MNIB

My name is Basu, and I am not totally impressed.

I anticipated MNIK to be a for sure sob story. I, thus, very carefully folded a handkerchief and kept it inside my purse. Khan always makes me cry. Each movie of his evokes pathos in me every single time I watch it.But surprisingly it wasn't as much of a tearjerker as I expected it to be! Not that I didn't wet my eyes-of course I did! But then I am mawkishly sentimental while watching soppy tales. I cry at almost every movie! But, in this particular movie others didn't cry as much as was expected of them. It was an SRK movie for god's sake, it is imperative to cry!

Anyway, my friends didn't like it much. I did. I'm a die hard SRK fan. I'm a die hard romantic movies fan. I love the surname Khan. Obviously I liked it.

And about Khan, the surname I mean. It can be said that the movie is loosely Khan centered (both the actor and the title). It is shown that circumstances arise when people start getting discomforted by it . But why? I love it! There's so much weight in it. Those who have this last name must be thrilled (or so I expect) to carry such incredible history and lineage with them. Now, I understand that the antagonism for 'Khan', as shown in the movie, has to do with the religion (that bears the brunt of terrorism) and not with anything else. But that's a topic which I refrain from touching now, as it requires a lot of time, blogger space and the right frame of mind.

Movies affect me. More than I think, that is. Every time I watch I watch a new movie, I think about it, in terms of it. I stay wholly/partially immersed in it for at least a week. Maybe that is one of the plausible reasons why I'm so unrealistically filmy in my real life. I daydream a lot about how my life would be (mark the words-'would be', not 'should be') someday. I concoct tales. About how something extraordinary would happen to me, how it would be a bolt from the blue for me, how I would rise to the occasion(it's my movie so I get to be the protagonist, right?). And then I just love weaving these imaginary characters, who always play the roles I chalk out for them, always speak the lines I want them to speak, and always wear clothes that I mentally design for them. Freakish though it might seem, but I usually don't rest till I find the right dialogues, or right introductory plots, or right dressing for my imaginary characters. Even as I type this I'm smiling to myself thinking of how a medico friend of mine would react to all this. I suppose he'd vociferously begin to diagnose my 'condition'. I can actually hear him say-"You might be affected by muggawuggawugga (uff, these medical jargons! unpronounceable i tell you!) neurological disorder". And that would be follwed by citation of hazzaar abstruse theories (not to mention the explanation of each one) that support the claim. Oh, I'm a psycho alright. :)

The nation wide V-day hoopla is finally over. Thank god. No, I'm not being cynical. I deal with facts here. I talked to eight different people yesterday, and couldn't help noticing that they were not half as cheerful as they usually are (and mind you they're all exceptionally jovial people). Status messages of many people only resonated the not-so-high-spirits. It's strange, isn't it? How come a day dedicated to love and happiness ends up making so many feel miserable? If I speak for myself, I get a little put off by the predictable nature of the day. As Oscar Wilde had put it-'Uncertainty is the essence of romance'. Nothing about Valentine's day is entirely uncertain. But that doesn't mean, I don't wallow into the mushy atmosphere of the day :) I read each and every V-day special article in the papers, even the message columns! Most of these messages are silly to the core, and asinine are the nicknames that people resort to for avoiding recognition. To gulabjamun from laddoo, to bakbak from chupchap, to jaadu cute prince from chaku- it's idiocy in print ! However, in this sea of unknown people with fake names and internet-acquired rhyming couplets, there was actually a message that I liked. I don't know who it was for or from, but it was nice-Hmm..now what was it..like an autumn leaf I withered in your arms...oh I wish I could remember it. It wasn't a poetry, but was very beautiful and meaningful.

I should seriously stop posting stuff at nights. My head gets inundated with thoughts/incidents I want to include but I then get all drowsy after a while and decide to make all the left out things into another post someday. That almost never happens; a fresh new day, a million new thoughts!