I want to write today. I feel like writing today. In fact, I’m exploding to write today. I’m not sure what I will write about and yet, I want to write about everything. Everything that’s happened lately, in this city I live in, in my life, in my head. Tap tap tap...
So we’ve heard, read, watched and discussed enough of what happened last weekend. I will not comment or air my views, lest I get arrested (something I really don’t need in my life right now) since clearly democracy is a word used fast and loose in our country.
Anyhoo. I have *never* seen Bombay the way it was this weekend. The mothership of course, has impeccable timing and decided to land just a couple of hours after the announcement was made. So obviously, she had to be picked up. I stepped out of the house and a chill ran down my spine. It was positively eerie. Empty, dark streets with a few people here and there desperately trying to get home. Thankfully, I had company, very supportive, generous company who had my back, to get to the airport with me. After two long walks and two short bus rides, we were dropped off right outside the departure gate at the domestic airport. After picking her up, after just about 30-45 minutes, the company managed to flag down a cab to take us home for a mere Rs 400 (a meagre amount compared to the Rs 1,000 upwards demands the other cabbies were making). We made it home before 10pm—sheer luck or God’s blessing. Who’da thunk!
The weekend was spent in a pretty familial setting with the mothership cooking and us eating and sleeping (and the other two going ballistic without the television). On Sunday, I felt like we were living in the times of the Emergency. We stocked up on food and supplies, all bought surreptitiously of course, and enough to last us at least two weeks. And lo and behold! All was back to normal the next day *facepalm* Oh well, this *event* was something every Mumbaikar was prepared for, and I suppose every experience is a new memory registered.
Yesterday was a day of finalies. Kasab was finally hanged and the victims, martyrs, their families and every Indian were given justice and redemption. Yes, I know there is much debate amongst us armchair politicians sitting in the ivory towers of our laptops and desktops, logging into facebook and twitter, discussing the demerits of capital punishment.
Frankly, I’m not sure which side of it I am on, in general, but in this case... let me put it in this way—never have I been more pleased to hear of someone’s death. Yes, he was a young life and no one (perhaps) has the right to take away someone else’s. But he had. He had taken away the lives of scores of *innocent* people after meticulous planning and thought. Yes, maybe he was naive and in need and therefore, easily brainwashed; but this *brainwashing* should have worn off in the four years he spent on Indian soil behind bars made of our hard-earned tax money, no? Sorry, can’t condone something like this. More importantly, I was lucky and blessed that I did not lose any loved one in that terrorist attack. But for those who did, this was the only way of getting some sort of closure. It will not bring back those who died, but they may now feel that their lives were not lost in vain. Or something like that.
Yesterday, I also finally got my hands on Fifty Shades of Grey. Yes, I’ve been dying to read it and I’m sure I will love it, so sue me. I’m on the third chapter and I’m already hooked. One of my besties and I plan to go through all three books, though she wanted to start from the last one. No!
Jab Tak Hai Jaan was also *finally* watched yesterday. I had tickets for mothership and myself for Sunday, but well... read the above.
I know, the movie is crap; how can a 43-year-old SRK pose as a 25-year-old; which 21-year-old in 2002 would, in her right mind, make such promises (especially of not having sex :-o) to God, such a loose premise, etc. etc. But it’s a love story, and if you’re reading this post, you either know me or have read my other posts and therefore know that I am a hopeless romantic. Even my own love life is a Hindi movie storyline in my head. So! I left my brain at work and enjoyed the timepass movie. But I gotta say—I didn’t feel the passion and extent of their love, like I usually would, especially in a Yash Chopra film, simply because Katrina Kaif canNOT act to save her life. Which is such a pity, because she’s so pretty. (Ooh that rhymed!). Anushka Sharma was good, yes, but isn’t she getting a little typecast? This whole bubbly, energetic, mufat Delhi girl—bit much now, yes?
Anyway, what really did make me senti was the end-credit. Yash Chopra is dead, it’s sad. He really did know how to build em love stories. Sigh. Also, there’s just one line in the film that I totally got—(translated and paraphrased) the memory is a darned thing; when you want to forget some thoughts, feelings and well, memories, it will not let you, all your life. And sometimes, when you want to remember something, no matter how hard you try, you will just not be able to. SO true! I totally want an invention like a memory delete—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind types. Someday maybe, someday.
Ok, I think I’m done for now. Sorry for the random rambling. But... no, there is no but. I might just post some more later today ;)