The Secret of the Nagas

Amish Tripathi doesn’t want us to read his book “The Secret of the Nagas”. He wants us to see the movie “The Secret of the Nagas” based on the bestselling book of the same name. Well, that’s how I felt while reading the book.

The second instalment of the Shiva Trilogy disappoints, but not as much as the first book, The Immortals of Meluha. The author has thought up a very interesting plot, action packed with plenty (way too plenty) of characters. But where it fails is in the narration (again!).

Shiva is now comfortable being the Lord Neelkanth, the much awaited saviour of India. He appears to have accepted his destiny and embarks upon, well, saving his people from evil, which we discover, is not evil at all. It’s really a manifestation of good in another form. “Two sides of the same coin”, as the book proclaims till the end. Nobody is evil in this book. Not the feared Nagas, not the arch enemies Chandravanshis, nor the notorious terrorist Parshuram. All the evil (?) deeds they had done had logical explanations, and they all submitted meekly to the Neelkanth once Shiva shows up at their territories.

In spite of such a powerful plot, what makes the book mediocre is the characters.  You are not sure what they want. Sure, they all follow Shiva on his search for evil, with a few love stories thrown in, and too much travelling.  The mother-son drama between Ganesh and Sati was very Bollywood-ish, if you ask me. I can almost picture the grown (erstwhile evil) son crying at his white haired mother‘s feet, while temple bells ring in the distance and close-ups of goddesses come into view.  What does Shiva really want in his heart? Did he accept the position of the Neelkanth because he truly believed he was The Awaited One, or because he wanted to gain the favour of Sati? You don’t find yourself rooting for him, no you don’t. The cursing has significantly reduced, but there we still see traces of crudeness in him.

An Amazing experience

At the advice of my fellow blogger NotGood I went and watched The Amazing Spiderman this morning. Alone. Yes sir, with only me and myself for company.

I have always been scared of solo movie outings. What if people think I’m a weirdo? What if I get strange looks at the refreshment counter and at the ladies washroom? What if I am late and have to grope my way in the dark all alone and sit down on the one empty seat in the already full theatre? What if I laugh out loud and there’s no one there to laugh with? What if this? What if that?

But the thing with what ifs is, they are unreal. They are, most of the time, worst possible outcomes we imagined in our heads. And most of the time they didn’t happen. Just like today. None of the things I was scared of, the strange looks, the getting lost in the dark, the laughing out loud, none of it happened. It was as easy as ABC.

So the moviegoing was a breeze. I booked my tickets online, went to the mall, loitered around for a bit, went to the theatre just in time to print my tickets and buy a bottle of water, and went inside just as the movie trailers began. I found my seat easily, sat down, put my feet up, laughed at the funny parts, and had a good time. Nobody cared if I was alone or with the entire colony, nobody stared, and there was nothing awkward about it. The only minus point was that I had to keep adjusting the 3D glasses over my glasses every two minutes. Oh, and I lost the plastic spoon and had to eat the American sweet corn (buttered, no masala) with my hands.

So, shall we talk a bit about the movie?

(Pic source: Comicbookmovie.com)

On being alone

I spend most of my time alone. At work, at home, on the streets. I go shopping alone, I go to beauty parlours alone, I go to outings and to church alone. I travel alone and go to restaurants alone (But so far I haven’t gathered the courage to watch a movie all by myself).

I like having friends as much as the next lazy bum, but somehow it seems I always end up alone. Maybe I repel people. Maybe I truly love being alone. Maybe I am my best friend and the best conversations I have are with my thoughts. Maybe I do less damage when I am my only companion. (I use a lot of “maybe” in my posts. Maybe I just love the word. Maybe I don’t know what I really want).

Some of us are born to be alone, is my theory. I must have been a difficult child. When I first went to school I wanted to sit next to only one girl, no one else would do. I never responded to the roll call, and the teacher marked me “Absent” for a very long time. (He suggested I was “behind” the other students but was silenced when I stood first in the exam :P)

Growing up was tough. I had friends, girls of my own age from my neighbourhood. But at school, and then in college, I was the most introverted, shyest person you ever know. I still am. I was the lost girl who couldn’t make friends, who was always picked last for games, and who never joined in the group games and activities (many instances spring to mind). Being in unfamiliar territory just scares the living daylights out of me. Proximity and attachment scares me too. I think I just want to watch from a safe distance.

Alone again, naturally

A very familiar sense of déjà vu is in the air.  One of my childhood friends is getting married this week, to a man I have never ever heard of, that too in another town. Yes, we are friends, but not the share everything types, so it’s very likely that our paths may not cross again that very often in the future.

I am at that awkward age where everyone is getting married and having children (I’m forever buying wedding and baby gifts), and those same people in later communications would urge me to get married soon because I was turning so old. Aaaaaggghh! Is there no end to this? Will there ever be an end to this? You know what would be cool? Being 45 or so and everyone giving up hopes of you ever getting married and finally, finally being able to relax.

Does that mean I want to stay single the rest of my life? Of course not! So does that mean I am in a predatory mode? Far from it. Am I looking to trap some hapless innocent man into marriage? God forbid. But sometimes I despair, yes I despair that I will never find a man stupid enough to accept me just the way I am and want to jump off a cliff with me. I despair that I will be that old unmarried aunt who gets passed around from family to family, sleeping in some small corner and depending on charity. I despair that I will have to live with rude nieces and nephews (and their children) who show me no respect. I despair that I will live a terribly lonely life.

What I’m really afraid of, I guess, is the thought of having to listen to “When are you getting married” “You too should get married” and such related questions. Ho-hum. The living alone part I can handle, being an old unmarried aunt is something I’ve excelled at since birth, and I am confident I can earn a living to feed myself.

So what’s this post really about then? I don’t know, maybe just a little something to help overcome this too familiar feeling of loss and despair and gloom. Maybe I’m fishing for your sympathy. Maybe the thought of going home and finding all my friends gone is frightening. Maybe I felt the need to write something new after bombarding you with picture posts the last few days.