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Monday, September 7, 2009

A couple of unsheathed claws...

I don't quite know what I am going to write about, to be frank and manly about things right at the outset. All I know is that its been thirteen days since I last posted an entry and it is therefore 'time' I did another. You could of course have a different opinion about it and I would defend your opinion absolutely without necessarily agreeing with it. And just to show my education, though not Latin and also not an expensive public school one, is sufficiently well-rounded, I will quote Aristotle thus, "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it"... Impressive, eh? Wink

And now that you, gentle reader, are suitably impressed and are gasping at the brilliant illumination thus cast, let me revert to the initial dilemma: What do I write about?

One very tempting topic is the path to oblivion that seems to have become the reserved right of the BJP, supposedly the main opposition party in the country. Sure they are that, but chiefly opposed to themselves. Day in and day out I shake my nut in wonder at the cheerful way the 'stalwarts'--oh dash it! let me change that to 'stall-warts' (more fitting in the current scheme of things, don't you think, each half-word contributing handsomely to the full effect in a crescendo?)--seem to be so wonderfully and determinedly driving their dear old party into the ground. More power to them, I say!

Those last two words drive me off on a tangent, I say! Laughing You got me? Not yet? C'mon! QGM. The one and only, Quick Gun Murugan. Mind it, I say! What a lark it was! The humour is different, spoof piling upon more spoofs, vignettes of a whole kettle of both loved and little-loved movies have been laid bare... or given an indulgent pat. The mix is rich, layered and bloody good for the soul. Quibblers abound and there are many infesting the Net. Some so-called 'reviewers'--ugh--main grouse appears to be on these lines, "QGM was a good idea that flit across your television screens in short and therefore sweet bursts but to have that kind of an idea stretched to fill the two-hour length of a commercial film is an onerous task and these guys have not been able to pull it off"... or words to this effect.

Bollocks, I say! I say, these 'reviewers' do not have a mind large enough to contain an idea of this dimension, dammit! Their tiny minds can chew on such humour in only small doses and larger doses curl their toes up and they moan at the slightest noise thereafter. To blazes with them and their tribe. More's the pity they don't curl up further and call it a day. Permanently.

You simply have to lie back and let the movie unfold around you. You savour it, taste it, reach back into your minds and memories to connect and laugh. Laugh, man, that's all! Don't try and analyse and find links to things that do not exist; they only occupy your small minds I say, thereby lessening space availability even more... and you miss out the sheer fun! Just to pick one random sample, when Rice Plate Reddy dictates the 'resignation' letter to an endearingly old dodderer of a typist for a failed henchman, did you not just clutch your belly--or six/ eight packs--and laugh them out? That is a scene that is ruthless, mean, shocking and bloody funny. Nasser (the one without the 'uddin') is fantastic.

So there, QGM is dealt with--my only desire is that Shashanka Ghosh and Rajesh Devraj find it within themselves to get more adventures out for us to relish--and I can safely go back to the BhaJaPa.

Old Gravelley Voice of the unruly eyebrows has done it to them in a big, fat book. The suave ex-IFS officer has done it to them in letters. The rapier-like ex-journo has done it to them in incisive thrusts that felt like bludgeon blows. Who goes next? Is that the queue? Oh good-ness!  So the party--no pun intended, I tell you--will last longer you say? I cheer them on. Of course, the real powers have pulled the string short. Toothbrush moustache is now out on a limb to salvage an exit for himself to ride into a dusty oblivion--with the instructions from the walrus-moustached one wearing the strangely shaped knickers (to be fair to him, I must say everyone in that organisation wears the same). From all accounts, it seems old toothbrush-moustached permitted himself to be manipulated by the oily ones to linger awhile for them to plan the division of the spoils for themselves. Their 'chief honcho'--whatshisname?--has no say in anything of course. He will be cast aside as soon as the oily ones have got their paws on the spoils. Gravelly has gone; Suaveness will go--he is already quite isolated--and Rapier might too. And their places will be taken by the bumptious ingrates, the ill-educated and the illiterate, the throwbacks, the plain ruthless ones and the paranoia-mongers. Holy moly, what a party! Next time around, would you vote for them? Tell me?

Shifting gears and roads, I will seek your indulgence for another most extraordinary film to talk about in brief: Kaminey. Have you managed to grab that and eyeball it yet? If no, then that is a serious oversight and you simply must make amends. The price of a ticket is well spent; take a friend along if not your significant other. This movie must be seen and promoted. Yes, it is that kind of a film, a-once-in-a-while kind.

Characterisations are top-notch, ambience is outstanding, filming technique--never encountered in mainstream Hindi films, dialogues are sparkling with wit, dark humour and exactly what is being spoken on the mean streets of Bombay. Camera work is so different! The frames are seldom steady, they're often in close up, editing is rapid and spot-on and the acting is superlative. Who to name and who to leave out? None. Each is amazing. Bhope Bhau? Mikhail? Tashi? Lobo? Guddu and Charlie and Sweety of course. And is it at all possible to not mention that absolutely stunning piece, Dhan-Te-Nan? C'est impossible! That song and its music absolutely throbs with vitality! Delicious film, amazingly executed. Vishal-saab, bravo! And encore, please.

And now I must wind up. The hour is well advanced and the telly beckons; need some mindless diversion for a short while. So therefore, mes amis, au revoir for now. More later...

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About Indranil

Indranil Mukherjee is an aspiring author of fiction but a long-time amateur writer, who has taken a break from his software career to give expression to his main passion: Writing. And if provided with timely sustenance to keep body and soul together, he loves to read. Besides these, he digs driving, travelling to all corners of the world, sampling all variety of food, meeting people, learning new stuff, listening to music, and about a couple of hundred other things. Curious about life, and armed with 25 years’ worth of experience observing people from all over the world while working with them, he fancies he has stories to tell. Rather nifty ones.

Besides completing this collection of short stories based on an Indian Railways officer’s real-life experiences--he already has a novelette eBook selling on Amazon titled "Re-Kill: when an assassin's professional pride is hurt..."--he has several works underway that comprise sci-fi, fantasy-humour-adventure, thriller, and has a maelstrom of other plots whirling in his head that occasionally meld nicely to create interesting dreams. And yes, a spot of scripting too.

Indranil is married to Sanghamitra, and they live in Delhi, along with their mother. Their son, Ayoush, lives in the US, big into data.

He can be found right here where his blog lives, awaiting updates on life, the universe, and everything.

You can contact him directly on this mail ID: 

The most important communication between readers and the writer is the former's feedback... it's lifeblood! Request you to tell me things which you believe need to be told! The good, the not so good, and the downright bad! Thank you already! Smile