लाल

रोंगटे खड़े है मेरे ,
चल रहा हूँ मैदान की ओर।
गहरी हरी जमीन, हल्का नीला आसमान ,
चारो तरफ भीड़ का प्रचण्ड शोर ।

एक-एक कत्रा पसीना बहाया ,
एक-एक बूँद लहू  जलाया,
पल-पल समेटे, पंधरह साल की
प्रैक्टिस का आज होगा हिसाब ।

हाथ में बल्ला, सीने पे तिरंगा,
टी-शर्ट की पीठ पर इंडिया,
दिमाग में सन्नाटा,
लेकिन मन में सैलाब ।

अब आ खड़ा हूँ विकेट के आगे,
कुछ नहीं दीखता सिवाए गेंद के,

दूंगा आहुति एक शतक की,
उस देवता को जिसे चढ़ाया था गुलाल,
और उस धरती माता को जिसकी मिटटी का रंग है लाल ।

हाँ, लाल है रंग मेरी मिटटी का,
लाल रंग का है वह गुलाल,
लाल है रंग मेरे खून का,
मेरे जूनून का रंग भी है लाल । 

5 Horror Short(est) Stories

Story # 1

While driving back home that night, my favorite song came on the radio and without thinking I started singing along. 

It was only when the singer started singing in a screechy voice, did I realize that I had not switched on the Radio.

Story # 2

She was walking down on a lonely road at night, when the four drunkards started following her with a malicious intent. 

The next morning only one of them was found in the dumpster, dead, his body turned blue and bite marks on his neck.

Story # 3

I always feel fresh after taking a shower, but I also feel hungry and so I decided to make a sandwich for myself. 

But then I remembered that I did not have the knife, as I had left it stuck in my wife’s neck.

Story # 4

A weirdly dressed man appeared in the middle of the expressway and met with a brutal accident and died. 

The police found a piece of clear, highly polished round glass in his pockets, with an inscription - "Google Time Machine”.

Story # 5

If you ever go to the Overlook Hotel and see little Twin Girls waving at you, don’t wave back. 

I did that yesterday and last night they killed me.




(Short Horror Stories written by me.)

The Bird and The Boy

So, Birdman won the big prize last night. And frankly, I was not expecting it. I was rooting for Boyhood and my heart sobbed when it did not win.

So I decided to do my own comparative analysis:

The Bird -

I watched Birdman with awe at the technical brilliance of its roving camera, the continuously beating drum in the back-ground like the very heart and soul of the movie, the brilliant performances by Michael Keaton, Emma Stone and my favorite, Ed Norton.

Birdman is the story of a man who was once famous and successful, but in today’s fast-paced world he is no longer “relevant” (as noted by one of the characters in the movie). He is trying to find his place and his lost glory and is trying to connect with his audience one last time, while handling other issues like insecurity about himself, his daughter and a “mad birdman” conscience continuously blabbering into his brain.

It is a brilliant premise flawlessly executed, but at the end of the day it was the story of Hollywood and of one actor trying to find his place.

Somehow, I could not relate to it. In spite of all its path-breaking brilliance, I could not connect to the Bird.

The Boy -

Boyhood on the other hand starts with that haunting Coldplay song – “Yellow”, with 6-year old Mason looking into the sky, thinking (as we know later) about how Wasps are born. In that one scene, you are instantly bonded to the movie, its premise, its story and its protagonist – Mason. Because you as a child have also done similar things.

Over the next 2.5 hours, you watch as Mason grows from that 6-year old quiet, shy boy to a young adult gone to college and on the verge of finding an identify for himself.

On the way, he has struggled with his mother’s multiple divorces, his strict step-fathers, the break-up with his girlfriend, experimenting with drugs and alcohol and finally finding his calling.

It’s a story that all of us have gone through and could easily relate to. It’s a story that is inspiring, awesome, brilliant and at the same time, commonplace.

While Mason is the focus of the movie, we also watch all the other characters grow old not just on screen, but in real life. We watch with fascination, as Mason’s real father (Ethan Hawke) grows older and matures as an individual. We watch as Patricia Arquette, Mason’s mother in the movie, grows from a single-mother with two small kids trying to make ends meet to an older lady who cries her heart out, when Mason is preparing to leave for college. 

Boyhood is a film about the sweep of time, that relentless presence in human life which is constantly changing all of us, one micro-second at a time.

The film is about the fact that nothing remains the same over the course of a life-time. People change, situations change, circumstances change and the change is always for the better.

And the final scene where Mason goes hiking in a park with his friends and they talk about how the moment seizes you, instead of you seizing the moment. That’s is the scene which stays with you far after the movie is over and the lights are turned out.

The Bird vs. the Boy

So, yes, Birdman won the Oscars, but years from now, when I grow older, I know I will be watching Boyhood for the umpteenth time.

Thoughts on a Dark Night

The city sleeps under my feet. It’s dark and unusually quiet. Only the soft night breeze makes a low, sinister, moaning sound. Like a corpse calling. It’s a humid sticky summer night, but the breeze is cool and it’s calming my frantic nerves.

It’s at nights like these that my mind tends to wander, trying to get out of my control. 

And it should. 

Because it needs sleep and it needs rest. It’s been 3 days since I have slept and there is nothing in this world that I won’t give up, right now, to be able to sleep. Just for some time.

Well, this self-inflicted torture in not new to my body or my mind. 

In the past, I have bruised myself, suffered concussions, broken my ribs, burnt myself, almost got myself killed a few times, lost my loved ones and suffered immeasurable sorrow.

So, why have I endured all this pain and suffering, you ask?

I believe it’s for a greater purpose. To save people. Save mankind from evil disguised as good and from evil menacing as evil. The world is full of sorrow, grief and madness and I believe I have to do whatever I could to help the people who are helpless.

Because there was a time when I was helpless.

The night that my parents died on the cold black streets and all I could do was watch, as the living breath escaped from my mother’s body, as the heart stopped its rhythmic beating in my father’s chest. On that dark, cold night I watched them die.

That night I felt fear, I felt shame, I felt helplessness and I never wanted to feel it again. I never wanted anyone to feel it again.

That is why I became what I am.

Often these days, I wonder if I made the wrong choice that night and chose the wrong path. Often these days, I imagine myself going back home that night and taking charge of my father’s company. Making him proud. Becoming a good man, a good businessman, maybe a cop or a senator. Help my city and my country in a different way. A different way.

But then again, my mind becomes muddled and it asks questions I cannot answer. Did I really have a choice that night? Could I really choose a path that I wanted to take? Or did the path choose me?

Writhing to have my revenge on the guy who killed my parents, I followed him down those mean streets, dark like a serpent’s hole. I came upon thousands of guys like him. Guys who felt no regret, no remorse to plunder, kill and rape. Naturally, I tried to stop them and as I did, I kept getting dragged further and further down that hole. Until, I myself became darkness.

So again, did I choose to go down that path? I guess I no longer know or care. I guess like most defeated people, I have accepted my fate. I have accepted who I am and what I have become. Like most other people, I imagine and hope that I had become someone else, but I can’t go back and change things now, for I have come too far from that fork in the road.

Whatever choices I have made, whether by free will or pre-destined, I have to live with them. No one else can understand what I am going through and no one really cares. 

I alone have to endure this pain. 

I alone will have to persevere and sacrifice. 

Perched on this rooftop on this skyscraper on this dark night, I alone will have to walk my path. Because I alone am Batman. 

A Thousand Wings

So, what are you thinking about, my dear?

What brilliant dreams these tiny eyes hold?

Are you thinking of why the trees are all different shades of green?

Or why there are so many flowers of different kinds?

Are you thinking of why water, sometimes, falls from the sky?

Or are you trying to decipher where the sun goes at night?

Why the mud and the sand feel so good in your tiny hands?

Or why the wind makes a swoosh sound when you swing on the swing?

Or why your stomach tickles in the merry-go-round?

Are you thinking why the grass smells so good in spring?

Why wet, cold water makes you squeal with laughter?

Or why the sun feels so hot on a hot summer day?

Why I always get tired, but you can keep playing in the park?

And where do I get a new story, every new night to say?

The answer, my dear, is this little thing called childhood

It’s the most precious gift from god to man

It’s the only time to be free; truly, really free

A time not bound by life, nor bogged down by routine

A time when you have a thousand wings in your little pink bag

A time your flight is not restricted, by the height of the sky

A tribute to Kishore Kumar

A friend once said that when you are happy you listen to the music, but when you are sad you listen to the lyrics/song.

This is probably most true about Kishoreda's songs.

Recently there was a lot of buzz on my Watsapp groups around Kishore Kumar and when I checked online, I found that it was the maestro's 85^th Birthday (on 4th Aug).

Being an eternal fan of Kishorda, I got on to Youtube and played a few of my all-time favorite Kishoreda songs,

• Kuch toh log kahenge from Amar Prem
• Chingari koi bhadke from Amar Prem again (this movie has some of the best songs EVER. Each one is a gem), and
• O Saathi Re from Mukaddar ka Sikandar

And I got thinking “What is it about Kishoreda and sad songs? We keep listening to them and loose ourselves. It seems like he has never sang any other songs except sad songs.”

Being the versatile artist that he was, he has definitely sang all kinds of songs. Who can forget the perfect melody (and the yodeling) in “Mere Sapno ki Rani kab aayegi tu”, the rain-drenched romanticism of “Ek Ladki Bheegi Bhagi si”, the hilariously funny and absolutely crazy “Ek Chatur Naar” and that old party/picnic favorite “Dekha na hai re socha na”.

But beyond all those romantic songs, the funny songs and the crazy songs, it is Kishoreda’s sad songs that have made an immense impact on me and on a lot of other fans.

In fact, some of his romantic songs sound hauntingly sad. Take for example, “Hame tumse pyaar kitna”, “Chukar mere mann ko” or my favourite “Phir wohi raat hai”. These songs touch some chord deep on the heart and although, these are romantic songs and pictured as such, they feel sad and longing.

It is some kind of a deep hurting poignancy that his voice brings to these songs and that elevates the song to a whole new level.

Listening to Kishoreda's songs makes you realize the true value of love, even if you have not lost it. These songs sometimes are about the unfairness of life and the helplessness of man in the face of circumstances. But I think THAT, exactly, is what gives us the strength to carry on too. As one song goes “Hum kyon shikwa kare jhootha, kya hua jo dil toota” or other one “Ek raah Ruk gayi, toh aur jud gayi, main muda to saath-saath raah mud gayi”.

Kishoreda lives on in our lives, minds and senses through his music. And why we can’t forget him is as much because of his versatility and genius as because, maybe, like all of us (lesser mortals) he was probably a very sad man.

Within all the despair, all the sorrow and all the heart-break, life is still wonderful. Just like Kishordas songs.

Thank you Kishoreda for the music. I know you are yodeling away into a dense forest somewhere in the minds of fans.

The Man who lived on the Hill

I knew a Man, who lived on a Hill
He lived there alone, but he was not lonely.
He had his birds and he had his trees,
He had butterflies and he had his flowers.

He lived on his hill,
Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.

One day he invited me to his home,
Up on that hill, where he lived alone.
I ate the food of grain that sprouted from the ground.
I drank the wine of grapes that grew in the field.

I swam in the river or was it a stream?
I lazed in the crisp air, awake but in a dream.
I slept on the harsh ground on the top of the hill.
And talked into the night, watching the faraway suns.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw a miracle,
The sky had come down to meet with the ground,
The clouds floated low, as if to kiss the earth,
Far away a river shivered in the morning sun.

The wind blew softly, bringing unearthly fragrances,
Somewhere a distant bell rang, maybe it was a temple,
In that eternal moment, when the earth, the universe and I aligned,
Without knowing it, I had tears in my eyes.

Through the tears, I looked at the Man, he was My friend,
I hugged him and thanked him for asking me to come.
He looked at me and smiled and said "This is your home".

I came back to my city of stone towers and steel carriages,
To continue my life lived on the stroke of the pendulum,
To wait at the Red light, To drink damp coffee from the machine,
To worry about possessions, and what to buy next.

But sometimes as I wait for the light to turn green,
Sometimes while the paper cup is getting filled by the machine,
I remember how my heart beat inside my chest,
As it tried to match the rhythm of the universe.

Up on that hill, how I saw with open eyes,
The dream that I dreamt in broad daylight.

I think of the glittering eyes of the man,
The man who lived on the hill.

Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.

Too late to Write

It’s probably too late to write anything now

Too late for the universe to accept all my faults

Once there was time, but now its gone

Gone forever, Into a distant Black-Sun

Its such a funny thing, this thing we call time

Sometimes we have too much of it

Sometimes we do not have enough

In either case, time keeps getting lost

So, Yes, its too late to write now

Too late in the night, too late in this life

But there is still hope..

And that’s why I write, although its late, too late

Closer to Myself

In his book the Seven Spiritual Laws, Deepak Chopra says that being close to nature is being close to oneself. I, for one, am a staunch believer of this statement as I have experienced it.

Whether it is the infinite sea, the peaking mountains or the endless valleys, nature has always attracted me towards itself. Watching in wonder at the rolling waves of the ocean and its infinite water unlocks some hidden part in my soul. The mighty peaks clouded with mist stirs some unknown internal core. The magnificent bottomless expanses of valleys always awaken something deep inside me which I don’t completely understand but am definitely moved by.

I have felt a fascination for nature from my earliest childhood. Previously, while being near to nature I used to end up thinking of larger questions like the meaning of MY life, the reason for MY existence, the fragility of reality and the worth of relationships. Nearer to nature, I used to brood on these things and loose myself in these thoughts without getting any nearer to the answers. Often times, frustrating myself.

Now, I think I have got older (and hopefully, wiser). Because, now when I am closer to nature, I don’t really care about the larger scheme of the universe. I just try to be very still, very quiet and just observe. I just try to take in the vastness of the surroundings, invariably imagining myself as nothing more than a speck of dust in the grandeur. Just a tiniest nut (or bolt) in the smallest wheel of the gigantic machinery of the entire universe. A nut so tiny, that its existence does not even matter in the overall grand design.

Oddly, this thought lightens me up. It liberates me from the pressure of everyday living. It soothes my mind and frees me from the weight of my own expectations. It adds an incredible and uncanny happiness to my being. A kind of happiness of the mind. A happiness which is not attached to material things in life. A happiness that is not transient but permanent. A happiness bought out by the purity of my experience in the natural surroundings.

The feeling of insignificance brings joy, serenity and tranquility to me and that is why I keep going back to nature. To loose myself and consequently find myself.

Short Story - The World against me.

I sit at my desk and start my laptop. It instantly connects to the internet via my super fast Wifi network. Smokin.. I click on the Chrome browser and type in www.facebook.com. Chrome’s intuitive search reads my mind and even before I complete typing the address, opens facebook. Wow!!Technology..

 I have logged in to upload a new profile picture which I clicked today. It is a selfie - me sitting at the window on the local train, aviator sunglasses reflecting the zig-zag mesh of the window, hair flying in the air, a crooked smile on my lips. I am looking menacing. I have further edited it and made it black-and-white. Gangsta style.

I select the option for uploading the picture and upload it. I also add a smart title to the picture. It says “Living the Gangsta life”.

My high speed internet connection quickly uploads the picture and almost immediately one of my friends likes it. I scroll down on the window and review what others have posted. I like some of the posts and comments on others. I see some videos and laugh and generally have a nice time.

Over the next 15 minutes, several of my friends have liked my picture. Some of them have also commented

“Go gangster”

“Looking Awesome”

“Nice pic. Cool glares”

I like all the comments posted by my friends. A smile is playing on my lips. I am on a roll. I wiggle my fingers and hover them over the keyboard as I think. I want to add some other interesting status to my wall.

After a second, I type “The train was completely empty today and I was enjoying the ride and my music. Was interrupted by a beggar kid and was so annoyed!!!”

Again, as expected, my friends start liking my comment.

 “These beggars are such a nuisance. Someone should do something about them.” first comment.

 “You were able to resist yourself? Good!! I would have just kicked his ass. Lol”

“Don’t let anything come in the way of ur music, Dude. Just take a chill pill”

I quickly “like” all the comments and check who is online on the messenger.

There is a small ping sound. Someone else has liked my status. I smile again and click on the notifications icon to see who it is and what they have written.

“Don’t you think its unfair that a poor kid was begging and was out of school while you were enjoying music and relaxing. And above that you are complaining like a kid. Grow UP!!!”

My mouth falls open. Its one of the geeks in my class and I don’t like him too much. Why is he even my friend on facbeook?

Dude, I was not the reason why the kid was begging. I was minding my own business and the little bastard distressed ME!!! For all I know, he is a drug addict using the money he collects from begging to dope. He is probably linked to a begging mafia which cuts kids limbs and makes them beg. I am not gonna encourage these kind of things by giving money to them. Neither am I supposed to do anything for these guys. They owe their existence to themselves.

I think for some time. I do not want to write all this tirade on my wall status. What will others think about me? That I am a egotistical megalomaniac? I also don’t wanna admonish the geek who has provided the “negative” comment. He is entitled to his opinion.

The safest way is to “like” the comment and leave it at that.

And that’s what I do.

I logout of facebook and login to youtube.

Some guy from somewhere has posted a short video of a film he made. I watch the film, but quickly get bored. My thoughts veer back to my facebook status and the idiot who made me look bad online. I “unlike” the video and comment on it

“What a piece of crap..where are you from ass***, Somalia??”.

I go to the news site and read an article about the search for the missing Malaysian plane. I don’t even like that geek guy. He hardly knows me. What right he has to comment on my thoughts? I scroll down and comment

“What are the idiots doing? Is it that difficult to find a plane???. Ridiculous!!”

I go to a photo upload site and watch some photos. I have to get back to Mr. Geek. what does he think of himself?? Comment “What bad photos. My sweeper can click better snaps with his Nokia Asha Phone”

Film review site comment “The film sounds pretty bad..just like all films of this director”

Every site, every where I comment “Bad” “Cant get worse” “Bull!!!” “Shit” “Crap” “Fuck” and I go on and on.

I am enjoying this. Its my way to get back to the world. I am forgetting about the FB comment and Mr. Geek.

I am grinning like a fool, but I am not realizing it. Unknown to me, my shadow cast by the light of my laptop behind me on the wall has grown horns on my head and a pointed tail.

Sandhan Valley - The Valley of Shadows

The word "Sandh" in Marathi means a crack in a wall or a surface. And Sandhan Valley lives up to that word in magnificent glory.

An enormous crack was made on the surface of the earth by the untamed natural forces of wind and water over millions of years. Eventually it became a wonder, something which was both surreal and dangerous. This is the story of my journey through that crack.

Leaving from Mumbai via the last Kasara local at 1 AM, we reach the starting point of the trek at 6 AM, a village called Samrad. We started the trek at the mouth of a huge crevice between two 100 feet tall mountains. It seems to be leading endlessly into the rock. Small rocks are strewn all over the valley and our used-to-walk-on-concrete feet find it difficult to adjust to the terrain.

During the rains, this crevice probably becomes a booming river flowing rapidly through this valley, carrying with it stones, rocks and boulders.

As we get used to the rocks on the way, the first obstacle comes in the form of a low, narrow pool of water in the middle of our route. The water is waist deep and ice-cold and the only way to get to the other side is through the pool. We lift our bags on our head and slowly wade through the water. By the time we reach the other side, we are soaked from the waist down.

Some profanity is muttered and we continue our walk through the valley.

The topography changes rapidly. The size of the rocks increases from a few inches across to a few meters across. The rocks tower around us make us feel small and vulnerable. We keeping walking our path - sometimes through a narrow slit between two huge 15 foot rocks, sometimes stretching our limbs in ways we never thought possible, sometimes sliding down the bare stone surface to the next rock below and sometimes throwing down our bag and jumping down a few feet.

Obstacle number two arrives in grand fashion. A 70 feet drop into the rocky ravine below. The fall looks significant but our trek leader builds a rappel and we start going down one by one. Its treacherous and none of us has done this before. It adds to the excitement as the adrenaline rushes and we rappel down ignoring minor scratches and injuries; relishing the experience. The people who have completed and got down shout instructions to the next – but no one is hearing.

Again, we continue on and are just getting used to the stone trolls around us, when we encounter the third obstacle. The problem is we don’t even realize until it appears. The way has just come to an end abruptly. A dark, narrow caves mouth stares at us. The cave is just a couple of feet wide. Either a person can go in or his bag. The modus operandi of crossing this cave is to throw your bag inside first and then crawl inside. Although the cave is not too dark or long, it brings back images from claustrophobic horror movies. The fear of the dark combined with the fear of being trapped underneath a few ton stone grips the heart and wrenches the soul.

But the walk has to continue and we slowly descend into the unknown. The cave is very short and I quickly come out of the other side, relived and feeling reincarnated.

The last obstacle in a short 10 meter drop which we cross quickly with a rope without incident.

Finally we arrive at the camping site which is a huge dry waterfall with a pool of 10 feet deep water at its foot. Destination reached and a few hours to go before darkness falls, we decide to make the best use of the time. We swim in the water and spend some lazy hours sunbathing. As night falls, we play games, chat, sing songs, have our dinner and lie down to sleep on the surface of the dry waterfall under the clear sky.

Everyone’s exhausted and sleep comes quickly. I wake up in the middle of the night at some unearthly hour and listen to the wind howling. The temperature has dropped a few notches and the moon has set. The clear sky reveals its ancient secret of a millions glittering stars. I lie looking up in awe, in the middle of nowhere, with no one around and a feeling of nothingness inside me. I drift off to sleep at some unknown time.

Morning comes with a promise of a new day; as it always does. We pack up and start our walk to our destination village. A couple of hours later, we are back into civilization. We have an awesome meal of rice bhakari, sabzi, dal and bhaath.

Soon our vehicles arrive and we bid adieus to the mountains and the valleys to go back to our busy lives. But with a feeling that something inside us was left behind.

One more trek comes to an end. One more experience pocketed. One more day lived. 

Thank you friends - Appuz, Rama, Sanki, Manish and Uday. Thank you Trek Mates India and Nilesh for the incredible experience.

For the love of a good story

I love a good story. Like every other kid, I have always been fascinated by them from the earliest childhood. As a kid, I used to beg my parents to tell me stories when they tucked me into bed.

Most of the times, my mother would tell me one of the stories she heard from her parents or at the village fair folk artists called “Gondhalis”.

My father on the other hand was and still is fable-challenged

The greatest joy for my as a kid was when my grandfather visited us. Not only did he know a lot of stories but he had a funny way of telling them which made me roll with laughter with tears in my eyes. I cherished the time I spent with him listening to his stories.

The stories were probably what drew me to books and once I started reading, it became a life-long passion.

I read (more like devoured) anything and everything that came my way and I loved it all. I could go for the entire days reading books forgetting to even eat and sleep. From magical tales from the great Indian epics to awesome Arabian nights to Enid Blyton, Mark Twain, Jules Verne even Shakespeare.

Reading is a habit that continues till today.

Another form of storytelling which I loved and continue to love is films. Although, my interest in films has changed over time from the bollywood masala movies of my childhood, to Hollywood action and adventure movies, to any good movies with a good story, well told.

Life has come full circle now as my kids ask me to tell them stories when we lie down to sleep and I just pull out one of the tales from the great expanse of my memories. Their favorite stories are Hansel and Gretel, Jack and beanstalk and other Aesops fables and Grimms fairy tales. Through my kids, it seems like I am reliving my childhood.

Eventually, they will read books and watch movies and will reflect on the wonder that is a good story.

Oldboy

Before I watched Oldboy, I had read rave reviews on the internet. I knew that this path-breaking Korean movie enjoyed a cult status and there was no self-respecting movie aficionado who will pass this movie unnoticed.

The story of a regular guy imprisoned for 15 years for no reason at all and his saga of bloody revenge when he gets out of incarceration was just too mind-blowing and attractive to miss. Previous revenge movies immortalized by Quentin Tarantino still hold a special place in my personal movie hall of fame and I wanted to badly watch Oldboy.

So it was with great anticipation and eagerness that I at last started watching it on a weekday night.

When the 1.5 hours long movie finally got over, I instantly disliked it. Except for its gory violence and stylized cinematography, I did not find anything worth appreciating. In fact, I was appalled, shocked and surprised by the climax’s mind-bendingly twisted surprise.

Disliked is a mild word though, I actually loathed the film in first viewing. It was like watching some snuff movie which I could not imagine, understand and/or accept (except, of course, its not a snuff movie at all.)

This was my first reaction to this movie.

Over the next week or so, I constantly thought about Oldboy. It was like a bad song that you just can’t get out of your mind. And the more I thought about it, the more it dawned upon me why the movie has earned its cult status.

I realized that Oldboy is much more than mindless action and horrific violence brilliantly picturised. Behind the crazy violence of the anguished, tormented hero lay a deep story of insurmountable sadness, guilt and a need to redeem what was lost. This sadness, this grief is actually the essence of the film. The true reason of the violence and the reason why the characters behave the way they do.

The director has bravely taken a bizarre event that I could never imagine and converted it into something brilliant. So although the audience (like me) is not prepared for the gruesome reality, they will ultimately see that in case of an event of this magnitude happening in anyones life, the person will behave as irrationally as the characters in the movie did. The movie manages to shake the minds, hearts and the very thoughts of the viewers and that is the triumph of the movie.

Oldboy is a twisted movie by all accounts, but it is twisted because you as a viewer are not able to accept the directors vision and keep searching for an alternate answer. Unfortunately, this movies does not provide any and that makes its anguishing and brilliant at the same time.

And I am a convert and a part of the Oldboy cult.

What to write?

So what do I want to write on my blog? The easiest and most tempting thing to write is whats happening in my life, what I think about myself, others and my surroundings, any comment about the general happening in the world or some philosophical garbage that no one wants to read.

I can tread the oft-used path and write something funny based on my experiences with the world. Thats something interesting and can be written.

But finally the question remains. What to Write??