I started reading a Pico Iyer book a few days back “Video night in Kathmandu”. I was hooked on from the first page because he started off with an icon from my childhood – Rambo 🙂 Pico Iyer writes about how in the mid 80s Rambo took over Asia – China, Indonesia, Burma, Thailand, India lording over cinemas, inspiring local versions and becoming what the author calls (then) America’s single biggest export, and the most powerful force in Asia that autumn.
I could identify totally with this. I still remember the trips to Guruvayur, the famous temple town in Kerala. No, I haven’t totally lost it. You see, the rest of the family went to Guruvayur with spirituality in mind, but for me, it was mostly materialistic, the kind of simple joy that a typical 7 year old finds in staying in a hotel for a few days, having ‘non home’ food three times a day, and most importantly, after convincing everyone on how intact his spiritual outlook is, manages to charm his way into getting himself a few toys. The strange thing was, the toy shops that abounded around the temple had some excellent collection of superhero stickers, labels for notebooks and various knick knacks that I could never find in Cochin. So I always made it a point to devote a lot of time to checking out the stuff on display before I made a purchase.
[Aside: I also remember buying my first and only guitar there – a plastic contraption with Rishi Kapoor and Karz on the packaging]
And that’s how I found a toy set that enthralled me for (I think) at least a year. It was a Rambo kit! And in the days that followed, several citizens of a certain university campus in Cochin claimed to see a creature that suddenly sprang out of the bushes and from behind the acacia trees, dressed in (what were formerly decent) t shirts and trousers, with dark green crayon marks on them, similar to the ones on the face, with a cloth around his head and carrying plastic bows, and arrows that stuck to conducive walls using vacuum, and with a plastic gun and a sheathed plastic knife inserted into the trouser loops. The outdoor covert operations lasted only a few days, since, after scaring an old woman, the creature was captured, hauled (bawling) to his mom’s presence and subjected to severe interrogation, and mild physical punishment which resulted in more bawling, and confiscation of weapons. The weapons were returned the next day, but the theatre of overt operations was restricted to indoors. More than a couple of decades later, these memories came storming back when I read the book, and as though the cosmos was conspiring, I got to know that Rambo (Part 4) was premiering that night on television.
But though he had conquered enemies in Vietnam and Afghanistan, Rambo was yet to face an Asian force, that having been born in the late 70s, would prove a formidable opponent to the aged warrior – D, no, not the one with the shades and company, but my wife. Yes, you could argue that she has shady company too, but I shall ignore that for now. And that was how Rambo lost his first battle, as D refused to even entertain the thought of watching the movie, and an agitated fan helplessly watched Cloverfield on another channel. D had drawn first blood!! Maybe I should practice my bawling.
until next time, marital laws!!
Two new malayalam movies watched in a fortnight. Nothing special in that, you’d think. What does make it special is that they brought back characters from the past.
“2 Harihar Nagar”, the official sequel to a movie, after 19 years, has four characters who’d set a benchmark in comedy at that time. [Priyadarshan, as he regularly does with decent Malayalam movies, screwed it up in Hindi as Dhol] Handled by a capable director and an extremely good screenplay, these guys managed to pick up right where they left off. They had us in splits this time too, and add to that, sprinkles of nostalgia and some good suspense, this movie was a treat. It was amazing to watch their chemistry, intact, or perhaps rekindled, after so many years, more so, because their ‘image’ has changed quite some in the years that have passed. A couple of them play character and villain roles now, and popular ones at that; one had some time in the limelight, even being anointed the “common man’s hero”, before making an idiot of himself in inconsequential roles and TV shows, and the last flirts with the screen once in a while. But what we saw in the movie was a transformation, and a pleasant surprise.
“Sagar alias Jackie”, the director claims, is not a sequel to any film, but merely uses the hero (and one more character) of an earlier one. On hindsight, that makes a damn good disclaimer. The original movie ‘Irupatham noottandu’, made in 1987, starring Mohanlal as an enigmatic ‘smuggler with a conscience’ , was one that in no small way contributed to his rising stature in the industry. Over the years he has proved his acting skills time and again, until recently. These days he is more of star, and scripts pander to this. He is easily the best actor I’ve seen, and though I used to be a fan of the superhuman avatar in the initial days, when it used to be backed by excellent screenplays, these days his roles are quite indistinguishable from each other. More stylised, this one proved to be the same fare, unfortunately.
Both scripts used the equity of iconic characters. While one set of actors broke their current moulds, and recaptured the feel of their original characters, another actor was caught in a mould and couldn’t come close to the original character. One could argue that the scripts made the difference, but maybe the difference was in acting, and one set proved better because they stayed true to character, and the portrayal automatically fell into place?
It made me think whether this also applies to us too. Over a period of time, do some of us get cast in a ‘have to be’ mould, arising from others’ and self expectations, or a ‘want to be’ mould because of our own aspirations? Do these moulds take us away from what we originally are, is there an original mould, and would reclaiming it and living with it give us the joy we seek? The choice is an intriguing one.
until next time, casting lots with the self
There are keys that unlock memories, some of them happen to be on a keyboard, the musical type. And that’s exactly what happened when I chanced upon a keyboard at a relative’s place. I started with the easy stuff that I could still remember – nursery rhymes 😀
That was followed by some attempts at carnatic music. Some successful, and some not. Lots of rust. And lots of immediate connections, where the fingers knew automatically where to go. And I was asked how i knew, and then, how long I had learnt. No time is quite enough, but in 9 years, you could learn quite some.
Thanks to the interest I had then, Dad bought me a Casio when I was in school. You’d have played with one at some point in your life? The ones with 100 instrument simulations and background beats? It was good fun to learn Bolly numbers by self, practice till it was perfected, and then try out alternate beats and backgrounds. It was also tougher to play carnatic, quite unwieldy, and therefore more fun.
It lost out quite a bit towards the last two years of school life thanks to the school team’s cricket and cultural calendar. Just like quizzing lost when Dumb C became an obsession, around the same time. And while the singing had a longer shelf life, that too stopped after college. Campus politics was also fun, and sometimes serious, just like beaches and business studies. 🙂
A few keys and out came the snapshot of life. Meanwhile, remember the room? The keyboard sits on the cupboard, high up on the topmost shelf. Out of reach, out of reckoning, thanks to some carelessness (left the batteries inside too long). Like the aspirations it had kindled a long time back – out of reach? Out of reckoning? When, sometime in life, fun took a backseat, perhaps unconsciously. When i go home, I fiddle with the keyboard, no sound comes out, and I never bother to change the batteries and try to make it work.
Today is friday, it is my day to do what i want
Mama can tell me that i’m goin nowhere, i’m just a prisoner of my fate
I could say fate, or I could say time, or I could say priorities, and after a while, all these would amount to what I could call baggage, but I doubt if any of them would quite satisfy my own mind. I sometimes think its fear, of what would happen if I explored what once used to be fun, and found out I had changed. Maybe these things are safer in the past, maybe we couldn’t handle each other in the present..or future. I’m still wondering how I should go ahead with a few of these unfinished businesses, and also wondering if there’s such a thing as a last bus.
until next time, to get the drive…