If AB/Aamir can find the time, why the hell can't I?!

i love AB.

having been force-fed his movies through my childhood, i had little choice in the matter. but then, there has been no one, not in Bollywood, not even in Hollywood, that can compare to the behemoth that is Bachchan. and in an industry that is dominated by cliches and stereotypes and generally, circumstances that don't necessitate a wholly pleasurable movie-going experience, it's fair to accredit the man himself with the largest share of his success.

in the recent years, since i have been more consciously following his public appearances and his words, especially as he darts in and out of political imbroglios, i am simultaneously moved and infuriated. in his inimitable style, he bows in (what seems like, mock) humility, addresses his critics and fans with the same respect, and on the sly (in a very obvious way), fires these stinkers, and always manages to walk out in quiet grandeur, leaving behind an awestruck audience.

maybe the imagery is a little overplayed, but that's how it's appeared to me, every time.

sure, i have enough cynics around me, reminding me that he is after all an actor. and how hard is it to pay someone to write up a good story? after all, it's all a part of the larger PR strategy, one is clearly in desparate need of.

but let's assume, for the sake of argument, that he is truly the man behind the words.

which is entirely believable, if you have visited his blog.

i didn't manage to read much. considering he's pretty much been writing every day, and with each post receiving anything between 200 to 1000 comments, he's probably driving several of his points to many many homes. hence the site cloggage.

yes, he has used this as a platform to unashamedly get back at his critics. critics that have been picking on his past and present political affiliations, on his daughter-in-law's astrological misfortunes, on his domicile and patriotism, and sometimes, even picking on his craft.

he does play it well. his posts often border on emotional outbursts; his fiery indignation at his detractors, and his constant over-awedness at the adulation that pours through his readers' comments. both of which keep him very human. because otherwise, he seems to be surgically tearing apart the various accusations flung at him in the media, in a language that seems to have been lost somewhere between the last 2 centuries. either he has a lawyer assisting him with his arguments, or he has been visiting brain gyms to keep his intellect alive (30 years of mindless movie making must rudely yank your IQ to subzero levels).

i visited aamir's blog too. which reminded me of certain low profile hollywood actors' blogs. who pretty much lead safe lives, and utilize the site, to wisely plug and promote their ventures. they're the new age icons, who realise their target audience no longer is dominated by Filmfare and Stardust reading aunties. this is the age of the net savvy i-gen. a fact that the sharper of our actors(atleast the only ones capable of stringing more than 5 words of english together coherently, and not fortunate enough to have prime-time slots on the weekend tv to humiliate adults) are wisening up to.

anyhow, aamir's hasn't been as much in the firing line. besides perhaps the olympic torch affair. but his style of writing is far more casual, and directed in a very business-man-like fashion. cause and effect, i suppose. which makes his writing rather bland.

as for bachchan, i wish him health, prosperity and superior internet connectivity. :-)

welcome to my home... won't you come on in?

the edge of reason isn't sharp, or even well-defined, really.
it's a blurred grey mess. and one totters through it, unaware of the dark abyss that lurks right beyond.

and to make matters worse, there is this fog of perpetual irritability, where certain words of certain people always sound like jibes... like being poked and prodded, till ultimately, one finds oneself at the edge of that edge of reason.

i've built myself a nice little den, here, at the edge of reason. i'm quite comfortable, even accustomed to the view. till someone does, or more likely, says something remarkably asinine. then it's like the wolf trying to pooh-pooh my little den down. of course, not that the wolf has any intention of causing physical damage. or that the wolf is aware of its intentions.

i didn't choose to live here. just as the wolf doesn't choose to effect in disaster in my neighbourhood. it's just an unfortunate turn of events, so no one is to be blamed.

except each other.

of assholes, opinions, and truth..

who is that guy (pardon the gender type)?

the one we collectively loath and deride in equal measure, for being so "full of himself".
he's the winner, the leader, the one who is perpetually setting the precedent. and he knows exactly where he stands. top of the heap. though we do not admit it, we know he has every right to be "full of himself".

and secretly, we wonder if that's what we're aspiring to be. if that's what it takes to be "da man" (again, pardon the gender type) in life today. shuddering, we brush that thought aside, thanking our stars that, while we may not have seen success spelt out yet, atleast we're not loathed and derided by all.

but what about that guy? does he rationalise his unpopularity on the assumption of mass jealousy, or of "the inability of people to accept those ahead of their time"? or does he simply not notice?

because there are things about myself, for instance, that i never notice. they're quite insignificant and completely irrelevant in my opinion, but i guess they might stick out like a sore thumb for others. maybe i am truly loathed and derided by all. and completely oblivious of it.

isn't it unfortunate then, that we write off these generally unpopular people, while at the same time, we continue to be written off ourselves?

isn't it unfortunate, that as we get older, and apparently wiser, our opinions get more and more rigid, when all forces of logic point towards a single, inalienable truth? - there isn't any. truth.

2008 -- the story so far...

it has been a while, and there is much that plagues the mind.

• swine replaces swine at the helm of the mothership, cracking the whip to a different beat, but a few weeks are enough for the slaves to realise that the whip is the same. only, i am increasingly of the view that a) the helm of the mothership seems to require swines. b) the swine's JD is to crack the whip. so maybe, this year, we should stop blaming the swines and whips and ships... and just get the hell out!!
• the walls of the mind crumbled to the power of the thoughts inside, and more was said to more, than these recent years had seen. the jury is still out on the merits of free speech, but there is an undeniable lightness. which is often the vacuum-like calm before the storm. or maybe it's just the tortuous burdern off the shoulder. it's so hard to tell. till it's too late.
• a cold winter night, three friends huddled together in a chorus of giggles, unbecoming of their finery, watching the fourth walk away into her future, very elegantly becoming the woman that some can imagine to be only in a parallel universe. never imagined we'd start with her. never imagined she'd pull it off so well. never imagined it would break my heart so.

but enough of the plague of the mind.

the year ahead seems exciting, having nothing to do with the above.

this is the year i shall visit london. and liverpool.

i don't know how, i don't know how MUCH. but it's just one of those things i know.

and the only way to ensure that i make the most of it, is to maintain a travelogue. which also means i need to do "interesting things" there, to make the travelogue readable of course. while i may not be able to pull off the "laptop-toting-writer-cum-tourist-in-the-street-side-cafe", and i'll probably need to carry a notebook and a camera around to keep track of places, events, and most imporantly, thoughts, i definitely think there will be enough fodder to keep this blog running for a bit. or not.

but it's worth a shot. an expensive shot, but this is the only time in my life, i think , when i can be obnoxious enough to bask in such self-importance, and pretend to be a writer, without taking anyone else's judgement too seriously.

except yours, of course.