recap - the week that was

its been a week for listening to the strange disjointed fragments of madvillain or the incredible spartan beauty of the clogs. the hindi film song retrospective all the way to pune and back seemed a little grating to me. but it was definitely more entertaining for my company- paul, prasad, rupali and akhtar on a day of disaster after disaster. first the tyre burnt out after a puncture just as son as we got off the expressway into pune. and then as we were on our way back paul left his laptop at the restaurant and we had to head back all the way from the toll naka to chandni chowk. luckily the lap top was still although we had quite a scare on the way back as two cars decided to suddenly stop and quarrel in the middle of the road, and if it were not for my quick swerve to the left we would all be in a hospital right now. it was a terrible day- and to ward away any other mishaps we bought a new tyre after many stops and drove back through an ice cold cloud in lonavala.

The apartment on the 25^th floor at goregaon looks all the way from the national park to the mangroves ; while in pune in one direction is hanuman tekdi and the rest of the city while on the other on the edge of the clubhouse peacocks dance. a marketing poster enumerates all the paraphernalia of choice for the nouveau riche.

but what about the rest of the week?
this is from the end of the first year detective stories workshop.

meanwhile i have been reading and watching films- as usual. ‘brick lane’ by monica ali was very overrated i thought. a bangladeshi woman has an affair with a younger man as she is bored by her older husband. every cliché that can easily be sold to the west exist in the book and the language after reading someone like zadie smith seems clunky. the cross cultural encounter seemed pallid and stereotypical when compared to ‘a passage to india’ even though i kept wondering whether forster was overcompensating. ‘persepolis’ was wonderful. i haven’t seen the film yet, but the book was moving, interweaving the political history of the country into a coming of age tale. i actually felt choked up while reading a comic book after years. a graphic novel- rather.

the new mummy film should not have been made. again and again jet li is hung from wires and scowls as a warrior from ancient china. michelle yeoh cuts fine karate chops but i am sick of this airbrushed beauty of china although always threatened by evil megalomaniacs.

speaking of china fireworks dazzle the world as the birds nest implodes and dancers move in improbable unison. all the time i wonder what if one of them falters and the patterns are disturbed. the presence of a regime of spectacular violence is not much hidden by the incredible spectacle. instead it seems more apparent.

surabhi showed truffaut on friday. ‘shoot the piano player’. violent and gentle at the same time. bumbling heroes and villains and gorgeous women who die saving the hero. i kept connecting the sudden brutality that breaks the mundane in a tarantino film to the almost mistake-like crimes in the truffaut film. I preferred truffaut’s love to tarantino’s smugness.

and earlier in the week, the first of this years departures – namrata left for berkeley.