Make smart food choices

http://www.daburhoney.com/

A bulge in the lower abdomen, those jowls of fat under your chin, those puffed up cheeks, not exactly the confidence boosters when you are hoping to make an impression. And all these get a little exaggerated in the summer, you can’t hide your belly under thick jackets or sweaters, and your double chin won’t go under the turtle neck. Add to that all the empty calories you gain from the sugars in your juices and ice creams, you are at risk of being in a really bad shape.

Unlike the popular misconception, you don’t need to be starving to lose the extra flab. You just have to eat smart. The first step is being aware of the nutritional value of what you are eating. You will be surprised how much those snacks which you have as a routine, but don’t like much anyway add to your calorie count. You will find out most of your daily extra carbohydrates are from things you have as a habit, not ones you particularly enjoy. Once you have identified the major culprits, you can make intelligent substitutes – having more protein, less calories and less calories. You will be surprised to find that there are some foods which will make your body burn more calories than what the actually add. So open the browser, and do some basic research. Or even better, and if you can afford one, hire a dietician.

One simple way of cutting down calories is to stick to natural foods and stay away from any sort of processing. By default most naturally occurring food items are better for you. Even simple processes have effects, for example if you are trying to lose weight, fruits are good for you but fruit juices are not.

One simple way to do this is to substitute honey for sugar. Sugar is bad for you in so many ways, it adds umpteen numbers of empty calories, has a high glycemic index, and adds to your fat stores as well. And it is not filling, so it doesn’t satisfy your hunger and you end up eating again quickly. It is also mildly addictive. But most of us can’t live without some sweet or other. That is where honey becomes a healthy, smart alternative. It is natural and not processed, adds much fewer calories than sugar, is easily digested, and makes you fuller. It also has a lot more vitamins, minerals,and anti oxidants that are super good for you. So ditch that sugar jar, and grab a bottle of Dabur honey (http://www.daburhoney.com/) of the shelf next time you are in the supermarket. It is super good for you, and not to mention, super tasty. My recommendation, add it to some iced lemon or green tea for sweetness, and there s another dose of anti oxidants for you right there.

Eating healthy is not just about looking god, it is also about keeping yourself is healthy. A crash diet is not the way to go - it will make you lose your muscle mass and lower your metabolic rate and will be harmful for you in the long run. Also, it will be very difficult to sustain. Eat smart, know about what you eat, and make smart, healthy, nutritious choices like Dabur honey. This summer, stay healthy.

Stealing byes

http://www.ucweb.com/

http://www.ucweb.com/English/UCbrowser/cricket.html

Cricket, apart from the twenty twenty format, is a long, time consuming game to follow. And as someone who is a connoisseur of test cricket, it gets even longer. You want to watch every ball, every shot, and hear every word of commentary, and savour it like a nice sip of vintage wine, but too often, life gets in the way. For fans, keeping track of cricket scores while carrying on with life is something that requires stealth and street smartness, just like batsmen who expertly steal byes.

Growing up as a kid in the 90s, which sounds an archaic world without mobile phones or internet, keeping track of cricket was never easy. Your only sources of information were television sets, and board exam or entrance exam oriented parents made sure you never got enough of it. You had to be smart enough to switch on the TV and a catch a few balls as soon as their attention was elsewhere. Switching on the TV during your dad’s nap and muting it before the broadcast started was so that there won’t be any noise, was a skill in itself. Balconies were the other source; with kids in the neighbourhood relaying scores in sign language as soon as them one of them got info.

Later mobile phones became commoner, and information was always at your fingertips. Still, nothing could beat the pleasure of actually watching cricket, which was a very difficult thing to do while travelling. This is the reason why television showrooms across the country have become mini screening centres, with the public thronging outside them whenever India plays.  And they have a special atmosphere of their own, with the joys and despairs of the game being shared with a multitude of unknown.

Even with smartphones, it is not easy to keep track of the game always. Your boss or your wife can get frustrated with your fidgetiness and checking your phone for updates every ten seconds. It calls for innovative ideas on its own – the usual ones being frequent bathroom and tea breaks. To your boss, you say it is an important message from home, to your wife you say it is an important mail from your boss. At your workstation, you have the update page minimized or a web extension to know scores.  If none of these works, there are of course those whatsapp groups with similar addict, at least one of which Is sure to post some updates.  There is also the added advantage of being able to discuss the game in detail and have some fan fights there – so who was a better test batsman –Sachin or Rahul ?

Today, there are live streaming websites to watch Cricket, and things like UC Cricket which make it much easier to actually watch the game on your phablets or tablets, leave alone getting just score updates.  Sometimes, especially while travelling in a metro or a bus or a train, you become a mini broadcaster yourself, with fellow passengers flocking around your device to find out what is happening. Only problem, unless you have a seat, balancing isn't always easy. It has taken some charm away from the feverish anticipation to get updates surely, but there will always be a need to be smart. After all, Cricket is a long game. And life gets in the way too often.

The girl who defied odds

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It was during my schooldays when the incident which shook the entire state happened.  My district was the hotbed of violent politics back then.  Political revenge killings occured very frequently. Rival sides made it a point to outdo each other in ruthlessness, with each new act of violence.  Fists gave way to sticks,  sticks to knives, knives to guns and guns to bombs. Hartals and bandhs literally brought life in the city to a halt. 

Even in such a background, what happened to Ashitha was a shock to the enire state. Like many others,  like me, she was an innocent eight year old, making mountains out of little problems in life, finding joy in the tiniest of things, still wide eyed and filled with wonder in the beauties of the world. Like me she had to carry a heavy back to school everyday. Like me she had to do homework. Like me she had to worry about end of term exams. Like me she dreamed of things to do on growing up.  Spent the entire year waiting for the summer vacations. Still believed in Santa Claus.  She was having an unremarkable childhood and was totally content with it.  It was all alright, until that one fateful day, on which the politics of my city decided to invade her life in the most tragic manner and change it forever. 

She had a normal day in school. Her home was near, only a couple of kilometres away. She was used to walking home.  For most of the way, she had her classmates with her. They gossiped and made fun of their classmates and  giggled over teachers as usual.  For the last four hundred metres or so, she had to walk alone. She had a little money,  and she decided to treat herself with the money, and bought some orange candy that was kept in a glass jar in the local shop. She wished she had enough to buy an ice cream. She dreamed of how many ice creams she would buy everyday,  once she grew up and got a job and started earning like her father.  She remembered to keep some candy aside for her kid brother who was yet to start school.

She had just turned the penultimate corner to her house when a shiny metallic looking object caught her eye.  It was round but not fully so, but more rounded than an egg. It had a few screwthread like grooves running at the top.  A small ring seemed to hang from one of its ends.

She was curious. She wanted to pick it up, but it looked a bit dirty.  She also remembered her mother's strict instructions on not picking up anything from the street, and decided against picking it up. But she could not stifle her curiosity.  She gave it a small kick with her tiny little  feet. 

Boom. 

The next morning was when I first heard about her. Also when I first saw her cute little face.  As usual I had started the newspaper from the sports pages at the back, and had tiringly reached the front,  only because my father had the annoying habit of quizzing me about the headlines in the daily paper.  I was in for a shock that day. There she was, as old as me,  covered in bandages,  surrounded by wires and tubes,  lying on a hospital bed. My eyes quickly switched over to the headline above the photograph. 

"Political violence in the state claims a new

 victim : child loses her leg in bomb blast" 

The round object she decided to kick turned out to be a locally made bomb that was lying about.  Ashitha had lost a leg from the blast. 

For a few days,  she was the topic of all conversations in the state. She shook the consciousness of the place like noone else. People discussed endlessly about the nature of politics in the state, and the how far the violence had escalated.  Ashitha's loss was a sudden wake up call,  jolting them up from their deep apathy. For some time at least,  the place was quiet, as rival parties backed off from violence,  fearing public backlash.

Years passed by. I grew up through school. I was pushed into the entrance coaching ratrace. Sleepless nights,  countless blackening of bubbles, and endless running around writing entrance exams later, I got admission to a medical school,and a prestigious one at that. 

I was really excited to go to college on the first day as anyone else would be.  The allures of college life and the mysteries of medicine had thrown me into a heady mix.  But I had another surprise waiting for me.  

It was a huge lecture hall. One by one it was getting filled with people. A lot of expectant faces. A lot of murmuring and stifled voices. 

That was when a girl walked in. Everyone's attention turned towards her. She was walking with crutches. Someone in the front row kindly vacated a seat for her. The voices were hushed. 

I was not able to recollect the face at first, but it was vaguely familiar.  I was thinking hard to remember where I had seen that face,  when I heard someone just behind me whisper "That's Ashitha". 

That was Ashitha.  The girl who once made all the headlines. The girl who got her crutches from a little round thing she decided to kick. 

She had defied all odds,  swept aside a horribly tragic incident in her childhood to achieve something special. She had achieved the same feat as me, who had had a sheltered life all through,  with all previleges at my disposal. 

The initial astonishment soon gave way to awe and respect.  Seeing her there,  was inspiring beyond all measure.  It had taken away any reason I had to complain about my life.  It had made me appreciate every previlege I had,  a little bit more. 

Throughout my life in medical school,  when things were not looking up,  here was a story I could count on to lift my spirits. Every single time. 

Lifted by the better half

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Marriage is supposed to be a merger of two halves.  Ideally,  these 2 halves are supposed to be in perfect harmony. But the world does not work in such simple ways.  Sometimes you have to carry more weight than you are due. Both literally and figuratively there are going to be occasions where you have to pull your partner through.

For me july 20th, 2013 was one such day. I had decided to take a risk. I had decided to quit my current career, and pursue a different calling. I had worked hard to achieve it.  And my first go at it had ended up as a huge failure. I was depressed beyond measure.

But thankfully,  as always,  I had my better half to rely on. She was there to carry my burden and pull me through. And she did this by being perfectly normal. No,  she did not cry with me, nor hand me tissues. No, she did not give me one of those meaningless pep talks, that only serves the purpose of inflating one's ego. She did not buy me an expensive gift. She did not cook me a special dinner or get me drunk.

She was just normal. At our home, it seemed just another day. We made breakfast together as usual.No coffee or tea,  as both of us prefer hot chocolate. She had another go at perfecting her pancakes, and ended up with slightly less rubbery ones than her previous attempts. We had a rerun of random episodes of Friends(the TV series) for the umpteenth time. We heated up something for lunch. This was followed by a long nap in the afternoon and another reheated course for dinner.

In between, we talked. Not about exams or life or career.  The most mundane, silly things.  The weather. How she was not afraid of spiders,  but 'despised' them(same goes with ghosts, rats and a host of other things). How clumsy I was with my eating,how much food I had spilt on to my t - shirt.  About the furniture we would buy once we had the money.  How the meat tasted better when fried with a pinch of cinnamon.

And somewhere in the languid flow of the insignificant, my failures swam with the flow, becoming one among them.

It was a turning point. I was beaten, but at the same time, was taking my baby steps towards refusing to be beaten by failure.  I was down, but was beginning to resist the urge to stay down. My hopes were dashed, but was beginning to water and nurture whatever was left of it.

Because,  as someone in a movie once said,  hope is a good thing, may be the mest of things.

12 months later, I found myself tasting the success that I craved. I was not jubilant or ecstatic,  just reminiscent, restrained, relieved, and thankful. My memories yanked me back to that day. To the serene brilliance of the space that was our home.  To the pillar of strength that my better half was.  To the unremarkable tastes of the food that day.  To how much of a blessing sleep was and how much of a loss it is at the same time.  To the infinite beauty in everything mundane.

But most of all,  I remember my burden,  and the magnitude of its weight.  I remember the helplessness that I felt, when for a fleeting moment, I thought I had to carry it alone. I remember how someone walked in with silken toes, and without a word, lend me her shoulders. I remember the moment,  the burden was not so heavy after all. And thse are the memories, that will keep me grounded as I hope to blaze a trail through my ambitions.

My wife.  My little sunshine.  As normal as its  warmth. As precious as its light.

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https://housing.com/

Shell

One day,
You wake up to realise,
The shiny white you have been seeing,
Was not the soaring sky
But the inside
Of a moss covered mussel shell
Whose oily black outside
Infested
With greenish filth
Is all the world is getting to see.

നാട്ടുവഴി

ഓര്‍മയിലെ

ഒറ്റയടിപ്പാതക്കരികില്‍

ഒളിച്ചിരുന്നത്‌

ഒരു പറ്റം പേടികള്‍ ആയിരുന്നു.

പഴുതാരകള്‍.തേളുകള്‍.

പാമ്പുകള്‍.

പേടികൊണ്ട് ഞാനും

വാശിപ്പുറത്ത് നീയും

വഴി മാറാഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍

കൂടി പിണഞ്ഞത്

നിന്റെ ദാവണി തലപ്പും

എന്റെ ചെയിന്‍ വാച്ചും

മാത്രമല്ലായിരുന്നു.

പിന്നൊരിക്കല്‍

പുലര്‍മഞ്ഞില്‍

വിരല്‍ പിരിച്ച്

വശം ചേര്‍ന്ന് നടക്കാന്‍

നാട്ടുവഴിയോരത്തെ

ചപ്പിലെന്നെ ഇറക്കിയതും

എന്റെ പേടികളെ

തല്ലിക്കെടുത്തിയതും

നീ.

Eyes

Her eyes

is where,
the sea sleeps,
the fire hides,

the sorcery recides,
my doom lies.

Its her lashes were,
I drink my monsoons from.

so near, yet so far

You are the sun
I am the girl on the beach
you are all over me
I can feel your touch,
Your hugs,your kiss
Yet,
there is still
An ocean between us,
and if you come to me,
Its not just me that will burn.

*********************

As i look into your eyes,
it begins to rain in mine.
the dampness of which,
leaves my hair strands
sticking to my neck.
A cold chill spreads over me
I cross my hands and shiver
I can't breath.
And i hunger for your warmth.
But you are still
a million cold bodies away,

And to reach me,
Its not just my heart
that you need to stamp your feet on.

********************************
You are Narcissus*
I am your mirror image
I want to reach,
to touch you
There is just
A thin sheet of glass between us
But if you break it
I am lost,
destroyed forever
And it won't just be your fingers
that will bleed on to a broken me.

*******************************
You are my wish
to paint a landscape
standing in the rain.
Every time
I stroke a colour,
A drop washes it off
leaving just
a blurred splash,
bordered,
in blood red.

(image : water colour, black pen, sketch pen on paper ,
by GAYA )

മണല്‍കൊട്ടാരം

വിരലുകള്‍ക്കിടയിലൂടെ

ഊര്‍ന്നുപോയ മണല്‍തരികള്‍

കണ്ണീരു കൊണ്ട് നനച്ച്

ഞാനൊരു കൊട്ടാരമുണ്ടാക്കി.

എന്റെ പ്രണയത്തോടൊപ്പം

ഞാനതില്‍ താമസമാക്കി .

പൊള്ളുന്ന വെയിലില്‍

മണല്‍തരികള്‍ ഉണങ്ങിപ്പോയി.

കൊട്ടാരം പൊടിഞ്ഞു പോയി.

അലയടിച്ചു വന്ന തിരമാലകള്‍

കട്ടുകൊണ്ടുപോയി.

കൊട്ടാരമില്ലാത്ത , കിരീടമില്ലാത്ത

രാജാവിന്റെ വിരലുകള്‍

പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ വിരലുകളെ പരതി.

വൈകിപ്പോയിരുന്നു.

മണല്‍തരികള്‍ വീണ്ടും നനഞ്ഞു.

നനഞ്ഞു തന്നെ കിടന്നു.

Now that you are gone

Now that you are gone
I feel like
I am a newborn.

I was Atlas*
Your love
was the world on my shoulders
Now that the world lies shattered
Once again,
I can stand up tall.

I can stand up straight
Stretch my hands
And lock eyes with the sun.
Those thick roots
that covered every inch of me
Recede back.
I am naked again,
I can feel
The wind , the heat and sweat
on my pale bare skin again.

Now that you are gone
I can strum endless on my guitar
and not sing a word for you.

I can start
'thinking' again
and not dream always.

I see,
Hear and taste
The world anew.

I can cut away my veins,
The pain
would only be mine to bear,
and not share.
And if you plan to do the same,
or even just be happy,
I don't want to share either.

Call me selfish.
Cruel.
I don't care.
I feel so feathery light,
I believe I can fly.
My breaths
Are not heavy anymore.
I am Roark. **
I am free.




*Atlas
**Howard Roark

cold love

She swept inside my blanket

in what must have been

the young hours of night

and hugged me tight.

Strangely,

she wasn't warm.

She came

with a beautiful chill,

that made me curl and cuddle.

She curved into

the curves i had,

She filled into

the spaces i made,

Delicately

moulding , shaping herself

completing me.

And then she made love to me.

So gently,

she never woke me up.

Never even let me know

except for

a distant sense of bliss

somewhere in the subconscious

between a dream, an unknowing smile

and infinite void.

It was only when

I woke up wasted at dawn,

to find crushed bangles

and crumpled bedsheets

in those puddles

filled with dead fireflies,

in the soaked wet newspaper in the porch

in the dampness of my glass windows

in the drops dripping of leaflets

and in that strange unique green

that was everywhere

That i came to know,

she had been there.

What she had done to me.

That silly, naughty

beauty named rain.

The next best thing

with friends on a serene sunday night over a cold beer a thought crossed my mind Looking ahead at 24, with chapters of college, career and shattered love left behind the next best thing to happen in life would be to hold my firstborn in my own hands.. **************************** i wouldn't mind if it's a he or she, but if its a he, i want him to grow up real naughty. i want him to throw everything he lays his hands on, i want his balls to be breaking window panes. it would be so boring, if he gives me peace of mind. And when he goes to school, i wont insist him to be scoring all A's but it would be nice, if he could sing a bit and play guitar. it's ok if he is not first in class, but when he plays football with friends, he should play the best pass. at 16, he should find a girlfriend, and at 17, he should break up. he should know what heartbreak is, moreover, at 16 its never the right girl. i want him to fall in love without looking for it to fall in love without fear of legacy, caste or creed. it wouldn't be nice, without him at home, but i want him to backpack his way into the wonders of the world to sleep in the quite of the wilderness to climb mountains and smell the sky There are dreams galore, but the one thing i don't want to do, is to sell him my unfinished dreams And the only thing i really want to teach him is to dream, big and wild and bold. and i want to watch with pride as he chases his own. dreams. **************************** I wouldn't mind, if it's a he or she, but i have to confess it will be a little more special, if its really a 'she'. From the very first time i see her wrapped in a white towel, she will be the prettiest girl in the world for me, though i guess her mom won't like that much. i want to be there, when her feet dances for the first time when she feeds that barbie with a spoon when she wears her lipstick right across her cheek. I wouldn't mind if she sticks out her tongue at every annoying cousin who coaxes her to sing. I want her to grow up without any fears bold and beautiful, the freest of spirits. It would be lovely if she could dance, but it would be just as fine if she wants to race a bike, or kick someone in a fight. I don't want to miss that naughty twinkle in her eyes when she makes me shake hands with that tall dark boy from class and when i walk her down the aisle she in her lilywhite gown, i don't want her to see tears swelling up my eyes The world will keep telling her something i want her to unlearn there is nothing you can't do , dear just because you were born a girl. There are dreams galore, but the one thing i don't want to do, is to sell her my unfinished dreams And the only thing i really want to teach her is to dream, big and wild and bold. and i want to watch with pride as she chases her own. dreams. ********************

what you din't see..

that crumpled
white sheet of paper
that you found on your bed
that you threw away
had my heart written on it.

i won't blame you
for thinking
the paper was blank
because, i know
when i was writing that letter
my pen
was weeping tears

fine,
your eyes din't see
those letters in tears.

but tell me,
when your fingers felt
the cold dampness of that paper,
didn't your heart
feel the sting in my eyes?

on(ly)e night

dearest,

won't you
sleep with me for a night
before you say
good bye.

just so that
i can tell you a bedtime story,
and sing you a lullaby.
and for once,
i can kiss your forehead
on wishing you goodnight.

for one night,
so i wouldn't need to pray
to keep my nightmares away
so i wouldn't need
a crumpled pillow
to hug.

to pull the blanket over you
and stay awake all night
to watch you sleep
peacefully
in the dull glow of moonlight

to have
the sound of your breath
the knowledge of your being
to comfort me
in the eerie silence of midnight

to love you all night
and when the dawn breaks
to have your face
be the first thing to fill my eyes
one first
and last time.

dearest,
before you say good bye,
won't you
sleep with me for a night?


(image courtesy : gaya )

പ്രായശ്ചിത്തം

നീ ഉറക്കമിളച്ചു

മുട്ടുകുത്തി പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ ,

ഞാന്‍ മുങ്ങിത്താഴുകയായിരുന്നു

അക്ഷന്തവ്യമായ തിന്മകളുടെ

ഉന്മത്ത ലഹരിയില്‍...

ഈശ്വരനോട്

മാപ്പ് ചോദിക്കുന്നതുപോലും

അത്യാഗ്രഹം.

നിന്നോടെങ്കിലും ഞാന്‍ യാചിക്കട്ടെ

ഉരുകിയൊലിക്കുന്ന,

ഉണങ്ങാത്ത വ്രണങ്ങളിലേക്ക്

ഒരിറ്റു തീർത്ഥജലമായി

'ക്ഷമിച്ചു' എന്നൊരു വാക്ക്..

(image courtesy: gaya )

PAINEMBER

they tell you,

alcohol is addictive

it kills you slow.

they say,

drugs

destroy you,

drives you crazy.

religion,

is for the fanatics,

and i am not one.

and suicide, they say

is for cowards

though everyone

is afraid of death.

i have just one question.

when music

makes me fight

memories i need to forget

when i drive

and miss

the other hand on the gearknob,

holding mine

when i eat

and cant see

those stifled giggles

on how i lick my plate

when i write

on the sand

my name beside her's

and watch helplessly

as the sea

swallows a dream alive

time after time

when i crave

that head on my chest,

the breath on my neck,

the taste of her cracked lips

that strand of hair

to tuck behind her ear

answer me.

tell me how.

give me a way

to numb the pain

to not to remember

a life lost.

show me how

to forget

love.

(image: water colour by gaya)

without you

I am afraid

to look by my side

where you always used to be.

i cant bear

to look back

and be haunted

by everything

we left behind

like a racing horse,

i am doomed

to look forward

to stare at

the loneliness

the emptiness that awaits.

and now

all i really want

is to sleep

to sleep deep

and never open my eyes again,

and never wake up

to knowing

i am without you.

25

I know a man

Who always wears a ray ban.

Who was expelled from his college.
For being a hippie and not cutting his hair.

Who sings the most absurd version
Of “mere angane mein” you will ever hear.

Who loves brazil,sachin,federer , arsenal
Not necessarily in that order.

Who reads 4 newspapers a day,
A diehard congressman ,
And an authority on kerala politics.

Who will never agree
Mammootty is a great actor.

Who will talk eloquently
On things he knows everything
And things he knows absolute nothing about.

I know a woman

Who traveled 180 km
In a crowded train
The day before she delivered her firstborn.

Who used to make 4 different breakfasts
and then go to work,
Before those ad companies said it was possible.

Who will never admit
She likes to watch those tv serials.

Who likes fishheads
And to finger lick her plates

Who makes the bestest fish curries.

Whose coastal accent appears out of nowhere
Whenever she reaches her native place.

Who wants her son to come home to sleep
Even if that means
She has to open the doors at 3am.

The man , who prides himself on knowing a bit about everythig,
Silently wishes he knew more about his introvert son.
The woman hopes her son goes to church more often.

they had nothing in common
attitude.lifestyle.tastes.interests.nothing.
yet 25 years ago,
on this day ,
they set sail together.
Somewhere along the way
They first carried someone
Then taught him to walk
And to run.
Once he started running,
He often forgot to look back.
Forgot they could not always catch up.

I am sorry.

Happy 25th anniversary mom and dad.
Love you .

break up

We stood
face to face
eyes locked,
thoughts shared,
For an eternity.

But i was not aware
that between us,
Bricks,
were slowly taking shape into
A stubborn wall.

From below upwards,
the wall climbed high
reached my eyeline
and hid your deep eyes from me.

But even then,
for long,
I kept staring
hoping , someday
I will see you through the wall.

But then,
In a moment of infinite transparency,
I knew
that someone had been on the other side,
held your hand ,
and walked away with you,
even as you too
had your neck turned ,
your eyes fixed on the wall.

I punched the wall,
till my knuckles smashed
I clawed on it
till my nails were ground to dust.
I kicked on it,
I broke my knees
and crushed my feet
I bit
and lost my teeth.

I banged my head on the wall,
perhaps just to forget,
But I could not
the wall still stood tall.
and I bled.

And now,
Reduced
to a heap of shapeless brokenness,
I have to crawl,
away
from the wall.
Away,
from where you were.

Good bye,
to you,
and the space that were you.

back in action.

i dont know if there is anyone out there who really cares about this tiny bit of web space, but i dont really care if anyone cares. it has been dormant for over a year now, and i intend to inject some life into it, as much life as my inherently lazy self and killing schedule permits. good luck to me..

REVIEW:: RITU

Shyamaprasad may be swapping tequila shots for a fruit cocktail in his new film Ritu, but no, I am not complaining.


Shyamaprasad loves his literature. At one point in Ore kadal, Bela (Remya Krishnan) makes a passing remark to Nathan (mammooty) about how, in Jayadevan’s Geetagovindam there is a mention of the wounds of love left by Radha on Sri Krishna’s body. Invoking this piece of ancient literature was hardly coincidental; as the film was a crazily crafted exploration of the radhakrishna legend. The film to a great extent followed that missing chapter – what happened to radha after Krishna left her- and blossomed it into a brilliant film on love, passion and literally, all the madness that comes with it.

In Ritu, he uses the exact same pointing device to give a synopsis of what he wants to narrate, though here, the markers are much more accessible. First, there is a very much visible reference to Iago of Othello, with an added monologue on betrayal, immediately after a protagonist is subject to an act of treachery. Throughout the film, there is a shadow of Iago’s green eyed monster in the interplay between the three protagonists. The innocent friendship of yesterday has given way to an invisible separation of jealousy, and it is the primary emotion that drives the people in this movie to their various actions. And Shyamaprasad captures beautifully the subsequent tension that this shadow creates in the claustrophobic spaces of IT company cubicles. this is made all the more difficult as he is not working with seasoned actors, who may more easily be able to convey understated emotions via a mere look or a subtle change in body language. Yet with careful composition of scenes and some deft handling of the debutantes, he is able to construct those emotions with minimal dialogues. In fact, in a way, the visuals-which by far overpower the conversations, are what you take away from the film. And this jealousy is by no means one dimensional, it is etched out in a highly subjective manner – while for the much more yuppie Sunny it is purely professional and all about his career, for Sharat , who is more of an old world, romantic youth, jealousy is all Shakespeare-an.

But while Othello forms the body, or better the atmosphere of the movie, the soul is referenced in the other literary work that finds a mention - Fernando Pessoa’s the book of disquiet, where he interprets the theory “‘I’ contain multitudes”. There are multiple ‘me’s within me. That is the journey that Sharat makes in the film, discovering a new facet of himself that he never realized was there inside. He arrives into his old group of friends awkwardly stuck up in a set of yesterdays, only to find out that the people in those yesterdays have moved on. Yet by the end of the film, it is Sharat who is well and truly able to make a clean break from his past. The wavelength of his relationships is suffocatingly idealistic. He is your quintessential straightforward nice guy, always empathetic, overtly sensitive. Yet when he realizes his commitment is hardly reciprocated, his course of action is not of masculine confrontation or despairing resignation, but it is one of a scheming mastermind. How he exposes sunny is quite evident, but what may escape the eye, and more significant to establish Sharat as a character is how he schemes and toys with the emotions of Varsha, again tapping into that atmosphere of jealousy integrated into the film, to get her to bed, to achieve what could only be called a revenge, and which she is made to mistake as an act of forgiveness. This act of betrayal is really the pivotal point of the film, as this is where the various elements of the movie comes together in one piece,and this is where Sharat truly gets over his past. One cannot help wondering if those portions where staged with the emphasis that was deserved.

All this theorizing may give the impression of a complex emotional potboiler, but Ritu is very much a light move. But how this lightness is defined is relative- it is a Shyamaprasad light movie and not a Priyadarsan one. The movie is pitched as a fresh take on youth, and fresh it is in a lot of ways. Most movies labeled as youth movies can be defined by just the word “LOUD”- both in colour, sound and narrative. Ritu carefully stays clear of this tedious approach. It unfolds at a mature pace, and the film has a very watered down look to it- the dominant colour here is an ashen grey (look out for the colouring of Sharat’s shirts) as if to highlight the point that both morally as well as emotionally our lives are mostly a middle of the road abstract grey, rather than a concrete black or white. Ritu stays away from any sort of nauseating melodrama, and the treatment is very much contemporary.The casting is appropriate, and the actors turn in a bit strained, yet very convincing performances. Yet, some of the caricaturing is essentially old school- like how the characters of the three friends is a laid out as a direct consequence of what their families are and where. Some of these die hard old habits are the weakest parts of the film, when the movie tries to incorporate social commentaries into the narrative – a side story about a man who lost his land when technopark was built, another one about the absence of a fulfilling family life among the corporate big shots. One can’t help wishing the valuable time and space devoted there was employed to portrait the central characters in more depth; especially sunny. Sunny is the most negative of the trio, yet his is an interesting mix, at times there are some genuine hints of sincerity, and there is also a strange mention regarding sexuality – that raises a million questions that are never answered. Shyamaprasad may have been taking his notion of making a light film a little too seriously or perhaps he was having a hang over from the intense study that was ore kadal, whatever it was, there is a reluctance to really push hard and delve into the complexities of his characters. This seeming lack of depth is not helped by an average background score. For Shyamaprasad’s craft derives a lot of inspiration from music, both in Akale and Ore kadal the music was used brilliantly used to provide a unique texture to the medium. Rahul raj’s background score is not bad, but his understanding of the situations of the movie leaves a lot to be desired and as a result, the music fails to add anything significant to our appreciation of the film (and at times, it irritatingly interferes).

It is this laid back approach that, perhaps, made me exit from the movie hall with a feeling of wanting more. No, it’s not fair to make comparisons always, and Ritu works fine on its own. No, I am not at all complaining about Shyamaprasad taking some time to just chill out. Yes, Ritu certainly has vignettes that leave you salivating. But I will certainly wait eagerly for a work for which he will have to sweat some blood.

TRANSITIONS

Form the dark nights
To the grey dawns
Into the yellow mornings

I have always loved transitions.

From lead pencils
To fountain pens
To keyboards

From cradles
To shoulders
To fingers to legs to wheels

From my class seventh shorts
To my class eighth pants

From hugs and kisses
To archies cards
To Oh god, I forgots

From the torrents
To the drizzles
Into rainbows and sunny skies.

From tom and jerrys
To blood booze and bodies
And back to tom and jerrys

From infatuations
To cravings and frustrations
To love

From loneliness to
Loneliness
To loneliness.

10/16/2008 3:11:15 AM