Thursday, November 30, 2006

Kill Bill... an essay that I wrote in 11 mintues!

It is difficult for a person like me to pick and choose one movie over and above all the rest that I have seen in my entire life and say that ‘this was the best’. Perhaps it’s a difficult job for anybody, as it is for me. However, right now when I think of one movie that I really enjoyed watching the only name that I can think of is Quentin Torentino’s ‘Kill Bill’.

The movie is a relic we need to watch it to understand what the limits are that a director can reach up to in cinema. It is the height of creative imagination, something that normal human beings can only dream about. With the entire storyline based on a woman, Torentino definitely goes on to achieve what we would call the threshold of feminism and revolution. Uma Thurman, the protagonist does a near perfect job in bringing to life what the director only visualized and hoped for, be it her killing expressions, body language, or the fight sequences, Thurman masters the art of internalizing the character. The movie begins on a very serious note, but Torentino takes it to the realm of the unimaginable with Thurman like a devil slashing heads off, and blood oozing out like a fountain. All these details might seem gory but when you watch them, they are nothing but spectacular. The scenes are beautifully shot, and the technology used only ads to its perfection. I personally would suggest all movie buffs to watch the movie, if not for anything else but at least to understand what a spoof is all about and how a director can do it with so much style that the audience forgets all about the spoof and thinks about it as a classic piece of cinema.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Killing and Dying are the same at times...


No more have stories

That you do not know

And so

Nothing in me I have

That interests you

And I cannot hold you back.

Will you smile if I got back the river, that

Flew away from our steps

Or will the stories already told

keep you at bay?

I ask

Will you stay?

The morning is so empty

No rustling bed sheets

No early morning dew on the glass window

Nothing only reasons for me

Get consumed in your absence

I wish

You would be back

With all that is so full of you

And as you lay your head

On the nights cold pillow

I would remember this time

To put winter under your sleep

So that it covers your body

And consumes you

You will then be a

Cold dead body

With nothing so life like about you

And I who has suffered long

Will mock at your purple cadaver

I wish

You come back…

Thursday, November 23, 2006

This is just beautiful...

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

P.S. - This poem is written by emily Dickinson. I posted it here, cause (i might sound like praising myself) I just could not ignore the striking resemblance between this poem of hers and the way I write always. The imagery, the way she has chosen the words, the shape and structure of the poem and so much more, reminded me of how I write, not as good ofcourse. Perhaps resemblances like these to great poets makes me still stick to the dream of writing well someday...I wish I could. Amen!

RE:Can I use the banned word?

Let me be all hush-hush while I use it. If someone hears me using it, who knows the next thing they do is hang me...
finally the much debated, hated, and contemplated a word appears in my blog...F E M I N I S M !
Watched Paromita Vohra's documentary "unlimited girls", good I would say for the issues that it raises. Is feminism an ideology for ugly women?
Isn't being a woman reason enough to be a feminist?
Do we have to know the history and everything that went into getting FEMINISM the platform where it stands today?
Agreed one needs to know, but perhaps one cannot dismiss somebody just because s/he hasn't read the literature on feminism.
It's surprising how somebody in her interview said that she is afraid to have freedom, cause at the end of the day it leaves her tired of the social structure. Is it enough for women like me and anybody reading this that Feminism today functions perfectly well just in our lives? Do not we need to push it further so that it reaches to lives of all women? Shall we happily wrap up our mouths and mumble things that only we can hear, and be happy and 'thankful' of the situation we are in today? Is it enough to say that it is necessary that women be emancipated and let others fight for the cause? And in the end of it all say something like
"these Feminists are here to create Chaos !"
Sigh! lastly do we accept any and everything in the name of a culture that teaches us to be filth and nothing more?
do we
do we
do we!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

p.s.- the pic was found in a blog I read.

Monday, November 20, 2006

and suddenly it dies...

evenings and winter chapel bells
long lost dusty feet
return home
on a foggy blue noon
the silly dance and celebrations
choke them to death
no footsteps to traceback the homecoming
no shattered glasses and
the smell of cheap liquor
no beaten backs with rashes
no moaning
no gathering
not even the usual flies
what do we call them
the mourning flies?
I guess let them be the yellow butterflies
not even them to show her lost presence
what could he hold on to afterall?
he rushed back with the mad dance
and took with him the mad, celebrating loneliness
this time
careful to leave back a few tiered footsteps
atleast she if she comes back,
Marichiko could trace him back...
but suddenly the wish dies
and withers in the dusty corners
silent, ages
and pales
and dies again
he looks back for it
and asks
did you keep it safe?

Friday, November 03, 2006

Of Death and its Demons...

mad disgust
crazy awakenings
the cruel cycle bell
and another man
discharges his lust
hushed, muffled voices
and then
finally a scream
men with moustaches
and women with lathis
debate and hate
over the pain-painted body
writhing like a snake on the ground
before the conclusion
the woman-heart stops beating
silence for a while
men lower their moustaches
women their lathis
they silently discuss
who won, and who lost
between a young boy
let us call him the Son
quietly lowers the body in
a filthy garbage bag
hauls it to the dead end
of the shadowless basti
burns it amidst nilgiri leaves
breathes in the fumes and the last ugliness
of an announced death...