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I really had a problem with the ending. I felt like I did when I finished watching Matrix 3. A sense of numbing anticlimax. A tuss-pataki*. I did not want to watch the whole movie to find out it was just a stupid dream sequence. Even if the story's premise makes a case for the alternate time line explanation.
Here's the basic story. The protagonist has the ability to see into his future for two minutes. Except for one woman, who he keeps seeing over and over again, without the two minute barrier. Somehow the FBI find out about his ability, and they want to use him to find a nuclear bomb that a terrorist group has smuggled into the country. The terrorist group is monitoring the FBI, so they find out about him and want to kill him. In the middle of this, he meets his dream woman, and does a little future permutation testing to figure out exactly how to approach her. She becomes the stakes for which he plays. He loses. Unless he helps the FBI without getting the woman involved. Because at the end, the resulting nuclear explosion segues into him opening his eyes. Argh. The end.
The movie raised a question that it did not answer. Why was the woman able to affect his perception of the future. Julianne Moore has a one dimensional part in this movie as the FBI agent, and is disappointing after "Children of Men". This movie is an action movie with a plot twist, and the action is satisfying enough. But there's only so many explosions you can watch. The rest was lame. You can find more reviews on IMDB.

*tuss-pataki - Pataki is a kannada word for firecracker. A tuss-pataki refers to a firecracker that fails to explode. tuss-pataki is often used to imply the disappointment that accompanies a defective firecracker.

Writing is cathartic for me; at times effortless, at times a chore that I embark upon just to feel the endorphins flowing again. And writing is important to my identity. I cannot look on a future without it. My wrists have become precious; my fingers, cherished.

I have struggled to fathom my fascination with semantics and syntax. And it seems to be a common search among writers. I want my words to do everything I cannot do. Paint pictures across the sky in rays of brilliant contrails. Scratch dark grottos in dim forests. Splash whirlpools and whitecaps through a reader's fleeting attention span. Etch fiery whispers that linger in the dark.

I do not know why I am so fascinated by thought and word. Shaping ideas, shading dreams, twisting a seeming into surety; its all possible with a word or phrase laid down at the fulcrum of events. The birth of the perfect line is a work of beauty and pain.

I have seen children stringing together bead necklaces for each other. They pick and choose colors and shapes, look for continuity and aesthetic and thread a thin string through minuscule holes that defy patience until they are satisfied with the heft of their creation. The look when they whirl it in the sunlight, or give it to a friend, or feel it lie on their neck is the look I want on my face when I see my writing.

This is the additional masala in the chatpati mix.

55 Friday came this Friday in all its multilingual glory.
"Kekkatadi avaruh, nee annu paraja vakkuh" -
Let them hear the words you said then.
"mi indio lindo" - my indian cutie

Keep a look out for the deference shown to Friedman everywhere. While it isn't servile, there still is an element of reserve in everybody's conversations with him, and even though several people complain about respect for elders disappearing, I find it very apparent in all the encounters on tape.

There were interesting parallels betwen the argument made against Valentine's day by the RSS leaders and the ones made by a lot of mallu pentecostals.
Consider a quote from V.A. Gopala. "In India, all our traditions are kept intact because of all the rituals. So even though they leave their parents, they should keep all the family traditions."

There are a few mallus in the video. I picked them out by their names. Interesting moments in the video include a proposal for kama sutra day and some wonderfully ideological arguments on the amount of exposure allowable to villagers. There was a phrase thrown out, "its creating a dependence and creating a kind of vacuum in the natural organic fabric of our societies.", and I couldn't help wondering... how are societies, any of them, naturally organic? Is it the abundance of technology and metal use that makes a society inorganic somehow?
In marked contrast to the attitude adopted by Vimochana was the Shanthi Bhavan school, which encouraged instead exposure to technology and education in the hope that these children could become part of India's future. That right there was a sentence that should be in some indian newspaper. And on that depressing note, I end.

Here's a little background information. In India, high school goes up to 10th grade. 11th and 12th are usually in another college called a Pre University. To get into a Pre University, you need to pass an independent exam based on some standardized syllabus. There are three different syllabi in common use across the country focussing on languages, maths, the sciences and social studies. One is created a board in each state and is called, of course, the state syllabus. The other two are run by two national boards called the ICSE and the CBSE. State syllabuses are generally held to be the easiest. State syllabuses emphasize the state language over english and hindi generally, while the ICSE seems to favor english and the CBSE syllabus is considered the toughest because of the amount of hindi taught, although that is probably a south indian perception. But you can't get through the CBSE without studying English. The courses are all taught in English. The exams are written in English. And it is impossible to get a 97.6% average if you get below 90% in any one subject. Which leads me to believe Garima must have got at least 95% on her English exam. So, how does she not know enough English?

Strangely enough, I have encountered more jokes about peoples' accents in India than here in the U.S. People accept differences here. Other than the run of the mill uncle jokes, nobody dissects conversational grammar. All Indians are supposed to have one accent, and that's good enough for the general populace. South asian kids who grow up here don't seem fixated on the accent issue either. To them, the accent is part of the underlying expanse of the desi condition. I sometimes wonder if the topic is a pastime of India's intellectual bourgeoisie.

People will now play up the issue of caste, of money, of influence and snobbery. All that is beside the point. I just wonder at the sheer arrogance of the explanation given by the school. All that said, considering its a private school, they have the right to reserve admission for the students they choose. I think it speaks for the underlying prejudice prevalent in India, when my first three questions were "Who said she knew english?", "Who said she didn't?", and "What was the real reason?".

I've added my photos to the flickr group, and you can see all of mine below.
I've even got a photo of Preston with his camera and in keeping with convention, have obscured the mystery mutineer's face. Siddhartha would have been in my photos, but Neil's shaved head kept intruding, and then Siddhartha turned his face away from me.

Now I'm just waiting for the rest of the photos to surface online. Here's Preston's and Anna's photos.

Meanwhile, we also had a few subplots to deal with, like Filson and Reney's little lover's tiff, people looking at my beard all the time instead of my face, and the drama of the wedding day. There was no drama. Only a handful of people felt the need to comment on my resemblance to some random mujahideen. But for a few seconds there, Reney precipitated a Filson sulk. One that reminded me of how it felt to be in love and frustrated at the recipient. Meanwhile, Filson's collection of Reney photos has grown by another hundred or so.

Since I was in no position to take photos during the wedding, the best I could do was take video of the rehearsal. Five clips, people, and short ones at that.
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