Choose

Choose Death. Choose to Live. Choose a Line of business. Choose happiness. Choose Joy. Choose Sadness. Choose a big HD television; choose surround sound, fancy cars, ready to eat microwavable meals. Choose new words. Choose bad health, fat and cholesterol. Choose KFC. Choose a lifetime gym membership you will never use. Choose a Playstation. Choose to travel through short-cuts. Choose to Abuse when a track rams into you from the opposite direction. Choose a book. Choose not to read it. Choose your friends. Choose Underwear. Choose a Country. Choose Sex. Choose to question Yourself. Choose your identity. Choose to marry marijuana. Choose to marry a millionaire. Choose to wonder who the Fuck you are. Choose Reality Television. Choose to have a love marriage. Choose your future. Choose a Wife. Choose to Kill. Choose to back out. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I'm not supposed to be choosy.

Dhoondein...

Abhijeet Sawant (yes of the Down Market Indian Idol Fame) is out with a new album. I downloaded it to fill up the blank space for my new car MP3 CD. I had just about enough empty space for one more Album and knowing my anal penchant from being, well, anal - I downloaded the album since it was amongst the new releases of the week. I popped it into my car and cruised along waiting for the much awaited Saawariya and Sanjay Leela Bhansali to tease my senses with eclectic sounds. Ugh, barring the title track, the music is a Dud. If I wanted to hear Devdas repackaged, I would pop it into my Sound Editing Software and do the needful. Om Shanti Om, was just Groan, Groan Groan (sorry SRK). Out of sheer desperation, engine idling and watching sweaty people alight from trains at the choc-a-block Andheri station - I hit "Next"

“Yeh Mere Dil Mein Kaisa Junoon, Mann Ko Kyun Na Mile Ab Sukoon”

Junoon, Junoon, Junoon, my four super Amplified speakers reveled with liberation. Suddenly, it was as if I, like Hiro Nakamura bent the space-time continuum, made time stand still and drowned out all sights and sounds. The music was fabulous. I couldn't believe that this was the unappealing Mahim boy whom I'd shot with 6 months ago, not wanting to ever speak to again, because he was so, err, Boring. But, looks and talent can be so deceiving. His new album, blew me away to say the least. I could not even believe he was the singer.

“Hai Aankho Mein Junoon, Hai Khwabon Mein Junoon”

Dhoondein followed Junoon and I just drifted. The song has the vocals, the beat, the rhythm, and the melody set to aural perfection. Even, as a critique, I could find nothing nasty to say about it - and that’s my job description to me in my head. Be Nasty! The music gave me a déjà vu of my new favorite composer, Mithoon and his fresh sound (Note: He and I will be the new age Mani Ratnam and AR Rahman – Remember, you read it here first Dahlings). I will not even begin to rant about Ek Shaqs even though it may be hell repetitive and almost a carbon copy of Beete Lamhe (which inspired a blog, previously) it still corrodes emotions buried deep inside. Back to Dhoondein.

“Yaadon Mein Hai Khoyi Hui Zindagaani, Kaisi Hai Yeh Uljhi Huyi Si Kahaani”

Suddenly, the people outside my window looked cheerful, the engine wasn’t idling, it just moved to the beat purring with a life of its own and wonder of wonders, the traffic cleared. I know, it sounds like the Pilot Episode of Super-Duper-Natural but then again, music like this – is simply, Magic. My apologies, Abhijeet.

Love Will Keep Us Alive

...goes the popular Eagles song. Still, I often wonder how true the statement really is? I mean what is life without the materialistic fast cars, flashy houses, gold-power weights, surround sound, HD enabled screens and slim, sexy Apple computers? Yup, the luxuries that the big greens can grab. The stuff that costs more than sweet nothings and soft murmurs into the pillow beside you. Sure, I'm no Hugh Grant and I don't much about Love, Actually, considering my limited encounters with the crazy emotion (twice) but for some weird reason, I believe the song. I believe, Love Can Keep Me Alive

The Darkness

I've been consumed by 'The Darkness.' Yes, most of you already knew that I was on the brink of insanity; just waiting to tip over to the dark side. It has happened. I recently started playing this awesome game on the Playstation 3 about one man who manifests the hate inside him to literally spawn the devil in a surreal, post apocalyptic bleak London.

Pretty cool, huh?

But, in the post game-glow phase the ugly truth dawned upon me. I've read that art imitates life and yada yada but the more I introspect about this futuristic darkly deadly game, the more I think how much it really applies to me. In short, like the protagonist says, "I'm f***** in the head, real bad."

I'm intrigued by Ted Bundy, Ed Gein is a case study I know by heart, Batman and V are my superheros and The Joker is a character I identify with. I like graphic novels full of blood and gore, I buy video games only when I see a violence warning and my favourite kind of movie is the one involving a chainsaw massacre.

But, its not the warped media that has embalmed sick shit onto my DNA.

The truth is that there are plenty of things bothering me deep inside. Stupid Movie Critiques, Dumb Help Desk Receptionists, Crappy Internet, Shitty Government, Hypocritical idiots, rules of restriction and the eternal struggle for independent thought and expression. This shit really pisses me off and echoes with a menacing laugh somewhere inside my head.

Fellow film-makers talk about Orson Welles & his 'Touch Of Evil.' I know Eli Roth and his torture porn flic, Hostel. And lets face it, I love it. The scum of hatred and venomous feelings are buried in there, somewhere. Sure, on the face of it, I'm Chandler Bing but inside, I know, lies a serial killer, waiting to spawn the devil himself. Deep inside, lies a closet gay, Shakespeare-soliloquy spurting blowhard (bard) with a creepy, but well-groomed, hairdo. Somewhere in there, 'The Darkness' feeds on my anger & hatred and I know not, when it will become me. But, I've realized one thing for sure, today. It won't be long before it embraces me into its dark arms, forever.

Return from Doomsday

I just realized today that I know the interiors of Holy Family hospital really well. Not really a great sign, is it? Well, my grand-mother died there, my Dad was admitted there and off late, I've been burning the family torch of Holy Family loyalty. It all started with my usual chronic cold and cough. Now, anyone that knows me for more than 48 hours will confirm that I live life on the edge and would top all worldly polls for 'Person Most Likely To Drop Dead Randomly'

..they will also confirm that I can digress time and space at the drop of a continuum.

Anyway, so after a specialist visit, I got worse. Quintessentail Me - I have this dying urge to be different from the world. So, I couldn't breathe and I had to tolerate Dhol for a review so life sucked until I went and changed my prescription today. Now, I feel good again. Really Good! I guess its a whole lot of positive thinking as well. So, to cut a long story short, I felt like writing this Blog. But, not after watching a new animated movie about Doomsday wiping out Superman, only to watch him return from the dead and kick his ass.

I feel the same way.

Restless

I know that I've been Blogged Out. Dunno what to say, there is too much going on in my life and the inside of my head is a scary back alley. There are the shadows of doubt lurking on my conscience. The ghost who walks has visited me with his desire to dance - but I know, If you dance with the devil, the devil don't change. The devil changes you. I've got a few dozen film ideas to write, have hate mails to write, friends to discard, enemies to make, scripts to write, reviews to complete and books to read. I think I'm gonna be a producer-slash-director-slash weirdo. I'm a creative liberal. I've songs to write, games to play, devices to fix, music to learn, lovers to meet.

I'm a sucker for marketing. I'm the poster boy of consumerism. I'll buy a million dollar house if I get a glass basin free, I'll buy a 100 DVD's to get a customized T-shirt free. I've restrain to learn, ego to curb, arrogance to calm and hair to wash.

The Simple Life

The entire world seems to be talking about the Paris Hilton story so I would feel left out if I didn’t join the superficial debates. After all, being shallow is what I’ve been accused of the most.

I watched a few nights ago as Paris Hilton was finally been released from jail. It was an ecstatic moment for the Hilton heiress who finally got to breathe fresh air after 23 days of solitary confinement after being committed to serve time for a DUI (driving under influence) Soon after her release, she made an appearance on Larry King Live and answered his volley of questions honestly and maintained that the courts were unjust to her.

I agree.

US newsreader Mika Brzezinski has become a heroine after her on-air refusal to read a Paris Hilton story instead on an item related to the Iraq war. Brzezinski, co-host of Morning Joe on network MSNBC, stunned her bosses when she snubbed the leading item regarding Hilton's release from jail, believing the story did not deserve precedence over other reports regarding Iraq and the White House.

I think Ms. Brzezinski did the right thing.

I don’t think Paris or her kind, deserves the attention and hype; but who gave it to them in the first place? Paris Hilton is just another young heiress who got too much, too soon. She is a party animal, does designer drugs, has a sex tape leaked, drives too fast and again, parties too hard.

But lets, for just one second believe that Paris is the girl she says that she is. Let’s for an instance assume that she does run businesses, model, have a TV show and a couple of films. I know most of these are facts. Sure, its not as humble a profession as say being a surgeon but it is a way to make a living, isn’t it?

Given every model of logic and rationality – there is a 50% chance that she is telling the truth, right? We’ve all partied hard at some point in life, perhaps tried or know people who tried fancy drugs – some of us even have hidden sex tapes.

So why, has Paris become this HUGE poster girl for all things crazy? Maybe, just maybe, if the media didn’t create these ‘celebrities’ then Paris, Lindsay and Britney would probably just be like any one of us.

I think the media wants to see her this way as its feeds their stories. It gives them the “spice.” Paris (and other celebs) are constantly under the media scanner. I would be pretty pissed off if the media camped outside my house 24/7. These people are no different.

There are two sides to every story and I’m not saying that Paris should win a year in review by the Economic Times; I’m just saying, that the poor girl should just get a chance to live The Simple Life.

Ouchie, Men!

I dislocated my knee! The doctor explained that I've torn a ligament and will have to wear a brace for the next 20 days followed by a knee cap, exercise and bed rest. Sucks!

It all began when I left on an impulse to Goa. I'd never been to Goa (surprise, surprise) and like many other illogical decisions I took off to the land of Coconut based Fish gravy and unlimited Alcohol. Now, maybe its because I'd never seen Goa or perhaps it was to do with my company but I'd never imagined it to be so serene, so beautiful and uncrowded.

"Off Season", I was told. That meant, a spacious A/C room for just 700 bucks a night. It also meant that there would'nt be hordes of foreigners and better still, no hordes of annoying people desperate for some white skin show. It just meant affordable uninterrupted relaxation.

The rain kissed state rejuvenated me and even though it poured continuously for most of my trip - I LOVED it. The fried eggs for breakfast, the unparalleled thrill of a filmy bike ride in the pouring rain, endless conversations and philosophies about the many theories of life and love, romance in the air and sand in my shoes, and in er.. my cell phone as well; that brings me to another story.

We thought it would be a great idea to click some pictures in the water. That's when I got the bright idea to waddle into knee deep water to capture the true essence of Goa on my lens. Sure, I didn't heed warnings for the undercurrent in the water or the strong waves. I mean, warnings are for scared babies and rules are meant to be broken. Right? Wrong!

I have never let anyone tell me something and have me do it. This wasn't going to be an exception - Moral of the Story: When someone is yelling, "Wave, Wave" you don't behave like a smart alec and Wave out coz they are NOT kidding.

Cost of trip : 15k
Stupidity Damage: 50k

..oh wait! What about the knee? Well, there are 3 versions - The version I Told Everyone, The Version that I'd like to tell everyone and the truth. Which one would you like to hear?

But, all said and broken, it was completely worth it. I think I fell in love with Goa, where everyday is a Sunday, where its easier to find alcohol than it is to find water, where true love can blossom sans pollution and unadulterated living takes a whole new meaning.

I'm just raring to go back.

Boys & Their Toys… (Part 2)

Who says money can't buy happiness? I beg to differ. 50 thousand rupees can buy you a lot of happiness. My Mom just bought me a Playstation 3, my Dad gifted me my first game (Resistance: Fall of Man), I gifted myself an additional wireless control (coz I won't have it any other way) My friends parents gifted me 2 more games (Motorstorm / Call Of Duty 3) and my sweetheart of a friend got me 2 more (Need For Speed Carbon / Oblivion Elder Scrolls)

What can I say? People really love me. I can't even begin to describe the joy of hooking it up to an HD TV (another gift from Daddy dearest) and surround sound. It's orgasmic, to say the least. I'm sure this post comes across as yet another one of my self-obsessed pieces but then again this blog is called "TansWorld. "

Yes, I'm writing non-stop like a maniac, I just finished reviewing the sexy music of "The Train", wrote three different reviews of "Swami," am high on the sounds of "Awaarapan," attended two private screenings, scheduled another tomorrow, interviewed the gorgeous Sheryln Chopra, watched Shootout At Lokhandwala for my Dad's birthday, interviewing the Bhangra King Daler tomorrow; wished my Ex-Boss on the dot of 12.00, and fixed yet another directors cut to remind myself to not stray too far from the original master plan of making movies.

There are no blank spaces.

And even though life is choc-a-bloc with work and I'm rushing to finish stories and interviews at breakneck speeds whilst shuffling movie previews in between, I feel great. I truly enjoy what I do for a living, I always have. Few people have that privilege. I guess I'm a really lucky kid. After all, I was born with the golden spoon in my mouth and the wireless controller in my hand. Can't complain.

Life is beautiful.

Gesundheit..

I've got a violent cold, again. I've never understood why I'm the chosen poster boy for the common cold. I get colds as often as people change their underwear (well, most people). My colds are never as simple as a few sniffles having a field day - its like a vengeful spirit that takes over my mucus membranes and ravishes me inside out. This brings me to a question I had asked my teacher when I was 7, "Can a person ever run outta snort?" She threw me a disgusted look and made me kneel down outside my class with my hands-up.

"ACHOO!!"

After my post "break-up" introspective, I decided to do things I love and not things that pay me money to buy fancy electronic stuff. So, I quit television.

"ACHOO!!"

Like the thousands of aspiring film-wannabes who come cursing and ranting out of a screening of 'Fool and Final', I too decided that if these are films that get money to be made, then what the heck? I should join the bandwagon. After all, I've spent a lot of American greens studying film in New York, when the dollar rate wasn't the joke it is now.

I should be making movies in life; but obviously my Dad's not Yash Chopra (which would make me *yikes* Uday Chopra) or if my gene pool called the bluff and luck tilted in my favour, then I'd turn into Adi. Anyway, the point is that I needed to do something until I finish writing out my film scripts and start 'struggling'.

"ACHOO!!"

As a promise to myself, I've decided not to sell my soul and do things that I truly love so with the help of a friend (and writing partner) I' decided to try my hand at film-journalism. What started with simple movie reviews, blossomed into the 30 stories in 30 days syndrome. What can I say? I'm good with people and great with tongue-in-cheek sarcasm.

"ACHOO!!"

Today, I have to write 3 different stories and just as the creative juices were about to flow, "ACHOO!!" That was 10.30am. It's 2.59am now and I've barely begun. I can't seem to write a thing and in between my 'steamy sessions' (not the good kind) and Coldarin binges, I'm really stuck. It's not writers block, its the damn nose block. I also just realized that my film scripts still pending revision, another screenplay for a telefilm must go out tonight, my movie collection list has to updated and I have to write out two new synopsis's that I told people I finished ages ago.

"ACHOO!!"

It's going to be a long night; & it really doesn't help that I'm a hypochondriac.

PS: The "ACHOO!!" is not a work of fiction. It's been pasted genuinely, every time I sneeze.

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head..

Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain. But for some of us, who have, I think it brings even more sadness. I’ve danced in the rain. I’ve taken long walks by the seaside giggling with my soul mate eating butta (corn on the cob) even canoodling under the dull grey sky looking at an earthworm go by.

I’ve enjoyed Zeus’s temper tantrums.

I’ve enjoyed looking out the frosted windows of an Air-conditioned bus, gleefully shivering inside, holding hands and making private jokes. I’ve enjoyed driving in the rain watching my windshield wipers dance their orchestrated "whoop-whoop-whoop" rhythm, to match the heartbeats inside . I can list a million reasons why I love it when it rains. It rained today, in Bombay.

I love walking in the rain, 'cause then no one knows I'm crying.

Boys & Their Toys… (Part 1)

I was 8 in 1988 so I remember most of my toys for that decade. I had so much great stuff I didn't keep or destroyed by not looking after it. I distinctly remember my prized possessions from the era. My castle “Grey-Skull” complete with trap-door and secret entrance (which for some reason Skeletor could never find) My dinky cars that I crashed in insane imaginary “Need for Speed” contests. My little crawling turtle that my Dad tells me today, he skimped and saved to buy to pander to my bawling needy behaviour. My very first Atari gaming console followed by the unbelievable (for its time) graphics enriched Nintendo in all its 8-bit glory.

These are just some of the toys that bring a smile to my face even today as I reminiscence about them. I’m all of 26 and a half today but some things never change. I developed a love for technology and electronics at a very young age; an expensive pastime none-the-less, but an immensely pleasurable one. To my little 8 year ol’ brain, these gadgets were almost like magic and I wanted to know what makes them “tick.”

I found toasters fascinating (especially the ones with the automatic dials for toast control) I was greatly amused by the giant cuckoo-clock that adorned the walls of my small hall. I remember standing at my neighbor’s house on Hill Road staring at a funny doorbell of sorts that would quirt water at you through its pee-pee every time you pulled a string; of course, owning something like that today would start a whole verbal spar on the metaphor of homosexuality, but that’s what I love about being a child – pull string, get sprayed = lots of glee time.

I remember getting my first car; there is no thrill in comparison. The euphoria that follows he first gear shifts is unparalleled and I’m certain, a universal emotion. I’ve owned and enjoyed a lot of toys throughout my life and although my Mom had bet that I would outgrow them, I was sure that bleeping bleeps would always amuse me for life. Today, I enjoy “toys” with the same kind of enthusiasm; sure, they’ve become more expensive, more fancy and have enough processing power to launch a nuke – however, they still does serve their most important purpose. The shiny surface that is uncovered when you unfold the plastic brings the same joy to my face as did the opening of the secret entrance of castle Grey-Skull.

Sure, it’s questionable whether I’ve grown up or not but well, that’s a whole new blog…

Beete Lamhe..

Beethoven once said that Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. I would like to add that it is also a painful reminder of the past that we refuse to let go. Music has this therapeutic quality to it. It can uplift your mood or walk you to mellow street.

Dard mein bhi yeh lab muskura jaate hai
Beete lamhein humein jab bhi yaad aate hai

Even today when I hear music with lyrics that bleed within my old wounds, it evokes pain, suffering and extreme sadness. I can go from a super duper hue to a depressing blue. The good times feel terrible, the moments that I own the copyright to, feel pirated.

Teri aagosh mein din the mere kate
Teri baaahon mein thi mere raatien kati

What is it about music that does this? And why? I don't know why people listen to sad songs when they are already at an all time low? I don't understand why people listen to sad songs at all. I tried not listening to songs that connected my painful past to me;I tried evading every sonata, every melody, every rhythm, every lyric and I was foolish enough to think that it would be the end.

Aake mere panaho mein shaam-o-seher
Kanch ki trah woh tut jana tera

I thought that music cleanses the understanding; inspires it, and lifts it into a realm which it would not reach if it were left to itself; I was so wrong, so terribly wrong....

Dard mein bhi yeh lab muskura jaate hai
Beete lamhein humein jab bhi yaad aate hai

Life in a Metro

I just watched an excellent film with the same name.

METRO charters a new path because it tells interesting multiple stories that run concurrently. Also, the characters are, in some way, linked with each other. It showcases various slices of life of regular folk in this big city that gives us all so much. It caresses human emotions like greed, lust, sex, ambition, struggle and love amongst people who are running the rat race in Mumbai. I quite liked the film.

But, here is the thing; I was born and brought up in this city and I love it for all that it is worth. Sure, it has the minuses but then what city hasn’t? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being biased. I’ve lived in New York and yes, I love it perhaps a tad more than I love my own city, but I would never live there or let my kids grow up and call my friends by their first names; call me old fashioned, but its just something that I’ve got used to. To be honest, I will always feel like a second class citizen in America and I don’t blame the Americans – we are after all, the outsiders.

Coming back to Mumbai, a lot of characters I’ve met and known in my personal life are not from here; much like the characters in the film. Now that I introspect, I realize that I don’t really identify with any of them. None of those feature on my friends list.

This may sound a tad haughty and perhaps even unsettling but I really haven’t met a single “outsider” that I’ve managed to get along with, not saying that there aren’t any, just not one that I’ve found.

They call Mumbai the city of dreams and often people just pack bag and baggage and head here hoping to build a high rise dream. Also after SRK came here and achieved superstardom, I’ve noticed that every second tinsel town struggler claims to be from Delhi; doesn’t matter if they can’t spot it from a map in their tiny homes in small town Bihar or not.

They when they fail, they come up with silly excuses. Its not a magic city people – know your limits.

I don’t referee based on location and I have nothing against Biharis or outsiders who settle down here; what enrages me is the fact that they crib that the reason people like “me” make it is because we are from here, have lots of contacts, money and plenty of advantages.

I disagree.

The reason “we” make it is because we arm ourselves with a good education, excellent communication skills that we combine with honest hard work. Also we don't use the SC/ST excuses at the drop of a hat, complete with Bihari twangs from “Delly” thrown in for good measure.

Perhaps I will never understand what it means to be an outsider; maybe it’s just an immature superiority complex – but life in “any” metro depends on how you see it, what you make of it and how you live it.

As Sharman Joshi says in the film, “Yeh Race Hain, Koi Morning Walk Nahin…”

Some Night..

It all began with a simple phone call. I asked a friend if he would like to have dinner.I think I'm slightly impulsive, sometimes; those that know me will argue that I'm almost NEVER rational.

So, the three of us were off to destination unknown because on some days I like doing strange things with no logical explanation attached. After unanimously agreeing on a Subway, I randomly decided to change plans and have a Steak instead. I feel rather manly when I eat steak somehow. I think its the whole "Man brings Meat" stone age theory.

So, we decided to venture to town to our favorite eatery, "Cafe Mogambo" where we have tried every combination of Steak possible. The secret to a juicy steak is something people have been arguing about since the early days of backyard grills. Some people will tell you to sear the meat at high temperatures on both sides, then turn down the heat and let it finish cooking. Others will say that searing has no real effect. We've tried it all - well done, medium rare, medium well done... you get the gist?

But tonight was no ordinary night and I decided (since I was behind the wheel obviously) to try a new route. Amazingly, half way through, I decided to follow a random car and see where it would lead us. We would eat at the restaurant nearby. Most people would deem my behavior questionable but again for those who know me, know I just don't care two hoots and always give in to temptation, madness and a good challenge.

Anyway, we finally ended up at Churchagte and ate at a lousy restaurant called "Starters and More" and honestly, I wish I had ordered the "more."The night wasn't done yet; I decided to figure out yet another road to the first ever "Indian House of Horrors." My friend had fallen asleep but I braved on. Its another story that I took the wrong road but well, like they say its not the destination thats important, its the journey...

Sleeping with the Enemy

I received a nasty SMS this week; one that proclaimed "Goodbye" in a tone loud enough to wake the deceased. It was a nasty SMS that did not even warrant a reply.

I call it nasty simply because I feel that the people who hurt you the most are the ones you love or care about. We empower our loved ones with secrets about our weaknesses and throw open old wounds for them to see. Soon, they choose an arsenal of jagged words extremely carefully and attack those very wounds that go deep. In short, they hit where it hurts.

I had promised myself that I would not respond to self-indulgent behavior but my boiling blood always seems to get the better of me. The enemy appeals to the juvenile in me, tempting me onto the battlefield. I have sworn to NEVER entertain immaturity and its friendly neighborhood “misgiving”. But I'm under attack from Operation "Assume, Presume and Fire" and I have to figure out whether to retaliate or run for cover where I will be out of range.

I've been through this war in the past and I have run out of ammunition, energy and inclination to go through the mental and physical trauma again but my enemy refuses to let me out of sight, finds me, rears its ugly head and spits it venomous spew right in my face and I am forced to retaliate for fear my own life and sanity. It’s a survival instinct.

Often, things are not what they seem and there have been times when I have not even believed my own eyes because of my blind trust in the enemies’ friendly gestures. I've always been fooled and betrayed and now I walk around with a knife protruding from my lower back. I do not wish to justify my survival strategy. Honestly, I don't care. But sometimes the enemy manages to shake and annihilate the very fighting spirit that they armour me with in the first place.

It's like the US training Osama. Big Mistake! But whose loss is it really?

Perhaps it is my destiny to be hurt by the enemy or maybe I'm just smart enough to win a battle, because I always loose the war.

Saket Chaudhary

I had ventured on to Blogger.com awhile back, eager to join the blogging communities of the world. This was long before my house began its unrelenting renovation and long before the inquisitive neighbors asking if I was getting married finally. *sigh*

Today, I managed to log on to the internet from atop a pile of POP (Plaster of Paris for the uninitiated) thanks to a Wireless router that I invested in during my student years in America.I'd like to think I get online with my laptop and do serious writing but all I really do is chat up hot chicks that I loose interest in, the moment they seem to like me. This night was no different; so here I was trying to "write" and I met a "friend" online, 'Saket Chaudhary.'

Now, when I say friend, I don't mean the backslapping, grown up sneaking-and-watching-adult-films-with kind, but the kind you know and call friend like you call every grown- up, Uncle or Aunty in our country. To cut a long story short, we've met through the Internet and have a mutual passion for film and life. He is the director of the film "Pyaar Ke Side Effects" and I'm still pondering about the "Struggling Ke side Effects."

He also writes a blog. I've glanced through his blog before (http://saket74.blogspot.com/) and I quickly read through his homo erotic post of 300. Today, I went through his whole blog and I must say that I was VERY impressed; enough to inspire me to write my own. I meet a lot of people in my line of work; some that quote Scorsese and others who can't even pronounce it - the truth is, it’s a world filled with bullshitters.

This guy is not one of them. I've pitched some of my film ideas to him a year back; he discarded all of them saying that I had spunk and a quirky weirdness but no commercial sense. I don’t take criticism too well, I guess. I watched his film and honestly thought it was an ordinary American sitcom stretched into 2 hours. My friends loved the film; I thought it was strictly OK.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself on the steps down from Surburbia, Bandra, that he had rejected some excellent ideas of mine, ideas that I thought would make great films, far better than what he had made. His film didn't speak volumes of creativity to me; I've grown up watching American television and it was no Big Deal. I scoffed arrogantly to myself.

I think its been a year or more now. A lot has changed.

Today, I read his blog. I was "blown-away."

Today, I think that he’s a far better writer than he is a director.

Today, I realize that it takes a lot to get a film made and he did the best given the resources.

Today, one massive break-up and lots of introspection later , I understand pain, in literature, in film and in life.

Today, I think some of my ideas back then were weird, really really weird...

Me Me Me

Last year I wrote a script for a film and the producers didn't change one word. The word they didn't change was on page 87. Yes, life can be side-splitting and more often than not I am bang in the middle, on the wrong side of it. It all began when I went to a career fair in school and decided then that I would like to make Ad-films (commercials for the uninitiated) to earn a living. I soon realised that it’s more fun (also more stuff to show off about) to tell a story that would take 3 hours rather than 30 seconds. Also, films would involve film stars and I would soon be nestled in the arms of a pretty starlet with spot boys pandering to my whimsical whims. Indeed, my commonsensical skills were very dubious during my tender school going years.

...And thus many years and LOTS of crazy incidences later I'm still struggling to find that elusive pretty lass (Damn you AB Jr.) and I don't see boys on any spot. But the journey has been a lot of fun and perhaps my search will end soon. I have done plenty of things on an impulse, deciding to be a film-maker, buying a car, cutting random lanes on the Interstate Highway, fooling around unprotected with my life, blah blah blah.....

Today, after procrastinating for what seems like ever, I impulsively decided to start this blog and also pursue another dream - film journalism. It is said that if a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate: The 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' is worth any number of old ladies. And although there isn't much of a market for Urn's in India, hey, it’s a damn good quote to quote. It has taken me ten years to discover that I have no talent for writing, but I can't give it up now since I realise that there is not much else that I know how to.

So, tough luck!

Welcome to my world :)