THE PROLIFIC LOSER

Where there is clatter all around,
'The hulla-baloo of subsistence.'
Each for its own cause,
All for persistance.

The mayhem of life,
the call of sustainance.

A voice for ur prerogative,
A hand for your morsel.
Is a nugget so bootless,
A wish so arid.

But then there are playmates,
Your capital for life.
Who boggle back against the hassle,
For your knuckles total 'em.


Here is something which quantifies the lines above.
The composition to follow, is the work of someone who has been an abecedary to me, n forced the dexterity, latent within my frame, to surface.
Thanks buddy..
Less you I 'ld have been another portable structure occupying mass n volume of the limited spatial reserves.


Prolific Loser

prolific loser, is that me,
how to define who is me,
to be churlish and to be sublime,
want everything at a given time.

loser because that all i hold,
was stolen or got it sold.
selling them, the things that i found,
was to be mine, it was fortune bound.

prolific was the manner i loose
so many choices, always worst i choose.

i wander on the sand of time,
in my fist i hold a dime.
this dime is painted blue,
oh tell me is that you?

prolific loser! i have lost everything.
"prolific loser", the tag stings.

oh!but if this dime, that i saved,
from this gloating world, miseries and pains.
oh! if this dime is YOU,
i am a winner who had his due.

BHEJA FRY

The Movie


Abridging the scene-wise illustrations to the gist of the stimuli-responce datasheet for the movie, let me first elucidate my views (that were, n those which found surface with the course of the movie) on the leading actor of the film, Vinay Pathak, who played a mistrel, an ever-slurring nut, and an unstoppable, unyielding storm of idiocity who can irk u to baldness.
This guy, Pathak, is either a perfectionist n that too a skillful one, who appreciates n recognizes the struggler (that was) within him n greets n accepts all chalenges [ Can u play a cheracter as subtle as this? (as in Khosla ka Ghosla), or sumtimes, Can u live a role as worthless, as senseless, n as fruitless as this? (as in Bheja Fry) ], or on the other hand, dis Pathak thing can be a totally dumbstruck, and ignorant self, who believes that in order that the generations to come recall of him as a legend, his must make his senseless n weird humour, his emblazon.
With the former being true, this guy is so immersed in his talent that, petty issues like the aim of the role, the plot, the message of the movie, all "no-bar", n thats what make the genious out of the actor go barren.
For the latter conjcture to hold the sceptor the fate of the movie is girded even before the definition of the plot. But then what can anyone forecast with the Indian audiance and their arses firm on the seats.
Any damn thing can call for descriptions in historical Archives if Mrs. Sharma cooked well before the movie that day n both of them had an unwavering quicky last night.
This is how Indian Cinema grows with Sharmas n Singhs on the corner seats and Kumars n Syeds occupying the centre stage (The arrangements are conditional to the State concerned and the Chief Minister in power).

Well, the other 4 (Sarika, Ranvir Shorey, Rajat Kapoor, Milind Soman) were all gud in their own primitive styles.

Sarika though adding no quality to the flow of the movie, was fine in her performance (the role offered to her was such a loose that none, no matter hw talented could add a current) and up to the director's mark.
I wonder what this man, Sagar Ballary, wanted out of the movie, woth all skillful actors gives parts proportionally worthless, the script of the movie identifying no mark, no aim, and absolutely no plot or sequence worth flaunting the camera skills. Those 30-40 songs, which would have been an added bemish to the already corrupted commercial stuff, may have added some masala here. But the director Mr. Ballary leaving no dung-cake unturned (may be he needed some for cheap fuel in his chimney) replaced those erotic booty revealing shakers with the moans of hitherto personification of headache, Mr. Pathak.
Ranvir Shorey, this time given a chance proved his worth by being perfect in his impersonation, and his was the only comprehensible character to the tunes of which on e could diffuse a chrotle or two. But then how can we get par the weak and cliched dialogues written as if on parole.
Rajat Kapoor, another affluent artist was again a victim of the spiritless, lifeless role.
Though the idea of a sadist, opulent man , addicted to his debauched taste was ingenious n new, but the way of planting such a complex psyche with the aid of timid narratives n threads was inclined to render the thought ineffective, and it did.
Milind Soman, in his I-was-the-first-Indian-male-supermodel accent, was OK in his share of the storyline. Aristrocratic, as he certainly is, did raised some eye-brows, but hw long??

So, as it has materialize, Bheja Fry with an absolutely talented casting, lagged the finishing of an equally talented director, backed by an aim-oriented core and an intense dialogue dilevery.

This was more of a play, a curtain raiser for some theatre than a 70 mm silver screen pot-boiler...

Charging to Neutrality

The final few days of my college, n I (among waif pee-pill, with no or may be a negative sense of humour, minus sportsmanship, minus brains), numb n nascent as if following the code of conduct of the flotsam, potionless, n stagnant mood of the same was dying to find, some change, some color, some flourishing talent, some growing bud, something, anything rising. That was the time, I heard (n that wsa the only source of recreation to me) of this movie called "Bheja Fry".

Now, after fatal encounters with turd-frames like "Maalamal Weekly", "Apna Sapna Money Money", n disappointment of the yr "Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.", I could not, for the sake of my existence rely on another post-movie-"Where is the nearest Chemist Store?"-type movie, and that too with a camouflaged statutary warning in the name itself, "Bheja Fry".

{ I tell u these ICB buggers r the shrewdest of all. Instead of an M certificate, which 'ld have been a boulder to the promotional stance of the movie, these con-men after having settled their issues with the affluent producers, cunningly asked them to make necessary alterations with the name of the movie, so that in case of a casuality or a community-wide Holocaust kindled post movie, no one can sue them. }

But then, its better to learn, or may be come out with, though strong yet innovative nuggets, instigated by vitnessing a 2 to 3 hrs long gang-bang of creativity, than to render urself colorless to the Black n White ambience, unfortunately of which u r a part.
A simile could be: Its better acquiring a negative charge than submitting to neutrality. A negative charge under the effect of induction can turn positive, but recharging a neutral atom is tedious.

Other than this n the fact that Bheja Fry was the talk of the town in a couple of days (pee-pill concoct stories abt things which they do not understand), I started growing a liking for the movie knowing that with no big stars (You can refer to notes on stardom in one of the previous posts n enlight urself.) and only 5 characters, all played by off-beat theatre artists, this movie was no commercial crap [ with 30-40 songs, 37-39 smooch scenes (no. depending on astrological oreintations of the producer's stars n moons, adviced by Jyotish Batuknath of "Sooonyle Shit-tea" fame), 20-25 rape scenes, 10-500 emotional scenes (Emraan Hashmi-Shahrukh Khan), etc ].
So, moved by the idea of a fool-proof movie, n incited by the lack of options, I decided to give it a try.
n there I was, with my all-time abettor A, n her sister, a cyborg as far as I know her (perfect at work, nothing stimulates her), at the ticket-counter of PVR Sahara Ganj, Lko., 11 o' clock in the morning.
I purchased the tickets, eyed da fellow gendry on the sly, n tried to visualize my skiny self in their '20-different-brands-on-a-single-outfit' T-Shirts n trunks....Eeeeeks..I hated myself then for being so sleek, n vowed surreptitiously that the next few months 'ld be an excessive work-out span...

Into the Hall...

HONEYMOON TRAVELS PVT. LTD.

HTpl



The most vexing thing that happened to me this winter was HTpl. With so much appreciation n regards for Farhan A.(later dis yr did this occured to me that it was
sum Reema Kagti under Farhan's Production House.), to hav actually descended
upon a movie which starred sum of the best artists of the contemporary times other than the rest Crisp Fillers {or rather Stars, not to offend the emotions of may be a few of u, though I 've my balls on the other side of the court(hey, plz, it's jst a phrase. I m minus any secret illnesses). Stars and Stardom: The rate at which cretin pimps, (performances for whom are no more than hw well their bitches help dere customers dispose off their virility) are being approached by these ever-hot-wallet-buffoons turned producers, and rising to stardom(much hyped n peeped by the idle media), all this seems to be generating a die-hard accost to the planetary space in the heat to outnumber its occupants. Now, this, is a peculiar situation, becoz with more no. of stars on earth (in Bollywood n Tollywood itself), than outside, the Sun may get confounded n move out of the constellation, with or without replacements, in which case, pee-pill may hav to sell their refrigerators (including the dowried ones) at hair-falling rates.
The author will not, in any case be answerable for any other mishap, if condensed..}

Coming back to the topic, so with so much in mind, n an honest intention to
promote the movie with all gust n enthusiasm, I was there in PVR Spice, for the first
Nation-wide release of the movie, 1st day, 1st show, to be precise.
Gasping and breathing out all possible, feasible moments of excitement, joy, n loads
of admirations that were to follow, I sat dere besides my inamorato, mesmerized by
the aura, which I could actually touch n taste, of the next two n a half-three hrs to come.
woooooofff...there I was, perennially leaking goodies for the director, the performers, (jst look at this...) the hall, the gendry around (though the lights were already turned off, n I c'ld see none), the day that had been, n the rest that was going to be.
I didn't wanted to listen to anything (any damn imp. thing, "there is a test tommorow", "what abt the assignment?", "where will we have food after this?", nothing, no crap...) except for discussions in the affirmative abt the whole crew, the sets, the movie...
And then, the moment arrived. The tatterdemanil touts sublimed and the
authorization page of the Indian Censor Board revealed a "U" after the name of the motion picture, which too found me in relief, for I content to know that those jiffy moments (peculiar to a U/A) of uncomfortable silences would not surface. I
rearranged myself on my seat, n asked my accomplice to do the same, as if those
were instants before Derrk O' Brian would penalize us wid his rapid-fire.
I 'ld realize this later that this was the highest I could reach n dat from here everything else was on the down-tread.



The Movie-


Scene 1-
Diya Mirza, in her radiating, 80S51 microprogrammed pink(too pink for a pink) saari, is crying her gut out, n it seems dat the reason is none other than the grief of departing her maiden-house in order to settle with her baniya(sahukaar) types, "Yahaan Peshaab karna mana hai" husband, Ranvir Shorey.
Though not so hilarious, but this was OK, n not a bad start for a to be followed awesome "paisa-wasool picture" .

Scene 2-
Kay-Kay Menon faces the camera, n I start regaining my avid interest, but then, wat is he doing. Though equally mediocre to the one above, but where is the script that was supposed to bind my attention to the minutest of details. It must be there.
May be, I, spellbound by the palpable idea of the movie, am not paying the necessary heed.
Yes, thats the flaw, n its wid my fidget psyche.
Ok, sorry movie..
From now, I 'll pay you all the regards that you deserve...

Scene 3-
Enter Minissha Lamba n Abhay Deol, in a more siblings (if its so, that too adulterated) outlook, than a couple.
One sec, what is this??
Where is the performance I am dying to admire, and the concept which 'ld either make me shiver of nostalgia, or make me crack up hee-haw. Is it with the biker, whose identity has yet not been conceded (the fact which is forcing small proportions of adrenalin play arnd my viens, n making me itch to the call), or with the most talented versatile performing pair of Shabana Azmi and Boman Irani. May be their entry (entry as in overtaking other pithy stories) would incite the humour cells to tickle. May be, lets see...

Scene 4-
Shanbana Azmi (the fact that she is one of the big time performers of the Indian Film Industry, daughter of Kaifi Azmi, the wife of Javed Akhtar, n nw the mother of Farhan Akhtar, certainly has something to do with the dominating, creamy-at-will personality that has infact surmounted her ingenious, innovative, exploring self) and Boman Irani, both inherently talented actors, could, to my gravest disappoinment not add sugar or even a tea-bag to the boil of expectations n tenterhooks occupying my mind.
Where is this thing(Hats Off T!!) going?
What is this movie abt?
Is this what I am here for?
This!!
But, this is chaff, all crap..

To this blatant misuse of democratic freedom to access the 
media, without wasting anymore of my creative ideology n innovative imaginations on what
was being screened, I submitted.
And then, there was anarchy.
Ranvir Shorey out, showpiece mannequin Arjun Rampal in.
Closeted Homosexuals, gay men, lesbian women, orgies, UFOs, dianosours, Shaktiman (rolled out as the only super-hero, with a permanent sink to test his libido-Shaktiwoman)
                          What the fuck??
Is this a movie?
And should the government permit release of such movies in countries like India, Pakistan, etc (where nothins stable, n every position, every government, every status, everything stands on the tip of a belfry), without an M(moron) certificate issued to the same in public interest.
Well, I gave up, but to be honest, I could'nt bear it, n was on Disprin for the next one week.
It was then that I realized-
"All that glitters is not gold,
and all that stinks is not shit."

Yakkuuuu....

Lets talk movies, bollywood masala, tollywood masala-mirchi-tadka-lehsun-pyaaz(aaloo-gobhi, n other seasonal vegies n flesh, I-> ), hollywood sizzlers, romantics, classics, legendaries...

To start with lemme put to you an experience i endured, wen, moved by the starcast, promotional posting, n trailers of an eagerly awaited bollywood deciever(as it turned out to be), I avalanched with an emotional urge, went for the premier show of the same, with my accomplice A...

Rapid-Fire

Q. What reason do you have to believe the earth is flat?

A. Their could be epics written to answer this biggy....
Comprehending the "you" of da ques, as the 'unique ego' under different relative positions of da sun..(Going by the popular belief that the mood of a human can be perfectly mapped with the motion(dawn through dusk) of the Sun.)
The Dawn:-
The earth is flat b-coz u think(or rather u want to think) its flat, bcoz fr u thinking of da earth as a two dimensional plane is much comfortable n soothing, dan imaging urself as a ferromagnetic strip hanging upside-down, from an enormous spherical magnet, you being ready n viable to b dropped to gobble da endless secrets of da limitless space, once the source of consistent magnetization of the bait turns off..
The Sun's over head:-
The earth's flat, no doubt, but conditionally..n all it depends on is da way u define "earth".
We r individual identities, relishing our own share of da relations, thoughts, customs, practices, air, all of which regenerate itself frm da cause of its own existence..The only thing common to all organic entities is da space abv, wid its projection beneath our feet as da only thing specific to each n every form of matter which is otherwise a shareholder.. dis "thing" is da earth, "The Personal Earth"..n yes it certainly is flat, or else hw could we wid almost flat bases inherent to our structure 've ever stood widout clutchers under our shoulders...
The 'sun filching' Dusk:-
Newton, da most versatile explorer of all, discovered dat every physical atomic matter, wen inside da magnetic aura of da planet, experiences the gravitational pull n falls radially towards its centre, thus traversing an orthogonal trajectory down to da surface...
For dis da earth has to b a cocked plane, ready to recieve substances descending in da normal direction....n so its flat.

Deciphering Tool-box

Its high-time I should ask you to lay your eyes upon the jargon dat is key to my yukky crap...
(NOTE: With me, my lingo too 'ld add up, n all alterations will b instantly uploaded here.)
Here are sum of my favorites:

"things" or "The prolific T"-
This word, is an epic in its own..u can use it to fill all blanks dat 1 may encounter, n no1 ever asks fr an explanation, as in, "things" r goin gud; "things" goin b/w dem; THE ORKUT CLICHE'::5 "things" u cant live widout...
Its perfectly the most compatible of all words, n you 'll understand its worth in the course of the read.

pee-pill-
When u first condense upon a word, dere r "things" u think of...

•  Whether or not, the fabric(word) rhymes wid da cotton(da wrd u want to replace wid da fabric;people#pee-pill).
  
• Then comes da utility n moot logic behind da fabric..

Q. Hw r people, pee-pills..??
A. The idea is 2 defend n promote ur invention, n in da bash u may 've to extend ur flexible boundaries, n prove ur malleability by being rigid, fr a change(n dats wat flexibility is all abt), n generalizing "things" at times..
A. (Fr real)# people r pee-pills bcoz evry1 almost all da time has sumthing or da other to throw up on every1 else, every1 luvs 2 peep into evry1 else's life n opine n comment on it..
Every1 has, by da heart, things 2 share n gossip on, most of da times being repetitive on dere points, but then...
They dont show up on dere own, sumtimes evn wen asked fr, n its seldom dat dey yield...
So, people 've fluid (y fluid?, bcoz it flows freely, to n fro frm dere gut to dere head) leaking(to dere disappointment) through orifices unknown to dem, but dey always intend to curb da flow, n hide dere real self behind fabricated dams of hospitality n global fraternity...so dey r pills to dere pee...
pee-pill..

Knowing the Author

Hey all!!
Before casting anything that 'ld supersede, lemme make my elan' vital more transparent to you.

I m a dreamer, a passenger, a quantized state of mind with an affinity to hop levels.

I think of da planet(with its orientation n state) as a clue which, in order to let u fathom da mysteries n secrets of life, help u sense ur existence, n answer ur call, dares u to fix ur step-firm(fool a geostationary satellite, fr instance) by moving arnd in opposite circles(dint dis ever occurred to u, y ws da idea of two orthogonal directions ever introduced?) n thus explore n grow to da real u, by comprehending n realizing da essence(/potential) of humanness..

I m a traveller for i believe dat da more analog ur motion is, i.e., da more gradually u step towards progress or regress(intentional bashes to find both, is vital), n da lesser u seek, digitization of ur life, the more vivid 'll b ur view to da issues of personage(an analogy c'ld b: You cannot answer a ques precisely, unless u understand its reason n logic).

I m a bird who 'ld always try to fly backstroke, troll arnd places where the surface is always shadowed wid spasmodically changing shades of stretched wings, n then sit to observe da various formations visible in da sky n relish imagining da consistent "directing bindu" dat dey c'ld 've projected..