Can't Oh Saamy !

It might come as a pleasant surprise to my readers that I am finally writing a movie review (despite movie reviews being the most enjoyed part of my blog posts by far). I would venture to say that it might be the evil design of Mr.Fate that I feel compelled to watch this tamil movie after a long time. Before I begin, dear readers who belong to the non-tamil faction, please apologize if you don't make sense out of the whole post - neither did I from the movie.

It came as an indigestible bitter pill (can it become any worse ?) that I opted to watch Kandasaamy as a stress buster after my exams. Worse still, that I watched it soon after 'Unnaipol Oruvan'. While I was bedazzled by the performance of Naseeruddin Shah in 'A Wednesday' (I had watched the movie long time ago)- especially the way he made Kamal Hassan look not-out-of-the-world in the tamil version, the mercury was shot down by Kandasaamy given the fact that the film was shot for over two years (irrespective of the reason for the delay).

Starting with a flimsy story line which I am sure one might not have seen worser in a long time, the screenplay matched it's quality to the core. The screenplay of the movie has thrown a serious challenge to concepts of time dimensions and makes time move geometrically slower (and perhaps stand still at some point). The theme, despite being directly picked up from 'Ramana' (I'm surprised how there hasn't been a plagiarism law suit yet!) has been so effectively screwed up that it appears as flawed as it could be. The cinematic characterization of CBI officers has been consistently ripped apart in Tollywood since the beginning of time, but I'm sure Kandasamy and Billa would definitely be there among the hot competitors for the top spot. The screenplay and plot has definitely reached the pinnacle of mediocrity. Perhaps the lack of surprises was indeed the surprise the movie had hoped to achieve!

There couldn't have been a job worse done with the dialogues department too. The dialogues between the lead pair and the investigators amazes me with its derisiveness, especially when they 'appear' outsmart each other (though I'm sure even a 3 year old would be able see through the fatuous plots that apparently fazed even the CBI). Even the 'vaigai puyal', whom I usually admire for his antics and on screen hilarity, seems to be terribly off key in the entire movie. Perhaps the effects of induction are not limited to electricity and magnetism alone. Lyrics for the songs adds yet another icing to the already molten (not just melted) ice cream of a dialogue. I even have a suspicion that the lyrics might have been accidental recording of the on-the-high babble of techie youth after three rounds of Russian Vodka. The english and tamil (oh! you do hear a couple of words scattered now and then if you are sharp enough) has been so ostentatiously mixed that it just throws up on the instrumental music that runs on the background. Just to give you an idea of how messed up it could look like, I have even ventured to paste some portions of the lyrics that I could find from the internet at the end of the post.

Usually actions speak louder than words, but in this case - I would any day have pledged my preference to the words. The garments do deserve a special mention in the movie. If dressing up as a 'cock' for depicting phantasms was as brilliant an idea that one can come up with in two years time, it makes me wonder about the sort of imbecilic plague has struck Kollywood. The flying sequences are no more a novelty to the tamil/telugu movie buffs, but I'd rather that the stunt sequences better be unexplained on-screen. The dress-up of the lead character as a woman in one of the fight sequence just shows the level of nervousness and depravity with which the spice of novelty has been tried to be brought in the movie.

The screenplay of the movie is wayward, but its the characterization that sets the trajectory towards definite annihilation. The manner in which the lead pair fall in love with each other is as stale as a bottle of buttermilk from the ages of Egyptian Pharoahs. Why the choice of PPP as a representation of villainous identity was made puzzles me more than Shrodinger's equation. What has truly appalled me, is how veteran actors could have donned these roles knowing how weak their on-screen characterization would be.

Apart from spending crores on the shores of Italy and the basins of Africa, I fail to see anything the movie has significantly achieved. Perhaps, in future, if evading taxes were my sole purpose in life, I might actually venture to mimic this Kollywood bravado!

Movie Bottom Line: Can't oh Saamy.

Disclaimers: Movie highly recommended if revenge is your motive and losing 50 bucks is your favourite pastime.

Random Lyric pieces from songs:
En Peru Meenakumari
Yen ooru kanyakumaari

Kaaikari thottahthila naan kathiri
Aangila madhathila naan january

Ohdura andhiyinile naan kaaviri
Asaiva saapaatula naan maan kari

Hey Kandhasamy yen lifela puyala vandha samy..
yen alagu paathu manasula nondha samu che vendha samy,
un azhagunaala illa un imsaiyila nondha samy,
un kaiyila sikka maatan indha samy..

College life - Part 2

A lot of my blog readers have asked me if Purdue had conspired enough to subdue my interest in writing. And I had to prove them wrong, especially since they couldn't have been more right. Hence this post.. But yes, I do have to 'make' justice to my readers, who hopefully, have been reading content that they find worth reading. And what better occasion than today, when Google Analytics sent me a mail today saying that my blog page has taken 5000 hits this year.

If you had been reading my posts regularly, you would have seen my inability to get to the topic of my post right away. I have been vehemently trying to make an impression with my opening and have been failing to do so with infallible regularity. This post, as most of you would expect is going to be about what I have seen at Purdue for the past couple of months. You would find this post to be randomly placed with an abstract ending the reason for which I am still unable to reason out.

Last week was one heck of a ride for me with my first exam in three years and it wouldn't be just right if it weren't destined to be an algorithms paper. And it wouldn't be right at all if I didn't have to submit a programming assignment and three other homeworks on the very same day. One of the first things that struck me at the University was the height of the buildings. Most of the buildings were just a couple of floors tall but inconspicuously held another three floors below the ground. And so there I was, locking up myself in one of the subterranean rooms of the library wondering how the complexity of finding my way through the university buildings could be bound asymptotically by a polynomial function. The thought provoking dream ended in an hour with the evening exam which is oxymoronically named (there.. I've invented an adjective) as it was held at 9PM.

As I made my way out into the maze of corridors fighting against my dis-oriented and dyslexic vision for routes, I was joined by a couple of fellow conspirators (from now on I've officially discontinued the usage of the word classmates for aesthetic reasons) who were battling out for the maximum number of questions they had attempted. For some reason, then perplexing to me, people here at Purdue talk about 'attempt' synonymous to 'correct' when in an academic context. Around the corner were another group of students who were boisterously considering the fabrication of a covert transistor (whose sister? ). A part of me felt immensely proud to belong to the league of geeks (a claim that we proudly print on our department T Shirts)and be capable of these discussions at unearthly and the bell tower (another landmark at the university) brightly screamed 11 PM to drive home the point.

Automatic doors have been one of the things that I truly hated here in the US - you never know when the open up. I invariably end up clutching thin air instead of the door knob with amazing regularity. But this time, it was a person who opened the door from the other end. "Excuse me, I'm sorry" said the mammoth of a guy who opened out the door. The apologetic gestures are one of prominent things that I've noticed here, and surprisingly still, it came from my fellow countryman who I'm sure, if it were to happen in the Chennai streets, wouldn't have had thought twice about bashing me (if I'm lucky enough) apart from swearing right through my ancestral chain.

To top it up, my name has added incredible complexity to my life at the university. The length of my name has already become a legend at the university and to top it up, I am now being called 'The one with Three parts to his name'. Not to mention the fact that the delivery folks get a free practical training on Adiabatic Random variables thanks to the various permutations that they work out on my name. But yes, until now, I have managed to stick to my identity and have successfully thwarted the temptation to call myself John, Superman or Pinocchio.

All things said, it still is one of the fruitful period of time that I'm spending here and yes, I am enjoying what I'm doing here. If you know me well, you would know enough that I'm a person incapable of living a dream, or even dreaming in the first place. I'm far too lost to have these thoughts that belong to the Utopian realm - they have ceased to exist even in my conception. I let my surroundings carry me through to where it wants - I live in a world where people still try to build a perpetual motion machine and solve P = NP...

Wondering..

Wondering what goes through my mind when important decisions are taken, a whole lot of change is expected in your routine, a mad rush of adrenaline, disillusionment, retrospection and insomnia is what I am facing when I pen this post in the wee hours of the morning, sitting on my bed with the continuous drone of the ceiling fan ringing in my head. All because tomorrow would be the last day at work, insignificant in the whole scheme of things happening in the universe, but one which alters what I had gotten used to for the past three years. No, I am neither being sentimental nor agnostic, but being a mere spectator of the events happening around me, created by me.

The last two days have also thrown in a lot of surprises on me - I have seen people getting sentimental, utilitarian and pragmatic all the same. I have been a witness to the "Little bird effect", events causing a multitude of thought process in the minds of many. I am appalled at the expectations that various people have of me, expectations that I might have unwittingly set, most of them too stupendous and distant for me to imagine. I have seen a large variety of emotions around me, emotions like concern, joy, sympathy, benediction, misery, jealousy, quizzical (am stuck for the right noun here), nonchalance, surprise, delight and a few other abstract noun forms that the languages are yet to quantify.

It has been days of hellos and byes bundled together in a unique fashion. No, this was not what we would have faced during our last days at high school or at college where you find alarming unity of thought and emotions. A unity that is achieved by the certainty and unbridled rectitude. If you thought emails have lost their ability to communicate emotions, believe me, it is not the case - I have had two worders to two liners which have been loaded abundantly with the intention of the writer. It makes me respect the concept of writing as a means of communication.

As I step into unemployment for the first time and into a new venture, it feels like it was ordained to be so. It would be interesting to see what happens tomorrow, it would be interesting still if nothing at all happens. I am not going to guess or predict or even offer my suggestions, for I am not a prognosticator.

If, at the end of all this, you were to ask me what sort of a state of mind that you are in - the reply would probably be "wonder".

Badminton days

I have been left in the lurch of the term that would best describe this short narrative that I am about to pen. As most of my posts are, this, again is the result of a latent thought of mine, resurging in a moment of weakness of the mind. A very abstract beginning to a post that it totally unrelated to what I have said so far. A lot of people have asked so many questions about my association with badminton and even if I were to make a very short story of this, it would at the very least, date back a little over a decade.

A short stick with a round end between which I could poke my fingers into successfully is how I identified a badminton racquet when I first saw it. I was about 10 years old at that time and every male member in my family owned one of these rotund headed object that I could not spell. I even remember having used it more than once as an instrument to try and catch hold of butterflies and failing unfailingly to do so. But, in the next ten-fifteen years my association with the sport did not grow in tandem with my ability to spell.

The ‘shuttle’, as it is christened in India, was always an elusive sport reserved only for the most deserving - financially. It is truly so, even now. I can remember myself waiting amongst a bunch of kids waiting eagerly for the gentlemanly elders to finish of their game so that we could get the used shuttles. Only the most scuttled shuttles were given to us by the ‘elders’ with a scorn on their face, a benediction that we accepted with little discernment of the intention with which this grace was showered on us. A fresh shuttle was a treat, something that we could aspire for only when we played the ‘tournament’ - an annual event that was held for the neighborhood kids.

Cost was not the only thing that we needed to brave while playing badminton. Since, an indoor stadium was still a fantasy, something that we had seen only in the television, we had to often play within a tornado (or one of its numerous relatives) that comes unfailingly every week end/holiday/whenever we were allowed to play on the open ground. We had to do so much math to calculate where the shuttle would land up when thrown up in the wind, that most of us ended up as engineers. Undeterred, we still played on, waiting for the D-day(deliverance day), when we had a brand new shuttle and a windless morning. When I moved into the 8th grade, I realized that racquets that came as an incentive with ’Boost’ (a health drink) were better that the ones that I owned. Any word that was uttered by us in favour of buying a racquet would evoke a tacit reply if we were confident of becoming ‘Mr. Padukone’. Oh, yes. This is the guy who is the father of Deepika Padukone who also was by the way one of the best badminton players produced by India. Coming back to badminton, in those days, Yonex racquet was like an expensive jewel, something that only those in the royal bloodline could afford to touch. I totally believed in the myth that if the mud-bloods were to touch a shuttle with that racquet, it would be blown into smithereens and I into sacrilege.

In country full of cricket lovers, Hidayat and Peter Gade are as common to the people as floccinaucinihilipilification to the english dictionary. I remember the days when I used to sit late nights to watch the Indonesian Open being re-telecasted during the off hours in DD Sports channel. It was during my early undergraduate days that I first played badminton in an indoor stadium and have been playing in one ever since. And it was after an year since I began to earn my living and a year ago from now, that I could finally bring myself to own a Yonex. Well, this might indicate why badminton, whether you like it or not is only for the affordable.

I was in for a shock, when I finally thought that my badminton has improved considerably. And my backhand in which I particularly took pride in, was beaten all ends up by a kid who was about the same height of my raquet. I realized, for me, perhaps, the resurrection in badminton came in a tad too late, when I have both lost the stamina and the time to pursue it as a passion. Little would I have imagined at any earlier time that badminton would one day become a sport that I would end up playing just for the sake of remaining active. Now, I think, I would rather pride in encouraging youngsters (my age and a couple of years lesser) to play more badminton. ;)