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On Wednesday night, I happened to be infront of the Open Air Theater (OAT) at around 10.30 PM, when the Ugadi Special Telugu Movie Crowd was coming out of the theatre. As I was waiting for my friends to join me, I was left with nothing, but observe (bird watch he he) the crowd coming out of the theatre.

The first group looked very relieved from a shock, justifying the name of the movie. One can visualize these lot getting flabbergasted seeing the villains dominating and almost annihilating the hero, before he takes revenge on them. Once the hero gets into the mood of demolition, these people will get thrilled and will be on their heels whenever he bulldozes the villain. These are the ones who got back maximum value for the money they shelled out for the movie.

Another bunch seemed to be thoroughly dissatisfied with the plot,and were questioning the surrealism in the theme. I condemn them, as after so many years of Indian moviehood, it is a big crime to ask for realism in a movie. If you happen to come across one movie with a down-to-earth plot, then you are lucky. The b/t/k ollywood movies are more of masala movies, which elevates the audience to a fantasy world, where the hero is fighting against a depraved society. The hero, after so many setbacks, will emerge out of the ashes to demolish the villain, and the movie will carry an inspirational message for the public. In between, there will be a nice and ideal girl who is the hero’s love interest, and there will be a couple of song sequences shot somewhere in Europe or Australia. The movie cannot be categorized as thriller/ action/romance/sci fi/drama as they do in the Hollywood. They are more of a medley type.

Even the English movies are no way better. They are the stalwarts of the so called “cult” movies, which target a specific set of audience who are mesmerized by the director’s capabilities of narrating a simple story in a convoluted manner. There are a lot of these so called intellects floating around, David Lynch, Steven Speilberg, George Lucas to name a few. But I strongly support their movie making style, as long as they serve the ultimate purpose of entertaining the crowd.

Coming back to the movie crowd, a few of them were scurrying back home, as it was already late in the night. These guys will reserve their comments and reactions about the movie to a later point of time, as their immediate priority goes back to reach back home as soon as possible.

There were a lot of people who came in cars. They were seen honking the horns in order to get out of the traffic and move as fast as they can. Meanwhile one or two looked as though they were lost in the crowd, and were waiting for their partner to arrive. They can be observed standing under a tree and talking in the phone to the friend, giving him/her landmarks to identify the rendezvous spot.

In 10 minutes, the OAT was almost empty, with the laziest of the crowds strolling out chatting.Some of them were discussing the plot of the movie, and places where they were enthralled/ disappointed. Some others looked very tired after the two and a half hours of entertainment, and were telling his/her partner how hectic the day went, and how hectic he/she expects the next day to be, and the fact that he/she is very upset about it. And a third group, mostly couples were more interested in continuing with the flirting, which, I presume was what they were doing throughout the movie.

After everyone’s left, the staff started to close down the small tea counter outside the OAT. They closed the shutter, took their cycles and hurried back to their homes. They were more interested in reaching home as soon as possible than anything else, so were in no mood for a conversation. Finally the OAT looked very serene on that solar vapour lamp lit night.

My friends also came by then, and we started cycling back to the hostel.


After a long wait of more than three weeks, google finally gave me space for uploading a webpage.
Aah! what a relief. Now good bye to the nasty and embarassing matrimonial and job ads which keeps coming on the side panel of geocities.

Google Pages look more simple, sane (I mean it!) and has quite a lot of features that can help lazy html coders like me. In fact, you don’t need to know any html coding to create a webpage in googlepages. The edit functions are similar to the gmail which we use. For the html savvys (I hope I spelt it right!), you can directly upload the code.

Google is innovating day in day out. Googlepages rock Man! Kudos to google! Keep innovating!

To visit my webpage (I will edit the template and writeup soon) check out

First of all thank you Bhaand for tagging me after my request. Now I understand why his blog is named ask for anything 🙂

Five things I can’t live without
1. At least one call a day from an acquaintance/ relative.
2. Curd
3. Internet
4. Sleep
5. Dreams

Five movies I’d see as many times
1. Kilukkam (malayalam movie)
2. Nadodikkattu (malayalam movie).
3. One flew over the cuckoo’s nest.
4. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
5. As good as it gets.

Five places I’d love to go any day
1. Besant Nagar beach.
2. Vadakkumnathan Temple, Thrissur.
3. Guruvayoor Temple, I am an ardent devotee of Lord Krishna.
4. Kalloor, a serene place near my home town in Palakkad
5. Bangalore, for its climate.

Five places I’d love to visit
1. Antartica.
2. Times Square.
3. Darjeeling.
4. New Delhi
5. Paris

Five websites I visit day in and day out.

Five things I love doing at work.
1. Observe others at work.
2. Listen to Music.
3. Google
4. Coffee
5. Finally, of course work!

Five books I’ve loved.
1. To kill a mockingbird
2. Harry Potter series
3. Baalyakaalasakhi.
4. Khasaakkinte Ithihaasam
5. One hundred years of Solitude

Five English songs I’d listen to anyday.
1. Stairway to heaven – Led Zeppelin
2. Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen
3. November Rain- GNR
4. Comfortably Numb- Floyd
5. A day in my life- Beatles

Malayalam Songs:
1. Thumbi Vaa- Olangal
2. Ottakkambi- Thenum Vayambum
3. Manjal Prasaadavum- Nakhakshathangal
4. Akale Akale- Midumidukki
5. Ennodenthinee Pinakkam- Kaliyaattam

Five famous personalities I respect.
1. Gandhiji
2. Einstein
3. A R Rahman
4. Valentino Rossi
5. Roger Federer.

Five fictitious character I like
1. Atticus Finch
2. Lord Voldemort
3. Ursula
4. Sherlock Holmes
5. Howard Roark.

Five people I would like to tag
1. Dasan
2. Vimal
3. Vinay
4. Chinta
5. Raghu

Here is a story I got from the net. Thanks to Jefy for copying it to my comp. I tried to find out the real author of the story, but it looks as though it is an anonymous writer. Most of the pages that has listed this story points to mail forward as the source.

Neverthless, it is a good story to read. Moreover, it shows a better way to convince our parents to yield to our wish to marry a person whom we want irrespective of his/her background. 🙂

Grandmother was pretending to be lost in prayer, but her prayer-beads were spinning at top speed. That meant she was either excited or upset. Mother put the receiver down. “Some American girl in his office, she’s coming to stay with us for a week.” She sounded as if she had a deep foreboding.

Father had no such doubt. He knew the worst was to come. He had been matching horoscopes for a year, but my brother Vivek had found a million excuses for not being able to visit India, call any of the chosen Iyer girls, or in any other way advance father’s cause. Father always wore four parallel lines of sacred ash on his forehead. Now there were eight, so deep were the furrows of worry on hi s forehead. I sat in a corner, supposedly lost in a book, but furiously text-messaging my brother with a vivid description of the scene before me.

A few days later I stood outside the airport with father. He tried not to look directly at any American woman going past, and held up the card reading “Barbara”. Finally a large woman stepped out, waved wildly and shouted “Hiiii! Mr. Aayyyezh, how ARE you?” Everyone turned and looked at us. Father shrank visibly before my eyes. Barbara took three long steps and covered father in a tight embrace. Father’s jiggling out of it was too funny to watch. I could hear him whispering “Shiva Shiva!”. She shouted “you must be Vijaantee?” “Yes, Vyjayanthi” I said with a smile. I imagined little half-Indian children calling me “Vijaantee aunty!”.

Suddenly, my colourless existence in Madurai had perked up. For at least the next one week, life promised to be quite exciting.Soon we were eating lunch at home. Barbara had changed into an even shorter skirt. The low neckline of her blouse was just in line with father’s eyes. He was glaring at mother as if she had conjured up Barbara just to torture him. Barbara was asking “You only have vegetarian food? Always??” as if the idea was shocking to her. “You know what really goes well with Indian food, especially chicken? Indian beer!” she said with a pleasant smile, seemingly oblivious to the apoplexy of the gentleman in front of her, or the choking sounds coming from mother. I had to quickly duck under the table to hide my giggles. Everyone tried to get the facts without asking the one question on all our minds: What was the exact nature of the relationship between Vivek and Barbara? She brought out a laptop c omputer. “I have some pictures of Vivek” she said. All of us crowded around her. The first picture was quite innocuous. Vivek was wearing shorts and standing alone on the beach. In the next photo, he had Barbara draped all over him. She was wearing a skimpy bikini and leaning across, with her hand lovingly circling his neck. Father got up, and flicked the towel off his shoulder. It was a gesture we in the family had learned to fear. He literally ran to the door and went out. Barbara said “It must be hard for Mr. Aayyezh. He must be missing his son.” We didn’t have the heart to tell her that if said son had been within reach, father would have lovingly wrung his neck.

My parents and grandmother apparently had reached an unspoken agreement. They would deal with Vivek later. Right now Barbara was a foreigner, a lone woman, and needed t o be treated as an honoured guest. It must be said that Barbara didn’t make that one bit easy. Soon mother wore a perpetual frown. Father looked as though he could use some of that famous Indian beer. Vivek had said he would be in a conference in Guatemala all week, and would be off both phone and email. But Barbara had long lovey-dovey conversations with two other men, one man named Steve and another named Keith. The rest of us strained to hear every interesting word. “I miss you!” she said to both. She also kept talking with us about Vivek, and about the places they’d visited together. She had pictures to prove it, too. It was all very confusing.

This was the best play I’d watched in a long time. It was even better than the day my cousin ran away with a Telugu Christian girl. My aunt had come howling through the door, though I noticed that she made it to the plushest sofa before falling in a faint. Father said that if it had been his child, the door would have been forever shut in his face. Aunt promptly revived and said “You’ll know when it is your child!” How my aunt would rejoice if she knew of Barbara!

On day five of her visit, the family awoke to the awful sound of Barbara’s retching. The bathroom door was shut, the water was running, but far louder was the sound of Barbara crying and throwing up at the same time. Mother and grandmother exchanged ominous glances. Barbara came out and her face was red. “I don’t know why”, she said, “I feel queasy in the mornings now.” If she had seen as many Indian movies as I’d seen, she’d know why. Mother was standing as if turned to stone. Was she supposed to react with the compassion reserved for pregnant women? With the criticism reserved for pregnant unmarried women? With the fear reserved for pregnant unmarried foreign women who could embroil one’s son in a paternity suit? Mother, who navigated familiar flows of married life with the skill of a champion oarsman, now seemed completely taken off her moorings. She seemed to hope that if she didn’t react it might all disappear like a bad dream. I made a mental note to not leave home at all for the next week. Whatever my parents would say to Vivek when they finally got a-hold of him would be too interesting to miss. But they never got a chance. The day Barbara was to leave, we got a terse email from Vivek. “Sorry, still stuck in Guatemala. Just wanted to mention, another friend of mine, Sameera Sheikh, needs a place to stay. She’ll fly in from Hyderabad tomorrow at 10am. Sorry for the trouble.”

So there we were, father and I, with a board saying “Sameera”. At last a pretty young woman in salwar-khameez saw the board, gave the smallest of smiles, and walked quietly towards us. When she did ‘Namaste’ to father, I thought I saw his eyes mist up. She took my hand in the friendliest way and said “Hello, Vyjayanthi, I’ve heard so much about you.” I fell in love with her. In the car father was unusually friendly. She and Vivek had been in the same group of friends in Ohio University. She now worked as a Child Psychologist.

She didn’t seem to be too bad at family psychology either. She took out a shawl for grandmother, a saree for mother and Hyderabadi bangles for me.” Just some small things. I have to meet a professor at Madurai University and it’s so nice of you to let me stay” she said. Everyone cheered up. Even grandmother smiled. At lunch she said “This is so nice. When I make sambar, it comes out like chole, and my chole tastes just like sambar”.Mother was smiling. “Oh just watch for 2 days, you’ll pick it up.” Grandmother had never allowed a Muslim to enter the kitchen. But mother seemed to have taken charge, and decided she would bring in who ever she felt was worthy.

Sameera circumspectly stayed out of the puja room, but on the third day, was stunned to see father inviting her in and telling her which idols had come to him from his father. “God is one” he said. Sameera nodded sagely. By the fifth day, I could see the thought forming in the family’s collective brains. If this fellow had to choose his own bride, why couldn’t it be someone like Sameera? On the sixth day, when Vivek called from the airport saying he had cut short his Guatemala trip and was on his way home, all had a million things to discuss with him. He arrived by taxi at a time when Sameera had gone to the University. “So, how was Barbara’s visit?” he asked blithely. “How do you know her?” mother asked sternly. “She’s my secretary” he said. “She works very hard, and she’ll do anything to help.” He turned and winked at me.

Oh, I got the plot now! By the time Sameera returned home that evening, it was almost as if her joining the family was the elders’ idea. “Don’t worry about anything”, they said, “we’ll talk with your parents.”

On the wedding day a huge bouquet arrived from Barbara. “Flight to India – $1500. Indian kurta – $5. Emetic to throw up – $1.The look on your parents’ faces – priceless” it said.

This is one of the poems that I had in my 9th Standard. A beautiful one.

I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o’er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:–
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.

Fear leads to anger.
Anger leads to hate.
Hatred leads to power.
Power leads to victory.
Let your anger flow through you.
Your hate will make you strong.
True power is only achieved through
testing the limits of one’s anger,
passing through unscathed.
Rage channeled through anger is unstoppable.
The dark side of the force
offers unimaginable power.
The dark side is stronger than the light.
The weak deserve their fate.

Very true..

It looks as though I am also going to become a death eater :D.. I have always been charmed by the dark characters. If I were a sorcerer, I want to be Lord Voldemort or Snape (he is a not a dark character though ;)). In the recent malayalam movie Ananthabadram, I like the character portrayed by Manoj K Jayan. I wonder why didn’t he win the state award for the superlative performance in the movie.

My favorite pastry is Black Forest 😛

Favorite Movie of 2005, Black .

My favorite music album is Dark Side of the moon.

Dark Lord rules!

This is a Bob Dylan Song that really hooked me in. I should say Dylan is God.

Song: Jokerman
Album: Infidels (featuring Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits)

Standing on the waters casting your bread
While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.

Distant ships sailing into the mist,

You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.

Freedom just around the corner for you

But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,
You rise up and say goodbye to no one.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,

Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don’t show one.

Shedding off one more layer of skin,

Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

You’re a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds,
Manipulator of crowds, you’re a dream twister.

You’re going to Sodom and Gomorrah

But what do you care? Ain’t nobody there would want to marry your sister.

Friend to the martyr, a friend to the woman of shame,

You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

Well, the Book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy,
The law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers.

In the smoke of the twilight on a milk-white steed,

Michelangelo indeed could’ve carved out your features.

Resting in the fields, far from the turbulent space,

Half asleep near the stars with a small dog licking your face.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh. oh. oh. Jokerman.

Well, the rifleman’s stalking the sick and the lame,
Preacherman seeks the same, who’ll get there first is uncertain.

Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks,

Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain,

False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin,

Only a matter of time ’til night comes steppin’ in.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

It’s a shadowy world, skies are slippery gray,
A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet.

He’ll put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat,

Take the motherless children off the street

And place them at the feet of a harlot.

Oh, Jokerman, you know what he wants,

Oh, Jokerman, you don’t show any response.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

The other good songs of Dylan include Knocking on heaven’s door, Forever Young, Like a rollingstone, Forever Young, Mr Tambourine Man, All along the watch tower, Blowing in the wind etc.

Dylan is a must listen artist and a very safe bet.

I, along with a few friends of mine, have started a cricket blog.

Please check it out.

Cricket Talk

For the past two years, I have been a proud user of Samsung C-100 cell phone. I bought the phone for its sleek look and the clear color display. Though it has been a big let down in terms of other features, I still stuck with the phone.

Samsung phone book offers a great feature of saving more than one contact number under one name. This is a handy one, since I always had to save the different contact numbers of the same person under different names in Nokia phone, which makes the phone book very cluttered. I have been a using this facility to the maximum possible extend that sometimes I have been dumb enough to save the numbers of different people under the same name, which always ended up in a disaster.

Now coming to the disaster part, I have a friend whose name, for the time being, can be assumed as X. And I know a professor also with the same name. While saving the phone number of the professor, I saved it under the same name, and didn’t notice that both the numbers are listed under one single X.

Last week, on one of the days while I was enjoying my afternoon nap, I get a call from X. I get up, sees the name, and the immediate person that comes to my mind is my good friend X. I pick the phone, starts with a bang.
Me: Yes X, bol..
X: “Bulbs”
Me: Arey Tell daa..
X: Am I speaking to Sreejith?
Me: Yes, you are, Mr X. (putting pseude u know..)
X: Sreejith, this is Prof X here. Just wanted to talk to you about the meeting.
Me: “Bulb for two minutes.. I feel darkness inside my eyes, and suddenly my sleep ran away leaving me alone to handle this slightly confused Prof of mine.’
Me: yes sir, sorry sir, I thought it is my friend who is calling..
X: No probs, let us now discuss about the meeting..

From that moment, all my replies were formatted to the standard “Yes Sir”, and I don’t remember a single thing in the discussion. My thoughts suddenly became empty, and my memory seems to have core dumped at the right occasion (screw me..) and I had nothing to comment about his suggestions.

In the end of it, Me again: Sorry once again sir, I didn’t know it was you calling. i was expecting a call from my friend who also has the same name..
X: thats fine, may be u can do one thing, you can save my number as Prof. X instead of simply X.
Me: yes sir, I will do it now itself sir.
X: Ok then, see you, have a nice weekend ahead.
Me: yes sir, same to you sir.


And thus ends the embarrassing phone call, and God knows how will I behave the next time I meet him!

And from that day, I started hating my phone..