Sharp Objects – A review and some pangs

I set outside my home much like Camille Preaker dressed in jeans, tee, a windcheater despite it being a hot evening and my sling bag for company.

My hair is free flowing and loose like hers, it moves lazily with every small burst of wind that encounters me. I feel this immense energy in me to write and I head to the closest park that affords some privacy because of its size.

I reach the nearest bench and I collapse with my phone.. Trying to bring my head together over what I just watched and discussed.

Sharp Objects isn’t like any other TV show. It was short, sweet and dizzying. Where shows like ‘How To Get Away With Murder’ can’t get into intricacies of characters, this show had an alarmingly real protagonist and very real characters essayed so beautifully that you’re convinced that you were just in the living room of this pretty mansion, in countryside America. Except, you suddenly wake up when your dog licks you and you’re home, your perceived comfort zone, far away from baby killers.

One of the most intriguing aspects of this show is the use of flashbacks at just the right scenarios. You’re confused about the time line, you take a moment to register what’s being shown and suddenly your hair’s standing on ends compelling you to realign your position with the screen.

I thought Amy Adams was a fantastic actor after American Hustle, which isn’t saying much but after Sharp Objects, I can’t stop raving about her.

Also, Gilian Flynn you’ve done it again. After Gone Girl, just when you thought shit couldn’t get creepier, lo and behold. This woman is the mistress of psycho thrillers and there’s no two ways about it!

While I’m still reeling under the trauma of the thriller, I’m eager to get my hands on the book for my friend just told me some of those subtle nuances that the show didn’t do justice to and I want more closure.

So if you find yourself craving a thriller, albeit slow paced and all of 8 episodes, I’d recommend Sharp Objects.

Give it a watch and let me know your reviews in a comment below!

Adios!

P. S. Bless your heart.

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Maasoom – Of Emotions Warm and Milky

You know that there is a blog post coming up soon when you’re swamped with words and are at a loss to record them. The past week has been one of tumultuous emotions for me – two months ago, I took a decision which brought me to a new stage in life – that of acceptance and of facing reality. Now I don’t know how successful I will be in NOT running from problems (Yes, I know. Escapism seems to run strong in my generation these days!) but I know that I must face the consequences and I know I will.

I was lounging about the hall when a vaguely familiar tune caught my attention – My /mum had just switched on Doordarshan (Did you know DD still has some viewers left?!) and I was intrigued by the film. I spent my evening watching Maasoom.

Now this movie brings up a lot of anecdotes in my head – Let’s go chronologically. I remember my parents watching this movie when I was a kid and I remember thinking – Why would someone watch something so boring that despite featuring 3 kids did not make it entertaining for me.

Much later in high school, I had the good fortune to meet a Social Science teacher – Ms Rachna Ma’am, who reinforced my belief in general knowledge and discipline. I will always remember her chiding me for not knowing the capital of Chattisgarh, for not knowing where which state was positioned and for being a slouch in general. Her arrival into the classroom caused a dissension among most – she actually meant business when she assigned tasks to us and it was different from the norm that we were used to. Rachna ma’am soon became a favorite – not the direct and favorite one, I didn’t want the others to think I loved her. But I did approach her for some issues – read teenage drama. In hindsight – what really stands out was that – my love for knowing and acquiring general knowledge took off from there. She always told us that an Atlas had more knowledge about the world, while costing so less, and all we had to do was absorb and be willing to learn.

Also, Rachna ma’am’s first lesson was to stop calling the subject Social Studies an instead of referring to it as Social Sciences.

Rachna ma’am had to leave our school due to some personal reasons and it was her farewell time. We asked her to sing and she sang – ‘Tujse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi, Hairaan Hoon’. I didn’t understand the depth and complexity of the emotions described in this song until today. Partly because I need to really dissect the lyrics of songs to get their hidden meaning and also because to be frank, I had never thought about it.

Watching Maasoom – the movie, the emotions, the teacher, everything brought up the intensity of the lyrics.

Watching Maasoom also reminded me of a tête-à-tête with my aunt. She constantly emphasizes that it is ALWAYS the woman who can make or break a family. It is always the woman who has to make scarifices – and she must understand this, accept it,and take it upon herself without feeling remorse – it’s the only way that life will be easier for all. I have been contemplating long and hard about this and I feel like she’s onto something.

And here’s the link to the movie if you’re up for some mellow, thoughtful piece of art! Did I mention the brilliant acting?

If you just want the song, here it is:

If you watch Maasoom and are faced with a dilemma that the protagonist in the movie faces – how would you react and what would you feel like?

I would be very keen to know your views. Do write, comment and leave your thoughts while I go get some rest.

Adios amigos.

Stay stong! ❤

Dig Through The Data For Insightful Thoughts

I think this is the dream.
Sitting in an airport café – the window overlooks the runaway and you see these beautiful non-natural birds gliding and taking off right next to you, and you’re sipping on a mocha-café and aren’t worried that it has cost you a bomb. This phase – the pre-travel anticipation for a much-needed holiday, it’s a blissful feeling. It’s like you’ve worked your ass off, or maybe not so much, but just a little bit, for these moments.

Sitting opposite a stranger, exchange polite hellos, and before it becomes imperative to exchange more words, you take out your laptop and start putting into words the emotions you feel. Writing is a boon, to those few who have discovered the perils of doing so. I call it peril because when you write, you leave a lasting impression of yourself, on record to the world. You may move on, move worlds and pass into nothingness, but your words, those creatures of your mind, they will survive the test of time. They’re potent, yet latent, The dangers will be unleashed only if discovered by people.
For a private journal writer, I am amazed at how curious I am about other people’s work. It’s beautiful seeing people open up to inanimate paper because you don’t hold back at all, then. I recently discovered a colleague’s office notebook – I read some of her words – a letter to her friend, some words to take off the heaviness in her mind, and some random scribbles. It gives you an altogether different insight into the person. She will never know I did that. For she will never want her pages back. And that, only adds to the appeal of the words.
It’s so beautiful – the gift of gab, albeit in the written format.
I was often asked why I wasn’t into journalism – I could have been one but I didn’t fight hard for it cause I didn’t believe in my abilities. I didn’t believe I, a meek and introverted person could be bold enough to follow up with people, to dig deep into minds and I didn’t think I ‘d be resourceful enough.

I still don’t think I’d make a good journalist. For writing, is only a small part of the qualities that you’d need to have. I hate pressurising people to open up. But if you do want to open up, I will listen to you with my heart and soul and try to respect your thoughts, words, and opinions, more that I would believe in. For faith is another beautiful thing.
While I was on the drive, en route to the airport, I couldn’t help but think about the people in my life, who I love.
I came to a few realisations, that are not altogether selfless. I do not see myself as a person who can be loved. When people accept me for my flaws and idiosyncracies that is when I begin to like them. I feel amazed – like how can you even like someone like me? If you are brave enough to take that step and are not turned off my the results, who am I to not respect the beautiful piece of art that you are? That is how my emotions grow.
They say that love is not selfish. I disagree. The intent to love can only begin if there are certain emotions that are brought to the fore. And for that to happen, you would need to be aware of certain attributes, that may not al be rosy.
When my desk at the office was changed after 3 months of joining the new corporate place, I was aghast. I didn’t like that I was seated in between two people who had the unfriendliest of faces. One was super polite, one was super quiet. Every time one went for a smoke, I could feel the reek and stench of the tobacco for minutes altogether and I hated it.
It took me about three months more to actually interact with the smoker. I realise that time is the biggest catalyst in your relationships with people. Take your own family members for instance. There are different phases and emotions that you can trace from your childhood. The overwhelming emotion is of love.. but if you separate them, you can see how it stems in.. When you’re in kindergarten, you are just awed by your parents. They are your biggest heroes – the know-it-alls, the solution to your everyday problems, your biggest support.
Move on to your teens, and you begin to see your parents as your enemies. You don’t get them, their logic or lack of it seems lame to you, you want to distance yourself away and you even manage to do it quite ruefully. It’s a hard phase for them to be in. And your dramatics do not improve the situation but hey, you are the Rockstar of your life and you think that you have every right to be that annoying ass that you are.
After a slow and painful teenage and a rather rough start to your twenties when your career decisions may be impacted by your folks, you are just beginning to accept things, and you are neutral to your folks. Then comes that long-distance phase with your parents. You may move to a new city in pursuit of new ambitions and goals and suddenly you realise the importance of your family,, Things may not get back to the idolising that happened to you as a kid, but you’re at somewhat a balanced phase now.
Now is the time you begin to value the sacrifices they’ve gone through. The early mornings, late nights, mundane job responsibilities and the likes. It’s a little too difficultfor you – because you don’t even know if you could ever do the same for somebody. Not until you’re in that situation, maybe not even then. You respect and love your folks more now, maybe see them as lovable frail hearts, that are slipping by you with time.
I don’t know the purpose of this post/rant, but the homecoming and the homegoing, both are always slightly emotional. For all the perks that living away offers, home Is always love, and always will be.
Perhaps that is why whenever you go back home, no matter how long ago it’s been, it always feels like you never left.

 

Missings and musings.

I’ve always had good friends but life has always been characterized into phases and friendships also. Just like dysfunctional families, a term I really like, even my relation with my friends is dysfunctional.

Most are the heart warming, genuine, I’ll be there for you always kinda people. Some are the exes. Long forgotten, but they reside in the deeper throes of thr heart, cause they cannot be forgotten. I’ve realised that it’s harder to make friends as you grow older. My general observation is that people are less open to deep interactions, I find that a precursor to great relationships. Shared emotions, common enemies, childhood secrets, crushes, heart break, usually, one needs to open up deeply on a personal level to feel that connect with someone else. Not many are willing to do that in real life now and most prefer the convenience of virtual life to fester and foster in the old friendships.

I’m cleaning out my room and trying to set everything for the next one year. It’s going to be a crucial year, this. Both personally and professionally. And as I rummage through my folder, I find among other things, the promise of hope. An unsaid promise that cannot be broken simply because it was never meant to be one. I read it in the words and I know that a lot of what I believe in and know is going to change. It has to…nevertheless, some familiar comforts, some lights, will guide me home.

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