It was raining hard as I drove slowly down the road heading for the Cafe. It was almost 8 at night and it had been raining for the past two hours. Traffic was sparce and hardly any pedestrians were to be seen. As I drove slowly down I remembered a similar evening. It was almost a year and a half now.
I had been married for almost two years to a girl I had been dating for a few months. My wife is pretty and smart and it was her smile that I fell in love with when I met her. Our marriage was going smoothly and none of us wanted any kids till a few years later. She had a job, I had mine. But somehow, after a few months of marriage, the chemistry between us was not working. We were becoming too involved with our own individual existence. But we rarely quarrelled and had our own sweet moments.
It was at such a juncture that I met Rebecca. She worked in the office right across mine. She was a marketing executive. We met at the local coffee shop during lunch break and hit it instantly. She had a tantalizing charm and I was my chivalrous best. Soon the meetings at the coffee shop became a regular affair. I did not turn up one day and she called me up on my cell phone to know whether I was fine. It was a great friendship and slowly it became more than that – much more than that. She became my passion, my obsession. We exchanged sms and often called each other up secretly.
I became a changed man. I was enthusiastic to go to my office for the first time in my life, spent lesser and lesser time at home, the dinners became more silent and I slept well. I began to spend time with Rebecca after work, calling up my wife to say that I had some work and would be late. Rebecca was unmarried and did not mind the fact that I was. We got drunk and things proceeded to the ultimate level. But this was to become a ritual.
But the ease with which I had got involved in the relationship with Rebecca was slowly passing. We were two months in the relationship and I was a feeling very slightly guilty about cheating on my wife. Not that I cared about her too much, now that Rebecca had completely charmed me.
It was my wife’s birthday the next day and Rebecca had also asked me to come over on the same day because she wanted to celebrate her promotion. She promised me a great time and I was looking forward to it. I had got her a necklace and was dying to see it on her neck. My wife had other plans though. She wanted to throw a small party for our close friends at 9 in the evening and Rebecca had asked me to come over at 7. Now, who is going to go to a birthday party? I told my wife that I had some work at the office that I had to finish that night and so would be late but I shall surely do my best to come home early for the celebrations.
Office got over at around 6:30 and it was a 40 minutes drive to Rebecca’s place. It was raining heavily, like it is now, and it was darker than usual. I had to drive slowly in the downpour and as I reached the main road the engine gave a grinding sound and stopped. I checked my fuel meter but it did not indicate any problem. I tried starting the car but it was no use. I got out in the pouring rain and opened the hood to check what was wrong. Smoke was coming out of the engine and there was the smell of burnt rubber and metal. I realised that it was not something I could fix by myself.
It was 7:30 already and I decided to call up Rebecca and say that I would be late, but that was not to be. I had kept my phone in my pocket and the rain water had ruined it. I was now stuck. There were no phone booths in sight and none of the cabs that passed me were empty. I could not even call the garage. I was soaking wet by now and did not want to get into the car as it would ruin the new seat covers that I had installed. I stood there outside my car trying to figure out my next plan of action – how do I reach Rebecca’s place or inform her.
A car screeched to a halt a few meters ahead of me and them reversed to where I was standing. The window rolled down to reveal a friend. He offered to give me a ride – home! He did not even ask me whether I wanted to go home and I refrained from speaking my mind.
Drenched to my bone, I reached my home at around quarter to nine. My wife was clearly very pleased to see me. She looked at the packet under my arm and asked, “Is that my gift?”
I fumbled and handed the packet over to her. I did not know what else to do. I was not prepared to meet my wife. She opened the packet and found the necklace that I had planned to give Rebecca.
Her joy knew no bound. This was the first gift I was giving to her for months.
“It is very beautiful. You got this for me?”
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like it? I love it. Thank you so much.” And she gave me a tight hug, as she had never done. She held my hands and said, “I have something to tell you. Come with me.”
She led me to the bedroom, made me sit down on the bed and stood in front of me. Looking at me long and hard she said, “I know you have been having a relationship with another woman for sometime now.”
I gulped. I had been caught. This was the end of it all. Why was I such a fool? Why did I have to run after another woman when I already love my wife? She was standing there right in front of me, looking gorgeous in her blue dress and somehow I did not want to lose her now. I felt so guilty that I prayed the earth would swallow me. I tried to speak, tried to tell her that I was sorry, that I loved her – but no sound came out.
“You had been acting weirdly for the past two months and I suspected that something was wrong. Then when you started staying late in the office regularly my suspicion rose. I called your office five different days and every time they told me that you had left a long time back. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw you in the evening one day with a woman with your arm around her. I even saw the sms she sent you yesterday asking you to come over this evening. So I decided to test your love for me. If you had not come home for my birthday you would have had it from me. But since it seems you still love me and care for me enough to leave that woman and come for my birthday party, and cared to buy such a lovely gift, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself and come back to me. Look dear, I love you. I really do. What is wrong with us that you need another woman in your life?”
I was speechless. I somehow felt very guilty and relieved at the same time. I held her close to me and professed my love and told her how sorry I was. I asked her to give me another chance and told her that I would break up with Rebecca the next day. We cried together and I had never felt happier with my wife. The birthday party was just so great. I could not take my eyes off my lovely, amazing wife. Destiny had averted a catastrophe and I thanked the powers to be for saving our marriage. I broke up with Rebecca the next morning and never met her or called her again.
That was almost a year and a half ago on a night like this. I am still with my wife, who has now gone to her parents house for a few days, and I still love her. I drive slowly towards the cafe which is still a few kilometres away. A woman is waiting for me there. Her name is Alice and she is just gorgeous. She is witty and has mesmerized me. My wife does not know about it, I am sure. At least I have learnt something from my last mistakes.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Was It Me or Was It Her
Relationships have always puzzled me. They have rules and yet they have none. There is trust and yet there is mistrust. I have been in two relationships and I still have not figured out how to make them work. I have seen some of my friends balancing their relationships with their girlfriends and wives so beautifully; some have even had two or more simultaneous relationships and they have never failed. But I somehow have not been able to get a hang of things.
My first relationship was weird. The girl was a sweet girl, about my age. I was about to complete my schooling and had a lot of friends. Almost everyone had a girlfriend or more and they used to sneek out to meet them. I used to be the lookout. It had been going on for years and I decided that it was time I had a girlfriend. I knew this girl and thought that she was cute and proposed to her one evening. She did not say a ‘yes’ right then but every indication was towards it. So we started meeting and secretly calling.
The first few weeks were exciting, then it was okay and then it began to become a burden. I was not ready to miss my football games in the evening with my friends just to meet her and talk to her. And very soon I did not have anything to talk to her about except our parents and some common friends and even this became very boring after some time. So I decided that it was time to quit and conveyed the message to her. But she was not ready for it and she cried and I decided that I should give it another chance.
But it was not to be. I gave the proposal of quitting a number of times but everytime she cried and I decided to give it another chance. Finally I decided to call it quits and walked out of the relationship with her screaming abuses at me. I deserved it but we were not meant to be. That was that.
After that I had a crush on every girl I met. There have been so many girls I had a crush on that I do not even remember 90% of their names or faces. I went to college and then to university and then got a job and I still was having crushes when I met my wife-to-be.
My wife is a beautiful girl. I have not seen anyone prettier than her. She is fairer than the moon and her hair is darker than the darkest night. Her eyes sparkle when she talks and her laughter is like the gurgling of a spring fountain. She has a mischievous smile that always has its effect on me. She is intelligent and very sharp.
I met her at my friend’s party and had a crush on her the moment she smiled at me. But I dismissed the incident as just another crush that was to pass within a day or two. But days rolled into weeks and weeks into months and I knew I was in love with her. After I met her, I have not had a crush on any other girl – except movie stars. I courted her for a few months. All my friends said that it was too short a time to know anyone but I was in love. Madly in love. And out of sheer madness for her, I asked her to marry me. She agreed and we got married. We had an amazing honeymoon and the first few months of the marriage was brilliant. I was living my dream. Everything was happening as I wanted them to be. But things have a mind of their own and everything would not be the same for long.
One day she was supposed to wait for me at the mall. I was to meet her there after my office got over. I completed my work before time and left the office a bit early so that she would not have to wait for long. I got my car and drove off in the direction of the mall which was about 40 minutes drive away from my office. Everything was going well when all of a sudden the engine of my car sputtered and my car came to a grinding halt. Even with my best efforts I could not start the engine.
I am not a mechanic so I gave up trying to figure out what was wrong and soon gave up trying to start the engine. I was stranded in the middle of a kilometre and a half flyover. I decided to call a cab but all the cabs that passed my way was occupied. Then I tried to hitch a ride but that failed too. Finally, I called up the local garage and asked them to haul my car and walked to the nearest bus stand which was a kilometre away and reached the mall an hour and a half late.
True to her word, my wife was waiting for me at the shop she mentioned. She gave me the look that meant that she would eat me alive if only she was cannibal enough. She pouted her lips and led me to a corner and said to me in a suppressed angry voice, “You are late!”
“I know baby, I am late. I am so sorry but my car broke down and I could not get transport.”
“Don’t call me baby! I am not your baby! And don’t give me those lame excuses. You are late.”
“But my car really broke down. Call the garage and see for yourself.”
“Don’t give me that crap! You could have taken a cab if you had wanted.”
“I tried that but it was in the middle of a flyover and none was available.”
“Don’t you tell me all those stories. You could have got transportation only if you had wanted. But you do not care about me. So I guess it is fine!”
She left me there speechless and walked away still pouting.
I never served myself at dinner or at lunch. It was always her. I used to sit at the table while she served the rice and the other dishes. But I did wait till she had served herself too before I started. Seeing me wait for her she always used to cock her left eye and say “Should I also feed you?” But over time she began to be irritated by it. There was another incident I remember.
It was winter. We had gone out for a walk one Sunday and I had lent her my hooded jumper as she was feeling chilly. She always used to pull the hood on when she wore a jumper. This time also she did the same. I did not give that jumper for washing and it was a few days later when she stormed into the bedroom at night holding my jumper. Her face was red and I knew instantly that something was wrong. She held the jumper under my nose and said, “What is this?”
“This is my jumper,” I replied.
This made her more angry. Pointing at a strand of hair she said, “Whose hair is this?”
I was a little taken aback and said, “How should I know whose hair is this?”
“Don’t lie to me! This is the hair of a girl. I know it! Whose hair is this?”
“I don’t know. I have not been with any woman lately.”
“WHAT! You have been with other women earlier!?”
“No! No! I mean I have not been near enough to a woman that her hair would cling to my jumper.”
She refused to believe me and said, “Please tell me, are you seeing anyone else?”
I was shocked. I said, “No, absolutely not! It must be your hair.”
She took the strand of hair in her fingers and minutely examined it for a few minutes, which seemed like eternity to me. I did not know what I was to expect next.
Examination complete, she looked at me and said, “It is my hair, but how come it is on your jumper? You have not cleaned your jumper have you?”
“It has been a few days since I last gave it for washing.”
“You dirty pig!” She pouted her lips, got up and left the room.
I did not know what to make of it. I was not at all prepared for the double assault.
It was not that she suspected any infidelity. It was just her way of showing her possessiveness. She did not mind my ogling at young girls or flirting with a few in front of her. She even encouraged and teased me. She also had her crushes, especially fair, clean shaven men with glasses were her favourites. Needless to say, I hated them. I guess this was a result of us not getting into fights. I could not quarrel or fight with her. I had a tough time counteracting her verbal salvos, but the most devastating effect was her eyes which sparkled whenever she quarrelled – and that mesmerises me. I could not fight after that so I used to give up very easily. But I was a pain to her too. I used to agree to something that I did not like just to avoid a fight, and when the time came, I did what I felt right. This infuriated her. People always saw her screaming at me or fighting with me but never saw the underhands I played her. Obviously they called her a bitch.
I still remember that day. I had just come out of the shower and was getting ready to go to a friend’s place. She borrowed my cell phone to message a friend of her’s. I was combing my hair when she said, “What is this?”
I turned around and she held out my phone. I took it from her and read a message I had sent to my secretary in which I had called her ‘sweetheart’. My secretary was a young woman, not that attractive but efficient. My wife knew that I called almost everyone a sweetheart but I expected an explosion, as that was her nature.
I fumbled a bit for words and did my explaining, bracing myself for the onslaught.
But the onslaught never came.
She said, “Oh!” Took back the phone, sent her sms and walked out of the room.
Then and there I knew something was wrong. I pestered her to tell me what was wrong but she always said that everything was fine.
But from that day she started becoming cold towards me and became irritable.
The final nail in the coffin was my stroke. We had gone out for dinner with a mutual friend of ours. She is a very close friend of my wife’s and the sister of my friend. At the table the discussion turned to having babies. This friend said that a woman needs to exercise regularly to stay fit and that my wife should also exercise (my wife is averse to exercising, yet she has a good figure). I agreed on this point and made the most humiliating comment of all. I said that if my wife does not exercise she will not have a proper delivery and we will not have a healthy child. I realised my mistake only when I looked at her face. She was looking out of the window with her face red in anger and embarrassment. If I have to ever change anything in my past, it would be to rectify this event. It does not matter how sorry I am for what I did, the fact remains that I did it and I cannot undo it.
I tried many ways to make her happy but all of them backfired. She slowly lost interest in me and began to be irritated by everything I did. I had grand plans for us but these became grand failures both due to my mistiming and due to circumstances. In the end she said that she needed space. But the space she needed could only be achieved in a new house and she left the house and filed for divorce.
I realized that I was losing her. So I begged her to stay but she could not stand me any longer. My friends and her friends told me that it was unmanly for me to beg her to come back, but she was MY wife, not theirs. I love her and could not let her go so easily. So I tried, but failed. I soon realised that she did not want me in her life in any way, so I decided to push her away. I called her up and sent her messages to irritate her and she called me names. But after everything, I succeeded in making her hate me. She said that she never loved me but I know that she did and she knows that she did.
We got divorced a few weeks back and now I am in a contemplative mood. The divorce was mutual as we both did not want a court case. The property was divided and things did not go out of hand till later. I still love my wife, still remember her smile and laugh. I remember the promise I made to her that I shall never make her cry and protect her and how miserably I have failed at that. Most people around me blame her for the fiasco but they do not know the whole story.I had become too possessive and stifled her. I was obsessed with her. I trusted a few friends and told them the story but they were too eager to fabricate it and spread it to portray her in a bad light. I have maintained my distance from them.
But I still wonder, after knowing everything, what exactly went wrong? Was I not suited for her or was she not suited for me or was the timing wrong? She once told me that I know how to love but had no clue about how to be loved. I love her, I love her madly. I really do. Thank goodness we did not have children; the separation would have been much more painful. She loves children.
My first relationship was weird. The girl was a sweet girl, about my age. I was about to complete my schooling and had a lot of friends. Almost everyone had a girlfriend or more and they used to sneek out to meet them. I used to be the lookout. It had been going on for years and I decided that it was time I had a girlfriend. I knew this girl and thought that she was cute and proposed to her one evening. She did not say a ‘yes’ right then but every indication was towards it. So we started meeting and secretly calling.
The first few weeks were exciting, then it was okay and then it began to become a burden. I was not ready to miss my football games in the evening with my friends just to meet her and talk to her. And very soon I did not have anything to talk to her about except our parents and some common friends and even this became very boring after some time. So I decided that it was time to quit and conveyed the message to her. But she was not ready for it and she cried and I decided that I should give it another chance.
But it was not to be. I gave the proposal of quitting a number of times but everytime she cried and I decided to give it another chance. Finally I decided to call it quits and walked out of the relationship with her screaming abuses at me. I deserved it but we were not meant to be. That was that.
After that I had a crush on every girl I met. There have been so many girls I had a crush on that I do not even remember 90% of their names or faces. I went to college and then to university and then got a job and I still was having crushes when I met my wife-to-be.
My wife is a beautiful girl. I have not seen anyone prettier than her. She is fairer than the moon and her hair is darker than the darkest night. Her eyes sparkle when she talks and her laughter is like the gurgling of a spring fountain. She has a mischievous smile that always has its effect on me. She is intelligent and very sharp.
I met her at my friend’s party and had a crush on her the moment she smiled at me. But I dismissed the incident as just another crush that was to pass within a day or two. But days rolled into weeks and weeks into months and I knew I was in love with her. After I met her, I have not had a crush on any other girl – except movie stars. I courted her for a few months. All my friends said that it was too short a time to know anyone but I was in love. Madly in love. And out of sheer madness for her, I asked her to marry me. She agreed and we got married. We had an amazing honeymoon and the first few months of the marriage was brilliant. I was living my dream. Everything was happening as I wanted them to be. But things have a mind of their own and everything would not be the same for long.
One day she was supposed to wait for me at the mall. I was to meet her there after my office got over. I completed my work before time and left the office a bit early so that she would not have to wait for long. I got my car and drove off in the direction of the mall which was about 40 minutes drive away from my office. Everything was going well when all of a sudden the engine of my car sputtered and my car came to a grinding halt. Even with my best efforts I could not start the engine.
I am not a mechanic so I gave up trying to figure out what was wrong and soon gave up trying to start the engine. I was stranded in the middle of a kilometre and a half flyover. I decided to call a cab but all the cabs that passed my way was occupied. Then I tried to hitch a ride but that failed too. Finally, I called up the local garage and asked them to haul my car and walked to the nearest bus stand which was a kilometre away and reached the mall an hour and a half late.
True to her word, my wife was waiting for me at the shop she mentioned. She gave me the look that meant that she would eat me alive if only she was cannibal enough. She pouted her lips and led me to a corner and said to me in a suppressed angry voice, “You are late!”
“I know baby, I am late. I am so sorry but my car broke down and I could not get transport.”
“Don’t call me baby! I am not your baby! And don’t give me those lame excuses. You are late.”
“But my car really broke down. Call the garage and see for yourself.”
“Don’t give me that crap! You could have taken a cab if you had wanted.”
“I tried that but it was in the middle of a flyover and none was available.”
“Don’t you tell me all those stories. You could have got transportation only if you had wanted. But you do not care about me. So I guess it is fine!”
She left me there speechless and walked away still pouting.
I never served myself at dinner or at lunch. It was always her. I used to sit at the table while she served the rice and the other dishes. But I did wait till she had served herself too before I started. Seeing me wait for her she always used to cock her left eye and say “Should I also feed you?” But over time she began to be irritated by it. There was another incident I remember.
It was winter. We had gone out for a walk one Sunday and I had lent her my hooded jumper as she was feeling chilly. She always used to pull the hood on when she wore a jumper. This time also she did the same. I did not give that jumper for washing and it was a few days later when she stormed into the bedroom at night holding my jumper. Her face was red and I knew instantly that something was wrong. She held the jumper under my nose and said, “What is this?”
“This is my jumper,” I replied.
This made her more angry. Pointing at a strand of hair she said, “Whose hair is this?”
I was a little taken aback and said, “How should I know whose hair is this?”
“Don’t lie to me! This is the hair of a girl. I know it! Whose hair is this?”
“I don’t know. I have not been with any woman lately.”
“WHAT! You have been with other women earlier!?”
“No! No! I mean I have not been near enough to a woman that her hair would cling to my jumper.”
She refused to believe me and said, “Please tell me, are you seeing anyone else?”
I was shocked. I said, “No, absolutely not! It must be your hair.”
She took the strand of hair in her fingers and minutely examined it for a few minutes, which seemed like eternity to me. I did not know what I was to expect next.
Examination complete, she looked at me and said, “It is my hair, but how come it is on your jumper? You have not cleaned your jumper have you?”
“It has been a few days since I last gave it for washing.”
“You dirty pig!” She pouted her lips, got up and left the room.
I did not know what to make of it. I was not at all prepared for the double assault.
It was not that she suspected any infidelity. It was just her way of showing her possessiveness. She did not mind my ogling at young girls or flirting with a few in front of her. She even encouraged and teased me. She also had her crushes, especially fair, clean shaven men with glasses were her favourites. Needless to say, I hated them. I guess this was a result of us not getting into fights. I could not quarrel or fight with her. I had a tough time counteracting her verbal salvos, but the most devastating effect was her eyes which sparkled whenever she quarrelled – and that mesmerises me. I could not fight after that so I used to give up very easily. But I was a pain to her too. I used to agree to something that I did not like just to avoid a fight, and when the time came, I did what I felt right. This infuriated her. People always saw her screaming at me or fighting with me but never saw the underhands I played her. Obviously they called her a bitch.
I still remember that day. I had just come out of the shower and was getting ready to go to a friend’s place. She borrowed my cell phone to message a friend of her’s. I was combing my hair when she said, “What is this?”
I turned around and she held out my phone. I took it from her and read a message I had sent to my secretary in which I had called her ‘sweetheart’. My secretary was a young woman, not that attractive but efficient. My wife knew that I called almost everyone a sweetheart but I expected an explosion, as that was her nature.
I fumbled a bit for words and did my explaining, bracing myself for the onslaught.
But the onslaught never came.
She said, “Oh!” Took back the phone, sent her sms and walked out of the room.
Then and there I knew something was wrong. I pestered her to tell me what was wrong but she always said that everything was fine.
But from that day she started becoming cold towards me and became irritable.
The final nail in the coffin was my stroke. We had gone out for dinner with a mutual friend of ours. She is a very close friend of my wife’s and the sister of my friend. At the table the discussion turned to having babies. This friend said that a woman needs to exercise regularly to stay fit and that my wife should also exercise (my wife is averse to exercising, yet she has a good figure). I agreed on this point and made the most humiliating comment of all. I said that if my wife does not exercise she will not have a proper delivery and we will not have a healthy child. I realised my mistake only when I looked at her face. She was looking out of the window with her face red in anger and embarrassment. If I have to ever change anything in my past, it would be to rectify this event. It does not matter how sorry I am for what I did, the fact remains that I did it and I cannot undo it.
I tried many ways to make her happy but all of them backfired. She slowly lost interest in me and began to be irritated by everything I did. I had grand plans for us but these became grand failures both due to my mistiming and due to circumstances. In the end she said that she needed space. But the space she needed could only be achieved in a new house and she left the house and filed for divorce.
I realized that I was losing her. So I begged her to stay but she could not stand me any longer. My friends and her friends told me that it was unmanly for me to beg her to come back, but she was MY wife, not theirs. I love her and could not let her go so easily. So I tried, but failed. I soon realised that she did not want me in her life in any way, so I decided to push her away. I called her up and sent her messages to irritate her and she called me names. But after everything, I succeeded in making her hate me. She said that she never loved me but I know that she did and she knows that she did.
We got divorced a few weeks back and now I am in a contemplative mood. The divorce was mutual as we both did not want a court case. The property was divided and things did not go out of hand till later. I still love my wife, still remember her smile and laugh. I remember the promise I made to her that I shall never make her cry and protect her and how miserably I have failed at that. Most people around me blame her for the fiasco but they do not know the whole story.I had become too possessive and stifled her. I was obsessed with her. I trusted a few friends and told them the story but they were too eager to fabricate it and spread it to portray her in a bad light. I have maintained my distance from them.
But I still wonder, after knowing everything, what exactly went wrong? Was I not suited for her or was she not suited for me or was the timing wrong? She once told me that I know how to love but had no clue about how to be loved. I love her, I love her madly. I really do. Thank goodness we did not have children; the separation would have been much more painful. She loves children.
Carice van Houten
Carice van Houten is a Dutch actress who is known for her acting in Black Book, Valkyrie, Repo Men and Undercover Kitty. She has won 8 awards and 7 nominations.
Black Book (2006)
The lead role of Rachel Stein, who takes up the name Ellis de Vries, is beautifully portrayed by Carice van Houten. She looks stunning in the movie. Sebastian Koch as Captain Ludwig Muntze of the German SD is okay. The story is well rounded with no trailing edges. All in all, it is a really good movie, worth a watch with English subtitles (the movie is in Dutch and German). The movie portrays vividly the nature of the people, who had been suppressed by the Germans, when they get freedom and have the people who oppressed them under their power. The viciousness of human nature is very well portrayed. The movie takes a very human look at the Second World War and its actors at a very local level.
This movie is worth a watch for its story and its execution, the brilliant acting of Carice van Houten, or simply because she looks so amazing in the movie. But do not watch this with your parents.
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Post Grad
Alexis Bledel reminds almost every post grad like me about the dilemma we are in after our graduation. She is very pretty and is able to carry out her role well.
The movie is a very decent one with a simple story line which tells us to follow our heart. The family of the girl forms the centre of humour in the movie. The family members and their own problems is an entertainment to watch. Most of the characters are well sketched but I think the Brazillian advertising neighbour could have been done away with.
Post Grad is a light movie that you can watch just to feel good. It has a few scenes that will make you laugh and some scenes which will make sensitive people, like one of my friends, cry. Hope you like the movie. I liked it, especially Alexis. She is just so pretty with her deep blue eyes.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Fast Five
It was last weekend that I watched Fast and the Furious 5 or Fast Five. If you ask me how it is, I would say I liked the previous ones better. But if you ask me whether you should pay to watch the movie, I would say go ahead and pay. It is worth a watch at a theatre. The movie loses half of its charm without the sound effect.
The movie is not for people who watch serious or intellectually motivating movies. Fast Five is sheer entertainment and should be watched like one. The special effects are brilliant and the stunts are simply superhuman.
Vin Diesel with his deep voice grabs your attention as usual and Paul Walker does his bit to support him. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is all muscle and he plays his role well. The glamour aspect is fully loaded with Jordana Brewster, Elsa Pataky and Gal Gadot. All the three look stunningly beautiful.
I expected a lot of car chases but Fast Five has quite a bit of gun battle, chases through the city of Rio De Janeiro or should I say over the rooftops and a grand car chase at the end. But the best thing I liked about the movie was the view of the city of Rio De Janeiro.
At the end of it all, I would just like to say that you should watch this movie. It is pure entertainment and loads of action.
The movie is not for people who watch serious or intellectually motivating movies. Fast Five is sheer entertainment and should be watched like one. The special effects are brilliant and the stunts are simply superhuman.
Vin Diesel with his deep voice grabs your attention as usual and Paul Walker does his bit to support him. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is all muscle and he plays his role well. The glamour aspect is fully loaded with Jordana Brewster, Elsa Pataky and Gal Gadot. All the three look stunningly beautiful.
I expected a lot of car chases but Fast Five has quite a bit of gun battle, chases through the city of Rio De Janeiro or should I say over the rooftops and a grand car chase at the end. But the best thing I liked about the movie was the view of the city of Rio De Janeiro.
At the end of it all, I would just like to say that you should watch this movie. It is pure entertainment and loads of action.
Phas Gaya Re Obama
It is not everyday that one comes across a movie, especially a Bollywood one, that makes you sit up and listen to each and every dialogue delivered. I, myself, am not very fond of the hackneyed plots and dances that characterizes the Bollywood film industry of today. So it was with a lot of cynicism, and actually out of boredom, that I sat down to watch the movie Phas Gaya Re Obama. It was initially the unique name that had attracted me to the movie, but there was much more to the movie that held my attention.
Directed by Subhash Kapoor, Phas Gaya Re Obama (2010) is not a mainstream production and does not boast of the page 3 touted Bollywood greats. The movie is about an NRI (Rajat Kapoor) from the USA, who returns to India to sell his ancestral house, as he has lost all his money in the recession. But his arrival raises the hopes of a failed crimal who kidnapps him thinking that he is rich enough to pay a hefty ransom. But other criminals also have plans for him.
The plot is not very complex and it is this simplicity that gives it a brilliant flavor. The story is humorous and the whole movie creates a brilliant ambience by the breathtaking performance of the actors. Neha Dhupia, who does not attract as much publicity as the other actresses, is at her best in this movie in the role of a lady mafia. Her dialogue delivery, her gestures and her stance helps her blend with the character perfectly. Supporting her in the leading role is Rajat Kapoor, another under-utilized actor in mainstream Bollywood productions. His acting is natural and he blends easily with the character of the NRI. Providing a classic comic relief is the gifted actor, Sanjay Mishra. He plays the role of the failed criminal who kidnaps the NRI. The accent, the costume and the simpleton nature of his character is sure to make the audience roll into fits of laughter. His is a memorable character.
I have watched a lot of movies and have a large collection of them. One thing I have noticed is that most of the movies that have been acclaimed as great follow a simple narrative, with a simple and straightforward plot, examples include Sholay, Sound of Music and Cinema Paradiso. Phas Gaya Re Obama, according to me, falls under the category of ‘great’. It is not just the simple narrative or the plot, but because of the fact that it enlivens the viewers and make them want more. After the movie, everyone is left with something to ponder and I am sure that if you understand Hindi, you would want to memorize a few of the dialogues. This is what makes the movie great.
The director has done a brilliant job in selecting the cast and in the way he has portrayed the mindset of the rural society and their conception of the USA. The scene where the English teacher in the rural village break out into a verbal bashing in English is memorable and a brilliant example of how English is spoken by many Indians all over the country.
That Bollywood directors and actors still have the talent to turn a simple tale into something immortal, has been proved by Phas Gaya Re Obama. Many critics may say that I am going overboard with my praises but I believe that I still have not done enough justice to the quality of the movie. If someone asks me which Hindi movies he or she should watch, Phas Gaya Re Obama will be only second to Sholay.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Stereotyping Local Football in Bengal
When I talk about local football, I do not mean the clubs in Kolkata or anywhere else who have professional teams. I am talking about teams that are seasonal, made up of people who have other sources of income but are very enthusiastic about participating in local championships. These seasonal teams increase in number before, during and after a football world cup. I am going to talk about the characteristic features of such teams.
The main feature of these teams is that they are seasonal. You will rarely find two players together after the football season is over – football season here lasts from May to August. They often assemble at the club but never to practice or play football.
Most of the players consider themselves to be better than Pele or Maradona. One can often hear them boast about their prowess on the field and what they could have done in a specific situation. They believe themselves too talented to practice with the rest. They just stand about boasting to a newcomer and showing off their ball juggling skills.
The others in the team, who do not consider themselves masters of the game, go about doing rigorous exercise routines – running a number of laps, stretching and bending and doing all sorts of exercise – so that when the game starts, they are too tired to play! They are the ones who are blamed for all goof-ups on the field – doesn’t matter whether it is their fault. They are the ones over whom the masters in the team exercise their superiority. Some of the greats in the team often take pity on the not-so-gifted ones and offers a lot of advice on how to run, how to kick, how to jump, and basically how to do anything and everything. These advice are always unsolicited.
Now let us come to a match they play. The game starts off with a lot of pace. Players run all over the place in a group surrounding the ball. If the ball is at one corner of the field, almost all the 22 players gravitate towards that corner. This assemblage follows the ball wherever it goes. There is no concept of opening the field or taking positions. There is also no concept of team-spirit. If one player gets the ball, he will dodge and dribble until somebody takes away the ball or someone trips him; he only passes the ball when he sees there is really nowhere to go. Most of the time these passes are impossible to receive, but if the one to whom the ball is passed cannot receive it – because it is almost impossible – it is always his fault and never the fault of the one who passed it in the first place. But.... there is an exception to this rule – it is never the fault of the greats and always the fault of the minions.
Coming to the goalkeeper – well, he rarely dives; he just stretches his hands and feet. You cannot blame him because the soil near the goalpost is always bare and without any trace of grass. No one in their sane minds would dive on a surface like that unless he is wearing an armour. Most of the goalkeepers cannot kick a ball and so they need what we locally call a ‘backie’. A backie is generally someone who plays in the defence position and does all the goalkicks.
The forward or the striker positions are generally reserved for the greats. They run little and are too busy showing off their skills instead of playing. All they do is shout and scream at everyone on the team whenever they miss a pass or they themselves fail to receive one. They are always busy pointing out mistakes. Once the ball goes out of their feet, they refuse to chase it. And if by chance they score a goal, by God, you should see them celebrate and boast. Even when a minion scores a goal, the greats pat his back and go about boasting how it would have not been possible without their superb play.
All said and done, a local team is nothing but a goalkeeper and 10 strikers. Everyone in the team is a striker and tries to score a goal. There is no concept of a defender or flanks or midfielder. Everyone is a forward.
But it is a great fun watching these teams play. They will always cheer you up because of their antics. I love these teams and their players. It is because of them that the game of football is still so alive and popular in Bengal.
The main feature of these teams is that they are seasonal. You will rarely find two players together after the football season is over – football season here lasts from May to August. They often assemble at the club but never to practice or play football.
Most of the players consider themselves to be better than Pele or Maradona. One can often hear them boast about their prowess on the field and what they could have done in a specific situation. They believe themselves too talented to practice with the rest. They just stand about boasting to a newcomer and showing off their ball juggling skills.
The others in the team, who do not consider themselves masters of the game, go about doing rigorous exercise routines – running a number of laps, stretching and bending and doing all sorts of exercise – so that when the game starts, they are too tired to play! They are the ones who are blamed for all goof-ups on the field – doesn’t matter whether it is their fault. They are the ones over whom the masters in the team exercise their superiority. Some of the greats in the team often take pity on the not-so-gifted ones and offers a lot of advice on how to run, how to kick, how to jump, and basically how to do anything and everything. These advice are always unsolicited.
Now let us come to a match they play. The game starts off with a lot of pace. Players run all over the place in a group surrounding the ball. If the ball is at one corner of the field, almost all the 22 players gravitate towards that corner. This assemblage follows the ball wherever it goes. There is no concept of opening the field or taking positions. There is also no concept of team-spirit. If one player gets the ball, he will dodge and dribble until somebody takes away the ball or someone trips him; he only passes the ball when he sees there is really nowhere to go. Most of the time these passes are impossible to receive, but if the one to whom the ball is passed cannot receive it – because it is almost impossible – it is always his fault and never the fault of the one who passed it in the first place. But.... there is an exception to this rule – it is never the fault of the greats and always the fault of the minions.
Coming to the goalkeeper – well, he rarely dives; he just stretches his hands and feet. You cannot blame him because the soil near the goalpost is always bare and without any trace of grass. No one in their sane minds would dive on a surface like that unless he is wearing an armour. Most of the goalkeepers cannot kick a ball and so they need what we locally call a ‘backie’. A backie is generally someone who plays in the defence position and does all the goalkicks.
The forward or the striker positions are generally reserved for the greats. They run little and are too busy showing off their skills instead of playing. All they do is shout and scream at everyone on the team whenever they miss a pass or they themselves fail to receive one. They are always busy pointing out mistakes. Once the ball goes out of their feet, they refuse to chase it. And if by chance they score a goal, by God, you should see them celebrate and boast. Even when a minion scores a goal, the greats pat his back and go about boasting how it would have not been possible without their superb play.
All said and done, a local team is nothing but a goalkeeper and 10 strikers. Everyone in the team is a striker and tries to score a goal. There is no concept of a defender or flanks or midfielder. Everyone is a forward.
But it is a great fun watching these teams play. They will always cheer you up because of their antics. I love these teams and their players. It is because of them that the game of football is still so alive and popular in Bengal.
Thursday, 2 June 2011
30 Seconds to Fame
I have been playing football for a long time, ever since I could run. There is this small club right across the road – Sunday Club – and everyone in the locality was a member of it. I officially started football practice with them when I was just 6 years old. We used to play in the field behind our house.
Everyone who practiced was older than me and the youngest was 4 years older than me. But they allowed me to practice with them nonetheless. I used to run with them, do stretchings and the exercises, but when they used to start playing they never took me in the team and made me shoot footballs at a goalpost drawn on a wall or dribble it past a series of cones. I used to cry and crib a lot to allow me to play with the senior boys but the coach, Bappa, never allowed me saying that I would get hurt and then my mother would break his leg. Bappa was not too old, rather, he was quite young, just out of college, but he looked very big to me then.
When I had practiced with them for a year, Bappa allowed me to play with them. I rarely got the ball and I was pushed around on the field but everyone took care not to hurt me – not because they feared that my mother would break their legs but because they were quite fond of me, I being the youngest. But I learnt a lot from them – how to pass a ball, how to kick a ball so that it flew up or swerved, how to massage thigh and calf muscles, how to whistle, how to call a referee names from the sidelines, how to wear a shirt with the collar up, how to steal guavas undetected, how to catch dragonflies, and innumerable other things.
I got my first professional break when I was 9. Bappa told us at practice that we were to play against the Nagarjun Athletics Club the next day and got the team ready, deciding who would play at which position and the strategy to be followed. At the end of it all he came up to me, put his hands on my shoulder, looked into my eyes and said, “How would you like to be on the team as a substitute? If you want to play as a substitute, ask permission from your parents and be on the field at 4 o’clock in the evening and we shall leave at 4:30.” I have rarely been so excited in my life. It was like a dream come true. My mother was a bit skeptical but my father allowed me to go.
So at 4 I was on the field. Others had come by then and a few were yet to come. Bappa came with a large packet. In it were our jerseys. Before distributing the jerseys, he called me and said that since I was the youngest in the team and it was my debut, I should get my jersey first. He then presented me with my first ever jersey. It was a #20 jersey, yellow in colour with Sunday Club printed across the chest in black and my name across the back, arching over the number. It was beautiful. Everyone told me that I was looking like a real footballer now.
Our only means of transport was bicycles, so everyone got onto someone’s cycle – I sat proudly on the bar of Bappa’s cycle – and we left for Nagarjun Athletic Club’s field where the match was to be played.
A small crowd had gathered around the field to watch the match. Their coach received us and showed us where we could keep our stuff. We quickly changed into our football gear as Bappa kept rehearsing strategies.
At the whistle from the referee the first eleven from both the teams took to the field and after proper rituals took their respective sides of the field. We made ourselves comfortable on the sidelines, Bappa standing on the sideline with his legs slightly apart and hand at his back, looking like Napoleon over his army.
The whistle blew and the game began.
It was quite a fast paced game and we dominated it from the beginning. Bappa kept shouting instructions from the sidelines, trying to out-shout the rival coach. We scored the first goal in the first half and was leading by a goal when the whistle blew for half-time.
There was water and glucose to be given to each player, who sat down in a circle while Bappa went about criticizing everyone and showing his disappointment at their poor performance.
“One goal! Just one goal! With a team like this! Why are you not passing the ball, Tony? And Rabi, why are you letting that #10 get past you? And what about you Gopal? When are you ever going to shoot the ball? When you are married?”
This went on till the whistle blew again and the second half started. We were able to score two more goals and the match was safely on our side. Five more minutes were left for the game to end when Bappa decided that it was time for me to get some real action. He called for a substitution and I went in. He just told me:
“Do not keep the ball with you for too long and just pass it, keep passing it. You will do well.”
I ran into the field and one of my team mates patted my back and wished me luck. It felt so great. I felt so very important, as if the whole responsibility of the world was on my shoulders. I play on the right side of the field, in the right-out position. I ran without the ball for sometime, always keeping an eye on the ball and the rival players near me, and all of a sudden it happened – the ball was passed to me! I received the ball with my right foot and began running. I dribbled around a rival player and heard applauses and claps around me. Then I saw one of my mates in the open and passed the ball. But at that instant there was a cry from my mates and from the corner of my eye saw a fairly large rival player hurtling towards me.
The ball had left my feet but the fellow had dived for me, boot first. The studs of his boot caught my shin guard with a loud cracking sound and my leg buckled under me. I fell on my side, on top of the player who had hit me. It was painful – not the fall as he had quite some fat to act as a cushion. The pain in my leg was so excruciating that I feared I had broken my leg. I clenched my shin and kept sitting, unable to get up.
Everyone rushed to my side and Bappa quickly had a look at my leg and I could see him visibly relax when he realized that my leg was intact. All my mates had crowded around me, soothing me and saying that I had done well. They were quite impressed that I had not cried after such an impact, but truth to tell, I was too stunned by the impact to cry.
Then there was a commotion all around me. My mates started protesting vociferously against the way I was tackled and the argument quickly heated up leading to blows. Two of the opponent players, including the one who had tackled me, got a red card and were sent out. One of my team mates, who had taken a pot shot at the fellow who had felled me, also got a red card and was sent out. We got a foul.
I was finding it difficult to walk and so I was helped out of the field but no one was substituted for me as only two minutes remained of the game. From the foul that I had earned, we scored another goal and we won the match by four goals to none. I was hailed as the hero for my bravery and my ability to drible past an opponent double my size. Everyone congratulated me. Despite all the pain I was in, my happiness knew no bound. I was the star of my debut match and I had the ball for less than 30 seconds!
That was the start of my football adventures. The next year I officially signed into the Sunday Club football team. And I have never left that club.
Everyone who practiced was older than me and the youngest was 4 years older than me. But they allowed me to practice with them nonetheless. I used to run with them, do stretchings and the exercises, but when they used to start playing they never took me in the team and made me shoot footballs at a goalpost drawn on a wall or dribble it past a series of cones. I used to cry and crib a lot to allow me to play with the senior boys but the coach, Bappa, never allowed me saying that I would get hurt and then my mother would break his leg. Bappa was not too old, rather, he was quite young, just out of college, but he looked very big to me then.
When I had practiced with them for a year, Bappa allowed me to play with them. I rarely got the ball and I was pushed around on the field but everyone took care not to hurt me – not because they feared that my mother would break their legs but because they were quite fond of me, I being the youngest. But I learnt a lot from them – how to pass a ball, how to kick a ball so that it flew up or swerved, how to massage thigh and calf muscles, how to whistle, how to call a referee names from the sidelines, how to wear a shirt with the collar up, how to steal guavas undetected, how to catch dragonflies, and innumerable other things.
I got my first professional break when I was 9. Bappa told us at practice that we were to play against the Nagarjun Athletics Club the next day and got the team ready, deciding who would play at which position and the strategy to be followed. At the end of it all he came up to me, put his hands on my shoulder, looked into my eyes and said, “How would you like to be on the team as a substitute? If you want to play as a substitute, ask permission from your parents and be on the field at 4 o’clock in the evening and we shall leave at 4:30.” I have rarely been so excited in my life. It was like a dream come true. My mother was a bit skeptical but my father allowed me to go.
So at 4 I was on the field. Others had come by then and a few were yet to come. Bappa came with a large packet. In it were our jerseys. Before distributing the jerseys, he called me and said that since I was the youngest in the team and it was my debut, I should get my jersey first. He then presented me with my first ever jersey. It was a #20 jersey, yellow in colour with Sunday Club printed across the chest in black and my name across the back, arching over the number. It was beautiful. Everyone told me that I was looking like a real footballer now.
Our only means of transport was bicycles, so everyone got onto someone’s cycle – I sat proudly on the bar of Bappa’s cycle – and we left for Nagarjun Athletic Club’s field where the match was to be played.
A small crowd had gathered around the field to watch the match. Their coach received us and showed us where we could keep our stuff. We quickly changed into our football gear as Bappa kept rehearsing strategies.
At the whistle from the referee the first eleven from both the teams took to the field and after proper rituals took their respective sides of the field. We made ourselves comfortable on the sidelines, Bappa standing on the sideline with his legs slightly apart and hand at his back, looking like Napoleon over his army.
The whistle blew and the game began.
It was quite a fast paced game and we dominated it from the beginning. Bappa kept shouting instructions from the sidelines, trying to out-shout the rival coach. We scored the first goal in the first half and was leading by a goal when the whistle blew for half-time.
There was water and glucose to be given to each player, who sat down in a circle while Bappa went about criticizing everyone and showing his disappointment at their poor performance.
“One goal! Just one goal! With a team like this! Why are you not passing the ball, Tony? And Rabi, why are you letting that #10 get past you? And what about you Gopal? When are you ever going to shoot the ball? When you are married?”
This went on till the whistle blew again and the second half started. We were able to score two more goals and the match was safely on our side. Five more minutes were left for the game to end when Bappa decided that it was time for me to get some real action. He called for a substitution and I went in. He just told me:
“Do not keep the ball with you for too long and just pass it, keep passing it. You will do well.”
I ran into the field and one of my team mates patted my back and wished me luck. It felt so great. I felt so very important, as if the whole responsibility of the world was on my shoulders. I play on the right side of the field, in the right-out position. I ran without the ball for sometime, always keeping an eye on the ball and the rival players near me, and all of a sudden it happened – the ball was passed to me! I received the ball with my right foot and began running. I dribbled around a rival player and heard applauses and claps around me. Then I saw one of my mates in the open and passed the ball. But at that instant there was a cry from my mates and from the corner of my eye saw a fairly large rival player hurtling towards me.
The ball had left my feet but the fellow had dived for me, boot first. The studs of his boot caught my shin guard with a loud cracking sound and my leg buckled under me. I fell on my side, on top of the player who had hit me. It was painful – not the fall as he had quite some fat to act as a cushion. The pain in my leg was so excruciating that I feared I had broken my leg. I clenched my shin and kept sitting, unable to get up.
Everyone rushed to my side and Bappa quickly had a look at my leg and I could see him visibly relax when he realized that my leg was intact. All my mates had crowded around me, soothing me and saying that I had done well. They were quite impressed that I had not cried after such an impact, but truth to tell, I was too stunned by the impact to cry.
Then there was a commotion all around me. My mates started protesting vociferously against the way I was tackled and the argument quickly heated up leading to blows. Two of the opponent players, including the one who had tackled me, got a red card and were sent out. One of my team mates, who had taken a pot shot at the fellow who had felled me, also got a red card and was sent out. We got a foul.
I was finding it difficult to walk and so I was helped out of the field but no one was substituted for me as only two minutes remained of the game. From the foul that I had earned, we scored another goal and we won the match by four goals to none. I was hailed as the hero for my bravery and my ability to drible past an opponent double my size. Everyone congratulated me. Despite all the pain I was in, my happiness knew no bound. I was the star of my debut match and I had the ball for less than 30 seconds!
That was the start of my football adventures. The next year I officially signed into the Sunday Club football team. And I have never left that club.
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