Remember the two cute cats in the washing machine?

( More cuteness ).

Just when the music of Sivaji: The Boss was on the verge of taking over my life, I found The Best of Apache Indian at Music World today. For those who are interested, its pretty tough to get CDs of the original No Reservations anywhere at a decent price - I had seen a copy in Landmark, Chennai for 525 INR, and some copies at secondspin.com for 3.99$. But I am off secondspin for now, so this album is the only sensible way to go. It collects the representative hits of Apache Indian, the album hits Chok There', 'Boom Shaka-Lak', 'Arranged Marriage', the collaborations 'No Problem' and 'Yeh Ladka Hai Allah', from Asha Bhosle's Rahul and I. And it's only 125 INR, and I was megapissed when this went off the market about a month after it came out sometime in 2005 - just after I had made up my mind to buy a copy. So, hoo-ah!

Top Shelf comics is celebrating its fifth anniversary with a major, MAJOR sale. There is a 3$ sale for books like Jose Villarubia/Alan Moore's The Mirror of Love ( which retails for 20$), Alex Robinson's Tricked ( ditto), the Blankets soundtrack ( retail price 15$), all the volumes of Bughouse, which selll for 15$ each. GODDAMNIT! It's a bad, bad time to be an obsessed collector.

And my computer at home is humped. Totally. I think the power supply's gone bust.

Since I've been flying around the country quite a bit (urm, planes, not newly developed wings), I have been able to find time to catch up on a bit of reading. And buying. Reread Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors on the Kanpur trip. Also started a Diana Wynne-Jones collection of short stories just after that got over. And graphic novels, loads of them.

Landmark, Mumbai was a revelation. I had been hearing raves about it from oceansandearth and suku. The former gave me a near-apoplexy by mentioning that not only did the place have Samurai Executioner volumes 8 and 9, which yours truly had been searching for high and low, it also had volumes 14 and 15 of Blade of the Immortal, of which I had read volumes 1-13 in white-heat some time ago. And indeed, when I landed up there, the collection sent a rush of blood to my head. It had all that, and much more. Is anyone looking for volumes of Akira? What about David Lloyd's latest original GN Kickback? Complete runs of Fables TPBs, Y The Last Man, Flash Gordon collections, Promethea - basically whatever mainstream comics has to offer. Even the first two volumes of the Koike/Kojima release Path of the Assassin, which is just being released by Dark Horse.

But hold on a second, no discounts. Wankers. Just went ahead and bought some bare necessities, Samurai Executioner and BotI included. Glared at the hardcover edition of The Complete Conan by Robert E Howard. Wankers. I will just have to pick up the softcover version the next time I am in Blossom. My patience has run out.

It pains me extremely to realise that nowhere in Hyderabad can I buy new books with a 20% discount, like I used to in Bangalore. It's partly a blessing, because most of my book-buying is now confined to second-hand books ONLY while in this city. And boy oh boy, Best-Frankfurt-MR do manage to throw up surprises every now and then, like the original Tideland novel by Mitch Cullin for just 50 Rs, and a beautiful fairy tale book called Wingless which I picked up the other day just because it has illustrations by Atanu Roy. I do frequent the bigger bookshops - Odyssey and Walden - every now and then, but that's just to check up on the latest releases. If I like anything, I buy them at 20% discount the next time I am at Bookworm or Blossom. Both Odyssey and Walden have these "Sales" twice every year, in which they sell all their stock at a grand 10% off. Phoeey! Walden does one better. It takes out the worst books of the lot, the marketting manuals that were out of anyone's radar eight years ago, Java 1.2 API guides, Windows 98 tutorials, and tags them with "special prices" - which we customers are supposed to drool over and buy immediately. They are selling unsold hardcover copies of Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince at 15% off - well after the paperback has been released. Morons.

Count your blessings, Bangalore-dwellers. For all the cribs I have against your city, there are certain things that make me gnash my teeth and wish I were still in that office on Museum Road. Ah, to be able to drop in at Blossom every day at lunchtime.

Did you know that Barefoot Gen, the seminal manga on the horrors of Hiroshima, and considered to be one of the inspirations behind Grave of the Fireflies is now available in an Indian edition? Yes, and quite well-priced at 250 Rs, also comes with an introduction by Anand Patwardhan.

Marjane Satrapi's Chicken and Plums is also available at most bookshops, though the cost price of 600 is somewhat off-putting. I will just wait for a Bangalore trip to pick it up.

Volumes 5-8 of Osamu Tezuka's Buddha are available quite freely in the market now. ( How freely? Even a backwaters bookshop like Odyssey, Hyderabad has them on display. The last time I asked them if they had Buddha, one of the salesmen pointed me to the "religion" section. Bah! ) Prices also seem to have come down quite a bit. 295 per book, and if you buy them from places that offer a discount, you get them for REALLY cheap. I ought to be peeved that I spent almost twice the money on the first four volumes, but this lowered price makes me quite glad because more people will pick up this superb series, which deserves hosannahs and praise and our eternal gratitude to Osamu Tezuka for creating it all. Highly recommended, folks. Storytelling does not get better than this.

I tried watching Nacho Libre the other night, but fell asleep midway. Is it just me, or is Jack Black trying too hard?

Did I mention that my discman died two weeks ago? My faithful companion since 2001 ( or possibly 2000, considering that it was originally absolut_69's baby that I stole away and paid him six months later), my ecape valve during final year examinations, Sunny Deol-infested bus journeys, my PRECIOUS little precious finally gave up. Was bound to happen, but I am not giving up easily. It's off for repairs now, and the guy at the service center ( unauthorized, the Philips guys said they don't repair discmans, especially not the Expanium, and DEFINITELY not this model.), the guy said the lens needs to be changed. I don't have too much hope of it working for more than a year, new lens or not, and I am pretty sure it won't be able to read any of my older Frontech mp3 CDs. But no matter. I am not giving up on you easily, precious.

It's one of those unacknowledged laws that whenever you lack the means to listen to music, your urge to listen to music increases dramatically. I have been spending my free time ( Ha ha ha) revisiting some CDs that I hadn't heard in quite sometime. Travis, Moby's Play, Dixie Chicks, Bad Company, Jethro Tull, Van Morrison, Cowboy Junkies. Loads of Suzanne Vega too.

Has it ever happened to you that you hear a song, and then don't hear it for a long time, and when you hear it again, it sounds completely different from what you had thought it sounded, in terms of the orchestration and the arrangement? That happened to me with Van Morrison's Astral Weeks, a song which I keep remembering because of the opening lyrics, that go - If I ventured in the slipstream, between the viaducts of your dream, where immobile steel rims crack, and the ditch in the back roads stop - Could you find me? Would you kiss my eyes? - the imagery just kills me, man. I heard it after a long time, and was really, really taken aback to find that it was not really as guitar-driven as I remembered it was.

And now for some venom.

I think it was V For Vendetta that did it, finally, but I realised that the ratio of returns to investment has been mindblogglingly low for all the movies I've seen in theatres this and the last year. Movies that I've loved and enjoyed, like Sin City, Hostel, The Devil's Rejects, even The Corpse Bride have no chance of attaining theatrical releases in India. What do we get? Pap. Bile-inducing insults to my brain. Pixellated eye-candy with six tracks of digitized nonsense. So I say, enough. No more movies in theatres. No more paying inflated prices to be mentally assaulted for 90 to 180 minutes, and with cellphone ringtone interruptions too, to boot. Especially comicbook movies. I have been completely uninterested in Superman Returns ever since yada yada yada and I am not really interested in talking about it, thank you. If you see it and you like it, well, I am happy for you. Obviously you haven't been reading Doom Patrol or All Star Superman, so I can't really say I am too happy for you, but yeah, you should know that I have absolutely no problems with you watching Superman Returns. Nope, none at all. Not a teensy weensy bit. Honest.

The trailer for Spiderman 3? Not interested. Ghost Rider? Pah! 300? Ditto. Nacho Libre? Well, yeah, interested, but I don't think it's coming to theaters here, so there!

I was also more than a little pissed off because the last copy of Hanzo The Razor available at secondspin.com got sold off this week, as did the two copies of Varttina's Miero. GRRRAH! My credit card's maxed out, so I couldn't pick it up. CD-WOW still has it, but it's almost twice the price.

I am a man of taste. I shall now go home and listen to Himesh Reshammiya until I fall asleep. I have a presentation to make tomorrow morning. Er, today morning. I am in such an ebullient mood (Part of the reason: Roger Ebert gave Superman Returns two stars. I don't really like the guy, but that didn't stop me from grinning a lot on reading his review) that my technical presentation has taken on shades of a standup comedy routine. Wish me luck.

So, ten days after I buy the DVD-writer, it conks out. This morning, I put in a blank CD to burn my collection of Studio Ghibli albums. Nero goes to 100%, and then, while writing the lead-out, there was some kind of error, and I had one more CD to add to my pile of burnt-but-not-quite-well-done discs. Then the fun begins. I put in another blank CD to burn the same files again. Disc not Detected. Another. Disc not detected. Close Nero, and insert a data disc. Disc not Detected yet again, and can you please stop making my light blink so much, it hurts, says the DVD Writer.

Snarl.

Deep breath. Change cables. Try again. Doesn't work. Change from secondary slave to secondary master. Doesn't work. Check same configuration with year-old DVD drive. Works. Conclusion: One Ten-day old drive, used four times, dead.

So I took the receipt, packed the drive and brought it over to the office. Got the sysadmin to try it on his machine. Same symptoms, it detects the drive at first, then after I try to burn a CD, it kicks the bloody bucket.

Took an hour's leave from the office and went over to Messrs Railton Computers, SP Road. Twenty rupees and five traffic jams later, I find the bloody shop closed. 'Shop will open tomorrow i.e 26th April' is what a printout at the front reads.

I am pissed. I really am. I am so pissed that if you come near me now, you would probably gag at the smell of ammonia and lose your lunch. I am so pissed that...that...that I can't think of anything else to explain how pissed I am. You will have to take my word for it.



Ah, well, pissiness down by a few degrees, because of - TADA! - vijucat's package which arrived at the Hyderabad office today morning. Thankfully, Chandru picked it up for me, the guard indeed had no idea who Mr. Beatzo Phreniac was. Vijay-sir, all I can say is Thank You, Thank You, Arigato Gozaimas, the stuff rocks.



Ah, and I got Preacher in the mail just now, all 70 issues snug in a box. Yippeee!!! I am not pissed at all, as of now. Will just wait until tomorrow, and get the DVD-writer fixed.



GAK! Got a mail from fabmall, which says:

Now, at long last, the ultimate Far Side book has arrived as a hefty, deluxe, two-volume slipcased set. Printed in full-color on specially milled paper, The Complete Far Side is a lavish production that takes its place alongside collector's-edition art books...

Rs 5,564/- (21% off) Buy Now

Ok. That's it. I think I am dying of sensory overload.

Hold on, I had an epiphany, one of these deep things that flash in front of you before you die. I think today just proved the Law of Averages as applied to my life.

Right, off to die now.

Reading Prince of Ayodhya by Ashok Banker. I had already formed a very bad opinion about the book after reading a couple of pages at Odyssey quite sometime ago; and the Terrible Attitude of the writer towards negative reviewers - contentedbloke's Amazon review, to be precise. But curiousity got the better of me, and so...

What IS this guy trying to do? He seems to be rewriting the Ramayana as a fantasy novel, terrible plot twists and Dark Lords and Joseph Campbell fundaes intact. Which is not a bad thing at all, we have had enough of watered-down grandmother's tales - and I cannot think of any English version of the Ramayana which is long enough - there have always been bits and stories chopped away,unlike the Mahabharata, which has the Kishori Mohan Ganguli version as the definitive retelling.

It would have been a good thing, except for the fact that Mr Ashok K Banker is what one might indelicately describe as a hack. One might also call him a Tolkien-wannabe, but that would be a serious insult to Tolkien. He's at best a Robert Jordan-wannabe, and let me tell you, I don't like Robert Jordan at all. I think Robert Jordan is a Tolkien-wannabe, and at times a Robert E Howard-wannabe, like when he is writing Conan The Barbarian fan-fiction ( It's of course a tragedy of sorts that people like Robert Jordan manage to get their fan-fiction published, and then go on making a career out of even more badly written fan-fiction).

Oh my gosh, the language. At the beginning of the book, Ashok K Banker says - "I simply used the way I speak, an amalgam of English-Hindi-Urdu-Sanskrit, and various terms from Indian languages. I deliberately used anachronisms like the term 'abs' or 'morph' because these were how I referred to these events." This unique methodology yields sentences like this: "The red-beaded rudraksh mala around his neck , all marked him for a hermit returning from a long, hard tapasya. His gaunt face and deep-set eyes completed the portrait of a forest penitent, a tapasvi sadhu." One line that makes sense to me because I am from India and know Hindi. But a fantasy reader picking up the book? "rudraksh", "mala", "tapasya" in one line, "tapasvi" and "sadhu" in the next - anyone would give up in disgust. I am disgusted becauuse the words don't gel together at all, in either language.

Some more samples: "It was familiar with creatures that changed their bhes-bhav at will." "In the bright light of the purnima moon, he could see the helmeted heads and speartips of the night watch patrolling the south grounds, moving in perfect unison in the regular rhythmic four-count pattern of a normal chowkidari sweep." I mean, come on!!! "Purnima moon"??? What's wrong with saying "full moon"? Does it make the full moon less exotic to be called "full" rather than "purnima"? Besides, the English equivalent is not "purnima", it's "poornima", which tells me that Ashok K Banker's Hindi is as seriously fucked-up as his English.

The dialogue - oh, boy oh boy, it's that perfect B-movie screenplay that will never be made. Probably if you translate the lines spoken by the protagonists word for word into Hindi, you will get the same pompous mish-mash that's the staple in our hallowed Ramanand Sagar-sir's serials. For instance -

"It looked like a giant vulture. That round head, long hooked beak, that hunched back. But there was something odd about the body. It was broader than a bird, differently shaped, almost like a -"

"A man? A giant man-vulture, is that what it looked like, young novice?"
Young novice. George Lucas can get away with "You've done well, Young Padawan" in every other line, and that makes Mr Ashok K Banker feel he can too. Well, George Lucas is a multimillionaire, and he can get his characters to say whatever he pleases. You, on the other hand, young Ashok K Banker, have a lot to learn. Young novice. Humph.

Mr Ashok K Banker also says, at the beginning: "I based every section, very scene, every character's dialogues and acctions on the previous Ramayanas, be it Valmiki, Kamban, Tulsidas, or Vyasa, and even the various Puranas." In the first chapter, he has Rama do things like scan his bedchamber "with the sharpness of a panther with the scent of stag in its nostrils", and carry a yard and a half of Kosala steel in his hand and do acrobatic martial asanas, while breathing in the pranayam style (whatever that means) while the Dark Lord Ravana sends him subliminal messages saying things like - "You will watch your birth-mother savaged beyond recognition, your clan-mothers and sisters impregnated by my rakshasas, your father and brothers eaten while still alive etc etc blah blah blah, oh, and yeah, the samay chakra, your sacred wheel of time, will repeat the cycle of birth and suffering infinitely."

Wow. That's all I can say. The last time I heard lines like this was while watching this film called Rudraksh. I wonder which version of the Ramayana that scene was based on.

Oh, great, now they have started talking about the Last Great Asura War. I am going to give this book thirty minutes more of my time, and then bid this fanfic writer a nighty-night.

Afterword: The stuff above was written last night. I read for about 15 more minutes, and gave up. Watched Stephen Chow's Fight Back To School 2, a nice comedy that washed away the dregs of frustration brought about by PoA. I think these US publishers are really smart people - they have refused to release the subsequent books in the series until Banker cleans up his act (i.e his writing), and he refused. A vriddha dog can hardly learn new tricks, after all.

As it turns out, I have been mispelling a writer's name. Inspite of having read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, it took me a google search to figure out that Susanna Clarke's first name is *not* spelt "Susannah". Damn. Which means that the teeny little disclaimer about perfect spelling on my user-info does not hold good any longer. I swear - if I had a knife nearby, and if I wasn't so chicken-hearted, I would be slicing off my little finger in disgrace.

Couple of happy things:

• I bought myself a complete set of the six Akira graphic novels on eBay. And a set of Daredevil, issues 26-69, the delectable Brian Bendis/Alex Maleev run from the same seller.


• Discovered the joys of Berke Breathed's lovely comic series Bloom County. Got some of the collected volumes off a sale for 50 rupees each. It was the sight of the dog pushing the wheelchair of a Vietnam vet, both quoting Star Trek, that brought me to this conclusion. Highly recommended.


• My Andrew Vachss collection is now technically complete. I have all the books until Pain Management (2001), which is fifteen books in all. I haven't seen the newer novels in stores anywhere in India.


• Picked up a first-edition copy of Gods, Demons and Others by RK Narayan (with the dust jacket intact) for 100 Rs. This was one of the first books I bought with my own money, sometime in December 1988, and I don't really remember where the copy is, right now. But getting this version made me real happy. I loved the delightful tone of voice in which RK Narayan narrated these stories, when I read this book the first time - inspite of knowing most of them by heart ( courtesy Amar Chitra Katha.
  

The more Takeshi Kitano movies I watch, the more convinced I am that the guy is the Japanese equivalent of Shah Rukh Khan, playing different facets of himself in all his movies. But then, the joy of watching a Kitano movie lies in observing the cliches that he has mastered - the silent, brooding protagonist, the in-your-face violence that launches itself in extremely creative ways, Joe Hisaishi's scores, the wisecracking foil played by Susumu Terajima, and the self-destructive ending. It's not a problem being repetitive ( after all, most classic rockers made a fortune out of repetitiveness), it's a problem when the repetitiveness becomes in-your-face, loud, and crass. None of these are attributes I would associate with a Kitano movie. Fireworks was a picture-perfect film. Every other minute of the movie, I would want to pause the player and just observe the frame, each moment a cinematographic masterpiece. After a very, very long time, I have this urge to paint (which is not necessarily a good thing, I know), because of this movie.

Whoa whoa whoa, what do we have here? Francois Ozon's Swimming Pool is all set to be released in Delhi sometime in March, and Bangalore/Chennai in April. Not bad at all, though this will be the good-bits version, or maybe the good-bits-are-hidden-but-you-can-try-make-sense-out-of-what-we-show-you-version as decreed by our hallowed Censor Board.

I live in a country where you get live albums by Isaac Hayes at book sales for 60 Rupees a CD. I don't know whether to be glad or pissed. ( Pissed because had I been a little late, someone else would have bought that CD. Damn)

Did anyone notice the market for old comics in India? A fine example - Blossom Book House is selling copies of Indrajal comics from the seventies and eighties for 20-25 Rs each. Issues that have a cover price of 1-2 rs, and which are missing covers are being put up with these kind of prices, and surprisingly, people are buying them at those prices. Everytime I go there, the issues I saw the last time are gone, and more copies have come in, with similar prices. Makes me glad I filched all those old Indrajal comics off assorted cousins and uncles a decade ago.

The more I look at Paris Hilton, the more I am reminded of Kareena Kapoor. Not a good thing.

Kisna: The Warrior Poet, is rife with subtleties. You know, the Subhash-Ghai kind of subtleties, like showing a black horse and a white horse gambolling around together. That's supposed to symbolise love - brown guy (Vivek Oberoi) and white girl (Antonia Bernaud). And when the movie begins with this sort of subtle imagery, you do not let that faze you. You sit down calmly, and think of myriad ways to painfully assassinate the director, the cast, the scriptwriter - basically everybody involved with this film. (Except Antonia Bernaud, perhaps. Poor girl must have hardly realised what she was getting into.)

Isha Sharvani, that lady you've seen twirling around a rope and doing those eyepopping leg-splits on those trailers? Guess what, that's all she does throughout the movie, so you better get used to your eyes popping out for 2 hours and 35 minutes. You would love to have this kind of girl around the house - she gets happy, she twirls on ropes; she is dejected, she twirls on ropes; she's angry, she twirls on ropes some more. And when she finds her homegrown loverboy in the arms of a firanghee and is spurned by him in the name of karma and dharma and karma-dharma and dharma-karma and all those B-movies of the eighties? She twirls on ropes atop a burning tree . Get it? Get it? Burning tree. Symbolism.

The events unfold in this quaint little village called Dharmaprayag, which is where the rivers Alakananda and Bhagirathi meet. ( How do I remember this bit of information? There's an Odyssey quiz coming soon, buddy, and you never know where these quizmasters get their questions from.) So, the first half of the movie, Dharmaprayag's where all the action is. You have a distinguished English lady coming to this village, where everybody behaves like B-actors trying hard to come to terms with acting in an A-movie, and getting regaled by Banjaran dancers from Rajasthan, and being snubbed by some yo-dude-checkisout-type reporters about her ignorance of India and Indianness. Surprise, surprise, the lady turns out to be fluent in Hindi, and also turns out she has a story to tell. That, of course, is the story of Kisna, which was supposed to have happened in 1947. Why did the lady delay her return to India and her meeting Kisna again? Because she watched Titanic just last year, and if Gloria Stuart can do it, so can she.

I would love to say some more about Ghai-saab's refined tastes, like shooting a song against a blue sky with dancers wearing blue inside a blue-crystal cave-ish kotha. ( Blue. Kisna. Blue. Get it? ) And amidst all this bluescreen shooting, the poor man forgot that to have an item number, ( Ssshhh. Never mind the fact that this is 1947 and item numbers didn't exist then. Dude, you had item numbers in 53 BC, when Emperor Ashahrukha was around.) you need an item. Not Sushmita Sen. I don't remember seeing any part of her body moving, other than her eyes. Yes, she was that bad.

Then there is a scene which is Subhash Ghai's tribute to Raj Kapoor. You have the river Ganga flowing by, and you have two lovers, and you have Raj Kapoor to pay homage to, so what do you do? Kick yourselves if you didn't get this. You have the babe call herself Gangotri, dress up in flimsy white clothes, and then go have a dip in the Ganga. Dude, I love this homage-shit, man. I haven't seen...you know...the goods on a babe in a Hindi film since the last time Ganga was unclean, hey Ram. ( Yes, I haven't seen Shaque and I suggest you don't, too. )

What a dump of a movie. This is the last time I go to see a film just because it has Rahman music in it. Humph!