Day 22 : Typewriter vs wordprocessor

@Vashi, Mumbai

That is why they say a writer must travel outdoors, feel things, feel the nature, people. Sitting indoor with television set on is not going to do any good, with your eyes fixed at laptop screen. It is borrowed writing. Not like a writer scribing with a felt-tip pen, or fountain pen like the old classic days. Or not even like typing on a typewriter.

Neither can I say that I work on those antique old fashioned portable typewriters.

I have succumbed to cerebral computer age. I use a word-processor not a typewriter, <don’t get me wrong but these phrases were from Woody Allen’s everyone says…>

I don’t have the joy of having a simple room in Paris or in New York, as Woody Allen has, neither do I studied at castle changed into a high school in Ireland as James Joyce had. But then I am not paranoid as Allen is.

It will be worth giving it a try writing no typing on a typewriter. I remember there is one back somewhere at my home in Varanasi, probably gathering dust. Alight Mr. typewriter, your savior is on his way. Lets rise to the occasion and play Lux Aeterna.

Envision a writer bored by typing on his Hewlett Packard keyboard, decides to give up technology. He hollers around aimlessly searching, something that will bring writer in him at peace. And voila there comes this dust-packed, once-proud-of-its-white hue, typewriter. Yes a typewriter. That will be some sort of climax. Writer has a hunch that this is what is missing from his writing, and not the silver-white-and-aluminum of high end mac-air. The writer was confused whether he will write as blasphemous and hold-no-bars blog on his mac as Hank Moody does, or he will sit in a warm room behind French blinds, with sunshine playing jigsaw at Italian tiled marbles. The room is decorated in a minimally, filled with antique furniture. He sits on a large brown wooden imperial chair cushioned with soft leather, and a magnificent mahogany table. There is a pile of handmade white paper on his left, he inserts one page into the typewriter, keys in four lines, slumps back and is lost in the reminiscence of old days. He quietly sips his green tea from a cup, (I could have made it classy with a wine glass, but it is still noon here). The aroma fills his nose, its rejuvenating and nourishing. Tea is just warm enough for his taste buds to perfectly savor the fine taste. He gazes at the empty dark green fields through the …

Dude I am sorry, but you Mr centipede lurking near my mattress, you got to go. WHAMMM !!

So yes he studies the maze of sunlight, feels amazed, his attention hovers to the warmth of sun on his face. This all is too exotic for him, he surrenders to the warmth and simplicity around him, it is too much to take. He slowly closes his eyelids, stark darkness fills his mind, and his burning eyes are relaxed. He is falling deep into an abyss, into the unknown. He has been trying to decipher the dark of close eyelids. He slowly stops acknowledging the croak of crow on his courtyard mango tree, and whish of auto-rickshaw engine. He is falling into afternoon siesta.

His feet were cold, from the air from ceiling fan, he wishes for a sheet to cover, preferably a white one. A particular noisy engine of car, breaks his quiescence.

Dude concentrate on the writer in antique room. Which writer? What antique room? He has lost him. A loud beep of his cellphone does the rest. Yes I am the one who has succumbed to technology. The other part of writer chuckles silently.

“Really ? You are the one who is four month away from a masters degree in electrical engineering, with specialization in communication. LOL. You say you have just succumbed. Get a better word Mr. writer.”

day 13 : The dirty picture and 145 movies of fav directors

So last two nights I watched two movies. “Ladies vs RB” was utter shit, I expected some magic from the director of ‘band bazaa baarat’, but its truth they say “expectations is cause of human misery”.

And the other one “the dirty picture”, which I went with heart heartedness expecting nothing but dose of Vidya Balan cleavage.

But that is when I erred. VidyaBalan has done a role of lifetime, and may be a national award awaits her. She has developed her own image, as an actress who can defy the existing contemporary monotonicity of Bollywood. Watch her in Parineeta, Ishqiya and now dirty picture and you will heave a sigh of ______ , that Bollywood still has some act left. Another special mention should be given to dialogue writer, they are packed with optimum punch and power, similar to one in “once upon a time in Mumbai”.

Now everytime I watch a movie I start thinking who else could have done this role, at present in bollywood, none. Vidya Balan eloquently, no I would not say eloquently but rather realistically portrays Silk Smitha. Lemme wiki her, and may be I will provide some info of her life. Naserrudin Shah is always a pleasure to watch, and surprisingly Emranhashmi is doing acting here, remember his first movie, “footpath”.

I would have also written about ‘ladies vs…”, but why waste my energy. What a stupid name, I swear.

I got to see ‘saheb, biwi and ghulam’ too, original and new one. This list of movies keeps on growing and growing. Woody Allen 47-9 = 36 movies are still left to finish, I finished like lemme count

  1. Everyone says I love you (1996)
  2. Sweet and lowdown (199)
  3. Manhattan (1979)
  4. Matchpoint (2005)
  5. Midnight in Paris (2011)
  6. Whatever works (2009)
  7. Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008)
  8. Deconstructing Harry (1997)
  9. Annie Hall (1975)

And of Christopher Nolan 9-7 = 2

  1. Insomnia
  2. Memento
  3. Batman begins
  4. Prestige
  5. The Dark knight
  6. Inception
  7. Following

There are many more directors to finish viz

David Fincher(9-5= 4),

Stanley Kuberick(14-5=9 titles)

Alfred Hitchcock (67-4=63 titles OMG),

Martin Scorsese(29-4=25 titles)

and Quentin Tarantino (14-8=6 titles)

Gosh I really have a miles to watch before I sleep. I guess I should finish Kubrick and Tarantino first, plus I have not included directors as Alexander Payne, Spielberg and Clint Eastwood.

Midnight in Paris – Allen’s 41st

When you see Ernest Hemingway, in a reel, you cannot ask for anything more. But then Allen wanted more so he gave us Scott Fitzgerald and Stein and Picassa  and Zelda. Call it bibliophile’s utopia. Woody Allen’s 41st movie was a treat-a simple and entertaining.

The charm and ambiance of Paris has been captured in its original form, the initial starting of five minutes filled with choreography of Paris. A couple lands in Paris for a sojourn with bride’s parents, but the writer bridegroom is all in love with Paris, and wants to spent his life living in the best city for art. Gil tries to fit in with his soon-to-be in-laws. He drags through the mornings, noons and evening, only to find that its the midnights that are the best.

Clive Owen captures the wannabe writer Gil perfectly, The hollywood screenwriter who wants to be a real writer but is torn between :to be or not to be”. Owen at times reminding us of Allen himself. He has its perfections and imperfections, his own idiosyncranicies and captures his persona with panache and grace. The cast of film have name as Charlie Sheen,Carla Bruni and Rachael McAdams.

Although the movie lacks the usual philosophical depth of Allen’s old movie, but nonetheless its intense, romantic and sweet and entertaining. But the magic of midnight in Paris cannot be undermined. The power of cinema and potent of Mr. Woody Allen. Even when he makes a time machine movie with a grace and instead of dystopian future we have the wonderful days of 1910s and 1920s. Allen saves us the reasoning the fantasy of time travel and instead focusses on the art that cinema is. And its a absolute honour to watch Scott, Hemingway and Picassa all in one place.

And so I wait for 42nd, (in the meanwhile will try to complete the long list)

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