Another Blog Award!

Firstly, I apologize for having replied so late!

And of course, THANK YOU LISA! :-)

These awards sure do make me happy. And inspire me as well. Yay!

The Leibster Award is for those blogs with less than 200 followers. I'm sure my blog (which has made it to a meagre count) has managed to please my fellow bloggers and friends, and heck yeah, I'm grateful! :)

The rules of the Liebster is to answer questions from the award giver and then pass it along to other deserving bloggers.

I'm ready to answer Lisa's questions!

Why do you blog?
Ah, well. I began blogging on a random impulse to cope with this rough patch I faced, two years ago. So it would be appropriate to say I used my blog as an outlet to release my pent up emotions. But, things are different now. It's not just about rambling pointlessly. My blog makes me happy. My blog makes me realise I can write and that I'm good at it. So yeah, I blog to feel happy.  :)

What is your advice to someone overcoming adversity?
Think of feeling relieved at the end. I firmly believe every adverse circumstance is followed by relief. Cliched or not, optimism has always helped me.

If a movie was made of your life, who would play you?
My sister. 

If you could have high tea with anyone living or dead, what kind of tea would you drink? (Caught you off guard with that one, didn't I?? ;)
Jeez. You sure did. :P Ummm. Ginger tea. We call it adrak waali chai in Hindi.

In one word, describe your feelings at this instant.
Chirpy

If you and I found ourselves in jail, what would we be "in" for?
For stealing books, definitely.

What is your favorite kind of donut?
 Chocolate glaze!

Mine is an apple fritter. Will you bring me one?
I will, only if you share it with me :P

If you could be any kind of athletic ball, what kind would you be? Why?
I would be a ping pong ball. Because I like the name. And ping-pongs are robust. :P

What's your favorite form of exercise?
Early morning brisk walks with good, good music :)


I (apparently) want a parrot named Pooter as a pet, what kind of pet do you have/want?
A pup named Swami and a kitten named Charcoal

And now, I would pass on this award to some of my favourite bloggers who post great stuff.

Amruta at Iamamruta
Kanika at Sensitive Chaos
Sangita at Skaypisms
Saudamini at BeingSoda
Uttara at Billions of Blue Blistering Barnacles

And here are my questions !

1. Is your blog an integral part of your life? 
2. Do you regret having posted anything in your blog?
3. Do you get embarrassed reading your initial posts?
4. Crayons or paints? (because I felt like .. :P)
5. Which is your favourite book character?
6. If you were a musical instrument, which one would you be? And why?
7. Your favorite day-dream?
8. Which is that one song that has been stuck in your head of late?
9. A stupid movie you watched recently?
10. Which one of these inspire you to write - beaches or mountains? Why?
11. Name a song that would have suited the most poignant moment of your life so far.

Don't forget to follow the rules - Pass on this award to 5 of your favourite bloggers (with less than 200 followers) along with eleven questions!

Thanks Lisa, once again!

:)

She will be loved.

A quote from "Dhobi Ghaat",

"To my muse, to my whore, to my beloved."

Bombay.

 

I distanced myself from the city when I was well into my fifth year in Pune.

Pune is smaller. It's easier to commute within the city. Pleasant weather. Great locality. A neat friend network. School. High School. College. Everything has been sorted out. Everything continues to unfold in a perfect sequence.

Rewind to the bit when we moved to Pune.  You could call it The Milestone, because before that my life had been hunky dory, pretty much (Well, what would you expect from a scrawny, nine-year old kid?). I hated Pune with a vengeance. It was all about Bombay. And how I would miss my house. My grandparents. My friends. What about the stack of memories that had built up over the years?

Say hello to irony.

Anyway, I'm not here to ramble about how I learnt to adjust to my new surroundings. It's just about this sudden, random realisation that hit me today, on my way to IITB.

I know it's stupid of me to judge this city (this maddening city with local trains running all over it, carrying people who jostle, shove and stumble upon each other and hang onto a dear life, whilst waiting impatiently to reach their  respective destinations,) based on meeting a bunch of enterprising folks at the campus of IITB, but, it just felt as though Bombay was welcoming me, and was eager to usher me in.

I have had a terrific weekend. Met a friend, with whom I got recently acquainted, and jeez, it seemed as though we had known each other for a lifetime. Made new friends at the campus. Watched one of my favourite punk bands perform live on stage. Managed to watch Life of Pi (exactly a month after its release!), finally. Visited my childhood home, and felt a rush of nostalgia. Spent a good time with my family, and relatives alike, after what seems like ages. And right now, I'm hastily typing everything down, lest it all slips away.

There were no delays. No frustrating last minute cancellations. No evil conspiracy to stop me from having a good time. It's almost like Bombay made sure that everything went according to plan.

I don't visit this city as often as I used to. There was a time when we would drive down every weekend to meet our folks at home. But, that faded away as we gradually settled in.

Bombay must I have sensed I don't miss her anymore. This time she vouched to give me a splendid time with all my close ones. She wanted me to realise that she is an integral part of my life.

I don't know her as well as I know Pune. After all, I was quite young when we moved out. I am clueless when it comes to navigating within this city. The roads, the traffic, the trains, the buses, the concrete jungle, the crowd, the hustle and the bustle, the sights, the smells, the sounds, and the weather can not only stagger a new comer, but also an ex-Bombayite, who hardly visits her home city that changes slightly with each visit.

But, somewhere down the line, familiarity lingers.

There's this one small thing that was a highlight of my stay as well, and though it might seem very inconsequential to the reader, I'm going to put that down.

The ten minute rickshaw ride to IITB from my cousin's place.

It was hardly anything. Over the flyover and along Powai lake. And tada! There comes IITB on my left. However, it was my first ever rickshaw ride in Bombay without a guide. As a child, I always had an uncle or a grandparent to tag along with me everywhere. Today, I got my ten minutes of free rein, which was indeed very special.

To feel the same breeze that blows daily, all year round, as a child is different from sensing it as a teenager on the brink of adulthood. Earlier, I had been carefree, and hadn't a damned clue about commuting, the pains of high school, managing boyfriends, or the sweet liberty of using debit cards and consuming alcohol, tolerating emotional hassles, and all those complicated aspects of growing up. To me, Bombay has always meant walks with my grandfather, ice-creams, stationery shops, crayons, story-books, lollipops, slides, swings and see-saws, Esselworld, elementary school, beaches, etc. Bombay's streets have always been unknown to me, but, this time it was almost as if she was assuring me that learning her ways wouldn't be exacting.

I think I will eventually spend a good part of my ripe years in this city. Bombay will call me soon, I know.

I just want her to know that she will always be loved no matter what. We share a great rapport, you see.

2009

It's amazing how I remember every detail of the year 2009. The three years that have followed it are blurry and hazy with conspicuous empty patches, representing incidents I cannot recall, no matter how hard I rack my brains.

That year brought about great changes in me. Call it a change in my personality and even physical appearance, but I felt confident, sunny and pretty.

I saw my school in a new light. Junior College seemed to be friendlier and warmer as compared to high school.

My first trip to the States.

My Facebook friend's list increased in leaps and bounds.

I realised that dressing up and partying was actually fun. Yes, I started smearing eyeliner under my eyes. Smokey.

That year, I broke more than three pairs of glasses.

I realised I had indeed fallen in love with my city and Clover Heights, especially.

This beautiful Squier came into my possession.

I realized that liking a guy comes with its share of thrill, estrogen and depression.

Tasted heartbreak for the first time.

Noticed changes in old friends.

Saw Death for the first time.

2009 was three years ago. I really miss it. With each passing year, it will go further behind. Milestone year. Definitely.

Barfi!

Dear fellow bloggers,

You guys HAVE to watch this movie, even if you are unable to comprehend Hindi. You will realise what I mean after watching this beautiful film!

Go watch it at your nearest theatre now, because it has been released world-wide!

Go. Just Go.

Your starry-eyed blogger,
Anju


I have never been completely anti-Bollywood. I do have a list of favourites, and likewise a list of the ones I hate. However, lately I had been disgusted with the bout of out-and-out commercial, over the top, shady Hindi films that had poured out. Gaudy cinematography. Actors hamming their way through almost every scene. Yes, I was pretty annoyed and disappointed with this dismal phase our industry was going through. I stopped bothering about upcoming trailers, movies, movie-buzz etc, etc.


And then from somewhere came Barfi like a breath of fresh air. I watched it today, in fact barely half an hour ago. Of course, my fingers itched to touch the keyboard, and type out words; good words praising this soulful film!


A carefree, deaf and mute boy (Yes, that's Barfi aka Murphy, played by Ranbir Kapoor), a lovable autistic girl (Priyanka Chopra), and another who is perfectly normal yet dissatisfied with her life (Ileana D'cruz) , the amazing camaraderie and love they share, endearing humour depicted through actions, gestures and a pot pouri of emotions - that's what Anurag Basu's latest flick is about.

I'm afraid I'll divulge the whole plot if I actually describe the movie in great detail. You know an actor's good if you refer to him by his character's name. And likewise an actress. Ranbir Kapoor (Barfi) and Priyanka Chopra were simply phenomenal. Playing the roles of physically/mentally challenged protagonists without evoking pathos in the audience is a feat, and they have achieved it! Respect.

I am not usually the one to notice the technical aspects of a film, but, yes, this movie brought those details to the forefront as well.  Set in the 1970s, the story unfolds in the quaint city of Darjeeling, wonderfully depicted through clean shots, homely folks, vivid colours with emphasis on nature, especially the mountains and the pines that add to the charm. Love hasn't been portrayed through intimate scenes, instead through affection manifesting in subtle gestures - another point that makes the movie tick!


The dialogues, though minimal and subtle, are meaningful. The innovative use of silence in this film, to indicate almost all aspects of human nature, especially conflict, is the highlight, undoubtedly.

The tears are imminent of course, but an emotionally charged scene is cleverly followed up by an instance of comedy that doesn't let you linger onto the blues.


A few hitches include a vague crime, and one or two loose ends towards the climax. But those are easily overshadowed by everything I mentioned above.

Words are important but not when it comes love. Barfi says it all through his silence.

Happy watching!

P.S: Do watch it and drop a comment below regarding your opinion about the movie. :-)

The Airport

Airports feature in my list of top ten favourite spots.

I just love airports - the atmosphere they enclose, the lingering smell of air fresheners (airport smell!), flat screen T.Vs plugged in here and there, coffee machines, the lounges, book-stores, souvenir shops, sofa-chairs that one could sink into, periodic announcements, flights taking off and landing, and mostly, the multifarious populace pouring in and out, and the emotions writ on their faces.

Airports have always held good memories for me. An airport has undoubtedly been a part of every fabulous trip I have had so far. Come to face it, a tour to the States, Singapore, or Thailand, or any other exotic destination begins by entering an airport. A blast of cool conditioned air welcomes you, as the automatic doors slide out to usher you in.

Tickets? Check.
Passports? Check.
All the luggage? Check.
Toothbrushes?! Check.

We are geared and all set to go.

Airplanes form the climax. The destination is the ending. The planning and organizing bit of the trip is the plot, according to me. I love to recollect the whole process while I sit in an airport, eagerly awaiting our flight announcement. I haunt the bookstores. Occasional cappuccinos rejuvenate me. Earphones are seated comfortably in my ears. My fingers fiddle with my iPod buttons.

 'Course, this is what I experience once the holiday is about to begin.

In contrast, the feeling while coming back is mixed with a bit of sadness and longing. Holiday blues, they say. The airport is the sole, physical remainder of the wonderful trip, and I usually love to savour those final moments.

Once, our return flight to Pune from Goa got postponed to the next day owing to bad weather. I rejoiced, while my parents stood glaring at me.

It isn't vacation time for everyone. Often, one gets to see upset faces; heartbroken, angry, impatient, and sometimes ridden with worry.

Indian airports are known for their cacophonies.

Large Gujarati families comprising trendily dressed housewives, who are thrilled at prospect of breaking away from their households, jovial husbands, and extra boisterous kids, are usually spotted at the international terminals. Newly weds occupy the cozy corners. The wife has an array of bright red bangles, covering almost half her arms. Intricate henna designs on her hands. The gold adorning her seems strangely mismatched with her casual denims.

Punjabi and Tamilian dads can be heard talking on their phones, even if they are miles away; booming voices that attract truckloads of attention, whilst their kids shirk away in sheer embarrassment (been there, done that).

And the infants! Fragile looking creatures that fool you when they bawl their lungs out. Stuffing milk bottles into their mouths may relieve their harrowed mothers (whom I really pity, no kidding!).

The corporate guy looks bored out of his skull. Another one is seen conversing heatedly with a voice on the other end of  his smartphone.

You have the NRIs, who are usually bewildered by the bedlam around them. You could probably hear the sounds of those wonderful images built in their heads about India, shatter instantly.

And then amidst the horde of brown faces, you might spot a few white ones, looking slightly disoriented, as they try to locate the baggage counter. The smug expression on the Indian bystander's face clearly says, "Don't expect signs to direct you."

The scenario outside the airport? Chaos and clamour in simple words. You can see ones' family, escorts and drivers, falling over each other, holding name placards, as they valiantly crane their necks to look out for whomever they're waiting for.

Indians usually forget that boarding a plane is quite different from boarding a train. Local trains narrate a different story altogether, and I really, really don't feel like delving into that. Anyway, the thing is, there is absolutely no need to rush or shovel while climbing onto a plane, but, old habits don't die fast, so...you can predict what's going to happen next.

That's more or less how it is done out here.

Yet, airports are good. I associate them with all things good.

Most movies end at an airport. There comes the romantic aspect. I mean, a guy deserting his flight for you just 'cause he has realized the inevitable, would be the best possible thing ever.

Well, all I'm trying to say is that most people tend to forget how important an airport is. It can bring about reunions. Or sometimes, separation.

A place that provides you with small luxuries.

Or it can just be the start to a great memory. Every airport has memories attached to it.

As bold as Hendrix

Drifted into the Hendrix mood.

His songs have ALWAYS inspired me to get better at my guitar-ing skills.

Ah. I love you.

~Anger, he smiles,
Towering in shiny metallic purple armour,
Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him,
Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground~

~Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted,
They quietly understand,
Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready,
But wonder why the fight is on
But they're all bold as love, yeah, they're all bold as love
Yeah, they're all bold as love
Just ask the axis~

:)