The problem with being a "more-than-a-sister" kind of friend to someone is that you cannot get mad at them. "That's not true", you will say. Yeah, I know. I happen to belong to a very rare species of angelic being, the last of which was created... lemme see now... 21years age, on the 16th of October, 1985, which incidentally also happens to be my birthday. So now you know.
So, anyways, getting back to the topic (which, you will realize later on is NOT the topic) there I was, in the M-Block market in GK 1, waiting for my friend and erasing the same text she had sent for the 10th time (which read "coming coming") from my inbox. Knowing better than to wait any longer, I went into Teksons (the book store- just in case) and started browsing through books.
Now I was carelessly reading through the book titles, not paying close attention. I had just had some lunch, and my eyes and mind were unanimous in their demand for a siesta. And I was ALSO rehersing a verbal-battle with my not-so-punctual friend. So there were muffled sounds buzzing in my head, like too many students talking softly while at a boring function in honor or Shaheed-somebody (no offence!)
"The Inheritance of Loss... Kiran Desai... With One Lousy Packet of Seed- Lynne somebody... How long does it take for you to reach M-Block from LSR? The Sangh Parivar... The Witness and the Wife... I could go to LSR, meet her there, catch a 375 and be back home by 4... You Belong to Me... What Do I Do When I Want to do Everything... Nah the 375 is too...."
STOP!!! screamed that little guy in my brain who is the boss around here- Intelligence... WHAT DO I DO WHEN I WANT TO DO EVRYTHING... hey, that's me! I picked up the book and the cover has this directions' board that points in one direction and says "I want to start my own business", "I want to live overseas and experience new cultures" in another, "I want to travel and become a photographer" in another and so on. I could not believe it. These are all the things I had decided were my "true calling" at different, though not too distant points in time.
So I bought the book and began reading it.
I can see the writer, Barbara Sher, stand in front of me, and talk like those "divinely-enlightened" people do on the "God" channel- "Are you fascinated by something new every week? Do you feel you can't commit to something because you're afraid you will something better? Do you start many things but finish almost none?" YES! I scream, wondering how she knows so much...
"You are a Scanner", she says, and now I can feel myself shrink in size... "A what??"
"A scanner. unlike people who are satisfied with one area of interest, you are genetically wired to pursue many interests and goals. You are NOT a shallow dilettante, you are a wonderful person with multiple passions and abilities."
Suddenly, I could see this Barbara woman sprout wings and a halo... Here's this woman, who seems to think its OK for me to be so indecisive, and even has a psychological term for my complete lack of focus?? Brilliant! And as a true "scanner", I was immediatetly hooked on to the book- super excited, 100% ears (and eyes), eager to know more about this new "species" I realize I belong to!
Less than 24hours later, after I have talked about this new phenomenon with everybody I know and have managed to convince none but my parents that I am a genetically superior creature, who has been created to defy the "Jack of all trades, master of none" belief, I lose interest in the book. Just like that.. swoooosh! and its gone. The woman has written 268 pages that essentially say the same thing- "You can't stick to nothing" Period.
So may be it is true. May be I am a "scanner" who knows she should focus on one thing, but can't decide which. There's too many things happening, and I find myself unable to stick to one thing. So I put a bookmark at page number 132, shut the book and throw it in my cupboard, along with so many other "unfinished projects." Meanwhile, I am really excited about this new diary I want to make, like the one people in the Victorian times had- dark, leather bound, with thick, yellowish paper (like parchments), in which you write with quills...
Hey, don't judge me... I'm a scanner!!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The Big-Screen: Big town vs Small town
A very clichéd beginning for an article on movies or cricket is an observation about how we, Indians are obsessed with both. Ok this is another way of putting in the same introduction, but you wouldn’t have noticed, had it not been for this line.
The reason why movies are such a rage among the Indian junta is because of their depiction of tales of fantasy, tales that never seemed possible for the common herd, and this gives them hope that something better is in store for them. Of course, the real reason is that we love the jhatkas and matkas in our desi flicks, and the smooch in the firang flicks.
The big-screen experience in a big town is very different from that in a small town. A multiplex ticket will be on a glossy paper, with an obnoxiously sweet person at the counter, who will say things like “Enjoy your show” and “Have a nice time.” On the contrary, the small ‘t’ will have a miniscule window with bars on it for a ticket window, on the other side of which sits a grouchy, bald man. I’m telling you, ticket sellers in small town theatres are ALWAYS grouchy and bald, with an expression that suggests you wouldn’t wanna know if their bark his worse than their bite. The ticket is a greasy scrap of pink paper, with the rates mentioned for “Upper” seats and “Lower” seats. You couldn’t fit in anything else on it, even if you wanted to.
The big town’s big-screen spells luxury, with its plush interiors, brilliant audio and visual quality, the wide and comfortable reclining chairs, and the air-conditioning. In a small town, you find none of this. The theatre is a poorly ventilated shaft, with tattered chairs that are so narrow that my being able to fit my big bum in it is nothing short of a miracle. Of course, you MUST always remember to remove the litter on your seat by the damned person occupying your seat in the previous show.
The phoren concept of the multiplex implies that everybody, from the guy selling popcorns to the guy checking tickets to the security people feel duty-bound to converse in (often) tooti-phooti English. The junta will of course not be left behind. It is like an “English-only” domain, before stepping into which people will be talking loudly in Hindi, using profanity and then suddenly “I want the big one, how much cost?”, in reference to popcorns of course! Talking about which, the snacks available are brilliant, especially for a voracious eater like myself- hot dogs, burgers, nachos, and of course the integral part of every movie experience- popcorns. Our first visit to a multiplex made my Punjabi-speaking mother feel that she must play the “English only” part too, and I almost died of a heart attack when I heard her say “Big popcorn for me also, puttar.”
The poor little small-town cinema hall goers, yet unacquainted with the “modern” world, continue to speak in the same tone they would use with a rickshaw puller. The high school crowd get their kicks by making shadows on the screen by putting their hands (especially the middle finger) in front of the window through which the tape is played. And in the name of snacks, the hall continues to sell soggy popcorn crammed in plastic bags that threaten to burst any moment, cold drinks in glass bottles with rusted caps- testimony to their being almost antique, and cold, cold patty. It is a common practice to scurry to the confectioners at the end of the street, 5mins before the movie is to begin for sandwiches and spring-rolls. Oh, and you must NEVER place your food-packet on the ground, lest the rats get to them while you are engrossed in the movie.
The name’s change as you move from the small town to the big town…The “picture-hall” is the multiplex; the “popcorn-wala” is the “worker in the food-and-beverage section” or the steward. The sauce is the ketchup, and the coffee is the "cappuchino". The stinky toilets in the small town are transformed into “washrooms”; after all they are equipped with those automatic “sensor” taps.
So, all points in favour of the “big-screen-in-big-town” experience? Not necessarily. The small town movie-night is, oddly a warm experience. Sure, the place will be falling apart, the screen will be half hidden by silhouettes of people taller than you are, and with all the talking going on around you, not to mention the sudden interruptions when the movie roll entangles around something and stops playing, there is a good chance you will have to wait for the movie to be aired on television to catch all the dialogues you missed. Yet, it will bring a smile to your face. You get the feeling you know everyone, the comments and retorts being thrown around the entire hall, the cat-calls and whistles every time the hero and heroine get mushy, and the disappointed “aahs” every time they are interrupted, the squashed chairs with almost no space between rows (so if you are in the middle of the row you can’t go for a pee till the end of the movie) makes you feel a part of a huge family outing of sorts. It is a completely different kind of entertainment, something you won’t experience in a big-town multiplex. Of course, you MUST remember that the “entry” and “exit” door is one, and you will have to scuffle with the people hurrying in for the next show, trying to find their seats!
The reason why movies are such a rage among the Indian junta is because of their depiction of tales of fantasy, tales that never seemed possible for the common herd, and this gives them hope that something better is in store for them. Of course, the real reason is that we love the jhatkas and matkas in our desi flicks, and the smooch in the firang flicks.
The big-screen experience in a big town is very different from that in a small town. A multiplex ticket will be on a glossy paper, with an obnoxiously sweet person at the counter, who will say things like “Enjoy your show” and “Have a nice time.” On the contrary, the small ‘t’ will have a miniscule window with bars on it for a ticket window, on the other side of which sits a grouchy, bald man. I’m telling you, ticket sellers in small town theatres are ALWAYS grouchy and bald, with an expression that suggests you wouldn’t wanna know if their bark his worse than their bite. The ticket is a greasy scrap of pink paper, with the rates mentioned for “Upper” seats and “Lower” seats. You couldn’t fit in anything else on it, even if you wanted to.
The big town’s big-screen spells luxury, with its plush interiors, brilliant audio and visual quality, the wide and comfortable reclining chairs, and the air-conditioning. In a small town, you find none of this. The theatre is a poorly ventilated shaft, with tattered chairs that are so narrow that my being able to fit my big bum in it is nothing short of a miracle. Of course, you MUST always remember to remove the litter on your seat by the damned person occupying your seat in the previous show.
The phoren concept of the multiplex implies that everybody, from the guy selling popcorns to the guy checking tickets to the security people feel duty-bound to converse in (often) tooti-phooti English. The junta will of course not be left behind. It is like an “English-only” domain, before stepping into which people will be talking loudly in Hindi, using profanity and then suddenly “I want the big one, how much cost?”, in reference to popcorns of course! Talking about which, the snacks available are brilliant, especially for a voracious eater like myself- hot dogs, burgers, nachos, and of course the integral part of every movie experience- popcorns. Our first visit to a multiplex made my Punjabi-speaking mother feel that she must play the “English only” part too, and I almost died of a heart attack when I heard her say “Big popcorn for me also, puttar.”
The poor little small-town cinema hall goers, yet unacquainted with the “modern” world, continue to speak in the same tone they would use with a rickshaw puller. The high school crowd get their kicks by making shadows on the screen by putting their hands (especially the middle finger) in front of the window through which the tape is played. And in the name of snacks, the hall continues to sell soggy popcorn crammed in plastic bags that threaten to burst any moment, cold drinks in glass bottles with rusted caps- testimony to their being almost antique, and cold, cold patty. It is a common practice to scurry to the confectioners at the end of the street, 5mins before the movie is to begin for sandwiches and spring-rolls. Oh, and you must NEVER place your food-packet on the ground, lest the rats get to them while you are engrossed in the movie.
The name’s change as you move from the small town to the big town…The “picture-hall” is the multiplex; the “popcorn-wala” is the “worker in the food-and-beverage section” or the steward. The sauce is the ketchup, and the coffee is the "cappuchino". The stinky toilets in the small town are transformed into “washrooms”; after all they are equipped with those automatic “sensor” taps.
So, all points in favour of the “big-screen-in-big-town” experience? Not necessarily. The small town movie-night is, oddly a warm experience. Sure, the place will be falling apart, the screen will be half hidden by silhouettes of people taller than you are, and with all the talking going on around you, not to mention the sudden interruptions when the movie roll entangles around something and stops playing, there is a good chance you will have to wait for the movie to be aired on television to catch all the dialogues you missed. Yet, it will bring a smile to your face. You get the feeling you know everyone, the comments and retorts being thrown around the entire hall, the cat-calls and whistles every time the hero and heroine get mushy, and the disappointed “aahs” every time they are interrupted, the squashed chairs with almost no space between rows (so if you are in the middle of the row you can’t go for a pee till the end of the movie) makes you feel a part of a huge family outing of sorts. It is a completely different kind of entertainment, something you won’t experience in a big-town multiplex. Of course, you MUST remember that the “entry” and “exit” door is one, and you will have to scuffle with the people hurrying in for the next show, trying to find their seats!
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