So I don't write anymore. I used to write, and I used to write because I really wanted to. I would think of something, and write it as I thought of it. People sometimes read what I wrote, and sometimes, they even had things to say. Comments thrilled me, but what thrilled me more was the fact that I could write. That every so often, I would not have to labour over words, and what I wanted to say would be what I wrote down. Then, I stopped writing. And people stopped reading my blog. No one reads this anymore, because no one expects anything to ever be written here. I think I can start writing again. And if you are reading this, shut up.

Cloud Atlas

I love David Mitchell. I don't love him the way I love Kazuo Ishiguro. For Kazuo Ishiguro I have a wistful, secret love. I like to lie in the spaces between his words and cry. But David Mitchell. I love him like I am drowning. David Mitchell gave me my happy place. It is a scene in a forest, from The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet, that I go back to when I need comfort. A snowy pine forest on a slope, under siege by bowmen. It is an odd place to seek refuge, but I find it there. And Cloud Atlas. It was described somewhere as a Matroyshka doll, but I find that description inadequate. I don't want to undermine anyone or anything, but it is a bit like the Universe. You know, how it is about everything, and everybody. I know what that makes David Mitchell, and I don't find that idea unbelievable. But Cloud Atlas. What is that animal? How was it ever written? And how did the Wachowski siblings and Tom Tykwer ever make a movie out of it? You can't tell a story like Cloud Atlas, primarily because it isn't one story, it's several, and not just six. You can pair up any two stories, and they would make one story. Likewise for any three, or four, or five. To make a movie out of Cloud Atlas one needs to love the book, and movies. One needs to love the book enough to want to be true to it, and one needs to love movies enough to believe that such a movie could be made. And this film was a labour of such deep, abiding love. You feel it in every frame, in every actor cast, and in every sequence shot. The movie is steeped in a desperate desire to tell a story. Imagine the book in your hands. Now tear it int pieces. Now put it back together. Only this time, take six pieces from six different stories, and put them together. Make as many sets as make sense. Now arrange them in sequence. That is Cloud Atlas, the movie. But doesn't the makeup jar at times? Of course it does. Most people would hate Hugo Weaving as Nurse Noakes, but I loved him. His makeup was terrible, but what was important for me was the continuity between the different roles played by the same actor, and that was preserved. I could believe that Nurse Noakes could look like Hugo Weaving in drag. Some women do. But what was truely terrible was Halle Berry as Jocasta Ayrs. She looked like she was made of CGI. At no other point does the makeup get that distracting. In fact, I found it fun to spot the actor and make the connections. That David Gyasi was Autua and Lester Rey, or that Doona Bae was Somni-451 and Linda Ewing, were like Easter eggs to me. But Jocasta Ayrs was ghastly. She had this unearthly golden glow, like Angelina Jolie in Beowulf, or Ryan Reynolds in every movie, and did not look real. She could have been played by Andy Serkis for all that I knew. But the movie resonates. I love telling stories, and as storytellers would know, telling someone the story of a novel is hard. You must work hard at distilling the core of the story, embellish with adequate details, and create something that stands on its own feet. Cloud Atlas does that. The colours are brighter, the themes more distinct, and the movie becomes what an adaption should aspire to be- a retelling. It doesn't adhere to form or structure or sequence, and it creates some that there never was, but it does so in a way that you feel- this could have been there. The story could be this. This doesn't change much (I am looking at you, Zach Snyder and Watchmen). I don't know if my opinion is compromised by my love for the book. But I don't care. For a movie adaptation of a book that is a mobius strip of infinite sides, Cloud Atlas does remarkably well at tearing that strip apart and piecing it back in a different, yet recognisable form. I see my book in this movie. And that is more than I could have hoped for.

This is from the A.O. Scott's review on the movie "Whip It" in the New York Times:

"The leader of the rival squad, Iron Maven, Bliss’s nemesis, is played by Juliette Lewis, whose scenes with Ms. Page have an extra dimension of pop-culture resonance, since Ms. Lewis was the Ellen Page of an earlier era."

Ms. Page here is Ellen Page. I know that I would feel the pop-culture resonance that A.O. Scott spoke about, and now I want to see the movie just to see two women, who personified the whip-smart but awkward girl in two different eras, interact with each other. The funny thing is that Juliette Lewis was Juliette Lewis before I was old enough to appreciate who she was or what she represented. Which is to say that I have only a second-hand memory of the cultural significance of an actress, and I can still appreciate how she fits into pop culture, despite the fact that we are talking about the pop culture of an earlier generation. Which is to say that I watch too many movies and spend too much time on Wikipedia.

This is what my playlist looks like right now-
Elisa- Dancing
Chantal Kreviazuk- Leaving on a Jet Plane
Jewel- Hands
Madeline Peyroux- Between the Bars
Kings of Convenience- I Don’t Know What I Can Save You From
Lord of the Rings- Gollum’s Song
Turin Brakes- Rain City
The Decemberists- Of Angels and Angles
This blogpost isn’t about anything in particular. Just listen to these songs and tell me if you like them.

I was sitting in my college library, working on my friend’s laptop. Sifting through the music on her laptop, I found the Amelie Soundtrack. Suddenly, the lights went out. And in the dark, the first few bars of Le Moulin rang out. If you’ve heard La Moulin, then you’ll know the part when the accordion stops and the piano starts playing. Try remembering how the piano starts. Better still, play the song as you read this. Now imagine the fluorescent lights in a large, dark hall flickering to life with this music. If you can do this correctly, and if you are in company, like I was, then you will do what I did. Breathe deeply, reign in the urge to smile broadly, and feel like the universe went out of its way to make you very happy.

Of Things I Like And Things I Learn

I like beginnings. I also like ends. Some of my friends would tell you that I like everything, but that is not true. I do not like the colour yellow ochre, and neither do I like it when quotation marks are used randomly. But, as usual, I digress. And I like digressing quite a bit.
So, I like beginnings. I like the beginning of a new year, and there hasn’t been a single year of school that I haven’t looked forward to. I like the chance to start afresh, I like how everything can be different. And most of all (and this is close to being my most favourite thing in the whole wide world)- I like the possibility that things are going to happen. New things, things which have never happened. The whole world could change in innumerable ways, and I don’t know how. It’s enough to make one giddy with joy.
But if one must begin, one must begin the right way. With the right mindset, observing the correct rituals. I believe in rituals. They are the primary reason why I can never be an atheist. Because, when I pray, or when I light an incense stick, I honestly believe that the act in itself is significant, that lighting that stick has indeed brought me closer to God. It’s a childish understanding of rituals, I am afraid, but one that has stuck with me nonetheless.
So, as I was saying, I believe in the right ritual. And starting something new with the right frame of mind. You see, I have a problem. I don’t learn lessons very well. I am always eager to learn them, however. Tell me a fable, and I will take it to heart. If only for the next day or so. If self-improvement books weren’t so corny, I would read them all. I am a strange sort of masochist.
So, because I don’t remember my lessons for long, I must remind myself of them periodically. I have a tiny notebook in which I write everything I learn. Of course, it takes a fair bit of reminding to actually write in it. I also have favourite books and movies that I keep going back to. Which, at last, brings us to the much-awaited point. I just saw Amelie.
*big grin*
I love the movie. Love it to bits and pieces, and then I join the pieces together and love it again. The Amelie Soundtrack is one of my favourite albums, right up there with the White Album and In Absentia. I listened to Amelie when my bus rolled out from Calcutta on a rainy dawn. I listened to Amelie in the backseat of a crowded bus, and I listened to Amelie in the dark, under my blankets, in the middle of the night. I love the music, and I love it only slightly less than the movie itself.
Which is why I reserve Amelie for special occasions. For those days when I need something to tilt my chin up. To learn, again, those tiny lessons which I keep forgetting. To not be cowardly. To not be too fond of stratagems. And to seize tiny moments. Oh, and also to not be afraid to lay yourself open once in a while, even if it’s to expose yourself for the cotton-candy stuffed bag of marshmallow mush that you really are.
So I watched Amelie again. I’ve taken note of my lessons, and hope to remember them when I wake up. For my third year in college.

Stonewall

"And we felt that we had freedom at last, or freedom to at least show that we demanded freedom."

Stonewall no more.