I hate to preempt my hatred by a display of little understanding into the musings of the author–but to be truthful, there really aren’t any except the hash-tag wars he may have been a reason behind. I have read the first thirty pages of Midnight @ Call-centre–and I pride myself on decluttering hiked-up cliches–but couldn’t go any past than that, because let’s be truthful: pile of ashes can’t be swept up in a single stroke. That’s what happens when you see a lot of Bollywood movies. Sorry, dear Chetan. So, apart from the almost-dangerous venturing into the dark-tunnels of escape-less eternity of call-centers and undercover sex sellers, I have read one of his blogs criticizing the RSS and VHP, and I thought, hey, Mr Baghat wasn’t so bad after all. Boy, was I wrong!
As a Coimbatore guy/girl, the worst thing you could do is move to another city for a job–and honestly, that is the worst thing you can do especially because of people who don’t understand you or the place you come from. Sure you try to explain things (because, um, manners) in the beginning, but they just don’t get it. You basically feel like Cinderella in New York City, or like a fairytale character in a horror story. Also, don’t even bother taking them to Coimbatore–the effort is just NOT worth it. So, here is a definitive guide you can show to people (STOP. READ. GO) before they yabbity-yabba at you or you set them on fire–whatever works.
Today marks the 94th birthday of Kalaignar Karunanidhi and his diamond jubilee in legislative assembly of Tamil Nadu. Blessed with 48 hours a day, the dude has been kicking some serious ass. No, look at it: over seven historical novels, 100 plus poems and cinema screenplays, TV series, thousands of perspective essays on Sangam literature and on top of that some mother-friggin’ experience of running a party (that incidentally flipped the political scene in South as we know it) for over 45 years, he still walks this planet with us. And yeah, he’s humble.
Alright, I know you’re judging me. Vijay fans have always been branded dumb, unable to process simple cognitive skills, just so the main-stream, upstanding citizens of Tamil Nadu can feel better about themselves as they palaver Nolan-bred theories to unsuspecting bystanders. What they don’t understand is how effortlessly Ilayathalabathy Vijay has graced Kollywood with main-stream progressive ideas that define our future and beyond. He has constantly been a comrade for all of the values India stands for and in a way that people draw inspiration from. You may see gigantic effigies of Vijay being worshipped by thousands alike as some sort of blind, gullible fan-following, but I (and rest of Thalabathyites) see it as a stand-alone proof that fairytales of loyalty, goodness, and heroism still sell and mean to people who are otherwise seen as cynical. And that is where Vijay is a beacon of hope.
“2007 was just yesterday. Everything that seems what it is now was what it was then, too. What, I aged like 10 years: no big deal. Okay, may be I didn’t know Vijay Sethupathi was OR I wouldn’t have known the dude named Modi, but it wasn’t that predated. I would have been in school. I would have crushed on the same person. But hey, bring it on guys: I double dare you. Make me feel old. Go on.”
Well, you asked for it. Here’s a list of things that seems ages ago, but was actually only 10 years ago. Buckle up.
I don’t know about you, but if I had the ability to travel into future, I would definitely avoid the seven days of warfare between the good and the substantially lesser good. The ending is predictable. They lay in open books. Etched in history. And they bound to repeat themselves. Trust me; you are not missing anything.
It’s been nearly 100 years since the first Tamil motion capture was done, and since then we have been cutting invisible onions, while driving a bee into our eyes accidentally. Here’s a list of moments in the recent past that made you punch a wall to regain manhood again.
She wakes up everyday in a mire of ignorance. Her tangled hair flutters against everlasting wind that picks up pace as it approaches her: it could be a warning, it could be trying to break her fall. The woman, however, walks ahead, her eyes on the ground, her neck the shape of a sickle: no writer with any shred of dignity could ever describe her endowments, for she is the idol that was never made, a bronx statue that never left the sculptor’s head.
You have two choices: poetic and factual.
The purpose of this post is not to be poetic. It does not dwell in ordinary hearts to heave and throw tantrums via words, as waging wars are in engagement, livelihoods at stake. The purpose of this post is not to be factual, either.
“The rights of Every Man are diminished when the rights of One Man are threatened!”
-John F. Kennedy