The Priest - Review.

മമ്മൂട്ടിയുടെ അടുത്തകാലത്ത് ഇറങ്ങിയ പടങ്ങൾ വെച്ച് നോക്കുമ്പോൾ ഇത് വളരെ ഭേദമാണ് - സിനിമ കണ്ടതിനു ശേഷം ഒരു സുഹൃത്ത് പറഞ്ഞത് ഇങ്ങനെയാണ്. ഇക്ക ഈ അടുത്ത കുറെ കാലങ്ങളായി ചെയ്യുന്ന പടങ്ങളുടെ ഗ്രാഫ് ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചാൽ മനസിലാക്കാം ഇതത്ര വലിയ ഒരു കോംപ്ലിമെൻറ് അല്ല എന്നത്. വളിച്ച സാമ്പാർ വളിച്ച സാമ്പാർ തന്നെ - അതിപ്പോ ഒരാഴ്ച പഴകിയതാണേലും ഒരു ദിവസം പഴകിയതാണേലും. എന്തായാലും OTT ആയോണ്ട് കൂടുതൽ കാശു ചിലവില്ല, വീട്ടിൽ ഇരുന്നു തന്നെ കാണാം. പടത്തിലെ നായകൻ മമ്മൂട്ടി ആണെന്നുള്ളത് അതിനാൽ തന്നെ അത്ര വല്യ deterrent ആയി തോന്നിയില്ല.

ഒരു മരണം, ഒരു കൊലപാതകം, ഒരു അന്വേഷണം, ഒരു പ്രേതം - അങ്ങനെ പോകുന്നു ആദ്യ പകുതി. അത് മാത്രം ഒരു സിനിമ ആയിരുന്നേൽ കുറച്ചു കൂടി ഗംഭീരം ആയേനെ. കഥാപാത്രങ്ങളെ പ്രേക്ഷകർക്ക് പരിചയപ്പെടുത്താൻ വേണ്ടി ഒന്നല്ല, രണ്ടല്ല നാലു കൊലപാതകങ്ങൾ ആണ് നമ്മുടെ സംവിധായകൻ ചെയ്തത്. (സംവിധായകൻ, പ്രൊഡ്യൂസർ, കഥ-തിരക്കഥകൃത്ത് ഇതൊക്കെ ആരാണെന്നു അറിയണേൽ പോസ്റ്റർ നോക്കിയാൽ കിട്ടും.) അങ്ങനെ മമ്മൂട്ടി ഒരു പാതിരി ആണെന്നും, സാനിയ ഇയ്യപ്പൻ അവതരിപ്പിക്കുന്ന കഥാപാത്രം ഒരു പ്രേതം ആണെന്നും നമുക്ക് മനസിലാവുന്നത് ആദ്യ പകുതിയുടെ അവസാനം ആണ്. എന്നാൽ മറ്റു പാതിരിമാർക്ക് ദൈവത്തോട് മാത്രം സംസാരിക്കാൻ കഴിയുമ്പോൾ ഇക്ക അവതരിപ്പിക്കുന്ന പാതിരി - ബെനഡിക്ട് അവര്കള്ക്ക് പ്രേതങ്ങളായും സംസാരിക്കാൻ പറ്റുമെന്നതാണ് ട്വിസ്റ്റ്. അത് മാത്രമല്ല, നമ്മുടെ സിനിമയിലെ മമ്മൂട്ടി മാറിയാൽ പിന്നെ ഉള്ള കേന്ദ്രകഥാപാത്രം - എല്ലാരേം തുറിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന അമേയ എന്ന കുട്ടിയേയും ഈ ആദ്യ പകുതിയിൽ സംവിധായകൻ നമുക്ക് പരിചയപ്പെടുത്തി തരുന്നു.

അമേയ ഒരു അനാഥകുട്ടി ആണ്. നമുക്ക് അതെങ്ങനെ അറിയാം? ആ കുട്ടിയെ കുറിച്ച എപ്പോൾ എന്തൊക്കെ പറഞ്ഞാലും അനാഥ ആയതിന്റെ മുതലെടുപ്പാണ് ഈ കുട്ടി ഇങ്ങനെ കൊള്ളരുതാത്തരം ചെയ്യുന്നേ എന്നാണ് കുട്ടിയുടെ സ്കൂളിലെ അദ്ധ്യാപകരും ഓഫീസ് സ്റ്റാഫും പറയുന്നത്. സാധാരണ അനാഥപിള്ളേർ അല്ല മറിച്ച് ഇച്ചിരി privileged ആയ പിള്ളേർ ആണ് കൂടുതൽ കൊള്ളരുതാത്തരം ചെയ്യുന്നത് എന്നാണ് പൊതുവെ കാണാറുള്ളത്. പക്ഷെ കേരളത്തിലെ പ്രൈവറ്റ് സ്കൂളുകളിൽ പോയിട്ടുള്ളവർക്ക് അറിയാം അവിടെ ഉള്ള അദ്ധ്യാപകവൃന്ദം, പ്രത്യേകിച്ചും ചെറിയ ക്ലാസ്സുകളിൽ പഠിപ്പിക്കുന്ന ടീച്ചര്മാരിൽ കുറെ അധികം ഇജ്ജാതി സൈക്കോസ് ഉണ്ടെന്നുള്ളത്. എന്തായാലും അമേയയെ നന്നാക്കാൻ ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർ എത്തുന്നു. അമേയക്ക് എന്തിരോ പ്രശനം ഉണ്ടെന്നു നേരത്തെ മനസിലാക്കിയ clairvoyant പാതിരിയും അമേയയെ തേടി എത്തുന്നു.

അമേയയെ ചോദ്യം ചെയ്യുന്നു - അമേയ അതിന്റെ ഇടക്ക് കരയുന്നു, ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർ ഓടി വരുന്നു, അമേയയുടെ മുഖത്തു അടി കൊണ്ട പാട് കാണുന്നു, ടീച്ചറെ ഇയാൾ എന്നെ ഉപദ്രവിച്ചു എന്ന് പറയുന്നു, ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർ അമേയയെ രക്ഷിക്കുന്നു, എന്നിട്ടു ഈ ക്ലാസിക് ഡയലോഗ് പറയുന്നു - "കുട്ടികളെ ഉപദ്രവിക്കുന്നത് ശരി അല്ല, പക്ഷെ നിങ്ങൾ ഒരു പാതിരി ആയോണ്ട് ഞാൻ ഒന്നും പറയുന്നില്ല". കേൾക്കുമ്പോൾ ഇതെന്തോന്നാ ഈ ചേച്ചി ഇങ്ങനെ പറയണേ എന്ന് തോന്നുമെങ്കിലും "കത്തോലിക്ക സഭ, കുട്ടികൾ, പോപ്പ്, മാപ്പ്" എന്നൊന്ന് ഗൂഗിൾ സെർച്ച് ചെയ്താൽ മാറാവുന്നതേ ഉള്ളൂ ആ കൺഫ്യൂഷൻ.

ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചറുടെ സിമ്പിൾ സ്നേഹം കൊണ്ട് സാധാരണ ഒന്നോ രണ്ടോ മാർക് വാങ്ങി നടന്നിരുന്ന അമേയ 48 മാർക്ക് വരെ എത്തുന്നു. പടം വരക്കുന്നു, ചിരിക്കുന്നു, vacation ആയപ്പോ ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർടെ വീട്ടിൽ പോകുന്നു, വിഭവസമൃദ്ധമായ സദ്യ ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്നു, വയലിൻ കയ്യിൽ പിടിക്കുന്നു, ഓറഞ്ച് തിന്നുന്നു - ആകെ മൊത്തം സൂപ്പർ. അങ്ങനെ ഇരിക്കുമ്പോ ടീച്ചറുടെ ബാല്യകാലസുഹൃത്തും കാമുകനും ആയ മിസ്റ്റർ സിദ്ധാർഥ് വന്നു പുള്ളിക്കാരിയെ പ്രൊപ്പോസ് ചെയ്യുന്നു. അമേയ പൊട്ടി തെറിക്കുന്നു. ടീച്ചർ ചൂടാവുന്നു. അമേയയിലെ പ്രേതം ആക്റ്റീവ് ആവുന്നു, ടീച്ചറെ പഞ്ഞിക്കിടുന്നു. അടപടലം പേടിച്ച ടീച്ചർ ഇക്കയെ വിളിക്കുന്നു.

ഇക്ക വന്നിട്ട് പ്രേതകഥകളെ സ്മാർട്ട് ആക്കാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുന്ന ഏതൊരു pseudo-science ആരാധകനേം പോലെ കുറെ പിച്ചും പേയും പറഞ്ഞു educated ആയ ടീച്ചറെ convince ചെയ്യുന്നു. പ്രൈവറ്റ് സ്കൂൾ ടീച്ചർ ആണ് - educated ആണെന്ന് പൂർണമായി ഉറപ്പിക്കാൻ വയ്യ, കണ്ടിടത്തോളം സാധ്യതയും കുറവാണ്. പിന്നെ സാഹചര്യങ്ങളും അങ്ങനെ ആണല്ലോ - convince ആയതിൽ കുറ്റം പറയാൻ പറ്റില്ല. എന്തായാലും പാതിരി exorcise ചെയ്യാൻ കൂടെ കൊണ്ടു വന്ന ഡോക്ടർ നമ്മടെ ടി ജി രവി ചേട്ടൻ ആണ്. പുള്ളി അവിടെ ഒരു കമ്പ്യൂട്ടർ ഒക്കെ വെച്ച് എന്തോ ഗ്രാഫ് ഒക്കെ നോക്കി എന്തോ ഒക്കെ ചെയ്യും, ഇക്ക ആണേൽ ലാറ്റിനും ഇംഗ്ലീഷും മലയാളവും ഒക്കെ വെച്ച് ഒരു പിടി പിടിക്കുന്നു. ഏതായാലും മലയാളി ആയ പ്രേതം ഫലസ്റ്റീൻകാരനായ യേശു വഴി ലാറ്റിൻ കേട്ട് പേടിക്കുന്നെങ്കിലും കട്ടയ്ക് പിടിച്ച് നിൽക്കുന്നു, വിട്ടു പോകുന്ന സീൻ ഇല്ല. അത് വരെ പാതിരി വിചാരിച്ചത് കുട്ടിയുടെ ദേഹത്തെ പ്രേതം എലിസബത്ത് (irrelevant character number X of 100) ആന്നെന്നാണ് . പക്ഷേ പിന്നീടത് ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചറുടെ ചേച്ചിയായ സൂസൻ ആണെന്ന് മനസിലാക്കുന്നു.

പ്രേതങ്ങൾ ഉണ്ടാവുന്നത്:

അതായത്, മരിച്ചു പോയ ഒരാൾക്ക് എന്തെങ്കിലും ജീവിതത്തിൽ ചെയ്യാൻ ബാക്കി ഉണ്ടേൽ പുള്ളി മരിച്ചാലും ഇവിടെ തന്നെ കാണും. ആ ലോജിക് അനുസരിച്ച ഈ ലോകത്തിൽ ജനിച്ച് മരിച്ച ഒരു മാതിരി എല്ലാവരും ഇപ്പൊ പ്രേതങ്ങളായി ഇവിടെയൊക്കെ ചുറ്റിത്തിരിഞ്ഞു കാണും.

നമ്മടെ സൂസൻ പ്രേതം ഇപ്പോളും ചുറ്റിപറ്റി ഇരിക്കുന്നതെന്തെന്നാൽ, പുള്ളിക്കാരിയെ തട്ടി കളഞ്ഞത് സിദ്ധാർഥ് ആണെന്നാണ് പ്രേതത്തിന്റെ വിചാരം, അവനെ കൊന്നു ഓങ്കാരനടനം ആടിയാലേ പ്രേതം വേൾഡിൽ പ്രവേശനം കിട്ടൂ. പക്ഷെ സത്യം എന്തെന്നാൽ സൂസനെ കൊന്നത് വെള്ളമടിച്ചു വണ്ടി ഓടിച്ച ജെസ്സി ആണ്. പക്ഷേ , നമ്മടെ പ്രേതം പുട്ടുറുമീസിനെ പോലെയാണ് - ശക്തി മാത്രേ ഉള്ളു, ബുദ്ധി തീരെ ഇല്ല. ആയതിനാൽ പ്രേതത്തിന് അതറിയില്ല. ഒന്നുമില്ലേൽ ആ ഏരിയയിൽ ഉള്ള ബാക്കി പ്രേതങ്ങളോട് ഒന്ന് അന്വേഷിച്ചാൽ മതിയാരുന്നു - അവർ ആരേലും പറഞ്ഞു തന്നേനെ. ഒരു ചെക്കനും പെണ്ണും വെള്ളമടിച്ചു ഒരു കാറിൽ കറങ്ങുന്നത് നോക്കി നടക്കാൻ ഒന്നല്ല രണ്ടല്ല ഒരായിരം അമ്മാവൻ പ്രേതങ്ങൾ കേരളത്തിൽ എന്തായാലും കാണുമെന്നത് ഉറപ്പല്ലേ? ഇതാണ് പറയുന്നേ യൂണിയൻ വേണം യൂണിയൻ വേണമെന്ന്. Anyway, മമ്മൂട്ടി പ്രേതത്തെ എല്ലാം പറഞ്ഞു മനസിലാക്കി അമേയയുടെ പുറത്തു നിന്നും ഒഴിപ്പിക്കുന്നു. ഹോളി വാട്ടർ, കുരിശ്, ഹോളോഗ്രാം ഇതൊന്നും കൊണ്ട് നടക്കാത്ത exorcism പ്രേതത്തെ ചർച്ചയ്ക്ക് വിളിച്ചു വരുത്തി കാര്യം നടത്തി മറ്റു മന്ത്രവാദികൾക്കും ബാധ ഒഴിക്കൽ ടീമ്സിനും ഇക്ക മാതൃകയാവുന്നു. അതിനു തൊട്ടു മുൻപ് ഇക്ക പക്ഷെ പണ്ട് നടുവേദന വരുമ്പോ ചൂടാക്കാൻ ഉപയോഗിക്കുന്ന ടോർച്ച് പോലെ എന്തോ ഒരു ഐറ്റം വെച്ച സൂസനെ പുറത്ത് കൊണ്ട് വരുന്നുണ്ട് - ആ ഐറ്റം എന്തെ മുന്നേ ഉപയോഗിക്കാഞ്ഞേ എന്ന് ഞാൻ ചോദിച്ചു - പക്ഷെ ഇക്ക ടിവിയിലും ഞാൻ റൂമിലും ആയോണ്ട് പുള്ളി കേട്ടില്ല, ഒന്നും പറഞ്ഞതും ഇല്ല.

Epilogue:

എന്തായാലും കാര്യങ്ങൾ എല്ലാം മംഗളമായി കലാശിക്കുന്നു. ഇതിന്റെ ഇടയിൽ ടീച്ചർ വണ്ടി തട്ടി ഹോസ്പിറ്റലിൽ എത്തിയപ്പോ പ്രോപ്പർ ട്രീത്മെന്റ്റ് കൊടുക്കാതെ തട്ടി കളഞ്ഞതാണ് എന്ന് നാം മനസിലാക്കുന്നു - അതിനു കാരണമുണ്ട്, ബട്ട് അതും relevant അല്ല. ഇക്കേം സൂസൻ പ്രേതോം ആ സത്യം എങ്ങനെ മനസിലാക്കുന്നു എന്നത് ഇപ്പോളും വ്യക്തമല്ല. ഇക്കയുടെ സഹായത്തോടെ അവരേം സൂസൻ പ്രേതം കൊല്ലുന്നു , പ്രേതങ്ങൾ എവിടെയാണോ പോകേണ്ടത് അങ്ങോട്ട് തിരിച്ച് പോകുന്നു. ശുഭം.

ഇതിനിടക്ക് അമേയയുടെ അനാഥാലയത്തിലെ കന്യാസ്ത്രീ അവളെ അന്വേഷിച്ച് വരുന്ന ഒരു സീൻ ഉണ്ട്. അത് കഴിഞ്ഞ് പിന്നെ അവരെ കാണിക്കുന്നില്ല. അവർ വന്നത് അമേയയെ തുറന്നു വിടാൻ വേണ്ടി ആണെന്ന് തോന്നുന്നു. കാരണം പ്രേതങ്ങൾക്ക് പറന്നു ചാടി പിടിക്കാം, ചുമരുകൾ തകർക്കാം, പുറത്തു ഒരു സാക്ഷ ഇട്ടു പൂട്ടിയ ഒരു മരത്തിന്റെ കതക് തുറക്കാൻ ലേശം ബുദ്ധിമുട്ടാണ് - അങ്ങനെ ആണ് പ്രേതങ്ങളുടെ rule.

ജെസ്സീ നിനക്കെന്തു പറ്റി ?

അന്നു രാത്രി വണ്ടി ഇടിച്ചതിനു ശേഷം എന്താ ഉണ്ടായേ എന്നതോ, ആ കാർ തന്റെ കോമ്പൗണ്ടിലെ ഒരു കെട്ടിടത്തിൽ കിടപ്പുണ്ടെന്നതോ അതെ ദിവസം തന്നെ തന്റെ ചേച്ചി വണ്ടി ഇടിച്ച് മരിച്ചു എന്നതൊക്കെയോ വളരെ convenient ആയി ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർ മറന്നു കളഞ്ഞു എന്നത് അത്ര പെട്ടെന്ന് തള്ളിക്കളയാനാവില്ല. പാതിരി അല്ല സേതു രാമയ്യർ ആയിരുന്നു സംഭവം അന്വേഷിച്ചിരുന്നതെങ്കിൽ കണ്ടിപ്പായ് ഇത് പൊങ്ങി വന്നേനെ. ഞാനാണ് പ്രേതം എങ്കിൽ ഉറപ്പായിട്ടും ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചറെ തന്നെ സംശയിച്ചേനെ. പക്ഷെ പ്രേതം മണ്ടിയാണെന്നുള്ള കാര്യം നമ്മൾ already establish ചെയ്ത സ്ഥിതിക്ക് അതൊരു plot gap ആയി കാണാൻ വയ്യ. ജെസ്സി ടീച്ചർ കണക്കിന് പകരം വല്ല ബോട്ടണിയോ ഹിസ്റ്ററിയോ ആണ് പഠിച്ചിരുന്നതെങ്കിൽ ആ സ്കൂളിൽ ചേരില്ലായിരുന്നു, ഈ സിനിമയും ഉണ്ടാവില്ലാരുന്നു എന്നതും നാം ഓർക്കണം.

കഥാതന്തു പുതിയതാണ് - എന്നാൽ exorcism സീനുകൾ, പ്രേതം കയറിയ കുട്ടിയുടെ mannerisms എല്ലാം പല പല പഴയ പടങ്ങളുടെ കോപ്പി ആണ്. വെറുതെ കിട്ടിയാൽ കാണാൻ ഒന്നു കൊണ്ടും മടിക്കേണ്ട, സമയം നഷ്ടമാവില്ല.

Also, this review contains spoilers.

Tastes.

Some tastes stand out in your memory, don't they?

- Kadungallor vellya temple Pal payasam.

- Veg cutlet from Indian coffee House Perumbavur.

- Bread omelette with lots of butter and lots of green chillies from Jaisalmer railway station.

- Mutton Thukpa from that small restaurant by the end of the street in Kasol.

- That crab butter garlic thing from Midhun's shop in Havelock Island.

- Shell fish sukka and toddy from Rajesh's place in Kodi Bengre.

- Rice and beef from Chechi mess, Koramangala.

- Rice rajma and some chutney from the road side bus stop en-route Kaza. 

- The poha from the host/sarpanch's house in Kutch.

- Fish curry and rice from the road side food place en-route Guwahati from Tezpur.

- The masala dosa from the India coffee house (not Indian coffee House) Guruvayur.

- That mango milkshake with ice cream and mango slices on top from the juice shop down the road from The Forum, next to Airtel office, Koramangala.

- The kebab roll from Siddique's, Johnson Market.

- The grilled chicken from Wazir's, Richmond Town.

- That one time in one Motel Aaram - the ghee roast and vada.

- The Kathirikka Poriyal which comes with the mid-day meals at Sri Krishna cafe, Koramangala on Fridays.

- Mulaku bajji, Motta bajji, Kada Motta bajji from that stall in Kaloor, at the mouth of the Kaloor-Kadavanthra road.

- Ginger tea and Dil-pasands from Russell market, past midnight.

- The Murukku, with tea from that small teashop opposite Bangalore club.

- Chicken fry from Bukhari.

- Poricha kozhi and chappathi from Trivandrum chicken corner, Ernakulam.

- Mutton biriyani from Shah Ghouse, Mehdipatnam.

- Mutton biriyani at Anum's brother in law's wedding reception.

- Those early days of Chefmaster - Dosa and sambhar. 

- Chicken Navrathan Kurma from Hotel Periyar, Aluva. 

- Porotta and Green peas curry from that vegetarian place near Paramekkkavu, Thrissur.

- Butter masala dosa from that Sri Krishna place near DH road.

- Those white tea-cakes with overpowering aftertaste of eggs from the Bangalore bakeries, dipped in tea. 

- Spinach cheese momos from Carpe Diem, McLeodganj.

- Chocolate milk shake and ham sandwiches from Keventer's, Darjeeling. 

- Kodungalloor temple ile Appam after Guruthi.

- Kappa beef, with pickled onions from Josettan's stall in Kuzhur.

- Phulkas, Chilly chicken and Bhindi fry with the spicy tangy onion chutney from the Punjabi auntie's place in the lane adjacent to NIMHANS.

- The Tom Yum soup from that small Chinese place in BTM.

- Chaya and vada from Thomasettan's tea shop, Parappuram.

- Appam and beef roast from that shop in Koramangala, near Lazeez.

- Mutton biriyani and Chicken chap from Lazeez, Koramangala. 

- Fish curry meals from that shop in Fort Kochi - Tipu sultan or something - adjacent to the Vypin Junkar.

- Bread butter jam, crispy bacon and a pot of tea from Koshy's.

- Omelette with toast and coffee from India(n)? Coffee house on the Church Street.

- Grilled chicken from Ghalib's, HSR layout.

- Karimeen pollichath with Appam, Kumarakom, HSR layout.

- Fish curry meals from Kudumbasree hotel and fresh palm toddy in leaf bowls from cycle chettan's  - Thenmala.

- Herb butter toast and cheese omelette from Anju's cafe in Rangashankara.

That's what she said.

"But you should never release these tapes before I die. You may release it the day after I die; or it will be the day before I die."

He clicked the tape off. 

"Why don't you release it? She's long dead."

"But I am not. I'm giving you these tapes now and telling you exactly what she told you. Never release it before I die or..."

Dream Country.

Lockdown was a crazy period for most of us. Anyway, I have been having a lot of weird dreams. So I documented some. Mind you, these have been rethought and recreated from the small notes I made. So gaps gets filled, confusions settled and ironed out by my conscious self. 

Olx, btm and such:

Back in Subex office I think. Some project. I ask R if she has the project details, then she calls P and tells me she is the test lead, so ask her. She comes over and tells something basic about the project, keeps coming closer, and gets too close. I remember her almost standing on my toes close with a sly smile.

Then later R and me gets out. Lunch? Or smoke. It's near btm only. We walk. He says he wanna pick up something. Some olx types. We share a cig but in my mind I am going we shouldn't, corona. We reach the house, then he goes inside. I get a peek in, sees one lady and another person changing his shirt but I can see surgery marks like that of a removed breast. Transitioning, perhaps? Another guy too has a very feminine look. R goes into try out a jacket. A lady, old tells me to come sit. There are too many people in that living room. It seems like a brothel or something. Two pretty, young women were playing kissy kissy and humming songs while doing it. Then was it only just one girl playing with the air? The lady next to me is playful, smiling too much, touchy and all, asks stuff. An old lady, with a big booger. 

The lady then changes in the scene or did I go in to check on R who is trying a shirt now, a shiny one. Another guy, indifferent, is in the room who is wearing a similar shirt as R is trying. He seems to be getting ready to go out collecting his stuff - watch wallet mobile and such. R checks the shirt and says he's put on weight (although it's the opposite if you consider real life, he is looking much leaner) and I say yeah and you know it. Then I come back and sit I think next to the lady, but it's a different, a little younger lady, older than me though. She's touchy feely in a very familiar way. Holding my hand near my elbow and all. Then says you look good like this or something. Asks if I have a girlfriend. I say no or something. Then she says girlfriend boyfriend, I mean these days one can't be sure. I was like yeah why do people assume. Then she keeps going yeah some like without hands some without face I'm not saying anything. I notice that a young guy has come sat next to me, perhaps the same guy who was in the other room. I also notice this woman has either some parts in her mouth cut off or as if she's decayed. I remember there are no teeth in her left jaw and that there is big a gap between her jaw and gum like stuff missing, like it's floating, maybe? Next I feel her tightening her grip on my elbow a little more, as if getting ready to grab me if I try to run. And I feel as if she's suddenly cutting my neck with a not so sharp blade or stabbing me with maybe a needle? I wake up. 

Some weird cricket match:

Some cricket match, I am on the ground but I am sure I am not playing, only watching. I think it's an India Pak match. There are others who are so enthusiastic about the match, I think they were talking in expletive filled Hindi. They keep talking about the match, through the match, as if they know about it - like a movie they have seen already. And also they are making fun of the Pak team too, I think. I think India wins the match. Then we are returning. Now everyone's walking back via this high narrow bridge thing, like a wide log. I am afraid of falling so I am lying on my stomach grabbing the path/walkway with both my hands and semi crawling. They all look but nobody was making fun, as if this also was normal. As I go crawling this pathway becomes adjacent to a raised pavilion/gallery for watching the match so I get in there across the pavilion's railing and use the stairs and get down. I see some people in the pavilion maybe eating, like it's a restaurant.

More after that weird cricket match:

Next is more like a doomsday thing. A guy and girl is there. I am seeing from their perspective but I am there too. They are packing, they talk as if they are some star crossed lovers. I remember feeling their pain every time they hug. Or was it just me who knows about their fate? Anyway everyone's packing, and she has a list. Someone's giving speeches in the ground floor. Remember that pavilion from the earlier dream? I think they are there. The whole thing had a 'Dark' series vibe. Or maybe in my mind they are speaking German? Or the girl looks like one from the series? Then she says it's time to go and then goes off to hug her grandmother sitting and packing in the adjacent room, when the cat which is with the guy starts acting weird, and he calls for her. I go in my mind yeah this is how it starts. I take the cat and try to subdue it, but it was trying to attack and it was almost getting difficult to control it. I wake up.

That one in which the script talks:

In the copy of the pilot of the show given to the lead (female) actor, an animated character/meme which comes in the credits, breaks the fourth wall and starts blurting out, bad mouthing about the abuse towards the actors and various ladies associated by different people. As it finally finishes, everyone gathered around starts applauding the writer when it suddenly goes "I haven't started talking about the show's creator yet"

The one which was very eery:

We are going somewhere or coming from somewhere. N is there. P is there. We are walking towards the car park. It's dad's car and I am the one who's gonna drive. Dad's not there. It's a long walk. All cars are getting out together. So a long convoy. N says looks like he needs a cig and he lights one and we bum. Then we reach near the car and I say no smoking inside. Then I start the car, there is a sharp turning in the ground, I reverse and turn. Then we goto a restaurant (or were we coming from there?).

Next scene is a room, possibly the old living room from Kadungallore. There's a box like a Walkman, and S, J and me are hooked to it. There are a few people around too, P probably. The box seems like a conduit to speak to a dead person and I dunno if S is asking the questions but seems like the answers are coming through J. Then seems like J is sad. The dead person is someone else, or the vessel's name Salona. Then we ask J what's her name she says Salona, Salona in a sing song manner. S is like no your name and then she looks around and P and me and says Salona. And says sadly to us 'isn't that what he is asking' and visibly sad and distressed and confused. And I notice her pupils are dilating and it's red and I am like is she stuck. And should we remove the headset? And then others go no no. I wake up. And even then I could hear the sing song way she was saying Salona, Salona. I went and peed and came back to bed and still I could hear that voice. It was eery.

The one with the hot air balloon:

We were sitting in a room, old Kadungallore house I think. Then S comes in, she's wearing trackpants and a crop top and jumper/jacket, and walks in with a very formal air. She gives me two boxes of chocolate, which I go and keep in a steel almirah in the bedroom (and not in the fridge, dunno why). There were other boxes of chocolate in the almirah, one falls down I just throw it back in and close the almirah. Then the scene changes and we are all in the city, and in a balloon. It's seemed like a residential street like in Bangalore, where a building construction is also happening in the vicinity. There is one guy (45-50 years old) dunno who, seems like we are to take him to a hospital or something. But he seems well. However locals are not allowing us to go, and then this guy looks at them and nods and the leaders of the locals say let him go. We slowly go up. I can hear the local people telling we can still stop them, just give the word.

A list.

Trying to list out a few interesting personalities I met recently, in no particular order.

Rickety Cricket: RC has some physical deformity. He can't walk properly, neither can he sit down properly. It takes him a huge effort to even bend and eat his food. For all these reasons and maybe other unknown ones, RC is thin and malnourished amongst a pack healthy dogs. RC comes around and stands, expecting love and some scratches (for which he will wholeheartedly turn around and point out the places he wants them). We even commented that this one's living just on love. He kept coming for lots of love, some water and maybe some tidbits of food; and  he's still going strong, in his on rickety crickety ways. 

Doggu: Doggu is cute. Doggu is huge-ish. And Doggu is so fucking needy and has no shame in asking for love. He is jealous to the dot. He will come and sit next to you giving you doggu eyes. Then if you are strong enough to ignore them he will paw you, then scratch you, put both his paws on you and what not. 

Pro-tip: Mildly blow some air on his face and Doggu will make disappointed doggu sounds and leave you alone for few moments.

Kiko: Kiko grew up with 7 cats, most of them still kittens. Kiko is currently in her growth spurt, she is teething and she loves to act like a psycho. Kiko will come running and jump on you and then probably use you as a hoist to jump higher. Kiko goes into dirty water to have fun and then come back and jump on you, because why not?

Pinky/Poocha: Pinky is a he. Pinky gives no fucks about being called Pinky. I preferred to call him Poocha; for clarity sake, and also what's the point naming a cat sake. Poocha has no sense of boundary, propriety or anything that would make him do things not his way. But like all cats this one easily gets his will done. Poocha comes and sits nonchalantly on you. He is not like that patient social human who will wait for everyone before eating food once it arrives on the table. Poocha once strolled into the room, jumped on to the bed, and settled on me. And slept. Everytime I move a fraction, he would make a sound like a squeeky toy, indicating his discomfort.

Poocha and I had a special connect, or so I thought. If Poocha is sitting on someone else's lap and is being pampered and I come and sit, he used to jump out of the other person's lap and sit on mine. That was a rare, nice gesture from Poocha or from any poocha.

Panther: Panther is small and acts as if he doesn't know his name is Panther. He came to our verandah one night probably because we were the only ones with lights on in the verandah. Perhaps he is still afraid of the dark, much like his namesake I should presume (a panther has never walked in on me like this before, so I am not really sure what they do in such occasions). Panther didn't drink water but he ate some crackers. Then he slept there until maybe the sun came out.

P.S.:- This is by no means an exhaustive list. I had recently seen the adage 'No man is an island' written somewhere, again. And decided to be extremely social. So I interacted with a lot of friendly dogs with varying levels of personalities, various cats with varying levels of giving a fuck, and a couple or so human beings.

P.P.S.:- Uploading some photos of the eminencies, again in no particular order.

I want to be a fly on the wall

 I want to be a fly on the wall.

No, it's not what you think. It's not something devious. 

(Even if it were, what can a fly do to change the matters of humans.)

I want to listen when you say things to yourself.

I want to hear you contradict what you just said to someone else.

I want to watch you cry. Not that I am a sadist, but I think people never really cry unless they are alone.

I want to watch you conspiring with your friends to bring down the government, bring down your boss, bring down the shop whose owner is not your type.

I want to watch you confess the worst things to the worst kind of people.

I want to watch people, when they are real and I want to be able to do nothing about that knowledge.

I want to be a fly on the wall.

Title: Placeholder for a word I don't know yet.

Can the present invoke nostalgia?

Things as they unfold, can they invoke that bitter shitty sweet feeling

No not for something it reminds you of; now that would be normal

This is, different, it creates a nostalgia for itself as it unfolds

Like the pretty words that mean nothing much together - perhaps, petrichor, mouse, frangipani; and mean

Even lesser when by themselves

In the fleeting nostalgia of the slowly unfolding  (and strangely still in the present) moments, my distressed Malayalam comes out

മഴ, മുളക്, മാങ്ങാത്തൊലി.

തേങ്ങാക്കൊല എന്നു പറയുന്ന പോലെയുള്ള മാങ്ങാത്തൊലി അല്ല - ശരിക്കും മാങ്ങാത്തൊലി.

മാങ്ങയുടെ (മാമ്പഴത്തിന്റെ) തൊലി കളയുമ്പോൾ ചെത്തികളഞ്ഞ തൊലി എടുത്ത്  കാരി തിന്നുന്ന പോലെ.

The nostalgia of the present is neither here nor there;

Nor in this moment nor in the next.

And the explanation is fleeting - 

In one language or the other. 

Evening by the beach

She: Wow, it is so calm and beautiful here. You were right, this city isn't that bad.
He: See I told you so.
She: But the problem here is not the people, it is some people. Most people have more than enough problems in their life that they don't care why a young couple is sitting by the beach at this time of the hour. While some are happy to see us happy. Yet, there are some who can't find anyone else being happy even if it's nothing that will affect them.
He: Of course there are bad people everywhere, not just here.
She: Yeah but these aren't bad people right; or goondas or criminals, right? At least these are not professional killers or anything. These people have normal day jobs, loans, electricity bills and that usual middle class fubar. Most probably they go back home to their wives and kids after a good day of moral policing. They are normal. Now that is what dangerous.
He: Come on. Chill no? I mean let us enjoy this moment.

Them: Hey hey hey! Who are you? What is this, America? Who are you two? What is this a hotel room? Hey, who is this girl? Is she your wife? Show me the thaali! What is your name? What is her name?
He: Hey hey! What are you doing? Keep your hands off man! She is my girlfriend. Yeah!
She: Of course! We are together. He didn't force me to sit here and it is none of your business anyway.
Them: Girl friend? Huh? This is India? Give me your parents number! Give me your phone?
She: Ok ok ok! Wait, wait!  Let me take it!

She (turning to him while ruffling through her bag): See, this is what I said.

Then she finds what she is looking for from her bag, loads it and shoots Them in their faces.

He: Ok, lets have some chai now?
She: Yeah! And some Uzhunnu vada. Let's go.

Post-truth.

'I did not kill her; your husband did!' - those were his last words, before they put him down for the murder of her only girl. He used up his last opportunity to reach out to anyone in the world to say that to her. Why? she would never know for sure. She does not want to be sure. One more ghost to haunt her till she dies and joins them.

Being Salman.

Salman is a beggar who sits by the street lamp in the bazaar. Salman, though is unlike the other beggars. He did not become a beggar by anybody's choice but by chance. One day Salman was sitting intoxicated in the bazaar by this lamp post. When he came back to his senses he found coins and notes in front of him. He was amused by this and started sitting there everyday.

Salman sits there everyday, mostly intoxicated, staring at the tea shop across the street. His family owns the tea shop. They had disowned him as soon as they came to know about his side business.

Today he couldn't find the third guy who was part of the gang of three college students, who were regulars at the tea shop. Salman wondered why.

Author

He couldn't find out where the sound was coming from. He looked behind the fridge, flicked the switch off and on. Then he checked the kitchen sink. Nope. The sounds were still coming. Like those bips and clicks from a printer, somewhere from near the kitchen. 

He went and peed and came back to see this  printed on a page next to his books. He never had a printer. 

Bucharest Chronicles

I see a pretty lady in the metro with a bunch of flowers. She is looking so sad. I want to hug her and tell her that everything will be alright.

Romanian ladies are generally pretty; but once and now you find a face that takes your breath away. I see one right now.

I am walking down the old town at around 2.30 am on a weekday and it is crowded like the Ernakulam Broadway at noon.
"Don't these people have work tomorrow?", we ask each other.
(Maybe they are asking the same question pointing at us).

Oh these revolving doors! Argh! They are on my case I reckon. Damn!

I feel bored. I go to trim my beard. I cut my ponytail off. Hair today, gone tomorrow.

Sitting alone in Cismigiu; one oldish dude comes and asks for a single cigarette. He insists on paying for it. His name is John Rambo and he is an ex-serviceman. No joke, he even shows me his ID.

Get into the tram from near the hotel. Old tram, old town, old people - I never felt so young in a very long time.

Whenever I see old people here I wonder about their experiences - they must have survived the war, the interbellum, the war again, the communist era, the revolution and now the democracy. I think this city is like an old cat - hit hard and made harder by the hits.

The city is so arty. To be arty is to move. To move is not really to be arty. Trams move. Trains move.

Again in Cismigiu. Lots of them bring their dogs to walk. The dogs make friends with each other, but their owners don't. Man is a social animal.
 
It's morning. They are practicing for the evening orchestra at the George Enescu square. I look at them and walk across the square, near the stage. I stumble and almost fall. They see me, some smile; a few laugh. Oh the artists notice me. Cheers.

Get drunk. Walk around. Get lost in the old town. Eat gelato. Yawn.

Last Sunday in Bucharest. Cismigiu again - happy people, beautiful place: beautiful people, happy place. There is a lake. Ah! there is a duck. Hi!

Lilies of malice

If only there were
Lilies for each sin I hid. 
I could have made a wreath of them
For
Each of my dead bodies.

Witch-hunter.

He woke up swearing. The fever dreams were always so vivid and almost always appalling. He vaguely remembered the whole dream, yet some parts were still there; like an after taste from a very strong piece of cheese. The part where his girlfriend did not want to get up from her pet's embrace even to say good-byes to him was one. She didn't even open her eyes, although they both knew they won't be seeing each other for a long while. The part where he wakes up (in the dream) to see a man and a woman speaking in hushed tones was the other one. They got into the wrong house apparently, but they were already inside the locked house. Well, the thing about dreams is that they didn't have to be logical in any sense. Then the girl undresses, wears another dress and leaves with the guy.

Enough about dreams. Now he had other things to be taken care of. He was a 'witch-hunter' in the modern world; but what he was hunting can scarcely be called witches. He was commissioned by a very large and powerful religious institution to hunt and fetch the girls who had married outside their religions. These 'treacherous wenches' has chosen to defile their mighty god. He was supposed to hunt them down, kill their men and bring the girls back to these religious leaders. He was not to hurt the girls, unnecessarily. He was never to sexually harass them either; although hurting young girls was never his thing, even for money. But he doubted if it was the same with the lofty high priests of the religious order.

One thing that he always made sure of is that he would never work for the same religion more than once. After all, there are hundreds of religions and sub-religions; and hence no dearth of new employers. And the job is always the same; pay is always good. He packed his bag and took a look at the photograph in his wallet. It was so ironic to think that he does this all to give  a comfortable life to his two daughters.

Story.

i wake up in the middle of a room to find that there is no window

it's dark but i know it's almost noon and there is light out there but none of it is coming inside

i am not chained

i do hear voices not muffled - real conversations
either unaware of me inside or maybe aware but didn't care

i smell fresh grass

rain - maybe

i get up, open the door, go outside, take a piss and come back inside and start sleeping again; but not before I lock the door shut

that's my story.

To Mysore Pa or not!

I like Mysore Pa. I do eat it once in a while. Sometimes I get a craving for Mysore Pa and if I could get some Mysore Pa then I do go and get me some Mysore Pa. But I don't go largely out of my way to get a Mysore Pa. If someone I know have some Mysore Pa and if I am comfortable with them, I might ask them for some Mysore Pa; but I won't steal it from them. If someone offers me Mysore Pa, most cases I accept it. I can live without Mysore Pa, but as long as I want it and am able to get some Mysore Pa, I would eat it. 

Does that make me  a    b a d    p e r s o n ??? 

Valsamma Sir

Valsamma Sir is the pinnacle of gender equality in Kerala. She wore a saree to work, she even had the umbrella - folded and tucked under her arm - stereotypical Malayali government employee lady in all senses. The peon calls her 'Valsamma Sir', because 'Sir' is above everything in India, especially in government offices; except to his or her 'Sir'. So this strict hierarchy goes all the way up the ladder; to the very end. But even the topmost person will have someone to call 'Sir'. Oh it's a maze, don't think too much about it now! I digress. Yet these whole complexity doesn't make any change to the fact that Peon Ramu (a stereotypical Indian peon with a stereotypical Indian peon name) has to call Mrs. Valsamma Thampi 'Valsamma Sir'. Now thats how gender equality should be, eh?

Sic Semper Tyrranis. 

Statutory warning; or lack thereof.

There were kids playing on a high ground; much higher than the field beneath, higher than the level of the small restaurant I was sitting with my friends. There was a high stone wall rising from the field, towards the ground, a good 150-200 feet high. The restaurant was in a town alien to me, the menu strange and I was loving every moment of it. There were a few kids in the restaurant too, possibly from the same school.

The kids up there were playing with Table Tennis paddles, albeit with no table. And the paddle slipped from one of the kid's hand and flew down the wall, into the field down below. Another kid promptly started climbing down the wall, holding on to the line of jutting stones, which I think was made specifically for that. He looked deft enough in the beginning, but I was proven wrong soon enough. He slipped and fell down into the field, a good 100-150 feet and it was obvious that he's dead.

Kids started swarming around him, in the field. It was far enough from me to know the details. I saw one elder man thrashing a kid, though I don't know why.

And all I could think was of the guilt the kid whose hands had slipped, causing the paddle to fell off; he would live the rest of his life as one who caused another's death.

Apolitical art?

Can there be any art without political inclinations? Is there anything as 'Apolitical art', worth being called art? Politically inclined art, either for or against an ideal, any ideal, is what that actually exists; the ones that do not talk about the plight of men in a society where they are being trampled upon is, in all reality, siding with the same men who are trampling them. Love poems, stories, sonnets - everything, every single plot is either with them or against them; and if you think you are neither, then my friend, you too are with them.

Set me free!

...

He saw her the next day. How did he know it was her, in that purdah, he did wonder. But he was sure it was her. And he knew that she recognised him too. She hastened her pace.

And, one day she lifted her veil and showed him her face.

It didn't take much longer for them to be deep in love. It didn't take much longer for her family to find out. It didn't take much longer for her marriage to be fixed. It didn't take much longer for some thugs to threaten him. It didn't take much longer for them to decide to elope and elope they did. It didn't take much longer for them to be caught.

It took much longer for her to forget him. Then one day she set herself free.