Sudhakar’s Blog

A good number of years ago, a mad man called Steven Spielberg, made a certain movie on dinosaurs, that redefined special effects in movies for a long time to come. I remember a very young, Yours Truly, dragging his dad, literally, to one of the most popular Cinemas in Port Blair, siting there in awe, with jaws wide open, as he saw his first glimpse of the Dinosaurs looking as real as the animals he saw in the neighbourhood zoo. The frames of that brilliant piece of cinema was etched so deeply in my mind that I can still recall the thrill I felt in that dark hall, filled with close to fifty people, watching moving images on screen, as if it were real life. The fine line between reality and imaginary had been blurred. The movie was called Jurassic Park, and I called that a Wow moment.

And ladies and gentlemen. On Saturday, the 19th of December 2009, at approximately 3.30 PM, the Wow moment struck me again, after a very, very long time. The movie this time, was called Avatar, from an equally mad man called James Cameron.

Don’t get me wrong, but I rate James Cameron’s The Abyss as his finest work ever. Even above T2, because of the wonderful storyline it had. T2 had great action, so did Aliens. Titanic impressed me a lot because of its sheer scale. I even enjoyed True Lies for the fun in it. But there was never a movie of his that topped The Abyss, in my opinion. And I think the reason for that, has been that the beauty of the deep sea was imagined in a way that no one had ever done before. Imagination had scored big time, and that’s what kept it on the top of my favourite list. But then, Avatar happened.

The story is set in a distant future. 2154 to exact. The Earth as we know it has become a wasteland. “There is no greenery from where they come from.” goes a dialogue in the movie. And we humans are now exploiting a planet called Pandora, for a rare mineral that powers mankind, poetically calledUnobtainium. However Pandora is home to a race of blue skinned, humanoid race called Na’vi, and some amazing creatures of the forest. The ‘Sky People’ (That’s what Na’vis call the humans), also have a diplomatic program going, where they have humans, transfering themselves onto their Na’vi bodies that have been grown called Avatars, and interact with the Na’vis and try and learn their culture, language, and in turn teaching them ours. They move in and out of their Na’vi bodies, through a very ‘Matrix’-ish ‘link up system, and their Na’vi bodies remain asleep, when they are out of it. Grace (Sigourney Weaver in a convincing portrayal) heads the Avatar program. The head of Security for humans is Col. Miles (played quite stoically by Stephen Lang) who doesn’t care a dime about the diplomatic approach. He just wants to raze down all those who stand in his way and Unobtainium.

Jake Sully, (a relatively unknow Sam Worthington) our protagonist, has been brought in to replace his dead brother who was part of the Avatar project. He is an ex-marine, a cripple, bought in to train in his late brother’s Avatar, only because their DNAs match, and each Avatar is locked to a DNA. Jake is in awe with his Na’vi body, as it gives him 2 things that he cannot have in the human world anymore. Legs. Jake is taken into the Na’vi tribe, thanks to their sprightly princess, who has this love-hate thing for Jake. Col. Miles recognizes the potential and asks Jake to infiltrate the Na’vi tribe and gather information about their village which sits atop the biggest deposit of Unobtainium in the planet.

And then it is the usual tale. You’ve heard this story before. Its straight out of a masala Kolly/Bollywood flick. If you guys have seen the tamil/malayalam flick - Vietnam Colony, well then you’ve even seen the story before.  Good guy works for Bad guys. Bad guys send the Good guy to Good guy land and ask him to help move them away. Good guy sees the Bad guys torturing the Good guys. Good guy undergoes a change of heart. Good guy leads the war against the Bad guys. And wins.

But trust me. You don’t care a damn what the bloody story is, after you’ve seen the world it takes place in. When the movie opens, rather unassumingly, the Twentieth Century Fox logo, in glorious 3D, tells you about things to come. And when Pandora unfolds on the screen, with its lush green forests, amazing creatures, glowing flowers, neon-ish branches and everything else that you might not even have imagined, reality goes bye-bye. The movie, takes you by your eye balls, drags you out of your body, and puts you smack in the middle of the beautiful world called Pandora. Imagine ‘Middle Earth’ from LOTR, suped up a hundred times in amazing 3D. The images jump out of the screen and engulf you. When the characters run, you breath heavy. When they jump, your back hurts. when they fly, you soar with them in their world. And what a world it is. If there ever was one word that could express it all, it might sound superlative to ‘Magical’.

But like everything good, it has its share of negatives as well. Since more than 60% of the movie is CG, it does lack the human element in a few places. You feel like watching an animation movie during certain times. In fact, this story could have worked, even if the Na’vis were a tribe in the Amazons. But the visuals more than make up for it. With its long running time (2hrs 45mins), the movie seemed to drag a bit in a few places. But you are more than willing to forget that with some totally mindblowing scenes following them.

But at the core of it, behind all the gloss and special effects, Avatar is still a very real story about very current issues. It can be interpreted in a lot of ways that we can imagine. It could be a subtle commentary on The War on Terror, a fight for resources, a battle against nature, racial abuse, or just about any other problem that we might be facing today. But what it succeeds in doing very well, is give us a grim reminder about the danger our planet faces today. Na’vis succeed in telling us that we are one with our planet. Everything is interconnected, and that the spirit of earth is within each one of us. It tells you in very clear terms, of what you shouldn’t do, if you want your children to survive. But no lesson about the environment has ever looked so damn cool.

I believe the director said once in an interview, that if this movie did well, it might spring a couple of sequels. Well, tell you what. I’ll do my best by watching it a couple of times more in 3D. :) I am already missing Pandora, and I intend to visit it one more time, real soon. Mr James Cameron. Thank you for Avatar. Thanks for the latest Wow moment of my life. 

Verdict: Pay a visit to Pandora. In 3D. You’ll fall in love with it.

And Finally, here it is. My ebook of a few of my own Short Stories, Essays and Poems - Life As I Know It !

Do download it from Scribd here -

http://scribd.com/doc/23740712

Let me know of your comments.

Wounded and bleeding, I was not yet dead,
I lay there motionless, in a pool of blood.
A shiny, new bullet, from a rusty, old gun,
Had torn my thigh open, as I tried to run.

I felt my searing wound, I writhed in pain,
And cried at my dear brothers lying slain.
Many died trying to keep the gun at bay.
Most innocent lives, came in the bullets’ way.

People gathered around, pitied and cried,
Some stood watching, did nothing but sighed.
Some were angry, some were dreadfully scared.
But were grateful, that it was not them out there.

A lot was spoken, a lot tried to be done.
But the bullet wasn’t it’s, argued the old rusty gun.
My thigh was fixed and was guarded with shields.
But my bare body, was still in the bullets’ reach.

A few days of rest, and I was back up on my feet,
I learned to walk again, and strengthened my knees.
And with each passing day, I ran like never before.
And the day isn’t far, when I’ll learn to soar.

A year has gone by, but the scar seems fresh,
Back with a vigour, to fight till my last breath.
This body of mine may be mere blood and flesh.
But this spirit of mine is Bulletproof, instead.

Tired of tired fingers, turning its pages again.
An old, open novel, fanned down on my chest in disdain,
As tired eyes, sought oasis in the desert of boredom,
I scoured the world, through the halved window of my train.

Ten and two hours’d tired me, yet I had more time to kill.
I’d even used all bits of paper to clean out the window sill.
And then it came, like a fresh breath of fragrant air.
And even in the melee of a moving train, time seemed to stop still.

Poets often say, a thing of beauty, is joy forever.
But if anything ever gave joy to beauty, it had to be her.
I pinched myself, saw an angel in blue, walking right towards me,
A funny new feeling engulfed, felt like a Summer Sun in December.

Like clear sparkling water, that rushes down a splendid ravine,
Like a new tender leaf swaying in the breeze of God’s design.
She came and sat herself on that vacant seat before me
No language had a synonym of beauty that could match her form divine.

My tired, slouching body, found an excuse to sit up straight.
That old, open novel, sprang up to a sprightly life before my face.
The top edge of my book, would have never had this much of eye time,
Pity, I forgot those reading glasses, on my head which were placed.

Day turned to night, and then night turned back to day.
I stayed a silent admirer, but not a word did she say.
She looked straight at me sometimes, and made me weak at the knees.
God’d been unfair to her, He must’ve took ages to make her this way.

And then like how she’d come, she was gone in a flash.
Feeling her way through the compartment, holding her father’s hands.
I stood there shocked, muted, I wanted so much to say.
She’d left her Braille books behind, but she’d taken my breath away.

-X-

“He must be rich. Insanely rich.” Narendran Iyer mused to himself, as he rested his old legs on the comfortable couch in the middle of a huge hall, of a palatial bungalow, sipping on to a hot cup of tea. All of which, belonged to the affluent Ramakrishnan family. The Ramakrishnans had a reputation for generosity, stories of which, were widely popular in and around the cool hills of Ooty. Never had the Ramakrishnans disappointed the needy, with their copious donations to charitable organizations. The family had seen its share of problems and suffering. Yet, their hearts and wallets were always open to those who required it. And hence, understandably, their palatial bungalow, often played host to hundreds of people, seeking generous donation to their charity. Narendran Iyer, was one of them.

As Narendran sat there, extracting the last drop of the delicious, hill side tea, from the soaked tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, he was making mental calculation of the amount of money he would pocket.  “Eeshwara. If all goes well, I should be able to bring home the colour TV, that Sulochana was pestering me for, Bhagawaane..” He only wished that the huge rear door of the bungalow, which opened to a beautiful scenery of the lush green, tea gardens, which parted to show a wide path which tapered down into oblivion, and which conveniently invited the nippy, Margazhi fog inside the bungalow, were closed. The buzzing heater in the corner of the hall, did little to camouflage the winter chill drafting in through that open door.

“Mama will be down here soon. He is taking his medicines.” announced the young man to Narendran. “I hope you are comfortable sir. Would you care for another cup of tea.” he enquired, looking at the empty cup in Narendran’s hand. “No Thambi. Thank you. I’ll wait for Saar here. Ask him to take his time. You are truly generous people pa.” he said in the politest tone possible, rubbing his palms together to beat the cold. “But Thambi, you are….?” he hesitantly enquired to the identity of his young host.

“You are new here Sir, aren’t you?” spoke the young boy, not more than 18 year old. His new, juvenile, sprouting moustache was the only counter argument to his eyes, which shone with an intensity much ahead of his age. His casual T-Shirt over his faded jeans could have advertised him as yet any other school/college going youngster, if he hadn’t properly introduced himself “My name is Karthik, dear Sir. Karthik Ramakrishnan. I am Vaidi Ramakrishnan’s nephew.” He introduced himself, hinting a dash of pride when he said the last line.

“Of course Saar.” continued Narendran. “The reputation of your family, shines in your eyes Thambi. Oh generous Sirs, I am sure Vaidi Saar will donate generously to our temple fund. We will perform a special Abishekam in your family’s name. And…”

“Sir. Please talk about these to Mama when he comes down.” Karthi cut short Narendran’s sales bid. He saw Narendran shivering in the gust of wind that came through the door and asked him. “Sir, I think this will be the first time you’d be talking to Vaidi Mama?”

Narendran nodded in agreement.

“Well in that case Sir, it is my duty to educate you about certain facts and truths that you should keep in mind, before meeting Mama, lest you do not irritate him asking wrong questions.” continued a solemn faced Karthik.

Narendran sat in rapt attention.

“Well you may perhaps be wondering the reason for keeping that big door open, in the middle of Ooty winter? It is permanently kept that way because of Mama. There is a rather sad story attached to it. A story which explains Mama’s current condition.” Karthik continued, with Narendran listening to him like an attentive child.

“Vaidi Mama, had a beautiful wife and a lovely young son. They were his greatest possessions that he guarded fiercely with his life. His life revolved around these two. In short he was the happiest person in the whole wide world. Until that cold, December Morning. That cold fateful December Morning.”

“What happened Thambi?” asked a curious Narendran, judging the lump in the throat of the narrator.

“They started from here in the morning. Atthai had said that she was off to get some vegetables from the market. She refused the car, saying that the baby needed some sunlight to keep it warm. Dressed in a red saree, with the baby sleeping on her shoulder, our little, white, Pomeranian, to keep them company, the three of them walked that very same road, and disappeared around the end.” said a choking Karthik, pointing out of the open door, towards the winding road between the tea gardens. “They never came back.”

“Some say, they were kidnapped. Some say that they died in that marsh, which devours every living creature it comes in contact with during December. There are a lot of things that have been said. People have looked around for them. Police has given up after an intensive search. They never found any bodies. But my poor Mama, was driven Mad.”

Narendran jumped from his seat.

“Relax Sir. He is not like what you think. He is perfectly normal in every sense. Except that he has not come to terms with the loss of his life, yet. He keeps looking out of the Door every day and every night, expecting the love of his life to walk back the path and into the door, with his baby in her hand, and the cute little dog to come running to his heels. We have tried explaining to him, but he gets insanely angry when we try to. His medication has been increased off late, and that is why he doesn’t make as many public appearances as he used to. My Uncle is ill Sir. I hope you treat him with some pity, that an ailing man commands. Please do not ask him anything that might hurt him. I beg of you sir, Please.” Karthik said with tears in his eyes.

Narendran wiped away his tears and said, “Do not worry sir, God is watching. He provides only good things to good people. By God’s grace everything will be fine. I will pray that Saar gets cured soon. You do not worry Saar.”

Just around that time, a man in his thirties, with unkempt hair and an overgrown stubble, wearing a spotless white dhoti and shirt, descended down the stairs. Karthik wiped his eyes, and addressed him, “Mama. This gentleman is here to see you.”

Narendran folded his hands in respect, stood up and paid respects to Vaidyanathan Ramakrishnan, a man about whom he had heard from his elders in his village miles away from here. Someone, whom they had said, would generously contribute to the already rich, temple fund. As Narendran talked about his plans for the temple and why he needed a nice, big donation from the Ramanathan family. Vaidi listened attentively and then nodded his head in affirmation. Then in a minute his eyes turned pensive.

“Mr.Iyer. Would it be possible for you to wait for a while? My wife will be back soon. I’ll give you a cheque after that.”

Narendran was shocked. He saw Karthik on the other side, clutching his head in despair. Narendran did not know, if he were to pity at the poor state of the generous man, or humor him by accepting to stay for a while expecting someone who would never return.

“Err…” He muttered.

“It won’t be long Sir.” Vaidi explained. “She left this morning to get some vegetables. She said the baby needed sunlight. She refused the car. Little Fluffy also went along with them. It has already been late, they should be back any moment.” Vaidi continued, looking gingerly out of the door.

Narendran was devastated to see the plight of this man. Why did God choose good men for such a plight, he wondered. He said a silent prayer for the man. He hoped he would realize his loss soon.

“There they are…” cried Vaidi.

Narendran felt, it wasn’t right for him to stay there anymore, so he started to rise from his seat, when his eyes hit upon a couple of tiny figures at the horizon visible from the door. He strained his old eyes even harder. To his horror, he saw a lady in a red saree, with a baby on her shoulder, and a bag in her other hand, and a white, fluffy dog running around her legs.

“There, see. There they are.” Vaidi repeated pointing out and breaking into fits of cough.

Narendran looked at Karthik who reached his Uncle’s shoulders and held him softly. Couldn’t the boy see the figures there. Was he sharing the visions of that sick man sitting across him. Was he making him sick as well. Narendran’s heart started beating faster. He rose from his seat and darted out in a flash, fear writ large on his face, with a surprised Vaidi looking at him. Narendran ran as fast his legs could take him, with Vaidi yelling “Iyer Sir… Iyer Sir…”

“There. That patch of dust on your shirt looked hideous.” said Karthik, who dusted off the shoulders of his Uncle’s shirt.

“What’s wrong with him Karthi?” asked Vaidi.

“Nothing Maama. Nothing at all.” Karthik continued, as he traced the stumbling figure disappear over the horizon. The man had gone cuckoo, and Karthik cracked a sly smile. He walked towards the portico, a thousand thoughts riding his head on what Mr. Narendran Iyer would be feeling at this point, when suddenly he was startled by a lady in red saree, with a kid in her hand.

“Atthai… You scared the living daylights out of me.” shrieked Karthi to a beautiful, smiling lady in her late twenties, with a smiling baby in her arms. His aunt walked in with a huge bag of vegetables. The dog ran towards Vaidi and began licking his feet.

“Dai shoo…” shouted Vaidi, chasing the little dog away. “What happened di? What took you so long? Why didn’t you take the car?” Vaidi had all the enquiries directed at his coy wife.

“You know how the markets are, don’t you? Crowded like the village fair. The prices are going through the roof. And Karthi, who is that poor old man who ran away from the house like he had seen a ghost?” asked Vaidi’s wife.

“Oh, that’s nothing Atthai. Just some poor old guy, who suffered from some mental ailment. He had come asking Mama money for the temple fund, but I think he needed the money more for his own treatment. Guess the poor thing had one of its mental breakdowns here. Poor thing.” explained Karthik with a glint in his eyes.

“Oh that’s so sad. God bless him.” said his Aunt, as she continued, “Karthi close that wretched door now, we should get that lock fixed soon. This would only aggravate the terrible cold and cough your Mama has. Go close the door.”

Karthik was more than happy to oblige.

18 year old Karthik Ramakrishnan was a student of English Literature. Clearly, Short Stories, were his forte. 

*** THE END ***

P.S - This story is heavily inspired from a brilliant short story that I had read some years ago. Sadly, I don’t remember the author nor the name of the story. If any of you know it, please drop me a note. And, this is my humble, little tribute to it.

Feathers flying around, closed beaks that would never tweet.
A whole flock of crying eyes, mourning for hearts that would never beat.
They were scared and worried, although they were living a life so free.
They were birds of different feathers, nestled on a falling tree.

          A branch had been cut, their nests disturbed.
          Some had lost all hope, a few, chirped un-perturbed.
          The cutting had started to be very frequent of late.
          The birds, crying and desperate, blamed it on their fate.

Birds of a feather flock together they say.
But this banyan proved this wrong in every way.
The parakeets shared their nests with the doves.
While the crows kept watch, as ordered by the eagles above.

          But alas, the watch wasnt good and a branch was cut.
          It was becoming a habit, many lives were lost, but.
          Lives always returned to normal in a few days.
          Birds from other branches mourned, sighed, but kept going their ways.

The birds knew well, whose bloody axe it was.
A monster in a hood, terror on his mind, anger in heart.
No one new what he wanted, perhaps wood from the tree.
The trunk was strong, and so he began felling branches, three.

          The eagles swore, that they will tear him apart.
          But the truth was, they were a few hundred birds short.
          The monster, had made slow enemies of erstwhile friends.
          The birds had to be right always, while the evil just once.

The parakeets no longer chirped in the doves nest.
They blamed each other, complained without any rest.
The peaceful banyan, was now becoming chaotic.
The plan of moving to another tree, sounded realistic.

          But there were still a few birds who held their resolve.
          This was their home, their banyan, be it spring or fall.
          True, the tree was falling, with the axe’s vicious pound.
          But they knew the banyan’s roots went deep underground.

They consoled themselves, that the branch would soon grow back.
And grow back much stronger, than the evil monster’s axe.
They promised to guard the tree with their life.
The monster was no match for even a hundred birds, their size.

          And with that resolve a few adamant birds sat.
          Awaiting to punish the terrorizing monster, that evil rat.
          Of course they were scared, but they still tried to live free.
          They were birds of different feathers, nestled on a falling tree.

A dozen red bricks, on top of his head.
Carried a soul, to earn his daily bread.

His tottering steps, burnt dark in the sun.
The bricks were laid, his job was done.
A shadow waved on his face, a wave of respite.
He pulled his weary head up, with all his might.

In a distance, on a pole, newly painted white.
Fluttered the tricolour, oh what a pretty sight.
‘Twas a sight to behold, what the poor soul had seen.
A proud wave of the banner, in Amber, White and Green.

A smile showed his lips, and then faded away.
He thought to himself, what was he today?
Only then he then realized, his country was free.
And had been so, for long, he realized - years Sixty.

This freedom was a gift from his father too.
A freedom fighter, his stories he always knew.
In a way, like his father, he was a fighter as well.
His father fought the British. He fought poverty’s spell.

He saw near the pole, in whites, people, very few.
Dragged out of their beds, their faces rue.
None seemed to realize, what the day actually meant.
They hoisted the flag, and back home they went.

An ignorant world, locked up in their homes,
Stuck to their TVs, and their cushioned thrones.
He wondered why, only he had to work today,
Where was his freedom, on Independence Day?

He realized soon, he was much better than them.
Among heaps of coal, a rare polished gem.
Although to poverty and despair, he had succumbed,
He harbored a heart, that understood freedom.

He had no money, he had no wealth,
But he was free to do, what he felt.
His country didn’t give him much, he did confess.
But freedom was his wealth, which he did possess.

And he carried on with his chore for the day.
He wanted to do something for his country, his way.
He knew no miracles, to make it quick.
So he built his country, brick by brick.

A dozen red bricks, on top of his head.
Carried a soul, to earn his daily bread.

Fly away little birdie, You’re no more in need here.
Your songs are getting boring, even the ones which I held dear.
Fly away dear birdie, I’m tired of listening to you.
I have a new better birdie, that sings me a new tune.
 
Oh Why, my dear master, why are you throwing me away.
I have no place to fly to, I have no place to stay.
I chose to leave the flock, my master, I chose to sing for you.
My friends deserted me because of that, and now you’re leaving me too?
 
I’m really sorry little birdie, believe me I have no choice.
The songs I held dear to me once, have now become just noise.
Trust me little birdie, I have absolutely nothing against you.
I’m thankful for all that you’ve done for me, But I just can’t pay its due.
 
I understand, dear master, its not your fault, I am the guilty one.
I should have known better than to invade your home without your permission.
I should have known, that my gentle voice, would soon lose its sheen.
I should have known, that as beautiful it is, the grass is not always green.
 
I don’t want to talk more on it birdie, your job here is done.
You were merely an object here, you were an instrument for fun.
But you should know better little birdie, than to complain my dear friend.
Like all good things in life, your importance to me, with this, ends.
 
I’m glad my dear master, really glad, atleast I know I WAS important to you.
I sang my heart out, to see you smile, weathering pains, of which you had no clue.
You say you want to let me go, because you think my voice is stale.
I think that is because, I kept on shouting, when to hear me, your ears failed.
 
And with that, the little birdie flew away, with the master smiling through.
It wanted to leave the master behind and see the world for true.
But so much it loved the master, that it went and hid in his house under the ledge.
And every time the new bird rested, it duly sang, without the masters knowledge.
 
And then the master came out, with tears in his eyes.
He loved the birdie too much, and hated to see it fly.
He shoo-d the new bird away, it was here for just a reason.
He wanted his little birdie to fly and see the different seasons.
 
He had not wanted to hurt it, and keep it tucked away.
He wanted it to be alive, to sing its song another day.
Hiding his countless tears, he had put up a sinful act.
He did not want to hurt the birdie, that was the actual fact.
 
The little birdie under the ledge realized this with glee.
Happiness bloomed in its heart profound, tears of joy flowed free.
It flew upto its master, and said in its words, so true.
I’ll die on your shoulders, but never will I leave you.

Trust me, I adore Kamal Hasan. I indeed feel lucky to have been alive, to have this stalwart of World Cinema, performing for our viewing plesure in our lifetime. And hence, I had phenomenal expectations from Dasavathaaram. I was practically spending my life on the internet, trying to book tickets for the opening weekend, but to no avail. The predominantly superlative reviews of the movie, whetted my appetite even more. I just could not resist hearing the story, and although flimsy, I thought it would be wonderfully adapted on the screen. I somehow booked a show for the next weekend at Mayajaal, miles away from Ambattur, spending a fortune on the tickets (which included, popcorn and Pepsi for 200 bucks by the way) and also dragging along a few friends from work, one of them even sick, the other totally uninterested inspite of them being not too eager. I was initially disappointed when I received a mail with the 10 different getups of Kamal, for the make-up looked way too plasticky, for Kamal Hasan standards. But then I thought, I could excuse that for Kamal Hasan. Even if not for anything else, for Asin atleast. She had made me watch the horrible horrible Pokiri earlier as well. And so, a saturday morning Mayajaal’s Screen 4, had the good fortune of witnessing ‘Your’s Truly’ and his 3 friends, seated in the third row, awaiting a treat from Kamal Hasan.

And I must say, I was utterly disappointed. It started off splendidly well. (Even if you could look past the opening shots of the historical Gopuram, rendered so crudely with Computer Graphics, that made me wonder what the supposedly ‘imported’ SFX guy was thinking?) Trust me, the initial 15 minutes of the movie were, in one word - Brilliant. Kamal as Rangarajan Ambi had me glued to the screen like a kid watching He-Man. His body language, his eyes, the purity of Tamil, his acting, all justified why he’s regarded as one of the best actors of our time. Asin, did not have much to do than to cry, plead and then break her head. (On a personal note, I hated the lady’s costume in these scenes. Stick to the Chudidhaars Asin ji. :)) But the grandeur of the intial song, more than made up for it. It re-inforces why Kamal could be totally mindblowing in period set-pieces. Boy, I just pray that Marudhanayagam gets made pretty fast.

But once the Period drama ends, so does the novelty of the film. I must say, the movie does border on the lines of being illogical. I mean, come on. A monkey guess-typing a password to a safe containing the bio-toxin? Why couldn’t they just have it lying around, that would have been atleast, believable. I would be careful, not to write much. For if I do, I will end up ranting so much, that I’d make enemies of Kamal fans. Yes it was bad. And frankly, by interval, it was getting really boring. I hope someone noticed that the Villain’s head was way way too big with the extra layers of makeup.

I had set huge expectations from Kamal. And considering the stature of the actor, they were totally justified. However, Kamal, in my opinion, fails to reach the bar that he had set for himself. His own work has been his undoing. When you compare, the likes of Michael, Madana, Kama, Rajan (Kamal’s own script) with this new glossy tale, it just falls flat. The nuances should have been looked into with greater detail. This script looks like an excuse to have 10 characters fit into a wafer thin story line. Butterfly Effect and Chaos Theory, are just excuses to give the movie a more intellectual feel. Even Anniyan, had a beautiful depiction of the Butterfly effect in the flashback sequence involving the kid Ambi’s sister. Atleast the disturbance of the tectonic plates, could have been illustrated in the opening sequences.

The Makeup of the many Kamal’s, was poorly done. In fact, there was no need for Kamal to do all the roles, except only to create some talking point for the film. The story, is a ‘chase’ story, where everybody is behind someone. Agreed, story isn’t the forte of these so called ‘chase’ films, but they can be gripping in their own right (Bourne Ultimatum, anyone). Loved Kamal’s efforts in making the characters as different from each other as possible. Acting, well you can never excpect anything less from a Kamal Hassan. Truly a legend. The rest of the cast are reasonable as well. However, I have no clue why Mallika Sherawat was there in the movie. There is a whole lot of appearances from a whole lot of the Kollywood industry. But truly, nothing much to write home about.

I loved the subtle humour running through the entire movie (even if it is unintentional sometimes). The anti-cancer bullet, just takes the cake. I loved the Telugu speaking, RAW agent portrayal, and his dialogues, although undecipherable sometimes, were a total laugh riot. Asin, with her “Perumaala kudungo” stunt, was irritating, but cute. But blame it on the plastic of the makeups, there was hardly any emotion on the characters. It was clearly, acting, behind a mask.

Perhaps the movie isn’t as bad as I’m making it out to be. There is an entire crowd which is up in arms, just because I did not like the movie. But then, that is perhaps, of the expectation I have from Kamal Hasan. I expect all his movies to be top notch. But as far as Dasavatharam is concerned, it is largely too flashy, too little substance. Kamal sir, no hypes please. I will take an Anbe Sivam, compared to this, anytime.

Note: This post was something that I had written ages ago. But it still is something I cherish a lot, and something that is very close to my heart.

Not so long ago, a bunch of college kids landed up in a college far away from home, and decided to rent a house after they found the hostel too cramped, and the food too boring. They found an old, rickety chettinad house, which luckily the owner was ready to rent out to bachelors. And thus they found their ‘Palace’, their bungalow, their home for 4 years. I loved my palace of 4 years, and every second of the time spent there. And yes, I miss it, big time.

Though we were staying in a place most of us would call a village, we had some neat stuff filled in, built out of our home made technology. Barani had brought in an old black and white tv from his house. It was wonderful, considering it still ran, albeit being pronounced dead in the Barani household. It was on its way to a tv shop for a few hundred rupees when Barani thought we could do something with it. A few hundred rupees and a trip to the tv repair shop later, we had our own personal tv, which only a privilleged few in the student community had. And we did not stop with that. Elay got a car audio. All of us pooled in whatever speakers we could find, I gave my walkman speakers and a single torn speaker from home, Abhi and Elayraja got a couple of small speakers, Barani gave one, and with the help of a big roll of copper wire, we started wiring up our project. Our sound engineer - Elayraja ‘borrowed’ a couple of our owner’s earthern pots from the ‘maadi’ and fixed our speakers inside them. A Sunday later, we had our own ‘9.something’ Home Theater. Move over Bose and Blaukpaunt, the sound effect was surreal. Mainly because we built it ourselves. It was a home theater in its true sense. You could hear it from any corner of our home. Right from the door to the bathroom. We had lined up our house with speakers.

There was something I devised to isolate our ’study/sleep’ room from the music when we were actually studying/sleeping. At the rare occasion when a few actually had to concentrate and study something and the others felt the urge to listen to music, we set up a switch that would cut off the music to the speaker in the study room. I was so proud of the innovation, that sometimes I spent time in the room just to use that switch. Since that room did not have a ceiling fan, and our budget did not permit us to get one, I brought a tiny table fan from home that was being used in my home as an exhaust fan. That didn’t work too well, and we were not surprised because we felt that more power went to the surface of the fan than to its motor. We used it to test our electric tester sometimes watching it glow to its fullest, and sometimes to jolt up unsuspecting first time visitors to our palace. But I loved that fan nevertheless, as it stood in a corner, unrivalled, untouched, spinning away to glory.

Initially we had no cable connection. There was a cable wire running in our maadi. But we decided against the ‘pirated’ connection because we were honest guys. And also that the wire was very visible from the road, and any malpractice would surely be noticed and scoldings and bad words would have followed. Being the geniuses that we were, we devised a small receiver out of tin foil, aluminium hangers and magnetised needles and kept it close to the cable wire a few inches away, away from the sight of prying eyes of the cable guy. To our amazement and surprise, we got a hazy picture in the tv of a few channels. Satisfied with our achievement we sat smiling, admiring our genius on the screen. But a few days later there was an argument whether the actress in that song was Simran or Trisha or Reema Sen. Somebody claimed that it was the hero himself. And during the triangular series, when in the 40th over, the wind knocked out our reciever, we decided that it was worth getting a proper, original cable connection and shell out a few bucks every month, than getting the match status from somebody else.

We also offered our services to our less privilleged, less creative friends by letting them watch tv at our p(a)lace or setting up similar contraptions in their rooms. Our fees - Bajjis and Bondas for all of us in the evenings. Heck we were studying to be engineers. That’s the least we could do. Help mankind with our expertise. Ours was a popular hangout for most of our friends, much to the dismay of our neighbours. During matches, everytime Sachin hit a four, our neighbours were hit with an avalanche of shouts, wolf whistles, screams and claps. It was an experience that all of us would treasure for our lifetime. Lying on that cliched - ‘Kizhinja paayi’ and watching Sun tv till late night and waking up to the beats of a ‘gaana paatu’. Dancing to a rehman number in the bathroom, fighting over the channel to watch, that argument of which hero was popular, boy I miss it all. There was so much that we guys did that we would never be able to do again.

Today I have a 29 inch, Sony Wega tv at home which is hooked up yo a 5.1 Home theater. A Sony music system, DVD player, CAS, Set-top box, you name it. But I badly miss the setup that we created back in the college days. This crystal clear picture with sharp audio could never match up to that hazy picture and loud audio that we experienced in our palace. Now when I think of it, I realise, that I had left behind some friends, some experiences and some treasures when I graduated. And I am sure everybody would be feeling exactly what I do. Its just not about the things you have, its the people you share it with. Oh boy…. I miss it all.