Wednesday, September 24


Some people should just shut up. They run the risk of being nuked by me if they open their mouth.

Fuck off you bastards.  )/!@#$/^&**

Saturday, August 9


(warnings, spoilers might be present ahead).

I have always been a sucker for horror movies. The men in my life havent ever been able to figure out this twist in my otherwise boring personality. Dad would try and ban them, and when I got old enough to protest and whine and win him over, I was banned to my room while watching horror movies. The hubby doesnt have a clue why I would want to sit through a horror movie. He prefers the usual song and dance routine.
As a result, watching a horror movie on a 70 mm screen, for me, has always been a pipe dream. Except the one time when the colleages at work decided we all wanted to watch phoonk, but well, that was more of a comical attempt at horror if any - that doesnt count at all.

I make do with watching the crap they put up as horror on TV when no one is at home. I watch each movie with a foolish hope that "now I shall be scared", "now this shall live up to its genre" maybe the movies are bad, or maybe I have hardened over the years.

Exorcist, the Exorcism of Emily Rose, Omen and a few J-horror movies probably are among the few movies that can call themselves belonging to the genre.

Sinister uses found footage with a twist. Instead of jerky random shots seemingly edited from 36 hours worth of film to 90 hours, the footage here, is found by the protagonist. The protagonist (Ethan Hawke) who is looking for his lost 15 minutes of fame trying to write a book that will get him everything that a writer dreams of, movie rights, interviews and of course millions of dollars in royalties.

Combining elements of mystery and horror, it is restrained horror, each scene stepping up to a higher crescendo.
I hate movies that call themselves horror by putting in a couple of screaming bimbos, and a few brawny retard hunks who get their skulls slpattered all over the walls. It isnt horror, it just a snuff film. This movie keeps the scare to the protagonist, the emotional ripples are felt by the family, each in a different manner, the relationship with the spouse, the escalating night terrors of the elder kid, and the silent horror of the younger kid; the main torch wielding and looking down dark corridors and getting scared is left to the dad, who fulfills his role of being scary to the Tee. I would have loved to see the "deputy so & so" angle a little well explored, but cant say I was too unhappy about him being just a minor cog in the wheel who puts the final puzzle into place, just seconds before it all goes to town.

A letdown would be a predictable plot - missing children after each family murder usually implies the child performing the gruesome act under some supernatural influence. Moving into a house where past murders have taken place, is standard horror movie plot frame; and I wonder if there is some sort of a dummy's guide to writing horror movies from which all script writers pick up their scripts. Other people trying to rationalise the fears of the protagonist, a screaming wife asking to get out the house; children wandering around at night - all predictable.

The challenge though, would be to take a predictable plot, and use an already used to death technique and keep the viewers at the edge of their seats, and Sinister, definitely manages to get there. The background score makes sense, and the brilliant cinematography that moves with the protagonist and helps the viewers understand his escalating sense of unease and then fear, helps elevate the plot.

Overall, a 3.5 out of 5 it is

Sunday, November 10

So much

So much time wasted, so many emotions spent.

So much in thinking about what the world feels, so much about how you look in the eyes of the world, so much about wanting the world to like you, so much about wanting to like the world.

So much to erase the sense of inferiority, so much to stop the craving for companionship.

So many walls built, so many "I dont cares" to mask the reality of caring too much, so many thorns hoping that someone shall find the rose within

So many sleepless nights pondering, musing and worrying about the future, should you be a doctor, would the world rather have you be an engineer. Would the family respect a chartered accountant, or would you just rather please a husband and be a good housewife?

So many questions on how to earn the respect, awe and wonder of the world, so much spent in trying to cover up all your tiny and huge faults.

So much thought put into "spontaneity" so many rehearsed "witty" lines, funny and charming and worldwise, isnt that what people want?

And a decade later. Still Trying.

So Much.

It is indeed sad to be you.

Friday, October 12

grey. gray. grey.gray

this episode. the girl. the mother, the nanny.

this is me. this is my daughter. and I hate it.

It should be me. me. and not some nanny who hasnt given birth to her.
me who loves her, me, whose reflection she is. she has my eyes. why do they search for the nanny?

Friday, October 5


why is it, that you do everything you can, and more. tear yourself out, stretch thin, kill yourself and try and do everything.

its never enough.


Tuesday, October 2


She looked at her computer. For a moment, everything was just nothing. All those words, all that had happened, all that hurt. Nothing mattered.

Rationality was, as if nonexistent. She had thrown everything out of the mental window. her eyes blurred with her unshed tears. as she touched that little red dot next to his name on the messenger, she realised all that she would ever have, was this. a little red dot that taunted her, for now, he belonged to someone else. Apparently, he loved her. He no longer loved her now. She did not exist in his universe. Apparently, now, he was just a red dot in her universe. 

Sunday, September 30


It seems like all we do is spend time. Whatever happened to living?

Are we sold a rosier picture of life just to ensure that we dont give up on it? Or is it something that we need to be doing, that we have forgotten now?

This drab grey thing, this unmoving, unemotional and unexciting thing with us, cannot be life. Or Is It?

Saturday, September 1


bored. word-blocked.

someone from google california (well, atleast that's the place the statcounter points to) reads my blog every single effing day. all my past posts. meticulously!. Wow.

Dude you deserve like a major cash prize or something (and I dont give out cash easy. ask the hubby:P) . do leave a comment, so I can identify my fanboy :P

Exams near. book hasnt been opened since the courier guy delivered it to the doorstep. Notes taken down in the weekend long class have long been used by the daughter to satisfy her growing curiosity.

ennui sets in. forces me to listen to random songs such as these. Force colleague to listen to songs such as these. Laugh at colleagues' disgust. thus has degraded my sense of humor owing to ennui.

Vacation is much needed. keep planning various getaways with several people. as usual, none materialize.


The Big Bang Theory S5 looks damper than the older ones. no relief there either. I want to watch Akki's Joker. Hopefully, that should put some life into me. what say?

In Other TV Soap news -

A child-bride remarries.
A remarriage shatters.

If you, (god forbid) understand what the above statements mean - you MUST tag along when I visit my shrink - you and I, both, my friend are in dire need of his services.

Friday, August 17


she looked back. her footprints were washed away by the crashing waves. like almost she hadnt been there at all.

That, there is life. she thought. no one will know for more than a fleeting moment, that you existed.

Whats journey, and what is destination then?

She kept walking along the beach, because - she had nothing else left to do. she lived life, because there was no alternative.

Saturday, August 4


Perhaps the greatest sorrow is to look back upon happiness from misery.

Wednesday, August 1


totally infatuated with the sound track of the Dark Knight Rises. In a loop. All day long.

Fitting trilogy. wasnt a fan of the mexican mask wearing over bulky bane of the comic books, but love love love the Bane in the movie. Wow Wow Wow!

The favorite in the trilogy though has to be the Joker. Fine Villain him! Luurrvve him!

Bane is good. but is nowhere near the Joker. The earlier Batman Jokers were exactly that - stupid jokers. Including that stupid movie with Jim Carrey as the joker. Duh-uh.

Miranda Tate was a giveaway. or maybe because I was such a dork that I had already read Knightfall when I was a kid.
Also, maybe because I'm such a dork that I notice details such as when the "kid" escaped the inescapable pit-prison, she had no mask on.

Anyhoo. Would have loved more batman onscreen. more of his bat-mobile, bat-flying-thingamajig and more hand to hand combat. I wanted less of Christian Bale and more of Batman. Duh. Nolan. Take note.

anyhoo. gotta run. Gravy on one burner, roti on the other, and someone from office is pinging me about some random issue!


Wednesday, July 25

forgive and forget?

She was terrified about the thought that crossed her mind.

What if she could never forget? what if she could never forgive? How long would she have to bear the cross of humiliation, and the burden of rage within her?
How long would she have to act as if she had indeed moved on? That was more agonizing that actually admitting that the betrayal still hurt, that the wound was yet raw and the anger still simmered inside.

She wondered how would it be to free of all these emotions for once, to invest herself completely in the life that she had now. To be free of the nagging voice in the head, that as long as she held on to the past, she was cheating the present and the future.

She looked at herself in the mirror, and a tired woman, with dark shadows and bags under her eyes stared back. She looked at the eyes - they held no interest in them. They were just tired with the insomnia. Not a face someone would want to turn around and look at again.

What would it be to have eyes that sparkled with interest again? What would it be to think of a tomorrow and hope and guess what it would have in store?

What if she could never move on? What if the scar was seared into her soul; the betrayal was etched into her psyche so deep that all she could feel now, was rage disgust and a lingering of what once was love?

She sunk into the bed terrified of this thought. And she hated herself for this. All over again.

Friday, July 6


"It was you. only you"

It was the answer she expected to her question.
She had loved the demons he harboured, she loved his faults. she had loved him despite the fact that he couldnt love her back.
she knew him. intimately. physically. spiritually. emotionally. she knew his fears, she knew his little conquests, his quirks and his eccentricities. his pride, his ego and his vanity. she knew them all.

and yet, the answer never came.

It was time. To forget her past. to forget her dream.

Saturday, June 16

what goes around

does come around.

In other news;

how ugly does Priyanka Chopra look in those yellow thingies jumping like a 5 year old Britney? Argh!

Another random Dance With The Stars rip off has Madhuri dancing to those eternal hits. While one agrees she is a diva, no amount of botox can cover up age. Comon!

Everyone is discussing Aishwarya's post pregnancy weight. What about poor everyday fat mothers? For one, I have a repartee every time people comment on my weight. Finally Aishwarya makes herself useful. Huh.

I have an overdose of Anushka Sharma. Comon lady. Leave something to imagination about your acting skills. I'm getting saturated of watching your face.

Pirates' new movie on June 24th. While yours truly has already seen it on the big screen, yet, cant wait for Johnny Depp to hit my big screen at home :D

and the enfant terrible beckons!

Friday, May 11

double entredre

she called it hormones. she said it was "the time" of the month, when she usually was depressed.

The women around her, agreed. After all, hormones are a crazy bunch they leave you confused when they show themselves, and then they leave you confused when they decide to go hiding again- the chatter lulled to a silence. Each one thinking about her "hormones".

Their "hormones" at home, existed. they could not wish them away. Physical or Emotional, the abuse at home was always given a metaphor. the unshed tears, and the unsaid silences spoke volumes. The implicit understanding of swollen eyes and the broken bangles needed no acknowledgement.

While the men sat complaining about how they weren't treated well at home by the womenfolk, the women sat silent. The silence, the acknowledgement that no matter rich or poor, ugly or beautiful, barren or fertile, illiterate or Doctors, some stories never change; some silences can never be spoken out.