Angadi Theru

Its been a while since I saw movies that are not mindless entertainment- I happened to see this movie almost by accident. We'd planned to see some comedy flick but run late so we went to the closest theater to take in whichever movie we could get tickets for. Well one of our group did have an idea that it was a good movie, but we were seriously debating whether to watch Clash of The Titans instead.

There is a net effect from these presets but this was a socko film. It just blew me away. This post does not purport to be a serious review; just a reaction. Just one instance to show the impact it had on me: late into the movie, the heroine is desperately trying to meet her younger sister, a household servant who is being taken to Assam with their master's family. Tension mounts as she futilely searches for her among the packed crowd at the Chennai Central platform. She bursts out crying her sister's name, and the sister appears from right behind her.

Now ordinarily I would be going "huh; how likely is that?" But so completely have I identified with the characters here, that I am almost jumping with joy instead. By this point, every tiny speck of happiness that can be guided their way, I am willing it to happen to them.

So: a little manipulative, maybe. Too tragic? Perhaps again, but only as tragic as far too many real-life stories. You can find laundry lists of sundry flaws at various other sites I am sure. But do watch this movie.

A Rose is not a Ross

Ericsson, Svensson, Samuelsson( even our very own Manuelson). I used to read right past these names and not find anything of note. Maybe learned something today when I read an article by Alda Sigmondsdottir.

Sanjoy Ghose

The Voice Stilled

I never even knew you. I did not know your name or what you looked like. Through the moving mists of memory and the fading fog of forgetfulness, I do not now remember your exact words. But you were the Voice from Lunkaransar; something I looked forward to reading, young as I was. Your despatches stood out so vividly against the fluff, yes even in the newspaper that published you.

There was a twinge when they stopped but I assumed you must have moved on to other things. Much later I found others on the web that had some of the same song. One reminded me enough of you that I decided to look you up. I looked forward to finding you. You would, surely, be a sixty-something uncle beaming not unkindly over your glasses. Maybe you blogged. Maybe I would get in touch with you.

Even halfway through the Outlook piece that first turned up, I did not, stupidly, comprehend the enormity of the tragedy they talked about. The wallop was surprisingly intense.

There is nothing I can say that others have not conveyed and a lot better. A point of light brutally extinguished. It must be escapism of the worst kind, but I want to believe you are still around. Be well Sanjoy.