The only verdict is Vengeance

Remember remember, the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot,
I know of no reason, why the gunpowder treason,
should ever be forgot

Thus starts the movie which belongs to that rare breed which makes you hate it, love it but most importantly brood upon it. Based upon Alan Moore's 1984 graphic novel titled "V for Vendetta", the movie would have been just another visit to the multiplex if it did not have elements, symbolisms and references pertinent to the present world situation.

The million dollar question here is that where do you draw the line between right and wrong. Between moral and immoral. Between nationalism, jingoism and terrorism. Does an end justify the means or do the means have to be moral? What difference would have been made if India, instead of achieving freedom through Mahatma Gandhi's means, achieved it through Subhash Chandra Bose's path. Should terrorism be seen in black and white?

The movie does not attempt to answer any of these questions. It just throws in some shades of grey in the vastly bichromatic vision of the masses. It really makes you wonder, what would you choose - autocracy or anarchy. The movie or rather the comic book is inspired by a real person named Guy Fawkes who tried to blow up the British parliament on the 5th of November, 1605. Although his attempt failed, the event became famous by the name, the Gunpowder plot.

In addition to the intelligence that the movie displays, it is resplendent with great sets and some really memorable dialogues and action sequences. Hugo Weaving (agent Smith from Matrix) is brilliant and so is Natalie Portman. The only flaw I could find with the direction was the appaling lack of british accent in a movie which is set in the british society.

All in all. A movie not to miss...

The Lazy Confession

Well, the last nail has finally been dug in the coffin. The debatable question was "How lazy am I"? After 20 something years (I don't like to tell my exact age :-)) of self appeasing, elaborate excuses and fabrications, it was answered today...

You know how you tend to make impressions of people you meet. Like when you say that hey, you are a pretty good TT player when you are really wondering whether a dead wall would prove to be a better opponent. Or when you meet a person and think that now you have finally met a gem of a sucker. Some people leave a great impression, some pretty bad ones and some do not strech your imagination at all. And then all of a sudden, along comes a guy, meeting whom, you think, boy, the only reason he qualifies as a homo sapien and not a tortoise is because of the absence of a hard protective shell on his back. Such people define the term "LAZY" in its truest, extremist, oxfordist sense. And when such a person calls you the laziest human being he ever met, you can only look upto the heavens and wonder whether they changed the dictionary without informing you.

Having enough faith in your IQ, I assume that you must have figured out by now that I met with such a reply from such a person today. It has made me look at my life in a different perspective.

To begin with, the only game I am probably decent at is cricket. For starters, cricket is a game which is tailor made for people who flinch at the name of hardwork. Now when I look at it, you almost stand on the ground doing nothing for about 98.2% of the game. Between all the sweat, which doesn't necessarily result from running around but is a natural residue when sunlight falls on skin, you get sufficient number of drink breaks. Added to all this is the fact that my batting talent could only afford me an extended stay at the runner's wicket in most of my matches. And this is not it. I sometimes wonder what is the reason that 90% of the times I got run out. If only piece by piece, the puzzle is getting unravelled.

But you know what. Sometimes it just happens that winners acheive their goals not by working on their shortcoming but by rashly ignoring them. So when I came to U.S., I took up squash. It was never a first choice. I just wanted something to fill up the empty spot left over by the absence of cricket. And as has been proved so many times in history, compromises are often doomed to failure from the start. The one major problem I find with squash is the fact that the makers of the game forgot to put any coefficient of restitution in the ball and everyone following them made no objection at all. I am extremely convinced now that this act should figure in the top 20 heinous crimes against humanity ever. As far as guys like me are concerned, we only go to a squash court to make others feel good about their talents. Personally, when the other guy plays that drop shot against me, I almost feel like the way Poland must have felt against the advancing German armies. Subconsciously aware of my talent of laziness, I almost immediately know the futility of any attempt I might make at returning the shot, but my ego masked in the guise of this self fooling illusion always makes me spend that energy which I value so dearly.

Nevertheless, life goes on and so does squash. Sometimes, I feel guilty of the fact that maybe I enjoy this laziness. Maybe, I am too lazy to counter this view. So it stays very much part of my life. And so does my latest title "The laziest person whom the laziest person ever met".

The Canine Case

In the great debate of national culturedness, the verdict has been drawn. And the irrefutable evidences lie in the social etiquettes of the American poodle and the desi gali ka kutta.

Without making things any harder than they should be, I should go on to introduce the topic of my musings. That my U.S. visit has been nothing short of a cultural shock should come as no surprise to anyone. Considering the fact that I spent the better part of my life in the especially backward regions of a especially backward state of the country, the immaculate cleanliness and orderliness of the U.S. alone should have been enough to send me into coma. To top it all is the all pervasive, almost forced politeness of the average american population. Whereas in India, I would almost swoon over the character and politeness of a Mysore auto driver just because he did not overcharge me heavily for the ride from the station to my home, I have had to adjust my expectations in this country. Every place I go, I am met with a friendly "How is it going?" accompanied with a smile which would almost have indicated the news of a new born child to my Indian counterpart friend. Initially, not experienced in the U.S. ways of salutation and having being posed with such a question, I felt obligated to provide my inquirer with a detailed description of "How was it going with me". In such situations, as my dreary blabbering reached about a minute of callous indifference to mocking glances and amused smiles, the counter person generally used to end my foolish charade with a forced THANK YOU and NEXT IN LINE PLEASE. And after stumbling for uncountable number of times, it dawned upon me that it might all be just a formality. It might just be possible that politeness is just a compulsory overcoat which these Americans by law have to wear. It might just be possible that a question like "How is it going" does not deserve an answer.

All of this brings me to the all important and seminal observation of mine. It was a beautiful sunny day when I, bored with the monotony of daily existence, stumbled upon this brilliant observation which has now proven to be the last link to my theory of cultural culturedness in India and U.S. I never heard a dog bark in the U.S. Can you believe it. Absolutely never. And to compare it, even my own dog back in India although only a few inches in lateral dimension, packs enough barking ammunition to rival the noise of a supersonic jet at close quarters (approximately 120 decibles!!!). And he is supposed to be a pet! I just don't need to present street examples. In India, any dog, unless it is a close acquaintance of yours or is a friend of your dog, is apt to be seen as a potential donor of Rabies virus and a lot of pain. But here in the U.S. all the dogs are almost oblivious of my presence. While passing by, they just seem to acknowledge, with a slight nod of their head, the painful fact that they happen to live in a world which is infested with humans but that nothing can be done about it. There is absolutely no barking. If anything, maybe, there is that smile and probably that unsaid question "How is it going" which after innumerable and inconsiderate repetitions has become mundane enough not to deserve an answer at all...