There is no denying that the honorable Union Minister of Education Smriti Irani is self made. Her favorite phrase to use is time and time again and she uses alliteration for optics. She looks down at her feet after saying something profound in some semblance of effect and smiles ineffectually at flashing cameras. No stage is intimidating, no man too hard to defeat. Dubbed the most eloquent of ministers, she walks amidst thorns her big, beading eyes glaring at a thin, blue line between spectators adorned in juxtaposed colors. They are all looking up at her in awe. At scorched excuses she throws their way. At the villainous lotus flower that haphazardly rests between her slender fingers.
I don’t know about you, but if I had the ability to travel into future, I would definitely avoid the seven days of warfare between the good and the substantially lesser good. The ending is predictable. They lay in open books. Etched in history. And they bound to repeat themselves. Trust me; you are not missing anything.
While the protestors outside of a snowy day Wembley Stadium in London, UK, were shouting slogans to show their disappointment of his visit, Prime Minister Narendra Modi promised that in the next 1000 days, he will take on the task of bringing electricity to the 18,000 villages in India which currently aren’t connected to the grid. Debajit Palit of The Hindu later raised concerns over this ambitious project saying, “Is it just electrification of villages or to provide quality and adequate electricity to all households?” In Uttar Pradesh, for instance, three out of four households get electricity for less than 12 hours a day. In Jharkhand, only 2% of electrified households get electricity for 20 or more hours; 81% do not get four or more hours in the evenings, while 60% face three or more days of total blackouts every month. PM Modi seems to have complete faith in the moral obligation that he thinks that he owes to the poor, circumventing the economical costs that India has to suffer in fulfilling his promises. According to ministry of India, a village is electrified, if it meets all of the following requirements:
Coimbatore is truly an amazing place to be — for those people who only watch it from afar. It’s a place with a lot of cultural diversity and history, and definitely a home for many aspiring talents. But when it comes to spending your teenage here, that’s when all the hell breaks loose. I mean, look at all the hormonal and bodily changes, and especially when you are in the dilemma of whether or not you’re a human being, they give you the toughest hurdle to pass. Sit back and relax, because this post will let the world that you could have lived happier in Mordor than here; but there’s nothing you can do about it.
An Exclusive Interview With Colin Wright
He likes to call himself an Authorpreneur — he is an author who thinks with the mindset of an entrepreneur. He is an ardent believer of minimalism; he dresses minimally; he travels minimally; he designs minimally. Colin has been featured in USA Today, The Jeff Probst Show, TEDx and many other major media outlets around the world. His blog, Exile Lifesyle, has more than 150,000 monthly readers. I found him on Instagram, and when I asked him, he readily agreed to sit down for an interview.
From ‘Manchester of South India’ to ‘Textile Capital,’ Coimbatore had been given a lot of names in the past, but those aren’t the reasons why we love this cute little city to bits. To every guy and girl out there who has had the pleasure of growing up in this small district in Tamil Nadu, the smallest of things about this urban area are what we would gasp until our last breath.
Kumaraguru College of Technology is definitely the place to be, in case you are wondering what to do with your life, and clueless about your career; it deepens your thoughts, puts you on track, and leaves you with a lot of memories to cherish. May be because of this reason, it is very easy to predict a KCTian amidst a crowd – oh, no, you don’t escape either. Here are ten ways to tell, if you once studied in KCT (and you might not like some of them.)
The movie was awesome!
Need I say more? The casting was perfect; Fahad Faasil does a fantastic job of representing a taciturn, insightful observer of the goings-on, while keeping a firm foot on the morals of what is right. Every scene was picturesque, and takes you to a different world, while keeping you glued to a particular historical period in India, when British had gone off to fight in the World War, and for a brief, ambiguous period of time, India is left to Indians. Yeah, everything was perfect, but that isn’t why I wanted to write this.
The story was amazing; characters were brilliantly sculptured… The highlights of the movie are this exceptional two: a martinet of a father, harbinger of trouble, with three sons, fighting in their own lost worlds, and a whore who seems to be locked in fraternal polygamy. And behind this, a raging tension of wars between countries. I have never seen Amal Neerad’s work before, but that didn’t stop this teeny, tiny inkling that this could be copied from renaissance literature – the doubt isn’t even lingering… there’s revenge, suicide, tragedy, claiming hegemony: it’s stark, isn’t it? After hours of research into fatherly figures of British Drama, and thanks to the excellent work done by Tom MacFaul in his award-winning prose, Problem Fathers in Shakespeare and Renaissance Drama, I am making an attempt in drawing out similarities between the Shakespearean character, Iyobu (played by Lal), and Shakespeare’s work itself.
King Lear is a tragedy written by William Shakespeare in the year 1607, it speaks a great deal of an affectionate father (played by Sir Ian McKellen aka Gandalf in 2004 – whoa), who has three daughters. When asked which of the three loves him most, the eldest two – Regan and Goneril – speak words of approbation, and get a great part of the asset, while the youngest – Cordelia – says ‘nothing.’ When prodded and threatened with pain of disinheritance, she says the same words Fahad says to his father when Iyobu asks him to leave and never dream of a single penny from his pocket, and here goes:
Good my lord, you have begot me, bred me, loved me: I return those duties back as are right fit, obey you, love you, and most honor you!
So poor Cordelia goes to France, with her newly wedded husband, and for some time, silently watches her sisters plague out her father, slowly pushing him out of throne, for a man who tells them it’s possible to rule the world without their loving father, and exactly in words of Angur Ravuthar (JaySurya):
Are you tractable children with mustache?
Both Regan and Goneril secretly lust for Edmund (and in our case, Padma Priya), and with the man’s help, Goneril kills Regan, and drives King Lear out of his country. Enraged at the atrocity, Cornelia gathers a French army to declare war against her sisters, just like Fahad does, by summoning the communists, and to drive away the tyrannous police force out. In the end, King Lear finds Cornelia and repents for all that he had done, and says, very alike Iyobu’s colloquy with Fahad when the former was about to die:
You do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave: thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears do scald like molten lead.
Edmund’s character, played by Padma Priya, and Philip Winchester (a CSI: Miami actor) is very alluring; Edmund sleeps with both the sisters, and kills one of them, just like Padma Priya does here, and kills himself in the end, not in remorse, but being unable to claim ascendancy with his sexual prowess.
Amid Neeradh, I’m guessing, could have based Padma Priya on Vittoria of The White Devil, written by John Webster, wherein the strong female character murders her husband to be with a Duke. Webster doesn’t allow the reader to peak into Vittoria’s mind, just like Neeradh, and puts her in a very ambiguous emotional trait showing her as a whore, mistrusted even by her own lover:
Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice,
With music and with fatal yokes of flowers
To my eternal ruin.
The one trait Padma Priya shares with Vittoria is her refusal to shed a single tear; in later parts of the play, Webster brilliantly emulates Vittoria to a status of courage and independence, and especially when she says this, it’s vivid:
I will not in my death shed one base tear,
Or if I look pale, for want of blood, not fear.
Alright, the movie is amazingly pictured, for a timeline based story, surely devoid of cliches (but people tell me Neeradh had done enough movies to have his own set of cliches), but it’s only an adaptation of a well-known drama: it’s surprising why the director won’t give credit to the renaissance playwrights (especially, when it’s an honor these days to say a movie is adapted – look at Hamlet). The similarities are stark, but McKellen would have been proud of Lal’s performances onscreen; yes, the cast is that perfect, but copied unless the director agrees to have based the movie on English Literature.
When Kip Thorne was initially set to be a part of Interstellar, a sic-fi thriller, he set up one ground-rule: nothing should violate the existing physical laws. It’s amazing to learn how the most famous astrophysicist of the contemporary world sat down with 300 graphic designers, and a myriad of coffee-cups to produce 800 terabyte of data that rendered for about 100 hours.
Thanks to Thorne, the idea of wormholes, black holes and five-dimensional tesseract are effortlessly slipping through the “codswallop scanning area,” without much of a hiccup, but on the narrative side, Nolan singlehandedly sabotages the entire idea; I wonder how better Spielberg could have pumped life into the painfully unfinished script. (The Jurassic Park director, who happens to be Chris Nolan’s role model, initially agreed to direct Interstellar, but dropped out later.)
‘[With Interstellar,] Nolan comes very close here, one might almost say agonisingly close, to forging his masterpiece,’ says Tim Robey of Telegraph, and I concede, to a certain level; obviously, Nolan had been greatly finicky to details of scientific ideas, the wild speculations of gravity manipulation, but when it comes to script writing, there are all forms of adequacies to a completed script, but dropped at a very anarchical phase. Yes, I have watched the Dark Knight series, and I have fallen in love with every second of it; and that’s why I have a reasonable inkling to tell Nolan could have rushed the script, trying to cram too many ideas; forging wild speculations on intergalactic notions; and as the backbone of the script, a middle-aged farmer and a former pilot, trying to save the planet. (And we don’t even know why he was chosen to make decisions in space travel, when there are world-class physicians, lurking behind his back.)
Alright! A dystopian, future humans race, who happens to have the technology to travel till Saturn in search of a tear in space-time fabric without any hiccups, cannot save the paddy field, and get rid of blight with all their frontal cerebral intelligence? That’s how, Nolan, we make a weak plot! Okay, apart from that, the three-hour script was capacious enough to accommodate some mundane dialogues; sentimental crap that was so mediocre that I had to groan, much to my friends’ disdain; Anne Atheway’s excellent acting wasted on moments like “I just learnt that my father is dead, but I am indignant that he never told me this was a lost mission.” Poor characterization not only weakened the plot-line, but stopped a beautiful scientific idea from reaching mainstream culture in the way it deserved. Whatever happened to the human emotions of the astronaut crew as they set off into a space journey away from home, and when it comes to pulling the audience to the edge of their seat, we’d have to kill the least-fascinating guy, right? Poor Wes Bentley should have stuck with The Hunger Games, but alas, Seneca was hung to death, wasn’t he?
I wish I didn’t have to say this at all, especially for a movie directed by Nolan, but the plot was littered with cliches. Bay could have done a far better job at handling the inside-space-pod scenes, but here we are, watching Hatheway’s and McConaughey’s stunned faces, instead of the breathtakingly beautiful void. (You can say it’s implied, but come on!) What was Nolan thinking, when he forced Matt Damon into the script to fill the stagnant script, and conceived the-hackneyed character-turning-villainous moment, when we were all supposed to gasp, but the poorly written script made it fall flat. Come on, like we all didn’t know McConaughey was going to hoodwink the winsome Hathaway and attempt a glorious try at I-am-going-to-sacrifice-myself-for-humanity, either? I understand that inside the black-hole, and that glamorously eye-catchy (was that even necessary?) tesseract, a person can manipulate gravity and travel between galaxies in the blink of an eye, but the dubious script failed to tell a believable tale that audience would understand; but the fact that the next scene opens with McConaughey’s head resting on a soft pillow transcended even the fictitious dystopian rules. (Stephen Hawking would have cringed, and grabbed a tea to numb the migraine.)
Characterization that makes the on-screen cast feel like they are sitting behind your shoulder was Nolan’s biggest strength, and this movie where he attempts to cram too many things in could be his cue to pack his bags up from sci-fi streets of Hollywood. The infinite power of “Love” is already told and retold over the centuries, and the fact that this was given a modern touch by Thorne is, indeed, commendable, but the way it was done, and as USA Today clearly says, was a flawed masterpiece!
I am not saying Interstellar is a bad movie, but if you go to theaters with pop-corn and Coke, so you could later palaver your uninterested friends with jargonistic scientific ideas, and tell people that they should watch the movie not once, but twice to truly understand it, this is what I tell, with a lot of misgivings:
A director’s job is to tell a story, not confuse the audience with one!
And I am not even mentioning Kamal Hassan’s name here.