The Descendants - Movie Review

Heard good reviews of this George Clooney starrer and of its different story (based on a novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings) and decided to see it. Clooney is Matt King, a hands-off father, a man with a rich inheritance in Hawaii, and the man who is the sole trustee to decide on a large estate of 25000 acres owned by him and his cousins. His seemingly calm and sedate life is turned upside down when his wife suddenly slips into coma in a water skiing accident and he is thrust into the new role of taking care of his two daughters, Alex (17) and Scottie (10) both at difficult ages. Matt discovers that his older daughter has turned completely hostile against his mother, not to mention into a fol mouthed alcoholic - and not without reason he discovers - his wife had been having an affair and Alex, his daughter, knew about that. Matt tries to find out with Alex's help who the mysterious lover of his wife was and he does - a real estate agent called Brian Speer. Matt decides to inform Brian that he could say his good bye as well, as they have decided to take his wife off the life support.

While all this is going on Matt's cousins are planning to seal the deal to develop the land through a local real estate developer Dan and come into some good fortune themselves. Matt almost agrees but he suddenly realises that Brian Speer is the brother in law of Don and he stands to gain from the deal. (He also realises after meeting Brian that Brian does not love his wife and is more interested in keeping his peace at home - why Matt thinks that the old lovers were having an all time great love story instead of a simple passionate affair is what beats me. He appears to be rather naive.) When the time comes to sign over the land, Matt refuses and decides to keep the land of his ancestors and find a way to save it. The family finds their peace finally after the mother's life support is taken off. Brian's wife gets to know of her husband's infidelity though and she comes to see Matt's wife in the hospital. There's a funny scene where she gets all worked up speaking to the comatose Mrs. Matt and shrieks out that she has forgiven her. Clooney is brilliant in the way he hustles her out of the room.

It is a nice quiet, different movie with some nice moments, lovely views. Clooney is good in this role as a sensitive father.The kids are good. I can't come to terms with how the family reacts though. The way the family closes up on the mother for cheating on the father and making her out to be the villain and them, the victims, was rather odd. Perhaps she was just not happy, maybe Matt was just not caring enough, maybe he never gave her what she wanted - there could be a million things why she had to look for her excitement outside. If that comatose woman could get up and speak her mind, I am sure she would have had some pretty unflattering things to say about her marriage to Matt. Anyway, that just struck me while watching the movie that everyone was  pretty judgmental about her. Nice movie though.

Istanbul, Memories Of a City - Orhan Pamuk

Orhan Pamuk's, 'Istanbul - Memories and the City' (Faber and Faber, 333 pages), translated by Maureen Freely, was my first experience of this highly celebrated Turkish writer, the 2006 Nobel Prize winner.  It is as the title says, a collection of his memories of one of the old cultural and financial centres of the world (called Byzantium or Constantinople in the olden days, the capital for the Roman empire (330-395), Byzantine empire (395-1453), the Latin empire for a brief period in between (1204-1261) and the Ottoman empire (1453-1922). Istanbul is the only city in the world that straddles two continents - Europe and Asia.

Pamuk belongs to a well to do family in Turkey and remembers his childhood in the Pamuk apartments with an assortment of uncles, aunts, grandmother, his mother and father and his older brother. It is a westernised society already as reflected in their choices of clothes, attitude to religion, career choices and so on. His family life does not appear to have been very happy with long absences from his father who apparently had a mistress elsewhere in the city, his mother who probably suspected it, their constant fights, his big brother bullying him and their sibling fights. He comes across as a lonely child who sought solace in winning people's approval with good behavior, growing up with rich teenagers, the one with the jokes, an obsession with sex, his first love and other such growing up pains. Then he goes through the city of his birth through the writings of other writers, four of whom that  he picks at first, Yahya Kemal, Abdulhak Sinasi Hisar, Ahmed Hamdi Tanpinar and  Resat Ekrem Kocu, four melancholic writers that he explores and extols (but for some reason does not quote to show how they were melancholic - perhaps so we should read them). He explores the rich, the poor, the houses, the Bosphorous, the accidents on the Bosphorous, even the smoke rising out of the ships on the Bosphourus strait, his experience with religion, his desire to drop architecture and become a painter and then deciding to become a writer (fine advise form his father I felt and one that gave me lots of encouragement too, to pursue writing, the lone bright spot in this book for me).

Mostly the book deals with the melancholy or the huzun that has caught the soul of the city and does not leave it page after page. In fact the word melancholy appears so often that it is depressing. Perhaps it is that way for the writer - but I cannot imagine that a whole city is caught up in that huzun of their past, their defeats forever. I'd like to think there was some hope, there is some hope and some life that looks forward in Turkey. It also appears to have been written for someone who knows Istanbul well, as if written for his close circle of friends, or perhaps for himself, and the reader who is not aware of Istanbul has to scurry to do his research on many of the terms, geographical locations that are used. Perhaps that is the hidden symmetry of the book he was referring to.

But overall the book is all about melancholy - of the city of of his life - and that is the kind of a book that I am not really fond of. Honest perhaps, largely, but to exclude all hope? It is an old city, has much history, has seen many cultures apart from Turkish, Greek, Syrian, Italian, has many languages, has mosques, churches. wonderful architecture and much more. But Pamuk's Istanbul is like a young boy's mysterious infatuation with an older lover who has not given him enough attention. He is deeply disappointed with it and at the same time wants its approval. The book itself seems to me his sad ballad to catch her attentions, once praising her, once talking of himself. For some reason, all the melancholy, the vision through all the other writers, the blanketing of gloom on the entire population, did not work for me. His own childhood and his life was interesting to that extent, the lovely pictures of Istanbul in the early part of the century of which there are many (another highlight for me) and some odds and ends caught my attention. Otherwise, this is an Istanbul I would like to explore by myself and look for hope and life, and not through Pamuk's melancholy eyes. The book has rave reviews from the best publications in the world and perhaps there is something far more deeper that I am missing, but at my level of understanding, the book is not entertaining. Instead it leaves a big stain like a sad love story, which I am not convinced about. Which I am not sure is really the entire truth. 

God Save The Dork - Sidin Vadukut

Sidin Vadukut is one of India's funniest voices. He has this Wodehouse-ian quality of making you laugh aloud abruptly, without any control. He uses that pen of his to tap that funny nerve ever so often, in the most unexpected places, that by the end of the book, you have had enough loud laughs to have forgotten about the troubles of the world and to feel good about it actually. For this one quality of making me laugh aloud (not merely smile in amusement) Sidin Vadukut stands out as an outstanding talent in the ever-growing list of Indian writers in English. Far more intelligent, far superior language, much better plotting, highly believable characters, a superb turn of phrase - and one wonders why Sidin is not being ranted and raved about as some other writers are these days. He is way above most to me - for writing such brilliant comedy - which I believe is one of the toughest genres. I favor humour more than any and I do think we are in good hands  (now that the likes of Jug Suraiya and co have faded off), with the emergence of Sidin and the more recent  Krishna Sastry Devulapally who has made a promising debut with his 'Iceboys in Bellbottoms' (what's with the South Indian writers and comedy - the third funny book I remember reading by an Indian author was Srividya Natarajan's No Onions, Nor Garlic).

I read Sidin's first 'Dork' and could not stop laughing at the ball bearings incident. I don't remember how it came by in the book but I cannot forget how it was written, piling on the laughs and the agony of not being able to stop laughing. 'God save the Dork' (Penguin India, 242 pages, Rs. 199) has many more such instances as Robin 'Einstein' Varghese, now in London with his consulting firm Dufresne, on an assignment with a client Lederman, balances his expenditure, his awesome consulting capabilities, his amazing presentation skills, extraordinary charm and not to forget the highly likeable overenthusiasm that Robin is infected with. What makes it all so good for me is that Robin is all of us really - a shameless liar, greedy, stingy, full of himself (and some more...) - and you wonder at how wonderfully Sidin takes potshots at the overenthusiastic Indian. But then Robin is harmless, means no harm really, and ends up through these rather unfortunate circumstances generally on the better side. Sidin uses much Mallu (Deyivame..) but this is not just about Mallu's.

Taking off from a fortuitous turn of events in the first Dork, Robin lands up in London as a consulting prodigy. He is constantly seeking to improve his knowledge of British culture by visiting museums that are free (and skipping those that charge), buying stuff that comes with free items, downloading stuff from the internet (illegally, but no Indian will buy that), maroing line to the cute Chinese intern while trying to be faithful to his girlfriend the Shahrukh-loving Gauri and promoting the blackmailing Sugandh up the corporate chain. Robin gets caught in a shady exchange, a delicate matter where he tries to convince the Lederman chief to extend their assignment for what could be termed as something in return. It all comes crashing down when the deal is investigated but Robin's incredible luck holds yet again and he bails out not only the client, but his own company and his personal finances as well.

I don't bother too much about the rather predictable manner in which the plot unfolds at this stage, as I am more than happy laughing at Robin and his antics. The story goes along at a rapid pace and it draws you in completely. It would be interesting to see what Sidin will do when he ends the Robin series and the diary format - he is obviously a master at using the business consulting background, and at using the diary format brilliantly - but it is just academic. I would not mind if he wrote stuff like this forever.

Funnily I remember seeing two comments - one about Sidin being India's Dilbert and another about it being something about Mallu humour - both of which I don't fully agree with. Dilbert is a different medium altogether and the only thing common is that they are about the corporate world. Sidin's work obviously has much larger canvas and has far more detail and intrigue in the financial consulting world, while Dilbert is about offices in general. To term it as Mallu humour is not to have read the book at all.

The NIT, Trichy, IIM, A, grad is the sole hope for me so far from the IIT, IIM writers. I must say I am deeply disappointed with most of them, perhaps because my expectations were high (but they do churn out some mediocre stuff). Sidin keeps the flag of the IIM's high with high quality, intelligent, layered stuff that takes potshots at everything - the colleges, the profs, the corporate world, the way Indians are (and the way firangs are too). Apparently he writes on cricinfo too. Will be interesting to read his take on cricket. Well done Sidin - great job and keep writing on and on. For those who are still looking for a recommendation here's what I did. I borrowed the book from Vinod (a huge fan of Sidin, he himself being another of those writers who can make me laugh out loud) and gifted it to Ranjan. And for Vinod, I bought a brand new copy!

Thought for the Day - Are you your mobile?

I look around and see youngsters (and many middle aged people as well) preening over their brands. Their shoes, jeans, mobile phones, laptops they use, places they eat, stuff they eat, stuff they drink, even causes they espouse, vehicles they move in. I look at the growing dependence on this need to prop oneself behind a brand and it makes me wonder how bad it would be for one's self confidence, self esteem if the prop was taken away suddenly (God forbid!). It could be a needless worry from me - and don't get me wrong - I am not against technology or causes or cool stuff. Just asking everyone to take a reality check once in a while so you have not become your mobile. Or worse, so the mobile has not become bigger than you.

Let's peel away the brands one by one and see how comfortable we are being without that brand. To see how much that brand has eaten into you. To see if you are still okay without the brand.

So let us first:

Peel off that swanky mobile, which seems to be the lifeline for most these days. How do you feel without the brand on that mobile? Even better. How do you actually feel without that mobile? Inadequate?

Peel off those brands on the shoes. Do you still feel cool? Peel off the brands on the clothes. Do you still have the attitude? Can you still hold your own? Can you still walk with that same confidence? That swagger?

Peel off the brands on the other gadgetry - those laptops, ipads, ipods and whatever else one has plugged into their ears and mouths and at the edge of the finger tips all the time. Does it still work for you? Can you still sit and hold your own in a conversation.

Peel off that cause that everyone is clicking on Youtube and twitter and facebook without knowing what the hell its all about. Cite one cause that truly moves you. That really interests you. One cause where you need not merely like, or tweet, or comment mindlessly from the comfort of your armchair, or rather the couch. (I forgot armchairs were passe.) The one cause where you can actually move yourself physically, meet people, feel their pain and do something about it. Not transfer some money, take pictures and be vocal on facebook. Something real. Something you can feel - not just the keypad.

Peel off that brand of the school and the college your parents have put you through. Can you still hold your own? Do you have enough value without that brand? Do you have enough content?

Peel off that brand of the nation that is scheduled to be the next superpower, that somehow seems to have given a whole lot of misplaced enthusiasm that we will be there, the superpower, riding on someone else's shoulders. That we can merely by tweeting, liking or commenting, become that. It needs real content, it needs real work, real thought to get there. Do we have what it takes if we take off that brand of India Shining?

Peel all these brands off and see how good you feel - all by yourself. Just for the heck of it. If you still feel cocky, good and at the top of the world you're on a good wicket. But if you're feeling a bit lost, then its time to look at yourself pal. You've been taken over by the brand, bought over bit by bit until you have nothing of yourself left anymore. Nothing wrong in that - the whole world is that way.

But just for a lark, reclaim yourself - it could always come in handy to know yourself as you are without a prop. Because when it comes to the real thing, the props fall off first and you have to deal with reality alone.

The Himalayan Diaries - Day 7 – Dehradun-Delhi-Hyderabad, March 7, 2012

Holi! Ambitious plans again to get up early by Vasu and I and go to see the Forest Research Institute, a magnificent building and premises set against the Mussoorie hills in the background. However owing to yet another round of story telling session by the indefatigable Koni (that fountain of stories with unfinished endings) that consumed a large part of the night, and a holi celebration by burning huge logs of wood by a neighbour which we attended, the early morning getaway was stalled. People started oozing out of beds much later than planned and slowly drifted to the sunny lawns, with newspapers, cups of tea etc. 

The Forest Research of India campus, Dehradun, with a faint silhoutte of Mussoorie's mountains behind

Vasu outside the FRI gates

Vasu and I went to the Forest Research Institute but it was shut for visitors owing to Holi. We clicked some snaps of the magnificent building from the gates and returned. A good, solid breakfast of toast and eggs thanks to Vicky amd Mohan and Koni and I were the first to leave Dehradun. Flight at 1 from Dehradun's quaint little Jolly Grant airport (which is much closer to Rishikesh than Dehradun by the way, takes an hour from Dehradun to reach). Less than an hour to Delhi and we landed at the brand new Terminal 3 of GMR, vast and like nothing I have seen. Koni says it is on par with any International airport in the world. We walked along the long aisles, corridors, shopping, checked in early and settled down for some lunch. We got another spanking new flight on Air India to Hyderabad, lovely food, music and movies, and we dropped down at Hyderabad before we knew it.

Mellow sun, hot tea, the news and a lazy vacation

I’ll remember the trip for being so unique – every day was so different from the other. The unstoppable laughter that boy gangs enjoy, some sense of vague freedom, that only boys/men appear to feel when they are by themselves. Much thanks is owed to Vasu for driving this venture forward without letting go and Ranjan for tirelessly and thoughtfully organising everything so perfectly and making it so memorable. Koni for his madness and non stop entertainment, Kiri for his easily triggered laughter and ready to party attitude and Aditya for proving the glamour, the innocence and the fresh perspective that we would have lost and perhaps resonated with, in these years. Thanks a lot guys for making it a truly wonderful Himalayan sojourn for me.

The Himalayan Diaries - Day 6 – Shivpuri to Dehradun, March 7, 2012

From visions of the mass murderer massacring all the snorers, I woke up to the sounds of water flowing by close to the tent. It was 6 in the morning perhaps. The sight of the Ganga flowing by serenely, the mellow sun, the mountains, the fresh air was just too much to resist and I got out of the tent quickly. Tea was arranged by our hosts and all other guests, the raucous youngsters who got drunk the previous night, were fast asleep. We had the whole beach to ourselves. On the opposite side of the river there was a camp which was full of foreign students doing yoga and stuff.

Morning...

Binoculars being put to use

Volleyball

Another angle

Kiri in silhoutte

Koni, Ranjan, Vasu and Kiri played volleyball while I took some pics and explored the neighbourhood. After breakfast, toast, eggs, paranthas, puri bhaji, the organisers ferried us across the river and took us upstream for river rafting. It is 11 kms upstream. I decided to get off at the camp after the 11 kms and join the gang at Rishikesh - another 16 kms downstream. The jeep that took us there had the raft fitted on top of it and Aditya sat on top of the raft. In the half hour drive Koni fell asleep in the back. 

Aditya watching the game in progress

Breakfast

Tea again

The heat picks up

At the take off spot we were quickly fitted with life jackets, helmets, paddles and told the rules of the game. Paddle forward, backward, left and right, what to do if we capsize and so on and so forth. For the first time in my life I wore life jackets that gave me the confidence that I'd float! The helmets were strapped on, lightweight paddles given and we took our positions in the raft. The moment we entered the river our instructor asked us to jump into the icy waters. I declined but the rest jumped in. We rafted down the Ganga, for 11 kms, in rapids that were less than 2 (in terms of their level of danger). But even that was interesting as you see how powerful the current can get, how overpowering nature can get and how small you can be before it. The raft gets tossed and tumbled over but you paddle, keep your balance, your calm and go through it. Vasu, Aditya, Kiri had long swims in the water, floating behind the raft, while Koni, Mohan and Vicky jumped in.

Some last minute arrangements before rafting

I got out at the camp and so did Kiri. There was a small break there and two other rafters joined the gang - an elderly couple from Pune. The two rapids we crossed were enough to give an idea of what could happen in a big rapid. The next 11 kms had a rapid that was measured at 4.5! Kiri and I went across the river with Vicky and Mohan and the luggage to our cars and down to Rishikesh where we stopped at the Laxman Jhula. The chants, the people, the energy was very soothing and we spent a good hour eating bhel, masala dosa, drinking lime soda and picking up some ganga jal for Kiri. I could spend days on end at this place. And I even got myself a lovely masala dosa as well!

After an hour or so we got a call from the others that they were on the way to Dehradun and we followed them to KFC, Rajpur Road where the ravenous rafters were full of tales over soft and juicy chicken. We retired to the guest house, played some cricket and ended the day once again with songs, booze and some more madness. Vasu and I visited a relative of his in faraway Nanda ki chowki, a lovely nook away from the town.

The Himalayan Diaries - Day 5 – Birahi to Shivpuri, March, 5, 2012

The guest house at Birahi, a town that has about 20-30 dwellings I should think, was a nice cozy place and I decided to sleep late and woke up last. Nothing like feeling the luxury of a deep, satisfying sleep, and waking up to the comfort of nature - trees, breeze, the fragrance, bird calls and the silence of the mountains. It was one of those days when everyone was up and ready to go including Aditya who normally likes an extra hour to snooze - unlike the older men like us who find it difficult to sleep. 

View from the guest house

After a sumptuous breakfast of toast, eggs, paranthas and so on we headed out. We backtracked a bit to see some project sites on a road less travelled. Story is that due to an earthquake that happened many years ago a lake was formed, Dharmatal (I think?) and the British used the lake as a vacation spot. Roads were laid, bridges made and the Britishers came by to hunt and fish and so on. Makes you wonder at all the things the British did in an alien land to entertain themselves, to make life fun and adventurous. Most of our current hill stations and vacation spots seem to be the findings of the British. For their sense of adventure, one must admire the foreign brigade. Mohan, the teller of these stories, lives up on a hill here and he showed us the steps that lead up to his house - a vertical climb. The lake broke bank and caused some havoc many years ago. Forgot if the lake was still there.

What is it about nature that makes everyone stare at it?

The guest house

Fine rain, cloudy skies, chilly weather – it was heavenly once again. Vasu showed us a contraption that uses hydro power to grind wheat - a chakki. Water is used as it flows downstream in exactly the same way as a hydro power project does and villages use it to grind wheat. It had gates, pipelines, a power/processing house. Very quaint.

The hydro powered chakki (the house like structure)

Children going to school

Holi revellers collecting donations

Koni and Kiri decided to take a walk down the road and I half went with them - the weather being so good. Ranjan warned them of having seen a panther on these roads - it stared at him and walked away - and I decided not to engage with panthers. Mohan says that they normally do not attack, but bears do and they can get pretty nasty.

The mountains

After a while we headed out. Next destination – Kaudiyala which is 35 kms short of Rishikesh – where the GMVN has some fine resorts and rafting arrangements. This was a drive of some 120 kms or so and we headed out in some really fine weather stopping for the odd chai, a lunch of Maggi and toast and breezed down the mountains. Vasu, Koni and I were in one vehicle and it was fun to listen to Vasu's considerable, almost encyclopediac knowledge of things - history, science, religion, politics etc. 

Vasu and I engaged in some discussion while Aditya heads down to the river

Vasu is a most fascinating guy with his penchant for adventure, for collecting knowledge, his eye for detail, his Dhoni like calm under all circumstances, his capacity to retain his sense of humour in all conditions, to do the most unexpected of things, his clarity on issues and his amazing powers of articulation. 

Vasu

High up on the perfection scale, uncompromising when it comes to himself but he has the compassion and maturity to cut lesser mortals some slack, punctual, respectful of individual need for expression and stuff like that. But if I were to pick one quality of Vasu it would be his equanimity in all conditions that would define him.

Laughter that is only possible with old friends - Koni, Kiri and Ranjan

While on this let me also pick what defines my other friends on this trip to me. Aditya the youngest, for his clarity of expression mostly in all that he does.

Aditya overlooking Dev Prayag

 And, for holding his own and for his sense of adventure, humour - he will do exactly what he wants and do well in that in a few years from now. Star sportsman of his school, rock star, intelligent and adventurous - he did the longest time in the icy waters of the Ganga, floating by behind the raft.
Kiran would be defined by his unwavering sense of balance and a strong will (now a marathon runner and superbly fit) which is one of his main strong points to me - his strong sense of responsibility, he is immensely affectionate (you have to listen to him talk to his children), has a hidden side that craves for adventure that, like Vasu's, is not easily seen. And for all this, he has a deep love to know new things, is well informed on all the latest, the gadgets, the vehicles, the books, the works, loves his music, his drink, his books, his movies - all that he is passionate about. Again one of the most well informed, very passionate about what he believes in.
Ranjan to me is defined by his sense of humour that comes through at the first instance, a schoolboy spirit in its pure form, that he is happiest with. I think that it is this quality that pops us easily, with his one liners, the tag lines on the greeting cards and so on. Another thing that pops up is his fiercely competitive side in games and sports, and his hidden side I suspect is that of a romantic in a most sentimental manner about people, things, relationships and life. Again one of the most hardworking of the lot when it comes to work Ranjan also has the Libran quality of stepping inside and being at peace with his quiet - I do suspect that he is in some way becoming a lot more spiritual these days. 
Koni is defined by one word - enterprise. Always game to try new things, to go where no one has gone before, to make that extra effort to get what he wants. But hidden under the rough and rugged, coarse and crude demeanour that he has adopted, he is also the guy who has far more compassion to people and nature, his own understanding of society and its laws, an original interpretation of life itself. He can easily go stand in the line for you for hours to keep your illusion of his strength going - and he can easily cry when caught by the tax authorities. A paradox.

We reached Kaudiyala at 7 in the evening after a long winding climb down the mountains. We stopped for a few minutes at Dev Prayag on the way though. 

Dev Prayag

The GMVN resort had no accommodation. Fortunately we found a resort a few kms down the slope which offered us tents on the riverbed of Ganga, on the other side of the river, so we had to take a raft to cross, and the promise of rafting the rapids the next day. We headed to that camp and once again it was magical. The moon was almost full, we were right on the river bed with the Ganga flowing past, a bonfire, tents, mountains both sides, forest behind – ah, heaven. Bottles were opened again, songs sung, played, crazy laughter, nice food and by the time we retired it was well past midnight once again. The other youngsters in the camp stayed on much longer, drunk out of their wits.

In the tent Koni told me a story in three parts of a murderer who was the watchman at the camp. The murderer does not like snorers and axes them in their sleep. I drifted off to sleep dreaming of the mass murderer.