I’m one of the loudest voices I know against guns and the owning of guns by civilians. I’m all for gun-control. Yesterday however, saw me baying for blood and wishing that I had some sort of fully automatic assault rifle to mow down these morons who had blocked off this major arterial road that a number of commuters (me included) use on a daily basis. Why had they done that? For God, apparently.
Just what is it about the festive season that brings out the very worst in Hindus? Bit of a random thing to fire off at the very start of this post, but such is the mood. I found myself wondering about how unlike the other major religions in India (Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Sikhism etc.), there isn’t a single religious occasion observed by Hindus that is about solemn introspection, spending some time with the family or just being quiet.
The primary objective of every single festival and occasion seems to be about making an utter nuisance of oneself, in the most ostentatious way possible. The only thing surprising about that statement is the fact that it’s only just dawning on me. Allow me to substantiate.
Holi, the festival of colours (which is what it started off as) usually makes for numerous photographs online and in newspapers of “revellers” covered from head-to-toe in colour, flashing huge toothy grins. People from other nations see those photos and undoubtedly smile at “the quaint ways of these Indians”. But what happens after the photographs are taken? It is the one day of the year when wanton eve-teasing, molestation and worse goes unpunished. Highly inebriated louts operate under the cover of total anonymity — who’s gonna recognise someone when they’re covered in so much colour? And even if some of them are arrested, sources inform me that they’re released the very next morning.
Diwali, the so-called festival of lights (a misnomer if I ever saw one) has degenerated into a competition these days — who can make the most noise? A cynical view? I don’t think so. While there is still a tiny bit of old world charm left for people who enjoy the sparkling lights and how everything brightens up when a bottle-rocket scorches the sky, most of the landscape is dotted with people trying to blow shit up. Mini effin’ terrorists. A couple of years ago, I’d vented my spleen about this, so I won’t elaborate much more. Except to state the fact that very little boils my blood more than these morons who run into the middle of the street to set off fireworks in the face of oncoming traffic.
Janmashtami, the day of the birth of Lord Krishna is marked by pots tied up at heights all across the city. As a means of replicating the way Krishna was supposed to have stolen butter and curds as a wee ’un, these pots are filled with curd and the human pyramids people form to smash them are the stuff of legend. Their motivation — there’s money inside. Lured by the money on offer, truckloads (literally) of loud and abrasive people scour the city in teams. Not only are the pyramids dangerous, but the loutish behaviour they exhibit between pyramids doesn’t exactly brighten up anyone’s day.
Which brings us neatly to the source of the ire that fuels this rant. Ganesh is one of my favourite avatars of God and so, I believe Ganeshotsav (the Ganesh festival, in other words) to be a special time to reflect on the year gone by, offer thanks and pray for the year ahead. However, as with every other festival, the descent into cheap and boorish behaviour has had its stranglehold on this festival for a while. I fail to understand how transporting huge PA systems in lorries, vans or handcarts, blasting Bollywood music and dancing in the middle of the street — holding up traffic — is any way of observing this festival. Setting off fireworks in the middle of the street baffles me even more. Behaving like the whole world has to come to a standstill because you have the urge to make a jackass of yourself in the middle of the street, damn near turns me genocidal.
To make things worse, let alone trying to control things or keep them in moderation, the powers-that-be in this here country seem hellbent on encouraging this... this... nonsense. Humongous hoardings are up along most roads with a wide gamut of political leaders (with gigantic pictures of themselves up on the hoarding) wishing citizens on the occasion. These hoardings shamelessly and with unerring regularity, encroach on roads and streets, thereby, narrowing them further. And then when you add the dancing morons...
I don’t know which part of whatever they’ve been reading, says that the bigger a jerk you make of yourself, the more God will love you; the more inconvenience to others you cause, the dearer to God you become. Somebody who said in 1947 when India won its Independence that we should have banned all public shows of religion, must’ve known what he was talking about.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Through the Wormhole
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, oh here we go again. He’s going to start by saying something like “The Oxford Dictionary” describes a wormhole as...” and then lead onto Stephen Hawking’s view on wormholes and then tie it all together with a ropey analogy. And perhaps, you may be right. That’s why I’m purposely getting down to brass-tacks immediately with minimal fanny-ing around. Well, perhaps just a little.
In the span of the week or so, I’ve made trips back to 2001 1990 for different reasons and have returned more and more jet-lagged and nostalgic every time. A lack of desire to listen to any of the music I had on my iPod, dragged me over to an old stack of CDs that I briefly flipped through. A green CD-R caught my eye. On it was a marker pen scrawl. The scrawl read “Bouncing Souls — How I spent my Summer Vacation”. Twas my summer of 2001 when I heard that record the first time.
School was out and the summer holidays had just begun. Simple Man and I decided we’d spend a majority of the summer at the skate park trying to practice and get better, but for that we’d need tunes. The subsequent trip to the local record store helped us unearth this little gem, which after that day, was on heavy rotation in our earphones all day and all night. That summer culminated with a number of live shows (the Big Cheese festival, Less than Jake live and some others I can’t recall) and on September 14 (three days into London’s amber alert because two planes had flown into two towers across the pond), we finally saw Bouncing Souls... live!
Certain parts of the album still send shivers up and down my spine. I was pleasantly surprised.
Now, a little while after this nostalgia trip, came another in the form of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. Now I’d enjoyed the Spidey flicks, the Batman ones and hell, even the X-Men films and spin-off, but I’d never really read the comics as a little boy. Shit, I didn’t even know the X-Men existed. But G.I. Joe, I definitely knew about G.I. Joe as a kid in 1990, playing with the first two action figures I owned — Firefly and Major Bludd. (Thinking about it, I did own mostly Cobra action figures).
Using Blu-Tack, bits of twine (excellent for making aerial ropeslides and nets), Lego blocks and my tiny posse of Cobras, I’d create some elaborate little diorama-style domino-effect setups, where one small action would trigger off a series of things sliding, crashing, falling, swooping and falling into a net. I never did manage to work out how to get one action figure to swoop down past another and lift it up. As usual, I digress.
Going to watch the film, I knew better than to expect anything remarkable (Just like with Doom). I knew there’d be no brain-busting storyline, but I also knew that it would be a CGI-driven frag-fest and I was salivating at the prospect of the Snake Eyes-Storm Shadow showdown. The film as expected, was nothing remarkable. The tingle in my spine came a little later, when I realised that I’d actually seen a live action film that contained the same characters I’d sent on various dangerous missions — each more dangerous than the next. The same characters that under my command had at some point or the other been grievously injured or were staring into the chasm of death. And I’d just seen them on the big screen.
My stories and action sequences were better.
In the span of the week or so, I’ve made trips back to 2001 1990 for different reasons and have returned more and more jet-lagged and nostalgic every time. A lack of desire to listen to any of the music I had on my iPod, dragged me over to an old stack of CDs that I briefly flipped through. A green CD-R caught my eye. On it was a marker pen scrawl. The scrawl read “Bouncing Souls — How I spent my Summer Vacation”. Twas my summer of 2001 when I heard that record the first time.
School was out and the summer holidays had just begun. Simple Man and I decided we’d spend a majority of the summer at the skate park trying to practice and get better, but for that we’d need tunes. The subsequent trip to the local record store helped us unearth this little gem, which after that day, was on heavy rotation in our earphones all day and all night. That summer culminated with a number of live shows (the Big Cheese festival, Less than Jake live and some others I can’t recall) and on September 14 (three days into London’s amber alert because two planes had flown into two towers across the pond), we finally saw Bouncing Souls... live!
Certain parts of the album still send shivers up and down my spine. I was pleasantly surprised.
Now, a little while after this nostalgia trip, came another in the form of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. Now I’d enjoyed the Spidey flicks, the Batman ones and hell, even the X-Men films and spin-off, but I’d never really read the comics as a little boy. Shit, I didn’t even know the X-Men existed. But G.I. Joe, I definitely knew about G.I. Joe as a kid in 1990, playing with the first two action figures I owned — Firefly and Major Bludd. (Thinking about it, I did own mostly Cobra action figures).
Using Blu-Tack, bits of twine (excellent for making aerial ropeslides and nets), Lego blocks and my tiny posse of Cobras, I’d create some elaborate little diorama-style domino-effect setups, where one small action would trigger off a series of things sliding, crashing, falling, swooping and falling into a net. I never did manage to work out how to get one action figure to swoop down past another and lift it up. As usual, I digress.
Going to watch the film, I knew better than to expect anything remarkable (Just like with Doom). I knew there’d be no brain-busting storyline, but I also knew that it would be a CGI-driven frag-fest and I was salivating at the prospect of the Snake Eyes-Storm Shadow showdown. The film as expected, was nothing remarkable. The tingle in my spine came a little later, when I realised that I’d actually seen a live action film that contained the same characters I’d sent on various dangerous missions — each more dangerous than the next. The same characters that under my command had at some point or the other been grievously injured or were staring into the chasm of death. And I’d just seen them on the big screen.
My stories and action sequences were better.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)