not as astounding as in the other movie, with the last scene, director Majid Majidi yet again shows his panache for brilliant endings.

Rock On

Cut out the part that Arjun Rampal has no idea of a guitar fret board and that 'brain tumor' is too cliched a concept to make an emotional impact with today's audience and Rock On is a very good movie. No, I don't like Farhan Akhtar's voice when he's not singing but otherwise he does a decent job of playing the role of a filthy rich I Banker living a 'half life'. Although he sings most of the songs in the movie and does a very good job at that, yet, for me it's this song which brings out all the singing talent this guy has. Absolutely loved his false voice in this one. The music is spot on and sounds even better when seen in the movie. The long hair and the costumes are cool without being over the board. Purab Kohli either knows to play the drums or does a super impersonation of a drummer. True, there are cues taken from Almost Famous and School Of Rock like when Farhan Akhtar does a Jack Black and jumps into the crowd during their last gig and even the stage is very Pink Floyd-ish but its all quite neatly done. A nice, feel good movie especially if you ever harboured a dream of having a band and are passionate about music.

Saturday Morning

Classic Rock and Hit Factory are showing on VH1. And they are playing some pretty amazing music. I'm sitting on one chair with my feet on another, writing the first draft of an essay. The smell of aaloo parathe coming from our kitchen makes me more hungry than I actually am. Plans are on to go to Purple Haze in the evening. It's been a while, so let's see. First day of my 'time out ' and already this Saturday feels better.

Just Another Post

Thoughts keep swirling in my head these days. Mostly when I'm on my bike. More so when I'm coming back home late and the roads are empty. For the last week or so, everyday, I have composed a post in my mind only to come back home and not at all feel like writing or even thinking about it anymore. Don' t really know what it is. Maybe it's the night. I have come to dislike them. They tend to make me very inactive and gloomy. Days seem so much better now.
Reminds me of these lines from a song.

The days are better, the nights are still so lonely

I've begun to find things in my job which I like. Strange, right. Because it has happened because of this whole process I'm going through to get me out of it and start a new journey. Even for the introspective guy that I am, this has been quite a revelation. I won't bore you again by repeating what this process has come to mean to me but I think it has given me a very very different perspective on most things. I am more comfortable with my self. I am not satisfied though. Far from it. And I remember the conversation I had with a friend over the weekend. About what our friends and families expect from us. What we, expect from ourselves. About batchmates and juniors getting 'ahead'. About 'wasting' quite a few years of our lives in chasing something which doesn't seem so real now. About winning and achieving. About things evening out in the long run.

In some ways, I'm not happy with myself. I have not achieved the targets I had set . And I have no illusions about it. I do not like to talk about those topics. They make me uncomfortable. But I don't want to jump from one uncertainty to another. And right now, I think I know a lot more about what I want to do and why this entire thing of not living up to expectations was in a way necessary.

I know a lot of this talk comes from the belief that things will go the way I expect them to. And right now, I would want to keep it that way.

Things have started to happen actually. Little ones. A push here and a nudge there. A friend giving an idea, a colleague coming up with an impressive point for an essay. Like I have said earlier, I'm quite liking this part of my life. I don't know how it will end. And even though I'm not quite the quotation fan as this guy, yet this one's too close to my beliefs.

Stupidity consists in wanting to reach conclusions. We are a thread, and we want to know the whole design. - Gustave Flaubert

P.S. I just read this again and it sounds nothing like the way I used to write. Anyway..

These Days

Suddenly there is lot to write. I no longer feel so frustrated with my life. There's much to think about. Write about. There's so much which can change. Isn't this the best part? Hoping, wishing. Struggling to find your way. Little victories which come after every few days. Small periods of setbacks. Stupid tricks that your mind plays to keep your spirits up.
Suddenly I feel more aware of myself and the world around. It's like I can look at things more clearly. It's a mix of confidence, dreams and fears. It's like being alone in a zone where no one else really matters. I like this shell of mine and I would rather be in it than have conversations with my friends. Doesn't mean I have stopped talking to people or I don't need them. The problem is that I would end up talking about a particular club in some B School and why I would totally love to be there. Don't think my friends would be too interested in that! But I need this shell more than anything or anyone right now.
Suddenly the setbacks and failures of the past which left me broken don't matter anymore. Because I'm sick of remembering them. Because I think I deserve a fresh start. Yes, I hate that word but I really think I do.
And suddenly this feels like such a huge emotional journey. Not only because it could set you on course for your entire life but also because, it's like looking at your life again, more closely, in a different light.

This Part Of My Life Is...

About giving it all without the fear of losing.

After downing 300ml of Absolut Vodka in a Friday night drinking binge, sleeping for 2 hours, watching a totally atrocious but insanely funny Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay at 6 in the morning in the widest computer screen that I have ever seen, having Idli Vada and filter coffee to get rid of the hangover; I came back home riding my bike in an cold, overcast Bangalore morning. A cup of tea, half an hour of sleep like trance, the house owner's appearance after a hiatus of 4 months and a signature on a Rs 21,000 cheque; I was up and running in no time. Well, not exactly running. More like typing sentences for 'para 5' of my Goals Essay version 1.2. Had to get the crisper, clearer, better sounding version 2.0 ready by the end of the day.

I must have worked for a good 6-7 hours on my application stuff today. A running nose and the gloomy weather didn't offer many better options though. And I had made good progress on the recommendation front on Friday, so decided to keep the tempo going.
I have the basic structure to the all important 'Why MBA' essay more or less ready. More than the basic actually! I would say 60-70% is done. Sentences would have to be edited and transformed. Word repetitions removed and all that 'good writing' skills brought to the table. But I'm not too disappointed with what I have. And I've also sort of done the customization (why this school) part for Kellogg. And yes, I have a killer last line for the Kellogg version of this essay! At least I think so, anyway. I hope the middle - the lead up from my current work to my short term goal and MBA gets more seamless in the days to come. That's one part which still bugs me.

So this makes it the 3rd essay, after the professional and non-professional leadership/significant achievement one that I have sort of taken care of. The background/values/what will you bring to the class essay is still in the random scribbles state but I have a nice 'impact' beginning to it in mind. And it will be a totally unique one. No doubt about that.

By late evening, I had grown tired of thinking about the essays. So I thought I would get down to creating the logins for Tuck, Kellogg and Ross and set the ball rolling for the application process. That took a good 2 hours or so but there was a sense of urgency in doing it which I liked. I hate filling up these data forms by the way. Especially the GPA part.

Exactly 2 months to go before the first of my deadlines. I'm not feeling too bad about this. There's a hell lot to be done actually and I'm planning to take a week off around the end of this month. And for all those who have been issued a warning of getting bombarded with my essay drafts for review, just hold on for a little longer. You'll soon get your chance to comment on, critique and bash my essays.

So far, so good. Hope it gets even better.

Number One Hundred

The ones which remained as 'drafts' ....

26 Jan '08
[a conversation with my friendly neighborhood uncle. felt like dad talking to me. i was touched]

Hello Uncle

Atish, I heard the sound of Guitar and was wondering how come you're home so early.

Didn't go to office today. Wasn't feeling well. So akele hoon to socha guitar baja loon thoda...

Oh! I was wondering ye ladke log itni jaldi kaise aa gae... So I decided to call you up. Such a nice way to connect.... music. Come over for a cup of tea. I just had mine but wouldn't mind having another cup. Come.

Ok uncle, I'll be there in 5 minutes.
.............................................................
Do cup chai aur kuch toast vagaira le aana....

Nahi uncle, bas chai... kaafi late lunch kara tha

Ok. So, how have you been. I'm sorry yaar I couldn't talk to you guys properly that day. I was so busy with all the guests.......

Arre it was absolutely fine uncle. The Biryani was so awesome, we didnt have anything else on our minds! The weather was fabulous, the music was just right and you couldnt have chosen a better place for the reception. So your son left.......

......achcha ye sab choro, you tell me how have you been. What happened to your plans for MBA?

Applying this year....

You know Atish, it's very easy to lose sight. I mean you remind me of my days back in the 70s when I had just joined Phillips and stayed with friends just like you do. Of course Bombay in those days was not like what it is today and with a princely salary of Rs 700 we couldn't lead the kind of life you guys are living. What I mean, Atish, is that, it's the 'good life' that you guys are leading. Weekends spent with friends, eating out. Then you have your music. You have a great degree... you can let things drift and then by the time you wake up, it might be a little too late..

27 Nov '07
[the few minutes in the mild Bangalore winter morning, sipping tea...meant a lot those days]

I stand on the balcony, the sun on my face. The music comes floating from the hall. It's a bright morning in Bangalore and there's a slight chill in the air. I have a cup of tea in my hand. It's the start of another day. At times I'm joined by my flatmate. If it's his playlist then it's on shuffle and anything from Kishore to Atif to Hootie & The Blowfish is equally likely to come up next. If it's mine, then it's following some pattern. Third Eye Blind one day, Scorpions the other, Scrubs soundtrack or Simon & Garfunkel. I like the way my day starts. Earlier I used to make tea for both of us. Now our cook does that. I think he's slightly better than me!

I had my first cup of tea when I was four. On the train while going to Puri. Kullhad vali chai. I never had milk in the morning after that. Cha, it was. In the evening when dad came back from work, I used to have my second cup. And did I tell u. I finished entire packets of biscuits in one go! Mom and dad talked about office and other 'grown up' stuff. I chipped in with anything remotely interesting at school. I always associated this evening tea with a very relaxed atmosphere.

In college, milk replaced the morning tea (whenever I had breakfast, that is) on most days. The 5 o' clock extra messing tea was more frequent though. The best, by a long distance was the one we drank at Sassi. Especially during the winters. Especially after bread omelet. I can't remember any occasion when somebody would refuse to go to Sassi for a cup of tea. It was almost a part of the curriculum.
Then there was the 'Dip Tea' near the Library, to be taken in between classes or during Music events at the Convo. On the rare occasion when I found myself in the institute at night doing something relate to academics, yet again this was the place to have tea and take a break.

21 Jul '07
[when i felt like writing about independence. especially financial]

Its been just over a year since I entered a new phase in my life. One typically characterized by more independence at all levels, particularly financial. And going with my ideology of 'kal ka kal dekhenge' I have made sure that my bank balance is never able to shoot up beyond a certain level. I also managed to convince my dad that all serious investments and future planning would only start a year or so later. So all of it basically meant I went ahead and bought whatever I felt like and I could. A bike, a laptop, a guitar. I'm absolutely loving it. Savoring this free existence along with the knowledge that I'm not doing anything wrong.

29 Mar '07
[my first and only attempt at fiction. i was downright pathetic and somehow always felt that i was copying both the form and content from somewhere.. old man and the sea? dont know. the idea, however came from this picture my dad had taken in Puri. of a man and his son, standing by the boat with the day's catch.]

He was about fourteen. Standing there with his back to the sea, his dark, wet skin glistening in the last rays of the sun, he was a picture of satisfaction. In front of him lay the day's catch, enough to ensure a week's supplies. His father tended to the boat looking for any cracks or damages while he played with the sand. Soon, both headed towards the wholesale market as the setting sun marked the end of yet another day. A day spent on a small boat in the middle of the sea. At the wholesale market, they would sell their catch to the local dealer who would in turn head to the man responsible for packaging, cold storage and transportation and a few days later, some Bengali in New Delhi's C R Park would eat the same fish for dinner, cooked deliciously in mustard oil by his wife, knowing little about the fourteen year old who formed the first link, in a series of many, between him and the fish on his plate.

Life was tough but not unfair in the little village in coastal Andhra. Most of the population earned their livelihood from the bounties of the sea. The sea which gave them their life. Shrinivas, or Shrini as he was called had gone along with his father in his fishing boat for as long as he could remember. He loved the sea and its sights and sounds. The sunrise which would see them push their tiny boat over the waves and head for calmer waters in the middle of the sea never failed to amaze him. The lazy afternoons which saw them taking a rest in the shadow of the boat's mast after having cast the net, waiting for the fish to come, soothed him. Wherever the eyes went, there was water, dotted with a few boats here and there, of fellow villagers and fishermen. There was no sound except that of the waves lapping the sides of the boat and the birds flying by. Shrini chatted with his father, learning new tricks everyday, hearing stories of the sea when his father was his age. That's the way it had always been. They were a generation of fisherman, each following the same method to learn the tricks of the trade. To them it was the only way to grow up, to lead a life.

25 Jan '07
[about friendship..]

They are the people you spend your entire day with. Once out of home, they are the ones that make you feel at home, become your family. Sure they were there even when you were a kid and had your ma and baba besides you. You had the "best friends" and the other friends, the ones you grew up playing cricket, badminton and a whole lot of on-the-road games. Then college happens and more importantly you get to know about a certain place called Hostel. Friendship takes on a completely different hue as you start to live day in day out with the same set of people who start exerting their influences on your life involuntarily. You pick up some of their styles. Be it the manner of speaking or their posture....