3 Idiots - directed by Rajkumar Hirani and loosely based on Chetan Bhagat’s 5 point someone is a Joy Ride, albeit not without its share of bumps and flaws.
The movie starts with a lot of potential and Hirani does deliver much of what the viewer anticipates, but again - and this is a caveat for serious movie goers - he does take your for granted and interjects the story with some nonsense sequences.
The movie starts off with Madhavan’s narration as the two college chuddy buddies (i.e. Madhavan a.k.a. Farhan and Sharman a.k.a. Hari) are searching for their college buddy Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad a.k.a. Rancho (Aamir Khan) and the movie dives into a flashback – straight to the ragging scene which, by the way, is a complete deja-vu of the Munnabhai Ragging scene (People Dancing in Undies, etc.).
Enter Rancho, a genius and a no nonsense taker as he hits his senior hard where it hurts the most. This is the point where Madhavan says,"Humne to Physics Padha tha.. Us ne apply kiya!"
As the rest of the movie unfolds, Hirani comes to the point as he makes Rancho criticize the education system which is designed to produce crammers or human-machines. Rancho is of the view that the main aim of our education system should be to teach the real stuff, and not just make students cram everything from the books!
I won’t reveal anything beyond this as it would take the fun out of the movie.
Coming to the actors, although Aamir, Madhavan and Sharman have done justice to their roles and there are shades of brilliance in each one of them, they don’t quite pass off as 19 something olds. Each of them looks way old to be a college student, but on the other hand, I can’t imagine any other actors capable of delivering such good performances as Aamir, Madhavan and Sharman have done. In my opinion, we desperately need some dependable teenage actors so that we don’t have to depend on Aamirs and Shah-Rukhs to potray love-struck college students anymore.
Kareena doesn’t have the screen time of a full-fledged lead heroine, but she does her part well. Boman Irani is outstanding as Viru Sahastrabudhhe (famous as Virus among the students), the cunning director of Imperial College of Engineering. Mona Singh has done a good job as Kareena’s older sister.
At this point, I would like to mention the name of Omi Vaidya a.k.a Chatur Ramalingam, the super-crammer typical front bencher who either nauseates his roommates by his continuous farts (thus, his nick name Silencer), or disturbs other students by secretly shoving porn magazines under their dormitory doors, that too on the night before the exam day. Coincidentally, he’s very bad at Hindi and Hirani has taken full advantage of this quality in one of the most hilarious scenes of the movie. Watch out for this Omi and his Hindi!
The movie is not a through and through comedy and Hirani has tried to convey some very relevant messages which I believe are very much applicable to today’s grades driven society. A society which is driving thousands of students to suicide every year. A society where no value is given to education or innovation. It’s just about grades, grades and freakin’ grades! This is the reason that majority of Microsoft’s workforce is Indian, but, we don’t have a Google or an Apple of our own to boast about.
Some of the scenes are totally idiotic though! Like the very first scene in which a plane is made to land back or the pre-climax baby-delivering scene. Such scenes are an insult to the intelligence of the viewer. Also, some of the one liners by Aamir have been heard by every internet/mobile user through forwarded mails or SMS’s. But at the end of the day, this is a comedy movie and “Aal is Well :)”.
I’ll conclude by saying that 3 Idiots is worth your money and time, but don’t keep Munnabhai standards in mind, or you ought to get disappointed.
I’ll go with a 3.25/5 for Aamir, Hirani and the Noble Cause.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Do We need a new Alibi ?
Let's take a look at this very familiar scene -->
Mean Boss (Yeah Yeah!! All Bosses are mean. But let's consider a typical mean Boss) : Where the F$#@ were you boy ?
The inscrutable Subordinate : I was ill Boss!!..
Boss : You one Lousy Son of a B**** !!!! You R Busted!!
.
.
I hate the look on my Boss's face when I take a Day off and tell him I was ill. I especially hate it when I am telling the truth, but can you blame him ?
Almost 99.99 % of employees say the same thing, no matter whether they took a day off to have that 'rare' date with the girl next door, or whether they are watching another lousy IPL match. In India, fake medical certificates are easier to get than drinking water. Thus, you can account for long holidays also.
But!
As I already mentioned, I hate that look on my Boss's face when I took a day off and I was genuinely blowing my nose on a tablecloth the day before. In spite of pondering over this idea over last couple of days, I am unable to come up with a new, fresh and improved Idea which would replace this 'Universal' excuse of "I was ill!"
..
Thoughts ?
Mean Boss (Yeah Yeah!! All Bosses are mean. But let's consider a typical mean Boss) : Where the F$#@ were you boy ?
The inscrutable Subordinate : I was ill Boss!!..
Boss : You one Lousy Son of a B**** !!!! You R Busted!!
.
.
I hate the look on my Boss's face when I take a Day off and tell him I was ill. I especially hate it when I am telling the truth, but can you blame him ?
Almost 99.99 % of employees say the same thing, no matter whether they took a day off to have that 'rare' date with the girl next door, or whether they are watching another lousy IPL match. In India, fake medical certificates are easier to get than drinking water. Thus, you can account for long holidays also.
But!
As I already mentioned, I hate that look on my Boss's face when I took a day off and I was genuinely blowing my nose on a tablecloth the day before. In spite of pondering over this idea over last couple of days, I am unable to come up with a new, fresh and improved Idea which would replace this 'Universal' excuse of "I was ill!"
..
Thoughts ?
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Awakening
Disclaimer: The following piece of fiction has emanated from my mind and it bears no resemblance to any person in real life. Also, this story is not intended to hurt any segment of society or anyone's religious beliefs. So read on... as I take a deep dive into a complex mind...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He came back to his senses. His pupils widened to absorb the whole view and the distant sounds became clearer, in fact, loud.
Allah!! He rubbed his eyes with his palms. Was I lost??? What’s happening to me?
What are these faces I am seeing? It looks like my family…..
He brooded over it for some time and then clutching the Quran in his pocket, flushed these blasphemous thoughts out of his mind.
Anyway, this didn’t matter now. He didn’t have time for musings, rather these distractions that would deviate him from the real path, the only path…. the path which so few lucky ones could follow and the path which he had chosen so wish fully in spite of all the wails of his mother (“Ashif!!! My son..Please don’t go…please…) ... the pleadings of his wife (“I beg you…for God’s sake please don’t leave me…don’t leave your unborn child…)...and the silent sobs of his daughter (…..).He had left them. That was five years ago.
But he had to do that, Didn’t he? There was something more important. A task lay ahead of him. A task so rightfully entrusted on him. The moment this thought occurred to him, his lips curved in some weird ungeometrical way. This was his way of smiling.
He had long forgotten the act of smiling and the very words which signified happiness, joy, sorrow, family had been erased from his dictionary, from his heart, his life. Yes! He had forgotten his family; he was made to. But that was not without his consent. He remembered only one word and the resonance of this word inside his ears, his mind, his body, his soul was not to fade, never to subside.
“ JIHAD “
He had desperately wanted to be on a mission, almost pleading at times to the Commander-in-Chief to send him instead of others…. and today his dream was materializing in front of him.
Allah had shown trust in him and bestowed upon him a great responsibility, to teach the Kaafirs a lesson. Lesson for not following the right path, for not obeying the aayats of Quran and for persecuting Allah’s true followers.
“They shall pay”, he told himself and blood rushed in his eyes and a vein in his temple began to throb. His eyes were bloody red, perhaps because he had not slept for last 108 hours, in anticipation …. in preparation …. in exultation.
“Is this the reason for my hallucinations?” A vague thought crossed his mind.
Suddenly an unmistakable shriek of a woman caused him to jump. He rushed towards the source of the noise and came to a halt in front of a wailing woman while carefully avoiding his head from the luggage cabinet above on which a label read:
Seat Nos.-16A, 16B, 16C.
The sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand. The woman was lying sandwiched between her seat and the seats of row 15, lying almost as if dead. Apparently, her husband had tried to disarm one of the big shouldered Hijackers. Another hijacker, a little younger and innocent looking but with a rage unmatched had aimed his gun straight at the duo, now struggling very hard to overpower each other. Filled with panic and anger she had plunged at the attacker. He, disregarding the fact that she was pregnant slapped her so hard that she fell…face down on the floor… crying in agony…Eyes swelling due to pain. She tried to get up but her arms gave away. Mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, she managed to look up only to see her husband being shot in the head.
Blood rushing out like a waterfall, the lifeless body fell with a loud thud and yet another family lay destroyed… shattered …. All hopes lost. Perhaps their faith in God Lost.
He bent down, sweating profusely, trying to pull out the lady but he couldn’t. Perhaps she was not in her senses and hence lay totally lifeless in there.
“What the hell do you think u are doing?” roared a voice from behind.
It was their commandant. He was a burly man, about 6’3” tall and sporting a long graying chin curtain beard with traces of dark brown, a consequence of faded Mehandi.
He had large phantasmal eyes and an expression as if he had nothing better to achieve than to just kill.
There was something devilish about his contorted face and just one look into his eyes was enough to send a chill down the spine of the onlooker. He was wearing a Black Pathani Suit and a kufi. It seemed he had just finished his Namaaz and was quite offended being disturbed during the prayer.
“Leave the lady on her own. She will get up if she survives.Anyways, I don’t think she stands a chance”. And with a triumphant smile spreading across his face he added, “I don’t think anyone aboard this flight stands a chance”.
He turned and vanished into a small cabin, closing the door behind him on which a silvery word gleamed “COCKPIT”.
“Allah be praised! Allah be praised!”
Ashif turned around, aghast at what had just happened. Reality was seeping through him.
He had chosen the way of Allah.
“How could all this be so brutal? Allah can not preach such doings. There has to be a misunderstanding. Someone might have misinterpreted what Allah had said…. what Prophet Muhammad had preached.”
His mind took a U-Turn.
“But they had to be punished! The lady and her husband had resisted. Those ignorant souls. Didn’t they realize how lucky they were to be in this flight? This flight, the chosen one…. Going on the path which is ultimate… which is true... which is …which is the only way to achieve Him.
“O Allah!! May your name prevail. May your name prevail “
Thoughts were racing in his mind.
“These Kaafirs, yes these stupid people. Why are they so blind? Why don’t they follow Islam? Why don’t they learn? Why are they after Islamic countries?
I just fail to understand.”
But wait.
“Was that lady a Kaafir? Wasn’t she doing what she had to do? Saving her husband.
Preventing her unborn child from being orphaned.”
“How can I call them blind? The child. Was he a Kaafir?
Was he blind? He had not even opened his eyes yet. He had not hurt any Islamic ethics.
Is Allah pleased with me? With my fellow Mujahideens? With the murder of an unborn baby?”
He cast a long look at the passengers. All of them were petrified. It seemed as if they were already dead. They could hardly move. Terror and fright had bound their body and their limbs were lifeless, gone. They seemed to be paralyzed.
He looked further….. taking his time… analyzing the people, their faces, their expressions, their fears.
The passengers mostly comprised of the whites. However some blacks and some Asians were also to be seen. One thing was common though. Death was dancing on the faces of all of them.
There was an elderly couple. He saw them in amusement. They seemed to have accepted their fate. They were totally calm and were talking to each other in a soft tone as if chit-chatting over coffee. He cast a glance downwards and saw them holding hands as if feeling each other’s touch for the last time.
Then there was a young boy, perhaps the same age as Abbas.
He was watching the fellow passengers with quite a keen interest. There was a spark in his eyes. The spark that builds the future … of an individual, of a family, of a country, of this world. If he only knew….
Wherever he looked, he found eyes staring at him... young college girls, Business executives, newly married couples, Yankees, …. People…..all ordinary people. He could feel the heat growing in his face now. Unable to continue watching them any longer, he broke off with a shrug. Such hatred, he couldn’t tolerate. He was supposed to be Allah’s son, a martyr. Yet they were looking at him as if he were some filth, scum, a killer.
He felt a pit deepening in his stomach.
“If I can’t win the love of these earthly people, how can Allah accept me with open arms? Will he call me his Son? Will I go to heaven? Or will he make me suffer as the child might have suffered in the Lady’s womb?”
“I have read, reread and read again the Holy Quran. But it doesn’t mention killing anywhere. No religion ever does! There can’t be bloodshed. Violence has to be avoided. No riots! Islam doesn’t tell you to go on a killing spree.”
Remorse was overpowering him.
“But why am I thinking all about this right now? Where was I when my wailing wife was trying to stop me? I call these people blind…
Bloody HELL I am BLIND”
“Islam is being misinterpreted. Some unscrupulous people, for their own gain are misleading the youth. Jihad is not violence. Jihad is not force. Not agony. Not blood”
Suddenly, he felt blood rushing to his brains.
“I must stop this!!! “
He let out a scream. This time it was not a scream to kill. It was a yell of realization. It was a yell against betrayal. It was a yell to save ‘Islam- The correct meaning of Islam.’
He leapt upon one of the Mujahideens and began to punch him mercilessly in the face.
“You! It was you who took me five years ago. Away. Away from my family. Away from my friends. Away from reality. Away from Islam. I will no-…n …. .
“Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggggg……….”
Someone struck. The butt of an AK-47 met the back of his head. He fell, unable to bear the searing the pain it caused and before darkness engulfed him, he saw his assaulter. His own commandant, the father figure for him, the prophet of Allah for him!
Suddenly, the plane shook violently. It began to lose height. Sentience had not left Ashif yet. He knew what was about to happen and silent tears fell from his eyes. He regretted it. He had chosen the wrong path. It was now that faces started revolving in front of him. His mother, his wife, his daughter. He wondered how his son looked like and his longing to see him before dying increased even further. He felt so ashamed of himself. He had left him even before his birth. Abbas, they had named him. His wife had written to him, in the only communication he received from his family after he left. He wanted to be a Martyr, but couldn’t be a father. He wanted to take the responsibility of vindicating Islam when he was too coward a person to take the responsibility of his own family. He shouldn’t have done that. No one should do that. No one…..
The palpitation became more violent. The shrieks of dying people and the clanking of the engine grew.The brouhaha became deafening.
Ashif closed his mind. He mussitated his last prayers and asked for exoneration.
Then with a loud, deafening explosion the plane hit the World Trade Center and he felt the intemperate heat claiming his body.
As the building lay in ruins…
A half burnt page from Ashif’s Quran lay there. Thick black soot was emanating from it.
One could read the half burnt word on it.
“JIHAD”.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He came back to his senses. His pupils widened to absorb the whole view and the distant sounds became clearer, in fact, loud.
Allah!! He rubbed his eyes with his palms. Was I lost??? What’s happening to me?
What are these faces I am seeing? It looks like my family…..
He brooded over it for some time and then clutching the Quran in his pocket, flushed these blasphemous thoughts out of his mind.
Anyway, this didn’t matter now. He didn’t have time for musings, rather these distractions that would deviate him from the real path, the only path…. the path which so few lucky ones could follow and the path which he had chosen so wish fully in spite of all the wails of his mother (“Ashif!!! My son..Please don’t go…please…) ... the pleadings of his wife (“I beg you…for God’s sake please don’t leave me…don’t leave your unborn child…)...and the silent sobs of his daughter (…..).He had left them. That was five years ago.
But he had to do that, Didn’t he? There was something more important. A task lay ahead of him. A task so rightfully entrusted on him. The moment this thought occurred to him, his lips curved in some weird ungeometrical way. This was his way of smiling.
He had long forgotten the act of smiling and the very words which signified happiness, joy, sorrow, family had been erased from his dictionary, from his heart, his life. Yes! He had forgotten his family; he was made to. But that was not without his consent. He remembered only one word and the resonance of this word inside his ears, his mind, his body, his soul was not to fade, never to subside.
“ JIHAD “
He had desperately wanted to be on a mission, almost pleading at times to the Commander-in-Chief to send him instead of others…. and today his dream was materializing in front of him.
Allah had shown trust in him and bestowed upon him a great responsibility, to teach the Kaafirs a lesson. Lesson for not following the right path, for not obeying the aayats of Quran and for persecuting Allah’s true followers.
“They shall pay”, he told himself and blood rushed in his eyes and a vein in his temple began to throb. His eyes were bloody red, perhaps because he had not slept for last 108 hours, in anticipation …. in preparation …. in exultation.
“Is this the reason for my hallucinations?” A vague thought crossed his mind.
Suddenly an unmistakable shriek of a woman caused him to jump. He rushed towards the source of the noise and came to a halt in front of a wailing woman while carefully avoiding his head from the luggage cabinet above on which a label read:
Seat Nos.-16A, 16B, 16C.
The sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand. The woman was lying sandwiched between her seat and the seats of row 15, lying almost as if dead. Apparently, her husband had tried to disarm one of the big shouldered Hijackers. Another hijacker, a little younger and innocent looking but with a rage unmatched had aimed his gun straight at the duo, now struggling very hard to overpower each other. Filled with panic and anger she had plunged at the attacker. He, disregarding the fact that she was pregnant slapped her so hard that she fell…face down on the floor… crying in agony…Eyes swelling due to pain. She tried to get up but her arms gave away. Mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, she managed to look up only to see her husband being shot in the head.
Blood rushing out like a waterfall, the lifeless body fell with a loud thud and yet another family lay destroyed… shattered …. All hopes lost. Perhaps their faith in God Lost.
He bent down, sweating profusely, trying to pull out the lady but he couldn’t. Perhaps she was not in her senses and hence lay totally lifeless in there.
“What the hell do you think u are doing?” roared a voice from behind.
It was their commandant. He was a burly man, about 6’3” tall and sporting a long graying chin curtain beard with traces of dark brown, a consequence of faded Mehandi.
He had large phantasmal eyes and an expression as if he had nothing better to achieve than to just kill.
There was something devilish about his contorted face and just one look into his eyes was enough to send a chill down the spine of the onlooker. He was wearing a Black Pathani Suit and a kufi. It seemed he had just finished his Namaaz and was quite offended being disturbed during the prayer.
“Leave the lady on her own. She will get up if she survives.Anyways, I don’t think she stands a chance”. And with a triumphant smile spreading across his face he added, “I don’t think anyone aboard this flight stands a chance”.
He turned and vanished into a small cabin, closing the door behind him on which a silvery word gleamed “COCKPIT”.
“Allah be praised! Allah be praised!”
Ashif turned around, aghast at what had just happened. Reality was seeping through him.
He had chosen the way of Allah.
“How could all this be so brutal? Allah can not preach such doings. There has to be a misunderstanding. Someone might have misinterpreted what Allah had said…. what Prophet Muhammad had preached.”
His mind took a U-Turn.
“But they had to be punished! The lady and her husband had resisted. Those ignorant souls. Didn’t they realize how lucky they were to be in this flight? This flight, the chosen one…. Going on the path which is ultimate… which is true... which is …which is the only way to achieve Him.
“O Allah!! May your name prevail. May your name prevail “
Thoughts were racing in his mind.
“These Kaafirs, yes these stupid people. Why are they so blind? Why don’t they follow Islam? Why don’t they learn? Why are they after Islamic countries?
I just fail to understand.”
But wait.
“Was that lady a Kaafir? Wasn’t she doing what she had to do? Saving her husband.
Preventing her unborn child from being orphaned.”
“How can I call them blind? The child. Was he a Kaafir?
Was he blind? He had not even opened his eyes yet. He had not hurt any Islamic ethics.
Is Allah pleased with me? With my fellow Mujahideens? With the murder of an unborn baby?”
He cast a long look at the passengers. All of them were petrified. It seemed as if they were already dead. They could hardly move. Terror and fright had bound their body and their limbs were lifeless, gone. They seemed to be paralyzed.
He looked further….. taking his time… analyzing the people, their faces, their expressions, their fears.
The passengers mostly comprised of the whites. However some blacks and some Asians were also to be seen. One thing was common though. Death was dancing on the faces of all of them.
There was an elderly couple. He saw them in amusement. They seemed to have accepted their fate. They were totally calm and were talking to each other in a soft tone as if chit-chatting over coffee. He cast a glance downwards and saw them holding hands as if feeling each other’s touch for the last time.
Then there was a young boy, perhaps the same age as Abbas.
He was watching the fellow passengers with quite a keen interest. There was a spark in his eyes. The spark that builds the future … of an individual, of a family, of a country, of this world. If he only knew….
Wherever he looked, he found eyes staring at him... young college girls, Business executives, newly married couples, Yankees, …. People…..all ordinary people. He could feel the heat growing in his face now. Unable to continue watching them any longer, he broke off with a shrug. Such hatred, he couldn’t tolerate. He was supposed to be Allah’s son, a martyr. Yet they were looking at him as if he were some filth, scum, a killer.
He felt a pit deepening in his stomach.
“If I can’t win the love of these earthly people, how can Allah accept me with open arms? Will he call me his Son? Will I go to heaven? Or will he make me suffer as the child might have suffered in the Lady’s womb?”
“I have read, reread and read again the Holy Quran. But it doesn’t mention killing anywhere. No religion ever does! There can’t be bloodshed. Violence has to be avoided. No riots! Islam doesn’t tell you to go on a killing spree.”
Remorse was overpowering him.
“But why am I thinking all about this right now? Where was I when my wailing wife was trying to stop me? I call these people blind…
Bloody HELL I am BLIND”
“Islam is being misinterpreted. Some unscrupulous people, for their own gain are misleading the youth. Jihad is not violence. Jihad is not force. Not agony. Not blood”
Suddenly, he felt blood rushing to his brains.
“I must stop this!!! “
He let out a scream. This time it was not a scream to kill. It was a yell of realization. It was a yell against betrayal. It was a yell to save ‘Islam- The correct meaning of Islam.’
He leapt upon one of the Mujahideens and began to punch him mercilessly in the face.
“You! It was you who took me five years ago. Away. Away from my family. Away from my friends. Away from reality. Away from Islam. I will no-…n …. .
“Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggggg……….”
Someone struck. The butt of an AK-47 met the back of his head. He fell, unable to bear the searing the pain it caused and before darkness engulfed him, he saw his assaulter. His own commandant, the father figure for him, the prophet of Allah for him!
Suddenly, the plane shook violently. It began to lose height. Sentience had not left Ashif yet. He knew what was about to happen and silent tears fell from his eyes. He regretted it. He had chosen the wrong path. It was now that faces started revolving in front of him. His mother, his wife, his daughter. He wondered how his son looked like and his longing to see him before dying increased even further. He felt so ashamed of himself. He had left him even before his birth. Abbas, they had named him. His wife had written to him, in the only communication he received from his family after he left. He wanted to be a Martyr, but couldn’t be a father. He wanted to take the responsibility of vindicating Islam when he was too coward a person to take the responsibility of his own family. He shouldn’t have done that. No one should do that. No one…..
The palpitation became more violent. The shrieks of dying people and the clanking of the engine grew.The brouhaha became deafening.
Ashif closed his mind. He mussitated his last prayers and asked for exoneration.
Then with a loud, deafening explosion the plane hit the World Trade Center and he felt the intemperate heat claiming his body.
As the building lay in ruins…
A half burnt page from Ashif’s Quran lay there. Thick black soot was emanating from it.
One could read the half burnt word on it.
“JIHAD”.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Hola - An Introduction
You know the kinda guy who does nothing but bad things in his life and then wonders why his life sucks...???
Well, that's not me , that's Earl. Earl J. Hickey if you want his full name... and this is his opening line too..
Why have i put it here? That's because I don't have an opening line.. No wonder i don't score with Girls easily. :(
Anyways, jokes apart, this is Sandy and I am here to entertain.. i am an entertainer.. But mostly you would find serious articles here and most part would be fiction. I haven't tried my hand on comedy but am looking forward to it.
I would love to share my opinions, both on global and local issues, and would love to have open discussions too.
So, here am I... will be writing as and when my schedule permits...
Hasta Luego!
Sandy.
Well, that's not me , that's Earl. Earl J. Hickey if you want his full name... and this is his opening line too..
Why have i put it here? That's because I don't have an opening line.. No wonder i don't score with Girls easily. :(
Anyways, jokes apart, this is Sandy and I am here to entertain.. i am an entertainer.. But mostly you would find serious articles here and most part would be fiction. I haven't tried my hand on comedy but am looking forward to it.
I would love to share my opinions, both on global and local issues, and would love to have open discussions too.
So, here am I... will be writing as and when my schedule permits...
Hasta Luego!
Sandy.
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