In The Mood For Love
Monday, November 05, 2012
Defining Halloween can come close to putting on several layers of IP Calamine, prescribed by doctor and purchased from hospital pharmacy. Just when I thought I'd said adieu to the rash infested days, hives came back to high five me on my nape and neck. What went past was Halloween eve, Halloween and post Halloween evening covered in a fresh, thick layer of hives and calamine smothered over it with a whole lot of agony, cussing and near tourette state of mind. Thankfully, this post comes when I am done chumming and brimming with happiness for it is Sunday and I am in no mood to reply to anyone about my whereabouts.
November kicked in, almost as weepy and silent as the exit of October. Tautologous crap but I can't help it. I don't exactly remember what all went past. My cousin got hitched, Pandal hopping was done, two re-unions with less than half of our classmates turning up in different instalments and evading classes with exams. Exams, ah. We're back at cribbing, full blown. Oh, there was Weekender, Delhi's own Woodstock- for glitterati indie lovers. Neon hats, ribbons, flags, Smirnoff buckets (alcohol will not be served to guests below the age of 21), boot and shorts; everything NCR and Delhi can encompass at an event that yells "commercialization" yet the vibe was amazing. I'm a sell out, after-all.
Coming to something recent, I lost my Wong Kar Wai virginity to Fallen Angels today, followed by losing yet another one- Marquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Today's afternoon was nothing short of intellectual stimulation- the kind that is not easy to come by when you're enrolled in master's course (and are slacking most of it). Brings me to an interesting revelation, inspiration can come from anywhere.
In my first year at college, film society had organized a Wong Kar Wai week. That was my first brush with Neo-Wave cinema. Later, the society represented our college at some Inter College Event for a short film making event and won some prize. I was massively impressed with their production. Now that I think of it, it's a fully inspired piece, cinema noir a la Wong Kar Wai. Strangely, I was re-reading this Murakami piece last night and it reminded me of this guy I know, who appreciates his work. His writing style being eerily similar to Murakami's.
When I compare these pieces, I do not imply the content. I simply state the mechanical process-something like carving a pumpkin, on account of Halloween. There will be a certain style to hold the knife or even while employing a kind of knife, the idea that goes in the purchase. Strangely, I function on the same spectrum. While I idolize certain people, I make sure I carve my work, just as if they've touched it. It's a lot like this scene from Fallen Angels where Ming's partner visits the bar and takes the same seat as him, just to feel his presence metaphorically. Later, when she crosses path with his blonde lover, she encounters the same scent. If you've ever been in place of Ming's partner, you'd know the intensity of madness as propagated by the person who idolizes it. It's almost as if a dog was made to sniff a bone and then it disappeared. The dog's madness is akin to the person who's reproducing his work in style of his master.
And, that's that.
Sound exam, which is partly physics and partly mind-fuckery has been postponed twice. On both the occasions my study graph fell substantially as I involved myself in better things than numbing head over trash like Nagra, Digetic and Pulse Code Modulation. In all likelihood, I'd fuck this, the way I'd fucked my head studying it. Perhaps, even more. Speculations precedes reality. I'm in no mood to hook people up (hint hint).
Now, if this post ceases to make sense, it's not because I've a confusing idol, it's because it's written over the span of 1o hours when I did everything possible in the middle of it- ate, wrote a script, skype-ed and even napped. To lazy day writing.
November kicked in, almost as weepy and silent as the exit of October. Tautologous crap but I can't help it. I don't exactly remember what all went past. My cousin got hitched, Pandal hopping was done, two re-unions with less than half of our classmates turning up in different instalments and evading classes with exams. Exams, ah. We're back at cribbing, full blown. Oh, there was Weekender, Delhi's own Woodstock- for glitterati indie lovers. Neon hats, ribbons, flags, Smirnoff buckets (alcohol will not be served to guests below the age of 21), boot and shorts; everything NCR and Delhi can encompass at an event that yells "commercialization" yet the vibe was amazing. I'm a sell out, after-all.
Coming to something recent, I lost my Wong Kar Wai virginity to Fallen Angels today, followed by losing yet another one- Marquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Today's afternoon was nothing short of intellectual stimulation- the kind that is not easy to come by when you're enrolled in master's course (and are slacking most of it). Brings me to an interesting revelation, inspiration can come from anywhere.
In my first year at college, film society had organized a Wong Kar Wai week. That was my first brush with Neo-Wave cinema. Later, the society represented our college at some Inter College Event for a short film making event and won some prize. I was massively impressed with their production. Now that I think of it, it's a fully inspired piece, cinema noir a la Wong Kar Wai. Strangely, I was re-reading this Murakami piece last night and it reminded me of this guy I know, who appreciates his work. His writing style being eerily similar to Murakami's.
When I compare these pieces, I do not imply the content. I simply state the mechanical process-something like carving a pumpkin, on account of Halloween. There will be a certain style to hold the knife or even while employing a kind of knife, the idea that goes in the purchase. Strangely, I function on the same spectrum. While I idolize certain people, I make sure I carve my work, just as if they've touched it. It's a lot like this scene from Fallen Angels where Ming's partner visits the bar and takes the same seat as him, just to feel his presence metaphorically. Later, when she crosses path with his blonde lover, she encounters the same scent. If you've ever been in place of Ming's partner, you'd know the intensity of madness as propagated by the person who idolizes it. It's almost as if a dog was made to sniff a bone and then it disappeared. The dog's madness is akin to the person who's reproducing his work in style of his master.
And, that's that.
Sound exam, which is partly physics and partly mind-fuckery has been postponed twice. On both the occasions my study graph fell substantially as I involved myself in better things than numbing head over trash like Nagra, Digetic and Pulse Code Modulation. In all likelihood, I'd fuck this, the way I'd fucked my head studying it. Perhaps, even more. Speculations precedes reality. I'm in no mood to hook people up (hint hint).
Now, if this post ceases to make sense, it's not because I've a confusing idol, it's because it's written over the span of 1o hours when I did everything possible in the middle of it- ate, wrote a script, skype-ed and even napped. To lazy day writing.
0 comments