Chop chop

May light always bless those hands that bother to feed you. May the sun make sure there's smile on the face when they worry about your hungry. May the wind play with their hair when they're toiling in the kitchen. May the sweat that breaks on their brow never enter their eyes. May grief fail to touch their heart. May their kindness be repaid in kind. May the desire to cook be always with them. If not, may the food be with them at least. 

Getting hammered

There was a time, not very long ago, i wondered whether carrying a walking cane would be appropriate. No, not for support. Just like that. I thought it'd add character to my non-existence (FYI, this was 2011). Later, i developed a fascination with smoking pipe. I simply loved the way scientists and philosophers held one in the corner of their mouths and accomplished three tasks synchronously: smoking, talking and charming. As expected, i neither got a cane nor a pipe. As of today, i've bred a new passion. A burning desire to hold a hammer in my hand and walk around. Yup, a wooden hammer. I'd love to brandish it while strolling in a mall or walking on a street and better still, even while taking the stairs in office. Just like that (again). Of course, the idea isn't to scare or hurt. If at all, anybody raises objection, i'd rebutt by pointing out that they carry around their cellphones even when they aren't using them. It could be a weapon of mass destruction too. All one needs to do is aim (to scare) and throw (to hurt) accurately, isn't it? On that note, it'd be supercool to hold a walking cane in one hand and a wooden hammer in another while balancing a non-smoking pipe in my mouth. 

Why birds don't fly

During my days as a film journo, i met Q (director of films like Gandu and Tasher Desh) in a cafe. An insightful personality, he admitted that being a filmmaker, he takes it upon himself to test his audience. His point was pretty simple: You can't always spoonfeed people. Months later, i read Nicolas Winding Refn saying something similar vis-à-vis Only God Forgives. Mr Refn went a step further though by confessing that his original intention is to fuck with the minds of those who'd bother to watch his much-derided movie. In his defense, being filmmakers, they have every right to do the way they please in their medium of expression. So, there's no point in taking up a stand on the subject of so-called artistic integrity. But the question remains: Do they really achieve what they wanted with their methods? Turns out Alejandro González Iñárritu did—and how! His Oscar-decorated Birdman was as genuine it could get. One of those rare films wherein you're taken on a walk without your hand being held. Despite all of that, people found its climax open-ended—confusing, according to some—when it's not. Whichever way you look at it, a great film is always open to interpretations. Hence, i'm forwarding mine although i could be wrong as i usually am.

Spoiler Alert: The film actually ends when Michael Keaton's Riggan Thomson shoots himself on the stage in front of the crowd. Technically, that is. Whatever happens next is pure fantasy. A possibility. An abstract vision of everybody who is involved in the making, especially the writer-director. Remember the next scene shows Thomson in a hospital? And for a pleasant change, Birdman is not bothering him anymore. In fact, this is the first time we don't get to hear him brainwash Thomson. On the contrary, we see Thomson telling him to fuck off and to add weight to that moment, Birdman is shown flushing the toilet. A shitty goodbye of sorts? Maybe, just maybe, because Thomson died on the stage itself, Birdman can't be interested in a dead protagonist. On the brighter side, Thomson is no more and with him dies his demons too. He's finally free...like a bird. Makes sense? 

Conclusion: Filmmakers should fuck with us—or our minds, whichever is less appealing—more often. 

Straight walk

What do you do after reaching the summit of Mt. Everest? After you've clicked the pictures to establish posterity while inhaling the thick cold air surrounding you? Yes, what next? Do you set up a camp there and contemplate civilization? Or do you fall asleep hoping you'd never wake up because you know in the back of your head that it can't get better? So what shall you do now? Other than packing up your stuff and descent quietly with a smirk plastered on your frozen face? Isn't it ironical that you reach the top only to walk down again? And while trying hard not to give in to gravity, you reminisce the moments that garnished your ascent. Excuse moi for terrible analogy but isn't that how relationships work too? You reach a point of absolute bliss only to become a victim of vertigo? You begin to worry what if this is the high point, ain't everything that follows going to be a steady downhill? One goofup and boom! You're falling free. What if this and what if that and what if thatis (the bastard child of this and that, ladies and gentlemen)? Two many thoughts. Two many variables. Speaking of two, they shouldn't climb a mountain in the first place. They should aim for a plateau like Tibet even if the Chinese embassy refuses to staple their visa. 

Foodie for thought

Foodie is a heavy word. No joke. It's such a heavy word that people take it lightly. Once you call yourself a foodie, you own the onus of checking out every dish in the kitchen. That surely is one heck of a task. Of course, you might have your likes and dislikes but even if you apply the principle of permutation and combination here, you'd still be having SO much to keep your taste buds excited! I find chewing a dull part of consumption. No innuendo applied. If i love you enough, i'd let you chew for me. If you love me enough, you'd rather let me have juice instead. Furthermore, it's not just about your tongue. A foodie is essentially someone who must understand between different smells and feels. Or else, why bother calling yourself something you are better off without. Like i am. I am not a foodie but if offered, i eat everything. As long as intoxication ain't part of the course. My palate isn't of gourmet quality but it's open to everything. I neither discriminate one dish from another nor do i waste food. This is the closest i'll ever get to being Mother Teresa. Since moving north, life has taught—which i recently learnt isn't pronounced as thought—me very systematically that it takes industry and creativity to make food more appealing than they were originally supposed to be. But then, i'm quite old-fashioned you see? I simply can't get over the penultimate fact that our ancestors relished bulbs and roots for hunger's sake!

Beauty and its beholder

Every time i hold her close enough to let her eyelashes stroke my cheeks, i wonder how i must look like in her eyes. Not that i bother but several thoughts run through my head while bliss is trapped by my marrow. Two of the most frequent thoughts happen to be "Is this really happening?" and "Don't you dare cry now!" To overcome them, i hold her closer than i did the last time we hugged. For what our bond is worth, my random yet inflated worries don't matter anyway. After all, she looks a lot like mine in my eyes. Who cares about her vision? 

Three Wise Men

Buddhist monks aren't someone who you'd like to associate with brands, right?
Or would you?
Well, i saw some checking out bigshot labels inside a mall in Gurgaon.
Not to judge them because they are allowed to do whatever pleases them.
But still, it's rather interesting that they were happily shopping.
Like the rest of us do.
FUCK!
And i used to think they ought to be better than us.
On a second thought, i believe they are.
Maybe these three monks have found a balance.
Somewhere between the spiritual as well as the material world.
Who knows?
Anyway, the idea behind sharing this photo i clicked is to ask questions.
Seeking answers is for the monks, not us.
Those who think i've violated their privacy, guess what?
I haven't.
True to my shoddy photography skills, i don't reveal identity.
None of my photographs do.
Unless you are non-human beings with no idea what immortality is.
Coming back to my subjects, you can't see their calmer-than-Bodhi-tree faces.
Besides, it doesn't really make a difference who they are.
They could be you.
Tomorrow.
Who knows for sure?