Memories Of Eden

2012-02-04T13:28:00.000-08:00

I am a poet, my love. My very existence is a struggle with the thorns beneath the roses. My sadness is but a symptom of the underlying disease of being alive in this world. Rejection, Loneliness and Unrequited Love are my eternal companions. I walk on the road to oblivion and eternal darkness is my very destiny, and all you see is the sadness?

My response to the famous "Atheist Professor With No Brain" story...

2012-01-11T15:20:00.000-08:00

here is the link to the essay for which this post is a response: http://www.preparingforeternity.com/sciencefaith.htm

Kunle would probably never speak to me again. Sorry man, but its ridiculous that you would post that on your wall.

No way that was Einstein man, stop making historical claims without quoting your sources. Its very misleading.

This is so ridiculous it's embarrassing. No professor of philosophy would be tricked by a stupid word game like this.

I don't know who that professor was, and I don't even have a college degree, but even I can see the stupidity of that argument.

That story was obviously written by someone who never attended school:

1. "Cold" and "Darkness" are just terms of language and how our senses(sight, touch) work. Scientists use terms like "temperature" and "luminosity" which are perfectly understood by even high-school students. If that guy was a college student he wouldn't even ask such questions!

2. Electromagnetism(the theory that explains electricity and magnetism are two facets of the same force) has withstood innumerable tests. The electromagnetic behavior of elementary particles is very well understood today, even one of the best understood fields in physics. Everyone has seen electricity(lightning) and magnetism(pattern made by iron fillings when placed over a bar-magnet). There is no faith involved here.

3. Evolution by natural selection is a theory that has been proven again and again through hundreds of years since its inception. It is a process that takes place over generations upon generations, the entire fields of genetics and paleontology depend upon this theory. To ignore the hundreds of years of research and the mountain of evidence in favor of evolution is just plain ignorant. Explaining why and how it works in detail would take me several pages. We did not evolve from monkeys! We had a common ancestor millions of years ago, and monkeys and humans evolved simultaneously. We are still evolving.

4. Even now, if evolution was somehow proven to be incorrect(which is extremely unlikely) and a new theory seems more plausible, biologists will immediately discard it and start using the new theory. Science works on observation. So far all observations of the natural world agree with evolution by natural selection, and NONE of the observations agree with the "God" hypothesis. The very fact that you have a useless appendix inside your belly is proof of evolution and how it is still going on. A world that was created by a god would be very different from our world, eg. we create robots that are fully functional, without any useless parts.

5. Why would anyone want to feel, touch or worst of all "smell" someone's brain? Just get an MRI-scan done and check your own brain out! These are just emotional arguments without any logic. As a fellow filmmaker, I am surprised you could not see through such a simple soap-opera like farce. Moreover, actually asking people to post it on their walls too is ridiculous!

Again, sorry dude, but this time you challenged my "beliefs" and we all have to fight for what we believe in, don't we? ;)

"Faith means the will to avoid knowing what is true."

---Friedrich Nietzsche

Say yes to sanity and no to god. Read a fucking science-book. Peace.

OCCUPY F3! A note to all Alumni and Mentors...

2011-12-12T11:21:00.000-08:00

Timm Doolen teaching directing ... what an appalling situation! So I myself might be able to teach there in a couple of years :)

Richard Hearsey and Mark Gary were like the two balls of the school. The penis had already been severed with Keith Sensing and Jeff Bacon leaving. Anything that remains is just pubic hair.

I can't imagine graduations and T.V. production without Richard. Can't imagine not running into Mark Gary in the lobby and having a random laugh. What will Producing 101 be without "Burden Of Dreams"and "Extras"?, or Directing 301 without discussions on "Antichrist" and "Hubad"? Who will support the students? Who will make them feel at home and comfortable as an artist in the midst of sheer mediocrity and a Stalinist environment, not to mention the usual pressure of deadlines, shoot-week and term-ends?

Mark Gary inspired me as a writer/director to explore the human condition. To explore the extraordinary cracks in ordinary relationships and to discover what makes people tick. The pursuit of truth is the essence of independent filmmaking and Mark made me dig deep by asking tough questions and testing my resolve. Richard, on the other hand, taught me how to apply myself practically so that I don't burn out or become insane while balancing my creativity with professionalism as an artist working in the industry. These are invaluable lessons for a budding filmmaker, and the new batch of students will miss all this so that Bigfoot can save some extra dollars to make another Deep Gold(there is a HUGE difference between a disaster movie and a disaster at the box office, which they don't seem to understand).

Great mentors have come and gone, but IAFT will not be the same without Alex Murphy's early morning antics, Richard Hearsey's stand-up props(para-ducks, foot-lights, alphabet-grenade,shiny pink suit, etc.) and Mark Gary's snoring at screenings.The stalwarts of the institution. Moreover, they are just nice people to hangout with and have a laugh over some drinks, exactly what a nervous young international student needs when feeling suddenly out of place in an alien environment.

Our equipment, mentors and teaching standards used to be world-class. Our student films could compete with the best film-schools in the world. I am a proud alumni and I had the best year of my life in IAFT, thanks to the awesome people there. Most of them have left or were forced to leave. It is a very different and far inferior film school than the one I studied at - inferior because it has lost its balls.

Just my two cents. Peace and love.

i carry your heart

2011-11-29T23:43:00.000-08:00

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by me
is only your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root
and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky
of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope
or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder
that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)

-- e e cummings

One Art

2011-11-29T23:36:00.000-08:00

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

                             --Elizabeth Bishop

Note Autobiographical

2011-11-24T10:56:00.000-08:00

Kashmir was damp
With the damp of dreams
Autumn's funeral
With a coffin of leaves
I asked Grandma,
"Is God a Muslim?"

No one taught me the Koran
My father mouthed Freud and Marx
Something about recognizing necessity
Mother had long since discarded the veil

Grandma read me the tale of Job
"The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away

Then God came:
A poor eyesight, a silver beard,
Ninety years old
My Grandfather

I worshiped him
Proud and gentle
But he crumpled
Like a maple leaf

Dust unto dust is his will.

Then our servant lost his shoes at the mosque
I had nothing left to ask.

My voice cracked on Ghalib
As dreams of God crumbled for me

Our servant, his shoes stolen at the mosque,
Turned deaf to the muezzin's call

The calligraphed dome gave way to the sky
Autumn caved into me with its script of flames
And ignited my dry garbage of God

I varnished my face with the sun,
My tongue forgot the texture of prayer.

--Agha Shahid Ali

2011-11-24T10:37:00.000-08:00

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai...

Ke zindagi teri zulfon ki narm chhaon mein
Guzarane paati to shaadaab ho bhi sakati thi
Ye teergi jo meri zeest ka muqaddar hai
Teri nazar ki shuaon mein kho bhi sakati thi

Ajab na tha ke main begaana-e-alam reh kar
Tere jamaal ki raanaaiyon mein kho rahata
Tera gudaaz badan teri neem-baaz aankhein
Inhin haseen fazaaon mein mehav ho rahata

Pukaratin mujhe jab talkhiyan zamaane ki
Tere labon se halaawat ke ghoont pi leta
Hayaat cheekhati phirti barahana-sar, aur main
Ghaneri zulfon ke saaye mein chhup ke ji leta

Magar ye ho na saka, aur ab ye aalam hai
Ke tu nahin, tera gham, teri justajoo bhi nahin
Guzar rahi hai kuchh is tarah zindagi, jaise
Ise kisi ke sahaare ki aarazoo bhi nahin

Zamaane bhar ke dukhon ko lagaa chuka hun gale
Guzar raha hun kuchh anjaani rahguzaaron se
Muheeb saaye meri simt badhate aate hain
Hayaat-o-maut ke pur-haul khaar-zaaron se

Na koi jaada na manzil na roshani ka suraag
Bhatak rahi hai khalaaon mein zindagi meri
Inhin khalaaon mein rah jaoonga kabhi khokar
Main jaanata hun meri hum-nafas, magar yun hi

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai...

Sometimes the thought comes to my mind…

That life spent in the soft shadows of your tresses

Would be so joyful if it could be so; that

This sorrow, which seems to be the fate of my existence

Could have been lost in the radiance of your eyes.

It would not have been strange if I, forgetful of the world

Had remained lost in the flashes of your beauty.

Your lithe body, your half-shut, dreamy eyes—

If I had been occupied with such beautiful fantasies.

And when the bitter realities of life called me

I would have drunk the sweet nectar of your lips.

Life would be shouting and shrieking about me, and I

Would have hidden in the shadows of your thick tresses, and lived.

But alas this could not be and now such is my condition

That neither you, nor sorrow for your loss, nor longing for you exist.

My life is passing by in such a manner as if

It has not even the aspiration for anyone’s succour.

I have embraced the sorrows of the world.

I am travelling through unknown paths

Terrifying shadows are coming toward me

From the frightening planes of life and death.

I have no place, no goal, neither a ray of sunlight.

My life is being wasted in desolate wildernesses.

I will remain lost in such desolate places for ever

I know, o my soul-mate, but still, out of the blue,

Sometimes the thought comes to my mind…

Star Trek

2011-11-24T10:31:00.000-08:00

Beyond the rim of the starlight,
My love is wandering in star flight
I know he'll find
In star clustered reaches
Love, strange love
A star woman teaches
I know his journey ends never
His Star Trek will go on forever
But tell him while
He wanders his starry sea,
Remember,
Remember me.

White Nights by Dostoevsky

2011-11-23T03:38:00.000-08:00

"But that I should feel any resentment against you, Nastenka! That I should cast a dark shadow over your bright, serene happiness! ...That I should crush a single one of those delicate blooms which you will wear in your dark hair when you walk up the aisle to the altar with him! Oh no — never, never! May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart ... Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"

Pablo

2011-11-23T03:37:00.001-08:00

There in Rangoon I realized

that the gods were enemies,

just like God,

of the poor human being.

Gods in alabaster extended

like white whales,

gods gilded like spikes,

serpent gods entwining

the crime of being born,

naked and elegant buddhas

smiling at the cocktail party

of empty eternity

like Christ on his horrible cross,

all of them capable of anything,

of imposing on us their heaven,

all with torture or pistol

to purchase piety or burn our blood,

fierce gods made by men

to conceal their cowardice,

and there it was all like that,

the whole earth reeking of heaven,

and heavenly merchandise.

- Pablo Neruda

is it fair? by Urma

2011-11-23T03:35:00.000-08:00

is it fair

to be caught in the middle

is it fair

to be shaped by your needs,

is it fair

to be told but not be listened

when it hurts

is it fair

to quit life for a living

is it fair

to be safe but not close

is it fair

to deny when you can't reach

the outside world

for the friend you haven't met

for the smile that never ends

for the one who'll never let you down

is it fair

to become a survivor

to forget how to listen your heart

is it fair

to stay out of your trouble

can't forget

is it fair to pretend that you live

without fearing your guilt or your needs

can you give the best in all, for free ?

is it faïr?

Excerpt from Ebert's review of Eat Pray Love

2011-11-23T03:32:00.000-08:00

Here is a movie about Liz Gilbert. About her quest, her ambition, her good luck in finding only nice men, including the ones she dumps. She funds her entire trip, including scenic accommodations, ashram, medicine man, guru, spa fees and wardrobe, on her advance to write this book. Well, the publisher obviously made a wise investment. It's all about her, and a lot of readers can really identify with that. Her first marriage apparently broke down primarily because she tired of it, although Roberts at (a sexy and attractive) 43 makes an actor's brave stab at explaining they were "young and immature." She walks out on the guy (Billy Crudup) and he still likes her and reads her on the Web.

In Italy, she eats such Pavarottian plates of pasta that I hope one of the things she prayed for in India was deliverance from the sin of gluttony. At one trattoria she apparently orders the entire menu, and I am not making this up. She meets a man played by James Franco, about whom, enough said. She shows moral fibre by leaving such a dreamboat for India, where her quest involves discipline in meditation, for which she allots three months rather than the recommended lifetime. There she meets a tall, bearded, bespectacled older Texan (Richard Jenkins) who is without question the most interesting and attractive man in the movie, and like all of the others seems innocent of lust.

In Bali she revisits her beloved adviser Ketut Liyer (Hadi Subiyanto), who is a master of truisms known to us all. Although he connects her with a healer who can mend a nasty cut with a leaf applied for a few hours, his own skills seem limited to the divinations anyone could make after looking at her, and telling her things about herself after she has already revealed them.

Now she has found Balance, begins to dance on the high wire of her life. She meets Felipe (Javier Bardem), another divorced exile, who is handsome, charming, tactful, forgiving and a good kisser. He explains that he lives in Bali because his business is import-export, "which you can do anywhere" — although later, he explains she must move to Bali because "I live in Bali because my business is here." They've both forgotten what he said earlier. Unless perhaps you can do import-export anywhere, but you can only import and export from Bali when you live there. That would certainly be my alibi.

The audience I joined was perhaps 80 percent female. I heard some sniffles and glimpsed some tears, and no wonder. "Eat Pray Love" is shameless wish-fulfillment, a Harlequin novel crossed with a mystic travelogue, and it mercifully reverses the life chronology of many people, which is Love Pray Eat.

Fascinating History

2011-11-23T03:24:00.000-08:00

Losing the Crimean war was one of the reasons Czar Alexander II (The Liberator) emancipated the serfs in February 1861, realizing, as he did, that Russia would need free men to defend the country in the future. No doubt this influenced Lincoln's decision to emancipate America's slaves in 1863 and have the freed men help fight on the Union's side - which they did.

Other Lincoln/Kennedy coincidences to Czar Alexander II are that all three were assassinated to thwart their policies of freedom and equality for their people, and all three were conjectured to have been assassinated by the same forces, ie an ancient global brotherhood conspiring toward tyrannical world domination.

If Lincoln had lived to fulfill another term, his 13th Amendment would have enforced the abolition of slavery and his policies for post-war Reconstruction would have disempowered the masterminds behind the South seceding from the Union and causing the Civil War. Instead, Lincoln's successor - coincidently Johnson - pardoned high-level Confederates and allowed them back in Congress.

After Czar Alexander II's assassination in 1881 some of his emancipation policies were thwarted by his successor, his son Czar Alexander III, who was intimidated by the brotherhood who had assassinated his father and who, after his death in 1894, assassinated his son and successor, Czar Nicholas II, in 1917.

This same brotherhood put the Communists in power in Russia in 1917 and it was their war ships that were threatening America during Kennedy's presidency in 1962.

Other uncanny coincidences:

- Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846

- Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946

- Lincoln was elected president in 1860

- Kennedy was elected president in 1960

- Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln

- War was thrust upon Lincoln almost immediately after inauguration

- War was thrust upon Kennedy almost immediately after inauguration

- Lincoln ordered the Treasury to print its own money

- Kennedy ordered the Treasury to print its own money

- Lincoln gave African Americans freedom and legalized equality

- Kennedy enforced equality for African Americans

-Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address on November 19, 1863

- Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963

- Lincoln was succeeded, after assassination, by vice-president Johnson

- Kennedy was succeeded, after assassination, by vice-president Johnson

- Andrew Johnson was born in 1808

- Lyndon Johnson was born in 1908

- Andrew Johnson had a pug nose and slicked-back hair

- Lyndon Johnson had a pug nose and slicked-back hair

- Lincoln was shot on a Friday

- Kennedy was shot on a Friday

- Lincoln was shot in a theatre named Ford

- Kennedy was shot in a car named Lincoln made by Ford

- Lincoln was shot in a theatre and his assassin ran to a warehouse

- JFK was shot from a warehouse and his alleged assassin ran to a theatre

-Lincoln's assassin had a three-worded name, John Wilkes Booth

- Kennedy's alleged assassin had a three-worded name, Lee Harvey Oswald

- John Wilkes Boothe was born in 1839 (s/b 1838)

- Lee Harvey Oswald was born in 1939

- Booth was shot and killed* in police custody before going to trial

- Oswald was shot and killed in police custody before going to trial

- Andrew Johnson was a heavy drinker with crude behavior

- Lyndon Johnson was a heavy drinker with crude behavior

- There were conspiracy theories that Johnson was knowledgeable about Lincoln's assassination

- There were conspiracy theories that Johnson was knowledgeable about Kennedy's assassination

- Lincoln lost a child (12 year old son) to death while President

- Kennedy lost a child (newly born son) to death while President

-Lincoln had 2 sons named Robert and Edward. Edward died young and Robert lived on.

- Kennedy had 2 brothers named Robert and Edward. Robert died young and Edward lived on

-Lincoln was sitting in a rocking chair at Ford's Theater when he was shot

- Kennedy had a special rocking chair he sat in at the White House

- Henry Ford bought the rocking chair Lincoln died in and put it in his museum in Dearborn

-John Kennedy is the name of the real-life detective who traveled in the train with President Lincoln in 1860

-In 1863, the Tsar sent the war fleet of the Russian empire to President Lincoln during the American civil war.

Lincoln was influenced by the Tzar's emancipation of the serfs.

- In 1962, during the Kennedy presidency, a fleet of Russian ships transporting instruments of war were steaming towards America with less benign intent

View and Counterview

2011-11-23T03:18:00.000-08:00

Actual History: http://www.dismalworld.com/disputes/kashmir.php

Noted writer Arundhati Roy Tuesday said her speeches supporting the call for azadi were what "millions" in Kashmir say every day and were "fundamentally a call for justice". Following is the full text of the statement that she has issued.

"I write this from Srinagar, Kashmir.

This morning's papers say that I may be arrested on charges of sedition for what I have said at recent public meetings on Kashmir. I said what millions of people here say every day. I said what I, as well as other commentators have written and said for years. Anybody who cares to read the transcripts of my speeches will see that they were fundamentally a call for justice. I spoke about justice for the people of Kashmir who live under one of the most brutal military occupations in the world; for Kashmiri Pandits who live out the tragedy of having been driven out of their homeland; for Dalit soldiers killed in Kashmir whose graves I visited on garbage heaps in their villages in Cuddalore; for the Indian poor who pay the price of this occupation in material ways and who are now learning to live in the terror of what is becoming a police state.

"Yesterday I traveled to Shopian, the apple-town in South Kashmir which had remained closed for 47 days last year in protest against the brutal rape and murder of Asiya and Nilofer, the young women whose bodies were found in a shallow stream near their homes and whose murderers have still not been brought to justice. I met Shakeel, who is Nilofer's husband and Asiya's brother. We sat in a circle of people crazed with grief and anger who had lost hope that they would ever get 'insaf'—justice—from India, and now believed that Azadi—freedom— was their only hope. I met young stone pelters who had been shot through their eyes. I traveled with a young man who told me how three of his friends, teenagers in Anantnag district, had been taken into custody and had their finger-nails pulled out as punishment for throwing stones.

"In the papers some have accused me of giving 'hate-speeches', of wanting India to break up. On the contrary, what I say comes from love and pride. It comes from not wanting people to be killed, raped, imprisoned or have their finger-nails pulled out in order to force them to say they are Indians. It comes from wanting to live in a society that is striving to be a just one. Pity the nation that has to silence its writers for speaking their minds. Pity the nation that needs to jail those who ask for justice, while communal killers, mass murderers, corporate scamsters, looters, rapists, and those who prey on the poorest of the poor, roam free."

COUNTERVIEW:

Sunny N. says:

October 28, 2010 at 12:09 PM

Well the freedom movement did not ask the British to get all of us together on the same platform. If Kashmiris want all of J&K to be freed why don’t they first talk to each other. The Valley Sunnis , the Bakarwals and Gujjars , the Pandits , the Jammu Dogras and try and form an informal body that has one common aim. It is the easiest thing in the world to throw stones , any boy who throws them on dogs knows it. The problem is taking the dog for a walk , to the vet and feeding it. Arundhati Roy and her ilk are hysterical abstractionists who refuse to see strategic realities.Arundhati Roy is a “gutter-inspector” . She and many others like her float on the slick they form on India and the garbage they endlessly chuck on her.I pity the Nation that has an intellectual class that has no love , passion or understanding for the land – they either want to be somewhere else or want us to be someone else . If they knew the soul of this land and sang in its languages they might still have a chance to experience “Azadi” . They are brides of Angst . These Perpetually Self-flagellating Endlessly Unhappy and Despairing Oracles – P.S.E.U.D.O.People like Arundhati Roy are town-criers who have no patience with solid-detailing. They live in a fantasy land where either revolutionaries will find answers or you keep screaming blue till the day of judgement happens. They have no experience of running any income generating project or the managing of any business/farm or administering/governing a village . So called “creative” people are free from the daily logistics of running a society so they can easily like big consultants keep setting unreal parameters. I know people who have done solid path-breaking work on local solutions and without much hoo-haa.

Arundhati Roy , if she was not a sensationalist would have seen thousands of such experiments where people have thought through on how to create sustainable communities . Like that soldier-villager Anna Hazare who transformed a village Ralegaon Siddhi and now runs a Village Planning Institute in Maharshtra.

People like Arundhati make violence fashionable and run from one movement to another because they have no staying power. She can stay on course with Narmada or Kashmir or Chattisgarh. She dreams of being the voice of all oppressed everywhere. There are many better representatives in all those areas and as for strategic or seminal thought , she has not given a single one. She is the disease of our age , all packaging.

Facing Windows...a letter

2011-11-23T03:13:00.000-08:00

My dear Simone.

After you, red is no longer red.

The blue of the sky is no longer blue.

The trees are no longer green.

I have to search for colors in the yearnings I have for us.

After you, I miss even the pain that made our love timid and secret.

I miss the waiting, the relinquishing,

the coded messages.

The stolen glances in a world full of blind people

who didn't want to see,

because if they'd seen us it would have been their shame,

their hatred,

their cruelty.

I regret I haven't had the courage to ask your forgiveness

and that is why I can no longer even look inside your window.

That is where I always saw you, even when I didn't know your name,

and you dreamed of a better world.

A world where a tree was not forbidden to be a tree.

Or for blue to become the sky.

I don't know if this is a better world.

How can I say this is a better world?

How can I say that without you?

Your Caring Beloved

2011-11-23T03:12:00.000-08:00

A gift of a diamond and your burnt heart’s wound has arrived

Congratulations, Asad! your caring beloved has arrived

jirdhat tohfih, almas armughan, dagh-e-jiggar hadiyah

mub arkabad Asad, ghmamkahr-e jan-e dardmand aya

~Original in Persian by Ghalib

The news came today my lover by night might come.

I lay my head on the road by which he would come.

The desert gazelles were holding their heads in their hands,

Hoping he would hunt the day he comes.

The pull of my love will not keep him still.

If to my funeral he couldn't make it, to my grave he'd surely come.

My soul has now come to my lips, come so that I may live

After I die, what purpose if you come?

Khabaram raseed imshab ki nigaar khuahi aamad;

Sar-e man fidaa-e raah-e ki sawaar khuahi aamad.

Ham-e aahwan-e sehra sar-e khud nihada bar kaf;

Ba-umeed aanki rozi bashikaar khuahi aamad.

Kashishi ki ishq daarad naguzaradat badinsaa;

Ba-janazah gar nayai ba-mazaar khuahi aamad.

Balabam raseed jaanam fabiya ki zindah maanam;

Pas azan ki man na-maanam bacha kar khuahi aaamad.

~Original in Persian by Amir Khusrau

A song stuck in my head

2011-11-23T03:09:00.000-08:00

it's a little bit like Sun when your smile is focused on me

with Stars in your eyes

it reminds me of Summers up north where the clear winds will blow

through the mountains with Snow

but it can all turn Around as i know

with the words You say before you go

nothing can change us from Being ourselves

and i'm left here in town with Nothing as help

sometimes your Words make me Happy or Angry or Sad

it depends, how i Feel

if i feel Strong there's a Chance that i'll laugh at your notes

that tells me you're Gone

but it can all Turn around as i know

with a change of weather, yes then i'll be Low

anything Done and said on my part

can keep us together or pull us Apart

i know there is Something between us, my love

it's Stronger than what we can break

it'll keep us Together forever, my love

it's like we have Nothing to say

it's raining in new york

and i know what it feels like

cause i've walked 3rd avenue

with tears in my eyes

it's raining in l.a.

and i know what it feels like

cause i see those tears

come through when we try .....

--Oh Laura

One of the best-written songs of all time, by Bob Dylan

2011-11-23T03:06:00.001-08:00

Just a minute before you leave girl

Just a minute before you touch the door

What is it that you're trying to achieve, girl ?

Do you think we can talk about it some more ?

You know, the streets are filled with vipers

Who've lost all ray of hope

You know, it ain't even safe no more

In the palace of the Pope.

Don't fall apart on me tonight

I just don't think that I could handle it

Don't fall apart on me tonight

Yesterday's just a memory

Tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be

And I need you, yeah.

Come over here from over there, girl

Sit down here, you can have my chair

I can't see us going anywhere, girl

The only place open is a thousand miles away and I can't take you there

I wish I'd have been a doctor

Maybe I'd have saved some life that had been lost

Maybe I'd have done some good in the world

'Stead of burning every bridge I crossed.

Don't fall apart on me tonight

I just don't think that I could handle it

Don't fall apart on me tonight

Yesterday's just a memory

Tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be

And I need you, yeah.

I ain't too good at conversation, girl

So you might not know exactly how I feel

But if I could, I'd bring bring you to the mountaintop, girl

And build you a house made out of stainless steel

But it's like I'm stuck inside a painting

That's hanging in the Louvre

My throat start to tickle and my nose itches

But I know that I can't move.

Don't fall apart on me tonight

I just don't think that I could handle it

Don't fall apart on me tonight

Yesterday's gone but the past lives on

Tomorrow's just one step beyond

And I need you, yeah.

Who are these people who are walking towards you

Do you know them or will there be a fight ?

With their humorless smiles so easy to see through

Can they tell you what's wrong from what's right ?

Do you remember St. James Street

Where you blew Jackie P.'s mind ?

You were so fine, Clark Gable would have fell at your feet

And laid his life on the line.

Let's try to get beneath the surface waste, girl

No more booby traps and bombs

No more decadence and charm

No more affection that's misplaced, girl

No more mudcake creatures lying in your arms

What about that millionaire with the drumsticks in his pants ?

He looked so baffled and so bewildered

When he played and we didn't dance.

Don't fall apart on me tonight

I just don't think that I could handle it

Don't fall apart on me tonight

Yesterday's just a memory

Tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be

And I need you, yeah.

really nice article...wish someone would have written it in India...hats off Fasi boy!

2011-11-23T03:02:00.000-08:00

Pakistan, you are a failed state. Not because of Zardari. Not because of America. But because you are a failed people, all of us undeserving of sympathy. We are diseased, rotten to every brain stem, world please make an impenetrable fence around us, keep us all in so we don’t spread it to other people, other countries.

These were words I posted on a social networking website. I have an unusually negative mindset these days. It happened after I saw the video of the two teenage brothers brutally clubbed to death by a crowd frenzied with blood thirst in Sialkot. The police watched gleefully. The video has blurs at certain parts, but even this sensible sensitivity does not prevent one from seeing mists of blood flaying from the heads of these teens as they are hit relentlessly, and remorselessly, again and again.

The murderous crowd was truly representative of the richness of Pakistan. Some wear jeans, others shalwar kameez, some were bearded, others clean shaven. The Pakistanis had gotten together to have some fun.

Do not be shocked. This wasn’t isolated, it’s just that the crowd wanted to make sure their orgasmic moment could be captured for later viewing, at one’s pleasure. We blame our ill-educated brethren for the barbarity we witness, but that’s a self-serving lie.

The middle and upper classes are immune to education it seems. They hold opinions of everyday violence even if they have never raised their hand at anyone. If you believe Jews are the scum of the earth, all Ahmadis deserve to die or that Hindus are inferior, well why not two teenage boys?

I want Pakistanis to feel shame, in fact a substantial loss of self-esteem would be great. This is the only way for us to begin to doubt ourselves and the incessant excuses we make. Yes, the world is right to add restrictions on our visas, to see us as dangerous. If for even a while we felt we were the cockroaches of the human race, maybe we would get to the point we stopped the lies we tell ourselves and let this continue.

The fact is, if we had real democracy, there would be no internet in Pakistan, women would not be allowed out of their homes, education would come to a standstill and we would begin a programme of killing off every minority. Thank you corrupt generals and politicians, you keep this at bay with some sense of being answerable to a world that still has some humanity in it, even if you don’t.

And please, no excuses, no excuses. Don’t give us that, “If only there was true Islam they would be better”. I think a thousand years is enough, we can’t wait longer. And there was no America in existence for most of that, or even western colonialism.

You want to know just how sociopathic we are? In response to these killings some are happy to say we deserve earthquakes and floods. Typical. Don’t change yourself, but give credit to the indiscriminate and inhumane forces of nature. The floods are a tragedy, an atrocity and should never be used to bolster an argument that really only demands self-reflection.

And please, in your self-reflection don’t call us animals, most of them are benign vegetarians.

Also don’t blame Sialkot; they were just unlucky because they are subject to scrutiny. There is so much more out there.

There is such a sense of sickening moral superiority in Pakistanis, it needs to be addressed. All we care about is foreign policy, eager to point out the hypocrisies of the world, silent on our domestic, or even local life. Why should the world take what you say seriously, why should you be a regional power, or a leader in the comity of Islamic nations?

Truth is, there is only one way to get change, and it’s not hanging the people who killed these boys. It is raising your voice to contradict people who advocate death for others, no matter who they are speaking of. To internalise that murder of any kind, for anyone is wrong. Sounds easy? Well just try it.

Published in The Express Tribune, August 24th, 2010.

For the original post, visit http://tribune.com.pk/story/42158/pakistan%E2%80%99s-human-cockroaches/

Freedom, a poem from my sister.

2011-11-23T02:45:00.000-08:00

i've been broken enough times,
to know the smell of earth
and to know how gracious it is
and each of those shreds have risen again,
stronger than before
not for some mere fight,
nor for the war to thrive,
but for the eminence of independence
for the austerity of one's freedom.

these are not the wings that they thrust upon me,
nor are these granted
these are instead the ones i willed to grow
the one's i've achieved
the faith that every benediction brings along
liberates my flight,
but its the faith coming along unanswered prayers
that reminds me of the soil
and the spirit it leaves behind.

i was given a life
not just to survive
and the day i gain
the virtue of my existence,
when i defeat
the insignificance of my being
they may not know how i lived,
but they will remember that i did.

--gurleen

For Sneh

2011-10-13T01:42:00.000-07:00

You left me walking in the rain,
Cold and alone, and the pain
Was like me
A bit unsure of itself..

What happened, how?
Who knows, who cares
Its so cold, I'm so wet
This blood on my fingers
It won't go away

Things left unsaid
Echo about this abyss
Left in your wake
This trail of crimson
These tatters I rake

To the heavens have you gone
From where you had arrived?
To nurse my ailing heart
Such lies I contrive
But still it weeps

I cry all bunched up
Like you were when inside me
Tears fall till I fall asleep
And forget, then I smile

I had dreamed of you
Long before you had come
To live within me
As I dream you now
The last remains
Of a tainted love

I watch you
Lying next to me
Crying
Eating
Sleeping
Smiling
Laughing
Walking
Running...away
And you disappear

I'm awake, and it starts all over again.

2011-09-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

Truth bent but not broken,

More dangerous than the lie not spoken -Rohan Sarode

Mumbai, August.

2011-08-27T03:20:00.000-07:00

The streets have become waterways with hours upon hours of incessant rain. My car literally felt like a boat today. Poor Man's Venice, they call it now. My Dad was the Gondolier...

Brown teen rap! An interesting sociological phenomenon...

2011-08-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

I was nerdy and pathetic when I was a teenager. The only Sikh boy in the entire school. Turbaned with unshorn hair with a sprouting beard, I was different from everyone else. Sikhs are a minority in India, and I was in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. The capital of Hindutva politics. Needless to say, I got picked on a lot. A lot. I was angry, inside. Someone made me hear Eminem one day, and I got inspired to write my very first original poem. I stumbled upon it tonight and thought it was just silly enough to make public. Please keep in mind that I was a teenage Indian boy who had just been introduced to rap and was by no means an authority on Hip-Hop lingo.

Read it in the funny Indian accent the Americans are getting so good at these days.
Here goes funny:

My Hairstyle Rap

Hey you, asshole, whatcha lookin' at?
Yeah I got long hair, but then, so what?

Hey you, watcha laughing at?
Ya got yellow teeth, atleast I don't have that!

Ha Ha Ha Check Check Check Check
Kiss a snake on its neck neck

Ya gotta have guts to do it
But you can't, 'cos ure so full o' shit!

A dumb, cheap asshole, that's what I 'll call ya
I'll piss on ure dead skull, and then I'll damn ya!

'Cos u don't know no shit about
Where all the cool peeps of the town hang out.

Ure not cool, ure just a fool
Whenever you see a tit you drool.

I'll kick ure ass and ure mother I'll fuck
So get outta my face if you want some luck!

Every dood has the freedom to choose
If he wants to look like a goat or a goose

(A goat or a goose, a lion or a moose!)

Short hair or long hair, it doesn't really matter,
Its whatcha eat that makes yer ass fatter!

Hey you, watcha lookin at?
Turn yer head around or I'll kick your sorry ass!

Hope the intense emotions came through. Sky out.

Gagan Judge, 23.

2011-08-19T16:18:00.000-07:00

Things I have learned this year:

My sister is a completely different person and I have to accept that as a fact.
I need to keep my mouth shut sometimes to avoid getting into trouble.
I am smarter than most people but they don't like being told that.
I love food and I hate exercise. I will never be as thin as I was in high school.
I like watching movies and talking about them more than I like making them. Teaching might be a good career choice.
I can't keep a job because I get bored easily and am too whimsical. I need to be my own boss.
Being in love and being in a relationship with someone are two completely different things.
Writing requires more discipline than talent. I have no discipline.
I may not be as creative or as talented as others, but I have my own unique way of looking at the world and understanding its people. The day I find my voice and I really want to express something, it will all come to me.
Time spent living is not time wasted.

whatever...

2011-08-15T05:13:00.000-07:00

Happy Independence Day!!!

Sixty four glorious years of butchering minorities, blatant corruption, bigotry, rapid industrialization, casteism, green revolution, white revolution, insurgency, emergency, MCVeggie and Maharaja Mac, animal rights protection, humal rights violations, no first use nuclear policy, bullying of neighbors, wannabe superpower, extreme poverty, non-alignment, non violence, honor killings, equal rights for women, female infanticide, great food, religious extremism, discrimination, spineless foreign policies, moral policing, Bollywood, regionalism - and still going strong! This is India, folks. Take it or leave it.

And hey, atleast we are not doing as bad as some other countries(Pakistan). No terrorism, military rule, failed econonmy, failed state, heroin trade, child rape and obstruction of justice here, so shut up! We rape only grown women, and there are no gay people. We are all Hindus. We are all named either Raj or Kumar. All of us are vegetarians. We all speak English, albeit in a funny accent. Like us. Please.

Our forefathers who fought for our freedom; those people who went to jail, were tortured and beaten with clubs and then hanged without a proper trial. Fasts unto death. The Salt March. Civil disobedience. They envisaged a nation of freedom, made by free-thinking people that would be a shining beacon to the rest of humanity. What a shame.

On missing you...

2011-07-12T20:02:00.000-07:00

I miss you in parts. Never as a whole. I miss your hair. Coarse and wild and golden, a lion's mane. Miss how it split the morning sun into a thousand shimmering sparkles. I miss waking up to your sea-green eyes looking at me. Those sea-eyes that had drowned so much sorrow that I could see my love in them, floating helplessly on the surface.

I miss your smell, that used to linger on the sheets long after you went into the shower. I miss the texture of your calves, the shape of your back , the back of your neck, the soft skin behind your ears and I miss kissing them. I miss your long, tapering fingers(you used to say you got them from your father) and the way they used to feel on my lips. I miss being. Just being, existing, in your arms. Those mornings were so warm. The world is so cold, now.

I know it wasn't perfect. Except my love for you. So unwavering in its stubbornness, its vanity. What went wrong I do not know. Those are the parts I do not remember. Or maybe I choose not to. It is there still, stubborn and vain. My perfect love.

I miss our mornings and I miss you and I miss loving you. In parts. Always in parts.

Someday I shall miss missing you so.

Nate's note on Facebook...

2011-04-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

If my Memory Serves me Right: Sinulog
by Nate Zona on Monday, April 11, 2011 at 1:58am

When I was in the Philippines, there was a lot of buzz about this upcoming festival called 'Sinulog.' It is the biggest celebration of the year, and I just happened to arrive a month before it happened. The weeks flew by and before I knew it I had made plans to go to a "rave" the night before Sinulog. This "rave" was really more of a house/ebm night, and it was held at the Cebu International Convention Center. I went with my new friends Rozie Reyes, from Australia, and Vũ Ngọc Phượng, from Vietnam. I was very excited to be going out on the town, since I had basically just arrived, and to a rave nonetheless! We took cab to the venue and paid 500 pesos to get in. (Hunter told us later that we actually could have gotten in for free with our IAFT passes! Damn!) The night was still kinda young so most of the crowd was sitting in chairs surrounding the dance floor. It reminded me of a high school dance, but in a much bigger scale. Well the music was playing and Rosie, Vu and I laughed to ourselves at the shyness of everyone else, went directly to the middle of the floor, and just started dancing like fools! Everyone else started slowly making their way onto the floor and soon enough the place was moving! As the night rolled on and the music got "harder," the producers of the show brought out these four ladies in bikinis, holding chains in each hand, with a little cup at the end of them. They stood at the front for some time, and then a guy with a lighter came over and lit the cups on fire one by one. When they were all on fire, the music hit a crescendo and the chains began swinging! The lights were flashing, the music was pumping, the girls were swinging fire back in forth in a hypnotic gyration, and then along the sides of the stage fountains of sparks erupted high into the sky! The crowd was alive!

The night, however, was just beginning for me.

So we partied, danced, drank, and what not until about two-thirty. At this time Hunter Prescott and Gagan Judge had showed up and asked if I was staying until the end (4am or so.) Vu was ready to go home so Rozie left with him, and I ended up leaving with Hunter and Gagan around 3:30. If I remember correctly, Hunter is from Austrailia, but spent some time in the US as well, namely Texas. Gagan, or Sky as he is called, is from India! Both these dudes are super cool, and I had become kinda friends with them over the previous weeks. I would say more like acquaintances really.

Well, at this point, they decided we should go get some food at a fast food place called Andok's. When we got there they told us they weren't selling beer, so of course we went to a gas station, bought some and went back to Andok's!

Hunter and Gagan were adamant that I try Andok's version of the popular Pinoy dish "Sisig."

Sisig, let me tell you, is DELICIOUS! It's a fried/sizzler meat dish, served on a really hot metal? plate. It smells like bacon and has onions, red peppers, and really tasty spices! Needless to say, I loved it. (Only later did I find out sisig is made from carved pig's head meat, chopped liver, and traditionally, pig's brain! I'd still eat it, haha) The night was not over, and we hopped on a jeepney to get back to the IAFT campus. By this time, the school grounds were abandoned, with only the guards patrolling. We walked to the back of the school where the tiki bar is located, and on the way back there we crossed paths with one of the security guards. Hunter was immediately friendly with him, and they shook hands and happily exchanged pleasantries. I was surprised how well they seemed to know each other and as we walked to the back, Hunter said something I will remember for the rest of my life. "Dude, you gotta make friends with everybody. The cleaning crew, the security guards, the lady who does your laundry. When you step out of your own shoes and let other people in, you free yourself, but most importantly dude, you remember you're not alone in this life."

We sat, the three of us at the now abandoned Tiki Bar in the back of the school. The Tiki Bar sits up against a fence that overlooks the Bay of Magellen. You can see a breathtaking amount of sky from this spot. As we drank our Tanduay Rhum and A&W rooter, and our cans of San Miguel and Red Horse, we watched as the sky began to leech color from the sun. Gagan turns to me and says, "Dude, you will never forget this Mactan Sunrise." Even if he had said nothing and I had been there alone, he was absolutely right. The warm air gently blowing though the palm trees, the black water of the bay, slowly turning red and pink and orange, reflecting the clouds above which puffed in the sky like rolls of marshmallows. The sun slowly but unstoppably rising above the horizon, into the day. It was something I'll never forget. I tried to take a picture with my camera but it just didn't look right, and Hunter and Gagan said to me, "This is something that cannot be captured by our gear man, only with your memory."

Last Memory

2011-01-21T00:29:00.000-08:00

Dumbledore: "After all this time, Severus?"
Snape: "Always."

Merry Christmas, Love

2010-12-29T01:31:00.000-08:00

Since I am totally broke, my girl asked me to write her a poem as a Christmas gift. This is what I came up with. I'm not used to writing on request and my style usually involves a lot of tributes(read copyright infringement). Inspiration is hard to come by these days but Rabbi Shergill came to my rescue. He is like the Bruce Springsteen of India, and I am like the Quentin Tarantino of Poetry :)

Had I come some other time,
Would we have still met the same way?

Had I been a better thief,
Would the moon have been so full?

Had I known how to lie,
Would the veil have still remained?

O Veiled One.

Who knows? Not me
A different time, a different sea

Would it have been harder? Easier?

Was there a better cure?
We could never be sure

Your touch was warm.

You had built such a high wall
I laid a siege all through the fall

Could I have been more persistent? Or less?

I scrambled up and met my demise
By coarse, yellow hair and sea-green eyes

You had coarse hair.

As you lie beside me now
with your yellow hair on my brow

Splitting the sun. Light? Or Shade?

I close my eyes and try to breathe
For soon it will be time to leave

And I am glad.

I'm glad that this happened
The way it happened
Because it happened

You are in my arms today
And I wouldn't have it any other way.

This coarse hair. This warm touch. I'm glad.

reply to Anu

2010-09-28T21:50:00.000-07:00

nu, you will be treated “badly” even if you had a degree from the best school in the world. thats just how the industry works. the ones who are thick -skinned enough to work through it are the ones who survive. as the film industry has a lot of glamour attached to it and lots of people want to join, its like a process the industry has developed to weed out the non-serious people. only the most committed and passionate people survive as a result, and they go on to carve out careers in the industry.
as for the experience, Vijay is talking about going out and living life. I have myself taken a break and decided to travel and learn about cultures and human life because thats the experience you need to be a filmmaker with a voice. a film degree is good but not all people who learn to play the guitar become good musicians. the art has to flow from within you.
directing a film requires a certain level of maturity and an understanding of the human condition which only comes from experience in real life, not by assisting a director or making a short film or going to film school(the three being the same because they only give you technical skill and experience, like learning the notes on a keyboard)
hope this helped

random

2010-09-10T03:49:00.000-07:00

i was hungry so i finished two whole pizzas from the fridge last night...and one of them was for my sister! So Mom woke me up in the morning and yelled at me. I burped loudly as she was yelling at me and she left in disgust.... I'm fat, greedy, nocturnal and I live with my parents...sexy, anyone? :)

...oh and I am unemployed as well. There has got to be atleast one superhot woman in this world who likes this combination...

Ode To Salt

2010-09-04T15:52:00.000-07:00

Ode To Salt

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

- Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

All Time Favourite Sonnet

2010-08-11T18:33:00.000-07:00

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

From The Master's Pen

2010-08-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flow'rs in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

-Sonnet XCVIII

The Reason pt. 2

2010-08-11T18:25:00.000-07:00

"dig deep" as they would say
examine the flow of emotions

how did you get here?
we need proper investigations

so i become Sherlock,
pipe and hat and coat, all preparations

elementary, my dear Watson!
i say to my pen, after many negotiations

the pen being the only surgeon
to operate on my lunacy.

The Reason pt. 1

2010-08-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

sewing old, tattered dreams
with thorns from the sink

as my flowing eyes, it seems,
are stemmed by the ink,

i write the lines
the solace they bring

will be brief and fleeting
but solace nonetheless, i think

the writing equivalent
of crying myself to sleep...

of Tears and Rain...

2010-07-12T21:56:00.000-07:00

Raining in Cebu, raining in Mumbai - pathetic fallacy. Can never tell when someone is crying. Raindrops or teardrops. We humans are already so good with hiding emotions(even from ourselves). Rain is just another handy tool. Mummy Nature is soooo clever!

Thanks for making emo look cool.....

2010-05-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

HAPPY MOTHERS' DAY!!!
Thank you soooo much for this wonderful life that you have given me, ma. I'm really loving it and I can do the things I really want to do.
I am happy and very satisfied the way things have gone so far. No regrets. Thanks for bearing with me all those 'growing up' years and helping me out when times were tough. Thanks for indulging my tantrums and giving me everything I ever asked for. Because of you I can never get disheartened by the difficulties and challenges that life throws at me. If I take a wrong step, if I falter and lose my way for a bit, I know that you are always there for me.

As a mother, you make me believe that there is still goodness and innocence in this world, and the pure selflessness that you exude is something that I could never do. Nonetheless, because of you, I can still tell stories about good, selfless people and believe in those stories myself knowing that even if they don't exist elsewhere, those values exist in you. Believing in the values of one's stories is very important to an honest storyteller and that's where you inspire me, ma. I can be confident that no matter how much evil and cruelty propagate in this world, the sanctuary given by a mere hug with the slightest whisper of assurance from you can take all that misery away. Warmth. There is still hope. Everything will be fine. Good triumphs over evil. I start believing again.

As a human being, you have taught me how to love. Anyone. The love you have for me is the purest form of love anyone can, and ought to, have for anyone. I can only aspire to love someone so unconditionally as you love me.

You are my little piece of heaven, ma. Thanks for being my best buddy, my best pain relief and my best cheerleader eva!!! I know the only way I can pay you back is by living a good life myself and I will leave no stone unturned in making your creation a success!

Love you, miss you
Bettu.

...

2010-02-22T00:16:00.000-08:00

My Love, had you faced the sorrows that have befallen me,
you would have lost your senses long ago.
It is my stubborn heart that has held its own for so long;
you would have lost these tears long ago.

Fellini on Fellini

2010-01-23T23:18:00.000-08:00

Just saw Fellini's 8 1/2.....I confess I know absolutely nothing about filmmaking.

Disheartening thought, one might say...but now I know where I stand and everything is so much clearer now. I'm actually rejoicing in the loss of my ignorance!

THE GEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH!!!

2009-07-09T10:57:00.000-07:00

http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/07/i_am_a_brainiac.html

Mr. Ebert puts so lucidly and eloquently what I have been trying to say for so long...love you Mr. Ebert. No homo.

More on it later, busy making some movies right now!

The Oneironaut Part ll

2009-06-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

I came up with my own way to cope with bad days when I was a kid. I call it idealist daydreaming. Whenever I get too fed-up or feel confused about the world around me I go into my own dream world, which is just the way I want it. It is a place where childhood friends still live next door, where the first kiss I ever had still lingers. A place devoid of war, hatred and deceit. A place which feels as warm and snug as my mother's hugs felt when I was five. When I used to run to her when it hurt inside-out. A moment of sanctuary, peace and solace. When I wake up from this vivid dream, I find it much easier to accept the sometimes harsh realities of life. Call it escapism if you will, but I am not really running away, its just a temporary refuge, a place of comfort, to rest a while along the way.

That is how I write most of my stories too. The films I make will always be inspired from personal experience but will also contain certain elements of imagination, because after all, dreams are experiences too. Most of my stories have a happy ending(the jock-gets-dumped-and-the-geek-gets-the-girl ending), or at least a sense of hope. The world that 'could be' or 'ought to be'.

What is reality anyways, if not a sum of our ideas, beliefs and experiences? You are what you choose to believe. How does a child cope with sexual abuse? Pretend that it never happened, and then start believing it never happened. The Olympic athlete wins the race he has already won so many times in his mind. He remembers the familiar smell of the air, the faint noises of the cheering crowd and the bare curve of the track. He has been here before, countless days and nights.

This is how we start believing in the reality of our own creation. I used to have a bad reputation as a bluffer in high-school, and many people still consider me to be a lying bastartd, although thats a different story hehe. That first crush never kissed me on that first date....but then, she did....so many times, over and over again. Her taste still lingers on my lips, as if it was only yesterday.....

Yin-Yang and the Hegelian Dialectic.....

2009-06-06T04:32:00.000-07:00

I used to be a staunch Objectivist(the Ayn Rand type) for some time. That phase happens when you read The Romantic Manifesto at nineteen years of age. Rationality, Idealism, Empiricism, Logic. You make fun of your parents because they are religious. You have endless arguments with yor granny over the (non)existence of God. As you grow older, though, you realize that although some of the principles of Objectivism are truisms but the whole thing offers a quite limited view of life.

Then I read Henry Flynt's work. Anti-art, Nihilism, Existentialism, Solipsism. He is on the other end of the spectrum from Ayn Rand. I saw a short film by Louis Bunuel and Salvador Dali titled 'The Andalusian Dog'. The film makes sense because it intentionally makes no sense. You try to make sense of it, try to connect the shots and make a story where there is none, and therein lies the concept of the film: everyone WANTS to find a story in it and everyone comes up with a unique interpretation. Its a classic!

I read Ray Carney's papers on film criticism, who says that plot is the enemy of a movie. He is on the other end of the spectrum from Roger Ebert and Robert Mckee.
So can there be a balance between these two sides? Can you believe in both? Can you appreciate both James Cameron and John Cassavettes, and everything in between?

I think so. The trick is to merge the Thesis with the Antithesis and create a Synthesis. To hold two opposing ideas in your brain and still retain the ability to function.

The world is beautiful. It has a dark side that adds to its beauty. Evil is necessary for us to appreciate the good. The balance between Yin and Yang. Although religion is outdated, a society needs a philosophy(a system of moral values) to exist without chaos. It is common sense that murder and theft is bad behavior. One doesn't need a childish story about there being a big grumpy guy up in the sky watching over you who will judge you after you die. Both Heaven and Hell are here on earth. You will get what you deserve in this life itself, call it karma or causality or whatever.

I'm still learning, and the gaps will be filled along the way.

The Prophet's Parting Words...

2009-05-07T02:25:00.000-07:00

"...farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you. It was but yesterday we met in a dream. You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky. But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and its no longer dawn. The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day and we must part.If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.

And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky.

And though death may hide me, and the greater silence enfold me, yet again will I seek your understanding.

And not in vain will I seek."

To My Favorite Taurean, On Her Birthday...

2009-04-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

I am the tipsiness in your eyes,
The vanity of your passion
I am the secret, knowing smiles
Which still, sometimes, take hold of you,
Whether you remember or not......

My taste still fresh on your lips,
As if that autumn morning was only yesterday
The fumbling, awkward first kiss
It was so right, it was so new,
Whether you remember or not......

You see I am near still, though I may seem to be far
Indigo key chains, junk bracelets
A chewing gum wrapper, an old guitar
I am with you, around you, inside you.
Whether you remember or not......

A thousand dreams, memories that remain
To be lived still, who knows
We just might meet again,
But 'silence and tears' just won't do
Whether you remember or not.....

You used to like that Shania Twain song
'I'm keeping you forever and for always
You still know the words, sometimes you even sing along
Only, when I sang, I sung it true
Whether you remember or not.....

On Film Appreciation.....

2009-04-01T02:48:00.000-07:00

A good habit, not only necessary for a filmmaker but for any person who takes film appreciation seriously, is to read about a film after you've seen it. Explore the philosophical themes, read some interpretations, etc. For me, it starts with the film's Wikipedia article, moves on to Rotten Tomatoes and finally arrives at Roger Ebert's review of it. That guy talks sense, more often than not. Then a repeat viewing. Just like you appreciate a painting or any other art form for that matter. I too used to harbor the idea that a film is good only if you understand and like it the first time. I am wiser now.

Well there are some films, of course, that you watch for pure entertainment and I am all for romantic comedies and spoof films but what I am saying is that just one viewing is not enough to judge a film. Most films grow on you. Maybe I am biased because I belong to the profession of making them and I am so in awe of the medium that there isn't really a movie that I hate. Its still like magic for me; sitting in a dark room and watching moving paintings of light. Ebert says that it seems like the light is actually originating in your head rather than the projector behind you. Beautiful magic.

Speaking of Ebert, I feel sad that any person today can start writing and criticizing a film without any knowledge of film theory, genres, etc. Other lay people read his 'reviews' and make up their minds not to watch a film, which hurts the film in turn. That is one reason I don't write reviews and start stalking idiots that do. Its a professional job and it takes years and years of studying film theory and history to actually gain an insight into how movies actually work.

Even the very idea of criticism is offensive to me. Films are made to be appreciated, not criticized. It has been said that only people who like a film may review it, because they are free of all the prejudices that a film's discreditors would have. To emphasize on the positives. Appreciation instead of criticism. Then there is the other school of thought which says that the only way to criticize a film is to make another one, in response. What say, Mr. Critic?

The Oneironaut

2009-03-14T19:59:00.000-07:00

"The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving." -Waking Life

You should challenge your notions and beliefs about existence, life, reality, love, morality, rationality etc etc every once in a while. Create a "crisis in consciousness" as Krishnamurty said. Sometimes you need to sweep the firm ground you usually stand upon in everyday life and, well, free-fall! Then go salsa dancing with your confusion. Every once in a while. I've been free-falling for a few days now. Its been a free flowing stream of surrealistic films, cheese, classical music and sleep. Exploring alternate realities, like in a lucid dream. I never really was much into drugs but this is the closest I have come to tripping, yet.

It all started when I got my hands on some really cool previously-unseen DVDs through a generous friend(such a boon to have those). With nothing to do except wait for Sunday when I leave for my film-school in the Philippines, I decided that it would be a nice prelude to the whole thing if I caught some experimental, challenging movies. An overture of sorts, just to set the mood. I started with Stanley Kubrick's 'A Clockwork Orange', which really set the ball rolling. A cult classic, its a surreal, deeply offending, black humored work of art. Simply loved it. It is interesting how we can get so easily offended by any world-view that is different than ours. Its not a case of narrow-mindedness so much as it is a fear of the unknown. Thats exactly the idea behind free-falling. Letting go of the concepts and the definitions that restrict us and, for a while, look beyond. Exploring, venturing, letting the imagination flow freely.

Thats where art comes in. And surrealism. I was introduced to the movement quite early; the first director I worked with was an avowed surrealist. Making promos for MTV-Vh1, various ad-films, music videos and stuff, I was hooked on to his office-library that boasted of works by Floria Sigismondi, David Lachapelle and our very own Tarsem Singh. He couldn't see anything beyond these three and it showed in his considerable body of work but he was good at what he did. Really good.

Anyways, coming back to the topic, I finished watching A Clockwork Orange. On to the next one. Monty Python's Meaning Of Life, an even more offending, dark,extremely satirical pure work of art. Lovely. Then it was Adaptation by Spike Jonze and Richard Linklater's masterpiece Waking Life followed by (the most offensive of all) Un Chien Andalou, the genre-defining classic silent short film by Salvador Dali and Luis Bunuel. All one after the other. Exhausting? Yes! I slept for a couple of hours, woke up, and started reading about the phenomenal films I had seen, eating a rather large piece of raw cheese stolen from the fridge. The reviews and different interpretations.The philosophical themes behind them, the between-the-lines. Existentialism. Solipsism. Nihilism. Hedonism. Nietzsche. Flynt. Ebert. Everything I could find. Views and counter-views. Phew! Slept again, this time for fourteen hours straight. I woke up in a dream-like state, all the theories and counter-theories muddling my head. Had to clear my mind. Made some green tea(Mom has learned to leave me alone during such times) and listened to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on loop for an hour. I was free-falling. My definitions of what a film should be had been destroyed. My perception of reality lay shattered. My mind was still reeling from the
aftershocks. I was feeling what Neo feels in The Matrix when Morpheus says to him, "Welcome to the real world...". A whole new world of possibilities had been shown to me. A new dimension had been opened. Like when the Sphere first visits Mr Square in Flatland.

Siting there, listening to 'Beets', I felt a sudden surge of creativity inside me. I just started typing. My mind was buzzing. my fingers were ablaze. Within an hour, I wrote one of my finest poems, wrote some new movie ideas and fine-tuned some old ones. Just like that. I returned to stories I had thought of , filed and forgotten.I had really become an Oneironaut: a person who travels without physically moving. Explore new realities and dimensions. I was doing just that. I found new stories to tell where there were none. New insights. What an experience, what a prelude to film school!

Looking forward to discussion with friend and mentor Shreyas. Man, I will miss those conversations over hot Maggi.

I intend to keep falling till I fly - on Sunday to film school!

Following are the films I recommend to fellow and wanna-be Oneironauts. Please note that this is not an exhaustive list. Only the ones that I have seen:

Adaptation
Waking life
Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind
A Clockwork Orange
Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy
Paprika
The Matrix
Trainspotting
Waltz With Bashir
Apocalypse Now
Un Chien Andalou
Monty Python's Meaning Of Life

Comment on criticism against Slumdog Millionaire

2009-03-05T10:54:00.000-08:00

Couldn't help commenting on this post on PFC.

agree with Susant and Nina here....the movie is an adaptation after all and people are taking the Oscars a bit too seriously. A masala entertainer can also be a masterpiece; I see no reason why the two can't go together. The vast majority of the people in this world are hopeless romantics and this IS a movie for hopeless romantics. The Brit accent and most other points mentioned in the post don't even matter to such people. I personally thought the direction, sound design, editing and background score were exceptional and the film actually deserved all of the Oscars it got.

So many great Hindi films are flawed but we still like them. Why such a ruckus about Danny doing the same shit too? The Oscars are not better than Filmfare and if Hritik can pass off as Akbar and the film wins awards then we have no right to judge Slumdog so harshly.

Slumdog is not a documentary on Dharavi(or Mumbai) and neither is Jodha-Akbar a History Channel special. The key concepts to understand fully here are:-
1. FICTION
2. MAGIC REALISM
3. ROMANTIC FANTASY, and
4. SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF
(u can google them if u will, i personally find Wikipedia to be a great help in such matters)

Some films only seem more 'real' than others but ultimately they are all works of art that are supposed to entertain you.

And lastly, there is nothing wrong in being a hopeless romantic. I, for one, belong to the category. People should to appreciate all kinds of films. Its a shame how everyone tries to be Ebert these days....and even HE loved it!!!

A Blank Verse.....Of Cigarettes and Lovers

2009-02-23T00:56:00.001-08:00

Something my sister wrote. Miss my teens like anything.....but ain't she great?!

Sitting on a windowsill......
denuded, broken, faint
everything dark now,all is lost........
except the moonlight and my cigarette.
Some pain inhaled......
some flicked off,
the rest sealed in my eyes,
a poignant calm..........
I think of you and my cigarette.
I miss my first smoke..........
I miss my first kiss,
...things lost too soon...

I miss your breath in my ears,
your fingers on my neck,
I miss looking at you,watching you sleep....
I miss the feel of your hair,
....miss you playing with mine...........
a resonance of memories.

You said you didn't think we were close.
Once, when I made you angry and you bit me,
I don't remember what I had done,
but I remember that you bit me, at the corner of my lip.............

I thought we were close.

I miss that and my cigarette.

I want you to hold me......
to just crumble in your warmth.

In life nothing goes.
love............ addiction...........
nothing cures..........

...an unfinished blank verse................

Emosional Atyachar no more.....

2009-02-16T19:30:00.000-08:00

"Happy Days are here!" they say...what with Anurag Kashyap's Dev-D getting such rave reviews and a smashing first week at the box office, one would actually start thinking that there is finally some hope for the 'indie' filmmaker, especially the young, brash types. I'm holding my horses for now, though. False alarms have been triggered before; I remember a certain Naagesh Kukoonoor(hope I got the surname right) had the same kind of hopes pinned on him after his Hyderabad Blues achieved limited success. He made some increasingly 'commercial' films after that, and his last film Bombay To Bangkok consolidated his amalgamation into the pathetic old fart we call 'mainstream Bollywood'.

The 'second wave' came with the first small-budget-multiplex-hit Bheja Fry, which made the fat, middle-aged character actor Vinay Pathak an overnight star. The 'simple man struggling in the big-bad world and getting redeemed in the end' formula became such a rage with the masses(the reason being that everybody is a simpleton at heart or some crap like that) that scores of similar films being made with the same cast playing the same characters over and over again. So much so that it became difficult to differentiate one film from another. Now how could the 'big guys' stop themselves from cashing in on this pathetic trend of glorifying mediocrity? The same formula was applied by mainstream production houses and it resulted in Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi and the recently released Billu Barber, both starring the epitome of robbing-people-of-their-hard-earned-money
-by-emotional-manipulation: Shah-Rukh Khan.

While this was still going on around last year, I had made up my mind that this country had absolutely no scope for me to make the kind of films that I want to make or be a part of. Starvation and extreme poverty was the only future I could imagine, if I stayed here. I hastily applied to a top rated film school in the Philippines that is run by a Hollywood Studio. They train their own employees and the graduates get to work on Hollywood projects or something like that. I didn't care much. I just wanted to get the hell out even if it meant shooting locations for FTV Asia for the rest of my life. I didn't care. Wonder of wonders, I got selected! Then, after a month of begging my Dad to finance this desperate little adventure of mine, everything started getting fast-tracked and till last week I was sitting tight with the ticket in my hand waiting for March.

Then Dev-D happened to me. I had seen No Smoking and didn't understand the first time I saw it(well, no one did) but gradually I realized what a piece of art it was. Like Mona Lisa; the first time you see it in your life you wonder what the hype is about. It takes years of reading and thinking about it when you finally realize the genius of Da-Vinci. No Smoking was like that. For me. The 'masses' dismissed as 'too abstract' and 'way over the top' and God knows what. I wondered if Anurag would make another film again. Then I saw Dev-D, with my mom. It was sort of a test. The logic was that if mom drew a blank but I liked it then it would be another No Smoking. If mom liked it and I hated it then it would be a second Bombay To Bangkok. On the other hand, if somehow, as if by a genius masterstroke both of us liked it, then we had something here. I hoped we had something here. I am always an optimist when it comes to watching a film. That is partly why I'm still in awe of the medium, you never know what’s coming. By the time the film ended, me and my mom were sitting completely awestruck by the groundbreaking pheneomenon of a film that is Dev-D. what a film!!! Of course, there were a few middle-aged couples who walked out within the first half-hour, but you can't please everyone anyways. It is a brash film alright. I wondered how it got passed by the Censor board in the first place. I had finally seen a Hindi film that had the balls to show things the way they are, and I felt proud. Finally, a perfect balance of crowd pleasing emotional drama and brilliant and ingenious filmmaking technique. I said to myself, 'now THATS the kind of film I wannna make someday...' An honest, personal, spellbinding piece of art. The best kind there is.

So is this it? Is Anurag Kashyap the Guru Dutt of the 21st century? Only time will tell. I am not getting too cocky for now. Will have to watch his next offering Gulaal, which is releasing shortly. One thing I'll admit though. I have started having cold feet now. Maybe there is a future for me here after all. Maybe.

Its a good time for any film industry, when all kinds of films get appreciated by the audience. When small, 'arty' films can peacefully co-exist with big, 'commercial' films. When everybody does their own thing and make a decent living out of it. When everybody is a winner. As for me, I'm just a monkey typing away and waiting for Shakespeare to happen. An artist to the core, hehe.....

V-Day Rant

2009-02-13T23:05:00.000-08:00

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

Love is so short, forgetting so long
Another year passes, since you were gone...

"What's in a name?" the roses asked me
"Ah, the Name!" I exclaimed, in ecstasy

There is a point in singing a desperate song
When you get these surreal signs, but
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

Let the roses hear my crimson ballad
Its the only thing that is truly valid

As the thorns of their memory make me bleed
For the cleansing of the soul, Its blood that I need

They say its better to mature and move on, than dwell
On such nihilistic designs, still,
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

I have wallowed in this red cesspool of my own guilt
I was so, so young and naive, and I had built

Such high walls around myself, I know I wronged you
You were the rose, I was the thorn, but oh, how I loved you!

I thought I had come up in this insane world
With something that really rhymed, but
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

Now too long this revenge of yours has lasted
As all my notions have finally been blasted

Of how true love should ideally be
But these roses just won't let me be

This time I intend to let go, but with a bang, and this
Is the last of my drunken whines, for, you see
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

Love is so short, forgetting so long
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.....

Obviosly 'inspired' from the G'n'R song....

2009-02-09T10:36:00.000-08:00

I did finally end up walking in pain
like a candle in the cold november rain

Shivering, sodden, solitary, I walked
for miles in the cold november rain

The door was locked when at last I arrived
swooning in the cold november rain

Sitting outside for hours I wailed
cold tears in the cold november rain

Then I layed down my existence forever
I was buried in the cold november rain

It has lasted a bit too long, Falaq
ceaseless, this cold november rain.....

my friend Shreyas, who is a great poet by the way, wrote me a reply which I think rhymes better.....different contex but great anyway, showing his own style of writing.....

random blurting out... its so much fun to write after a rhyme.

he looks at me, that ragged beggar

he laughs and jeers in the cold november rain

i'm a brave man, but I'm scared to face

my worst fears in the cold november rain

the splashing water, your screaming voice

ring in my ears in the cold november rain

your mumbles and whispers when we made love...

the things one hears in the cold november rain!

she broke all our hearts. now I'm equal

among peers, in the cold november rain

...and of course, once in a while there comes up something really radical... like something funny and smart that one can use in the end, ...or the epiphanic bait-ul-ghazal

i am a teetotaler, Shreyas - but this is my eighth round

of cold beers in the cold november rain

For Sam

2009-02-03T11:49:00.001-08:00

miss the Ball,
miss the Dew,
but above All,
i miss you, my Friend.....

My first screwy attempt at ghazal-writing....

2009-01-30T05:30:00.000-08:00

So what if my Beloved's cruel Heart is stone
It stays inside my heart, this Stone

Family, Friends, Faith - Falsities all
Everything I lost romancing this Stone

Stripped bare, Amputated and Deafened
My eyes see and my tongue praises only this Stone

They say she is Dead, a cold Corpse now Buried
I stole it away from her Grave, this Stone

Some Day, Some Life, some World, when We meet
I will give back what is hers, this Stone

I have been accused of Idol-worship these days
They think they know It for what It is, this Stone

What Sacrilege, Sin, Schism do they speak about, Falaq
This Stone is I, I am this Stone.....