A Serving of Mohan Bhatnagar!

"I've decided that today is going to be amazing. 1, 2, 3... GO!" 

I have more than a sneaking suspicion about that being the thought Mohan Bhatnagar woke up to, the morning of 29th May. 

Picture the scene...    Sprawled across the parapet of his stingy stretch of a balcony in his usual king-of-the-world languor, he frowns when an annoying rooster crows. Once. Twice. Thrice. Somewhere in the realm between asleep and awake, he yells for Guru to shut the freaky bird up. And somehow, it works. Quiet prevails again. But unaccustomed as he is to things going his way,  easily as that,  Mohan snaps out of the semi-consciousness. Barely survives the fall of an entire storey between jumping to his feet and not slipping over the very edge, feels an immediate crick in the neck from the night's not so flattering position, and looks about skeptically to find what silenced his everyday enemy, that vengeful neighborhood rooster. Before his search can culminate however, his gaze is distracted by the fluttering of the curtains of  her  room. And unlike most of his days, today he does catch sight of her. Just for a second, just in time, before she flits past the dresser out of the door. The rooster crows again. Mohan rolls his eyes almost fondly at the return of normalcy. Looks in the distance at the intriguing blend of indigo and pink ribbons that form the pre-dawn sky. And  just like that  he decides... that today is going to be amazing. 1, 2, 3... GO! 

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But hold your horses right here. This post is not about a day in the life of Mohan Bhatnagar! Not even, if the day turns out to be as entertaining and goofy-grin-inducing as that from the episode of 29th May. To which, btw, the above was my mentally accommodated prelude... 

But no. This post is only a means to finally blog about my current favorite Indian show. A post I was intending to make no later than last week, which marked the well reached milestone of 100 episodes completion for Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha. Since I'm altogether late for that now, but still wish to pay some tribute to the NBT team, I think I shall dedicate this post to doing what I do better than much else - gush about my favorite character from the show, a stroke of genius from the makers who have conjured a character this close from being real! 

For the uninitiated, meet Mohan Bhatnagar. The cynical man-child who can outwit bad guys a dozen a dime, but not wrap his head around the rocket science that is tying laces. If you insist, he's likely to launch into some half baked theory about the (delightfully psychedelic colored) laces left purposefully untied in accord with current trends (in Mohan-land of course). But beware, lest you get talked into any such glib - even a precocious 8 year old (read: Nanhi) knew better than to! Still, if you choose to overlook the warning, I trust Mohan in all his klutzy glory to oblige. By dutifully and unfailingly stumbling upon his fashion-statement-waces - while still in the middle of excusing his goofy ways as "style" - and effectively proving otherwise. 

But moving beyond my (evident) obsession over the waces... 

It is just as well that I warn you at this point also, about Bhatnagar's self destructive knack of casting epic fail first impressions. In defense of his virtues though - his heart is gold, his affections precious and his witticisms priceless. His guard is impenetrable, as long as you're not tricking him with good homemade food to get your way past it. And that is curiously enough, not Achilles' only heel. If by some miraculous chance you come to be in possession of this mysterious blue bordered white female hanky recovered from his denims or backpack, hold onto it. From reliable sources it is known, that there are unbelievable extents he will go to, to get it back. Maybe,  just maybe both his desperation and your luck are running high enough - that he will even trade his pehla pyaar dumroo in return! 

If his cynicism stumps you, you haven't yet seen his candor. And if you think nothing could top that, you haven't seen his concern! His signature expressions of courtesy - sun naa, arey yaar, chal be - are (excuse the immodesty) a cult of their own, spreading like an epidemic among keen idolizers; the latter being a number on exponential rise. 

But don't be so impressed. On days of his life - when he's not busy being adorkable with Chawanni, playing knight and confessing love to her feisty mother Mirchi Vyas, being encountered by the ever-stalking Vyases, being advised by insufferable know it all biwi Guru, or being patronized by moody Maa - Mohan does have a mundane life of his own, in which he is a star crime reporter. On his less eventful days, he can be found chasing witnesses or villains down highways and narrow alleys alike. His phone logs will usually be equally divided among Karan, Tawde, and Guru. Sometimes he can be found looking dorky in glasses as he doogles information about the goons. If there is nothing at all happening, boredom can compel him to land in a supermart and seek out transient action in disturbing peaceful shelves of order. 

So really, Mohan Bhatnagar is a noone-special-nextdoor. 

So how come that extensive fan following, you ask? It reminds me. In all my rambling I forgot to mention that the lesser known Mortal Bhatnagar is also available in the form of his invincible superhero alias - SpiderM(oh)an!!!

And just because I'm a nice fan who doesn't feel so territorial about letting others in on trade secrets, I will have you know that the exclusive rights to contact Spidey belong to Nanhi. Rumor has it, that Spidey only responds to an archaic ring-a-bell mechanism, set up personally by him, to cater to his very own chota bomb! 

Did You Know Trivia: 

-  His nickname is Monu. He will deny it, even at gun point. But that is the truth, and honestly he should quit running from it! Of course, there is a catch. Any guesses for the one  person who gets away with calling him Monu? No, not his mother, duh! And before you even go there, Mirchi finds much more appeal in calling him "musibat"! Guru is too biwi-minded to address him by a nick name - oh the sheer blasphemy! Which leaves only one. Chota bomb! 

-  Mohan's favorite color is a point of contention. Teal is his earliest known favorite. In more recent times however, he set his mind on black. But if the latest hints are anything to go by, I say he's warming up to yellow. Of course it has nothing to do with Mirchi's choice, psst! 

-  Milk is definitely not his drink. There is no evidence favoring bhaang either. If it was on me, I'd put money on masala chai, preferentially served half-a-cuppa! Okay fine, I wont deny Mirchi's credit for this one. 

- Mohan's greatest competitor comes in pocket-size. Goes by the name of Piddi Vyas. When they're not up against each other in a perpetually lasting war,  they do have their rare moments of "bonding". The exact terms and conditions of which are tricky to explain...

-  He's not usually one with a taste for flowers. Nanhi never approved of his choice for starters. There are witnesses to his once upon a time physical assault against respected Mrs. Renu Vyas with a beautiful bunch that he all but sent hurling at her. But recent events have changed that. And you just have to see the look on his face at the sight of a cactus in bloom, to believe when I tell you - Mohan does love some flowers. And some butterflies, while we're at it. 

-  The famous Mr. Bhatnagar is his mysterious father. A man he shares an inexplicable love-hate relationship with. I haven't really figured out this one to be honest. If I may, I doubt Mohan himself has figured it out yet. 

-  He doesn't like jalebi or laddoo or gulab jamun so I'd say he's not much of a sweet tooth. No surprise, given that he does chase after a woman he fondly calls Mirchi Madam!

And that's enough for a start. If you haven't really gotten to watching this show yet, I say you do it now. If you're a non-Hindi speaking blog follower - I feel for you. Mohan's magic will be quite lost on you, because no subtitles do justice to vintage Mohanisms. 

Finally, to the entire team of NBT - you people just get what entertainment is about. Enough said. Here's to a long innings, that never feels too old! Keep it rolling! 

To Kunal Karan Kapoor - Who would Mohan be, if not you? No. Change that. Who would you be, if not Mohan?! Yes, that's a trick question :P

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And I had better get back to understanding the life and styles of Parisian salons in the 19th century. Yay, exciting! *insert emoticon per your perception of my sentiment here* 

xx

J.

Many moods of a Monday!

So this post is a compilation of random thoughts/events from the day. Nothing so happening. But well. Just for kicks.

- The one good thing about Mondays? There are enough left overs from extensive Sunday cooking to pack lunch for school (home made, wheee!) and look forward to an evening after getting back to no kitchen chores. Yes, small grace, but saving no less for back to work day of the week! Yay to fruit custard and grilled veggie pasta salad! 

- Twitter resurrection! In hindsight of over half a day gone, might be a very distracting idea... I'm calling this test week. 

- Issued The Art of War. After many years of pretending I didn't know of its existence, superior reviews and recommends, and well - just ignoring it. Still don't care so much for it, but it literally fell at my feet begging. I say literally, because it did - was going for another book on the shelf, one too beyond my humble height, and somehow this one came tumbling along... I was always a sucker for "signs" - so this is it. 

- Vending machine in my office space threw a tantrum. Not that I blame the poor thing. Everyone seems to vent their Monday blues unto it. So just when it was finally my turn to go grab a vitamin water, it decided to be stuck up. Yes of course, literally. 

- So this undergrad has been spamming me for ever. Okay, for weeks. Like 2 maybe. To read some chapter drafts she wants to send in for some publication. I finally get done and send her back quick lines of first impression/critique Sunday evening, only to come back Monday morning to more spam. She's "explaining" character action/reactions to me, the ones I subtly hinted at. *bites back swear words because Blogger is not exactly PG restrained* But seriously?! She can freaking well find herself another mentor! The rule is simple girl - it is the writing's obligation to defend its characters; and not the writer's prerogative to do so in person! [And that goes in red because that is literally how the unspoken rule stands!]

- It's a pleasant day outside. The sun and clouds have been at play. I can finally spot some colors in the compound overlooking my cubicle window. In petty flowers. In clothes - because the uniformly black and grey coats have been cast off. And flyers. Like all over now that summer break is almost here. This prelude in spirit at the threshold of summer is what I like the most around this time of the year. Its just gay. Literally speaking, without pun. 

- Finally, I can't wait for the clock to finally strike hour. Really, there shouldn't be an entire weekend between episodes of your favorite daily! The wall clock in my office feels suffocated by my exclusive and constant attention towards it, because for some minutes at a-periodic intervals, I've literally been stalking the seconds' hand!

I guess that's it? I didn't think this one would get so long - but I should know better! Just for the record, I still have to do that blogpost I promised for the weekend. I still intend to anyway. It's supposed to be a follow up on the last one. Maybe later today. Or tomorrow. 

I hope some of you are having more eventful Mondays than mine (refer to notes above). Until the next one... 

Let no man take away your dreams...!

Like a flower poking through a sidewalk crack... 
and just like that -
You steal away the rain... and just like that! 

You make me smile =) 

Just one of those mornings. With almost not a wink of sleep to the credit of last night. Because some nights just pass by in a crazy blur like that! So much to blog about piled up from this week. Started off a couple posts, but never got around to completing, so they're still drafts.

But over the weekend - for sure - which is the idea of stating it formally here!

I want to quick mention. This song is special for arbit reasons. Like that it makes me smile. Just listening to it.

And like that line - about the flower in the sidewalk - served my muse to write one of my favorite chapters in a long story which is a work in progress. Everytime I fail to connect with that work, I have to but come back and listen to the song. This line serves my eternal inspiration =)

And before I finally crash - food for thought. Because my next post will be about this. Think of those trivial things which filled you with an innocent sort of delight as a child? Cue - a rainbow...?! 

So yeh. If you're here, and reading - think back. To a time when life was simpler... and dreams much fancier...! 

World's Greatest Epic...

The Mahabharta, hands down.

It never fails me.

And if I ever make a list of people I want to thank for a significant way(s) they changed my life, Chitra Lekha Banerjee Devakaruni will be in it, quite high up too. She presents a tale that shall remain my unchallenged favorite ever, in more perspectives than I'd imagined. Through the eyes of a character I'd dismissed with no opinions too high too early on and for far too long.

But this is not a long blogpost about my musings on the book. I think that might make for a very tedious accounting, if I can ever manage to do complete justice unto to it at all.

Just wanted to put this down somewhere, for the record, this whim I'm starting to nurture. To buy for myself a certain list of books from the first salary that will come to mean something to me, something more than just money from the odd jobs to pay the bills. The Palace of Illusions just made that list in my head.

And dear, dear, Ms. Chitra - when (and if) I meet you, the copy shall need an autograph =))

".. poetry in being just ordianry..."

Back already - yes I do seem to be on a blogging roll atm, don't I? If you read me that is - whoever you are, wherever!

Anyway, so just caught up on some recent on the record statements made by BBC's Sherlock writer Moffat and I had random things to say/point out/ question.

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First. Climax to third season will leave us frustrated as ever - is that supposed to be comforting? I guess, when one begins to look at "frustrated" and "comforting" as words in Moffat's dictionary that can be implied in a contrary sense...? I have ample faith in these writers though - for all the reasons and history. I'm going to sustain the wait believing "frustrated" has an encouraging connotation too.

I love his takes on Benedict and Martin as the leads - both of them, but what he says for Martin definitely takes the cake!

"He makes ordinary people fascinating. He finds poetry in just being ordinary, and that's an extraordinary, exquisite gift. He can tell the story of our lives and make it fascinating." 

Now while I had a first "wow" reaction to just the way he said that bit, I have some contentions to raise on second thoughts. The lines themselves make you think of ordinary as poetic. My question is, is John really an ordinary character? When you see him alongside Sherlock, sure. Which is like all the time. But John is far from ordinary. He is the guy Sherlock accepted first time, in the first go, to have for a room mate. And he doesn't get the door closed on his face for being a distracting set of molecules to Holmes's thinking process. Not to mention he manages to be witty - even in Sherlock's formidable presence. Yes. Watson is anything but ordinary.

But since he does seem overtly so, given Sherlock's extent of extra-ordinary, I see what Moffat is trying to say. That Watson is not a character who should fade away in the shadows of Sherlock. And that Martin doesn't. That he makes ordinary seem quite an attribute, that version of ordinary which he represents, which appeals even to Sherlock.

And come to think of it, why we really value Watson, hang on to him, is because Sherlock does! Somehow when a man/character that values nothing and no one latches onto anything/anyone, taking the cue is inevitable. Make any-thing/one appeal to a protagonist of Sherlock's league, and you can put money on how infallible that endorsement is!

And here's another way of looking at it too. Moffat calling Watson ordinary. If I can't make this statement a unanimous stand, I can at least guarantee it is generic with rare exception. Watching Sherlock is like watching someone you cannot be. Watching Watson - especially alongside Holmes - is like watching someone you can be. And someone you may even want to be, given that's the closest to get to your cannot be replicated hero material Sherlock.

Watson is definitely the one we connect with in the series. Sherlock awes us. Moriarty leaves us hanging between realms of awe and despair at his contrasting but almost equal genius. Or is it lunacy? (=D) But Watson - he's the one we can connect with. There is someone like Mrs. Hudson - we can love, but not really marvel in a real sense. There is Lestrade - we can feel even strongly about for the sheer fidelity he shows for Holmes's extraordinary even if it's always about being the back burner guy in turn. But Watson, he is match. He strikes that balance between what awes us as untouchable in Sherlock, and what we can still, somewhere, manage to implement.

So well. I didn't mean for this to end up being a character analysis post. Just really liked how Moffat said that bit. And belatedly realized his knack of evoking connection and admiration by underrating. And still liked how he did that too! But mostly, it's just the sound of those lines. Put together like that. Definitely for keeps!

[Link to the written account of Moffat's statements - http://www.radiotimes.com/news/2012-05-16/steven-moffat-promises-a-puzzling-climax-to-sherlock%27s-third-series]

Because being unpredictable is like being a child!

Just finished reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid - Cabin Fever. It seems like children books may be the only form of literature that is not cliche or predictable anymore. Or should I say it about fiction at large? Maybe not. I don't seem to think likewise about visual media fiction for sure!

Nonetheless, after a long time, here was a book that kept me guessing - without actually consciously doing so! Without the need to analyse or speculate, or just basically "over think" as has become a habit with me over these recent years.

I think what really worked for me was that I took up the book on a lark, expecting nothing but some interesting graphics, and I don't know, just a juvenile bedtime story. I can't really say why I picked it up - except that it landed in my possession somehow, and I don't really know how to hold books I haven't read.

Oh well. Turns out, it takes a children's book to just reconnect with the joy of "reading" as from a time when I wasn't doing it with awareness and motives. Like school work. Or like being in loop of latest updates and suggested readings of literary groups. Like reading for picking up on literary styles and tools. Or even just to have read a book beforehand, if its being adapted as a movie I want to watch. Strange, but I realized as I finished up reading this book, that it had been quite a while since I last read a book just for the story. Sure, a book stays with me only if I connect with the story. But it hasn't been the driving motivation anymore, and I can't really pin down the time it ceased to be.

A lot of my recent reading - fiction and non fiction - has been plainly to "equip" myself in various aspects for the writing of my own novel. And suddenly I feel like I'm missing the point. Like I think I'm writing because it's what I want to do, and what I was made to - but not what I'm doing for real.

I do enjoy days when I get good kind of writing done. But it's been getting somewhat mechanical, and I've abandoned one too many pieces because I lost interest shortly into them. I keep thinking back to abandoned pieces, now and then when something in my routine or surrounding reminds me of related nuances, and I even envisage whole scenes playing out - but I don't seem to get them written out anymore all that much.

Even the gym song list doesn't seem to be compulsive enough - ideas sprout up, but ephemerally, often not long enough for them to materialize into words.

So back to the book. For all reasons - odd and even - I loved reading it. It seemed like a collection of disjoint diary entries to begin with. But then a pattern was starting to form. I was starting to connect with the mind of the preteen narrator. Starting to see his streak for disaster, his curiosity and observation that just reminded me how unfathomable a child's mind can be - and how unpredictable hence a story that revolves around one or more.

There were no good or bad guys. There seemed to be no need. There were situations, because the preteen central character sought them out all by himself with his penchant for plenty of "wise decisions" which (adorably I thought) quite fit in accord with his character.

One of the best thing was how the book wasn't preachy, at all. But how there were still those simple direct lines thrown in, which were suspiciously laced with a wisdom that can only be either too profound, or too obvious! Lines that didn't make you stop and ponder, but those that pleasantly stood out for you, even in a preteen story book! 

Here goes my favorite -  "When I was little I used to want to be an author myself. But whenever I started telling Mom my ideas she'd say my story was just like some book that was already published. I realized all the good ideas were taken before I was even born." 

I think it also so happened, that after quite a while I read a book without having reviews/feedback/synopsis about it beforehand. I had no idea what to expect. No idea what the story was about. Dim as this will sound, I did not even know I was reading "one" book (Cabin Fever) from a series called Diary of a Wimpy Kid - basically I had not clue of what to expect, and I wasn't even expecting myself to expect. I just sort of picked it up and begun reading. And it wasn't until I was a good 40 pages down, that I begin to treat it as a "story" at all! One with continuity and a plot. And I guess that's what really took me back to the past, to times when reading books was like that for me - a discovery in every sense, without consciously making it happen so!

Anyway. So that's my latest update on the last book I read. If I can inspire anyone at all to go buy themselves a copy of the book and read it because it will truly feel revolutionary in a back to basics way - yes I insist you do so!

And if you enjoy it half as much - I guess I've passed on the credit of a good message!

ps: On a note of confession, it struck me I can never really write a children's book. And I mean in a sense of a lacking as a writer. Writing a children's book is like watching an apple fall from a tree and discovering gravity! Why? Because when I look at something obvious after 20+x years of my life, it is very hard to actually stop and wonder about it. Most times, it will just pass me without notice! And it is in what is obvious to an adult, that a child's wondrous imagination truly evolves. A child's mind like a clean slate is capable of being intrigued by what is routine and mundane to me, an adult. And thinking like a child again, then, is (I would say for me) impossible. That, when I plan to think like one, creatively, and weave a story of it.

And on that note, I say we adults - all ages - overrate complexity and maturity. We think a child is too simple to fathom the riddles of life, and that growing up is the process where you slowly begin to wrap around the tedious stuff - a process that is ceaseless unto the end. But look at it the other way. We constantly trade off that freshness about us, in perceiving something, anything, sans preconceived notions and sets of rules. Every moment of life somehow adds knowledge to out natural database, something that we consider "Expansive" but something that is in turn increasingly robbing us of the ability of absolute objectivity!

The discussion can run on - but I think this is where I leave it for now. If I didn't make it obvious enough yet, go get yourself a copy of the book. Sometimes, going back to the basics - at the very fundamental level - is what a revelation is about! 

Her rise is glittering. Her fall sordid.

So I figured I'd not really get around to regular blogging, if I kept striving to be theme and thought oriented. Here's a bail out in the meantime that I acquire the knack of those desired "blogging" virtues.

I seem to come across way too many lines and verses and prose, and just words, that make me stop, and smile. Occasionally frown. Mostly always think...

So food for thought today? The title itself. A sentence that I caught in an article on the Guardian (UK) about Anne Boleyn.

Her rise is glittering, her fall sordid. 

I don't know if I comply to defines of normal - I don't care much either way - but words excite me. Especially when they're put together in strings of mutual amiability. Like they're entities thrown together by someone, who sits back to watch them at play.

In case of the title of the post, the words have bonded marvelously. There's just nothing ingenious about what they claim. Yet, there's some degree of genius in the way they do it.

For me, anyway. It makes me think. Initially and primarily of the subject in reference, Anne Boleyn - a character in history that always elicits a range of reactions, none too mild! And then eventually, my line of thought strays from the focal subject. Forays into the generality of the words, the way they can apply to more than one...

I try to recall names that fit this description and they jump at me, from annals of various times... the sheer range of exploits leaves me in revelation - women seem to take this generic cue too seriously while making history, it would seem...

Marilyn Monroe. Britney Spears. Amy Winehouse. Whitney Houston. Virginia Woolf. Mary Nolan. Princess Diana. If hers can be termed as rise as at all, Monica Lewinsky...? And not so much sordid as news-making, but Elizabeth Taylor?

I can't seem to to think of enough of the top of my head, but I know there are more. Many more. 

And I wonder, what part of "rise" and/or "glittering", causes the fall to be sordid. Almost compulsively... Not so rare it seems, is the occurrence of the process reversing itself with some alteration. A sordid living and death. A glittering rise to fame after. Not so romantic as the original, but accountable all the same.