<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293</id><updated>2009-12-09T01:26:31.385+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Miscellany</title><subtitle type='html'>Random impressions on places, people, books, movies and other miscellanea</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default?orderby=updated'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;orderby=updated'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-6769293467871633589</id><published>2009-02-12T08:29:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-12T11:23:00.083+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Pink Chaddies</title><content type='html'>The Pink Chaddies campaign is everywhere. On Facebook. On people's blogs. In the news. Everyone seems quite excited about it - a symbolic protest against the moral police. But, I have my reservations about it. As a symbolic protest, it just doesn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The protest reminds me of Paromita Vohra's documentary film, 'Morality TV and the loving jehad'. I remember being thoroughly entertained throughout the film, laughing at the statements being made by the custodians of morality. But when my laughter subsided, I felt that if I was a conservative watching this film, I wouldn't be laughing or even understand that my views were being mocked by the filmmaker. Instead, I would be shaking my head in agreement with whatever these custodians were saying. And so, at the end of the day, the film, to me, was a wasted effort. It was like sharing a private joke between the filmmaker and her audience, and the butt of the joke just didn't know he was being laughed at because it was not in a language he understood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is exactly the problem I have with the Pink Chaddies. Instead of making the perpetrators of the Mangalore incident feel even a tinge of remorse at their actions, it is only going to act as further justification. "Women who send their chaddies to unknown men deserve to be beaten up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the Consortium of Loose, Pub-Going and Forward Women, protest in a language these men understand. Target a bar at random, enter with a posse of women and TV cameras, and beat up all the men for not taking care of their families.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-6769293467871633589?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/6769293467871633589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=6769293467871633589' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/6769293467871633589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/6769293467871633589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2009/02/pink-chaddies.html' title='Pink Chaddies'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7950761619458651824</id><published>2009-01-06T00:41:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-06T00:46:53.847+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Kiarostami's short gems</title><content type='html'>Hamsarayan (The Chorus)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=-2442076853729399143&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=true" style="width:400px;height:326px" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nan va Koutcheh (Bread and Alley)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0DGOXDRuVBI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0DGOXDRuVBI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do Rahehal Barayeh Yek Mass (Two solutions for one problem)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=-332907206444731088&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=true" style="width:400px;height:326px" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7950761619458651824?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7950761619458651824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7950761619458651824' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7950761619458651824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7950761619458651824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2009/01/kiarostamis-short-gems.html' title='Kiarostami&apos;s short gems'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-2912155972592389316</id><published>2008-06-21T09:51:00.006+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T10:29:45.818+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Two photo exhibitions</title><content type='html'>As you spiral up the split level exhibition spaces at the NGMA looking at the Raghu Rai retrospective currently on there, you do not give much thought to the space itself as you do the individual pieces on display. It is only when you reach the top that you realise the elegance of the building design. The dome at the NGMA has to be one of the most impressive exhibition spaces we have in the city. And fittingly, it showcases some of Raghu Rai's best work in the entire retrospective. Some of the early work on the lower level is also very memorable, but the work displayed at the levels in the middle were, to me, middling at best. Especially the colour photographs which are not half as haunting as the B&amp;Ws.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Raghu Rai retrospective is on for another month, but unfortunately the Martine Franck exhibit at Art Musings in Colaba ends today. I liked her work even more than Raghu Rai's. She has a wonderful eye, both for moments and compositions. Martine Franck, incidentally, happens to be Henri Cartier-Bresson's wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those who won't be able to make it in time to the exhibition by 4 pm today, here's a selection of some of my favourites from the work on display.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyGjlQKTDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/g83-bwDyqyM/s1600-h/140505170549Martine+FRANCK+Biblio+Clamart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyGjlQKTDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/g83-bwDyqyM/s320/140505170549Martine+FRANCK+Biblio+Clamart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214190414441630770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyG0-Lxx1I/AAAAAAAAACA/B9kHeo9zETY/s1600-h/Meudon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyG0-Lxx1I/AAAAAAAAACA/B9kHeo9zETY/s320/Meudon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214190713191909202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyHQHKumzI/AAAAAAAAACI/DxZ0rOdy7cg/s1600-h/PAR86016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyHQHKumzI/AAAAAAAAACI/DxZ0rOdy7cg/s320/PAR86016.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214191179459894066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-2912155972592389316?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/2912155972592389316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=2912155972592389316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2912155972592389316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2912155972592389316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/two-photo-exhibitions.html' title='Two photo exhibitions'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NgO5etTjQjs/SFyGjlQKTDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/g83-bwDyqyM/s72-c/140505170549Martine+FRANCK+Biblio+Clamart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-8381535411915438746</id><published>2008-10-04T10:10:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-10-04T10:16:10.288+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Some great music...</title><content type='html'>...I've been listening to, over and over again, ever since I discovered it on YouTube.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jolene - Dolly Parton&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qGEubdH8m0s&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qGEubdH8m0s&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's Call The Whole Thing Off - Louis Armstrong &amp; Ella Fitzgerald&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8lJJVrJYvUA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8lJJVrJYvUA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man Smart, Woman Smarter - Grateful Dead&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HUsjR4FSgSQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HUsjR4FSgSQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-8381535411915438746?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/8381535411915438746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=8381535411915438746' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/8381535411915438746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/8381535411915438746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/10/some-great-music.html' title='Some great music...'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-5234053437765166458</id><published>2008-09-05T14:42:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-09-05T15:06:32.793+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Rock On and The Lives Of Others</title><content type='html'>Given the paucity of coherently written scripts in Bollywood, I thought the script of Rock On rocked. The characters of Aditya and Joe were very well developed, and I was willing to forgive the compromises the script would have taken to get it made as a mainstream Bollywood movie - like its unauthenticity as far as the rock scene in Bombay is concerned, and the complete absence of sex and drugs as part of the lifestyle, which films from the West wouldn't shy away from. I was even willing to forgive it for its glaring weaknesses - the undeveloped characters of Rob and KD. Especially Rob's. The two dramatic moments that the script offers him are completely unconvincing. I also thought the script copped out when they show him dying of a brain tumour. Clearly, AIDS is still taboo in mainstream Bollywood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I thought the script still rocked. Until the next day, I saw The Lives Of Others. Suddenly, my benchmark shifted. The script sketches the character of the Stasi agent so strongly, it makes the two lead characters in Rock On look pretty tame.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-5234053437765166458?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/5234053437765166458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=5234053437765166458' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5234053437765166458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5234053437765166458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/09/rock-on-and-lives-of-others.html' title='Rock On and The Lives Of Others'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-2308601042229036481</id><published>2008-08-09T14:22:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-09T14:25:43.164+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Snippets from a love story</title><content type='html'>It was her birthday. And our second date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an evening of drinking, eating, talking, we were walking to Marine Drive to sit and talk some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was telling me, if I remember right, how her aunt wanted her to be more like this, more like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her, you are fine the way you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, you like me, she squealed. And punched me on the arm. A devious smile was on her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I continued walking, my hands in my pockets. Hell, I admitted to myself for the first time, I think I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our first date, she proposed marriage four times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each time, she casually slipped it in, in the middle of a conversation, catching me out unawares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She would laugh at the momentary jolt I got, before I would get the joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, on the third date, we spent 17 hours together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In those 17 hours, she revealed, for the first time, a side to her that she had buried under all her jokes. I suddenly knew, I just knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided the next time she proposed, I would accept. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sensed it. I am scared, she told me, you don't react any more when I talk of marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have blurted it out then, but I had a feeling it would be taken for another joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But later that evening, I casually slipped it in, in the middle of an SMS conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her answer was No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She didn't give any reasons, and I didn't ask for any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that was that, I thought to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, she called. She said she liked being with me, enjoyed my company. But her answer was still No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back home, Vinoo asked me how the trip with her went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life, I told him, is getting complicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vinoo hummed about in the kitchen, fixing a cup of tea for himself. He smiled. What terms people have for falling in love, he said, life is getting complicated!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-2308601042229036481?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/2308601042229036481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=2308601042229036481' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2308601042229036481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2308601042229036481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/08/snippets-from-love-story.html' title='Snippets from a love story'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-2115346382885688895</id><published>2008-07-18T11:09:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-18T11:16:35.692+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Teach India</title><content type='html'>I didn't pay much attention to the long copy ads that made up the Teach India print campaign. The hoadings however caught my attention. You can't miss them. They are all over the city. Proudly reinforcing stereotypes. The rich are fair. The poor are dark. The educated are fair. The illiterate, dark. The successful are fair. The wretched, dark. It is just too blatant.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-2115346382885688895?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/2115346382885688895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=2115346382885688895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2115346382885688895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2115346382885688895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/07/teach-india.html' title='Teach India'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-8452097565225466875</id><published>2008-07-06T01:32:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-06T01:53:48.355+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Code Inconnu/Michael Haneke (2000)</title><content type='html'>Each shot is a like a fragment of a jigsaw puzzle. You piece it together in your mind. The pieces don't dovetail into each other though. They just touch tangentially at points. And not all the pieces are there. But you can still see the complete picture unfold in front of you. A satisfying film on all counts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-8452097565225466875?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/8452097565225466875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=8452097565225466875' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/8452097565225466875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/8452097565225466875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/07/code-inconnumichael-haneke-2000.html' title='Code Inconnu/Michael Haneke (2000)'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-1551399282862352380</id><published>2008-06-30T23:57:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-01T00:51:43.933+05:30</updated><title type='text'>On A Tightrope</title><content type='html'>As I watched fellow students talk about each other to the camera at a school for tightrope walkers somewhere in China, I had a vague feeling I had watched something similar before. Then, as the coach started berating his students and another teacher, it suddenly hit me where I had seen it all before. On every bloody reality show on Indian TV. And every bit as tedious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-1551399282862352380?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/1551399282862352380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=1551399282862352380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/1551399282862352380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/1551399282862352380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/on-tightrope.html' title='On A Tightrope'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-260362757708608975</id><published>2008-06-28T11:38:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-28T11:57:13.851+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Mithya</title><content type='html'>Somewhere near the end of Mithya, after you have sat through all the tedious buffoonery, you suddenly realise what a film it could have been. There is so much potential and power in the idea of a man ending up living and believing in the part he is playing. Instead, Rajat Kapoor tries to make it comic, to make it more audience-friendly and producer-friendly, I guess. The result is a film that is neither art nor commerce.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-260362757708608975?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/260362757708608975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=260362757708608975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/260362757708608975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/260362757708608975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/mithya.html' title='Mithya'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7516073964902638430</id><published>2008-06-28T11:17:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-28T11:38:30.105+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Jodha-Akbar</title><content type='html'>Given that Hollywood is influencing Bollywood in a big way these days, I was expecting to see a more contemporary version of the costume dramas of Sohrab Modi and K Asif - something more like Troy or Gladiator. Instead, Jodha-Akbar is pretty much stuck in the old theatrical style of the days gone by. If it was meant to be a homage, it just doesn't work. The war sequence in the beginning was pretty awful, and the film only began to regain my interest at the Sufi song midway through the first half. I thought that was quite stylishly shot and choreographed. The film picks up from there till the interval, largely because of Hritik who lifts the film with a compelling performance. It raises your expectations for what is to follow after the interval. Sadly, the film doesn't deliver on them and reverts back to being a shoddy imitation of 19th century Parsi theatre.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7516073964902638430?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7516073964902638430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7516073964902638430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7516073964902638430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7516073964902638430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/jodha-akbar.html' title='Jodha-Akbar'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-2057033548621394890</id><published>2008-06-28T10:57:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-28T11:15:28.044+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Persepolis</title><content type='html'>What impressed me most about Persepolis was that the simple animation style did not lighten the blow, it did not lessen the impact of the brutality of Islamic Iranian society. Two moments, in stark black animation, that I particularly remember are a pitch black tank in the foreground filling up the screen and another when thick black blood flows out of the body of a prostesting thick black figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Persepolis is also an inspirational film. The characters - whether it is Marjane herself, or her feisty grandmother, or her many relations in the Communist Party, or even her mother - are all about being true to your own self and doing things on your terms, against all odds. Something to feel nice about, as one soldiers on in life trying to do the same thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-2057033548621394890?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/2057033548621394890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=2057033548621394890' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2057033548621394890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2057033548621394890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/persepolis.html' title='Persepolis'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-5416776928372403853</id><published>2008-06-25T01:09:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-25T01:18:57.144+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Aamir</title><content type='html'>I really really wanted to like Aamir. Not since Satya have I seen a film that captures the underbelly of Mumbai so grippingly. So much so, I was willing to suspend my disbelief and accept that a couple of bikers could toss a cellphone to an unsuspecting stranger and lead him on to a treasure hunt where the treasure is his kidnapped family. I was also willing to forgive the overuse of the shift focus, the overuse of music. What I couldn't forgive, however, was the end. Finally, all the realistic treatment cannot salvage what is an unbelievable storyline.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-5416776928372403853?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/5416776928372403853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=5416776928372403853' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5416776928372403853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5416776928372403853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/aamir.html' title='Aamir'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-2658216339388354227</id><published>2008-06-04T19:12:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-04T19:34:49.549+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Clicked with the mobile</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kaevan.umrigar/Miscellany/photo?authkey=JutSqKTRtU8#5208026459000824530"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEageJ2UYtI/AAAAAAAAABo/63BCNhmtMWY/s400/Image018.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere near Alleppey, Kerala&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-2658216339388354227?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/2658216339388354227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=2658216339388354227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2658216339388354227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/2658216339388354227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/clicked-with-mobile.html' title='Clicked with the mobile'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh3.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEageJ2UYtI/AAAAAAAAABo/63BCNhmtMWY/s72-c/Image018.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-1637950280228841849</id><published>2008-06-04T13:55:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-04T13:57:12.162+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The pool at the edge of the world</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kaevan.umrigar/Miscellany/photo?authkey=JutSqKTRtU8#5207939799445693106"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEZRp52UYrI/AAAAAAAAABU/pPCcd53b614/s400/DSCN0704.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wildernest resort, Goa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-1637950280228841849?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/1637950280228841849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=1637950280228841849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/1637950280228841849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/1637950280228841849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/pool-at-edge-of-world.html' title='The pool at the edge of the world'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh6.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEZRp52UYrI/AAAAAAAAABU/pPCcd53b614/s72-c/DSCN0704.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-5839409932277217138</id><published>2008-06-04T10:14:00.010+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-04T12:39:30.090+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Two houses in Wayanad, Kerala</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kaevan.umrigar/Miscellany/photo?authkey=JutSqKTRtU8#5207917654594314898"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEY9g52UYpI/AAAAAAAAABE/arevt6evdG4/s400/DSCN0639.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can drive up to the first floor of this one. Or better still, just hop across to the terrace from the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kaevan.umrigar/Miscellany/photo?authkey=JutSqKTRtU8#5207917658889282210"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEY9hJ2UYqI/AAAAAAAAABM/7IjHOAuiLkk/s400/DSCN0670.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this one comes with its own pet rock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-5839409932277217138?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/5839409932277217138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=5839409932277217138' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5839409932277217138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/5839409932277217138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/two-houses-in-wayanad-kerala.html' title='Two houses in Wayanad, Kerala'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh6.ggpht.com/kaevan.umrigar/SEY9g52UYpI/AAAAAAAAABE/arevt6evdG4/s72-c/DSCN0639.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7401219215251394056</id><published>2008-06-02T02:08:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-02T02:11:49.633+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Things Fall Apart/Chinua Achebe</title><content type='html'>I have a fascination for Africa and I thought I'd share with you one of my favourite books on Africa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things Fall Apart tells the story of a pre-colonial Africa. Of a time when the white man was yet to set foot on the dark continent and change it irreparably for ever. It talks of the tribal traditions, superstitions, culture and way of life. And it tells it like a traditional tribal storyteller. It is as if you are seated around a bonfire at night, sitting rapt and enthralled, as the ancient teller of tales recounts the history of the tribe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a few lines I can never forget. A tribal woman sings her child to sleep with a traditional Ibo song:&lt;br /&gt;"For whom is it good? For whom is it good?&lt;br /&gt;There is nobody for whom it is good."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chinua Achebe provides a very African view of Africa. For a South Asian view of Africa, I recommend VS Naipaul's A Bend In The River and In A Free State. And for a warm-hearted look at a continent ravaged by AIDS and civil wars, read the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7401219215251394056?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7401219215251394056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7401219215251394056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7401219215251394056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7401219215251394056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/things-fall-apartchinua-achebe.html' title='Things Fall Apart/Chinua Achebe'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7190272328260482403</id><published>2008-06-01T17:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T17:06:10.119+05:30</updated><title type='text'>84, Charing Cross Road/Helene Hanff</title><content type='html'>This is the story of an online relationship long before the days of the Internet. In post-war America, Helene Hanff, a struggling writer, writes a letter to a bookstore in London. And thus begins an exchange of letters that endures for over 30 years. This is one of the most warm-hearted books I've ever read, and it brings a smile to my face every time I read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also recommended is the sequel, in a way, to this book - The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, Helene Hanff's journal of her long-awaited trip to London after the publication of 84, Charing Cross Road.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7190272328260482403?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7190272328260482403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7190272328260482403' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7190272328260482403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7190272328260482403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/84-charing-cross-roadhelene-hanff.html' title='84, Charing Cross Road/Helene Hanff'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7152968121428249282</id><published>2008-06-01T17:03:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T17:04:36.154+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Mixed Marriage and other Parsi stories/Meher Pestonji</title><content type='html'>Are we Parsis really as great as we think we are? Meher Pestonji's answer is a vehement no. In this collection of atypical Parsi stories, she exposes our collective dark side, picking up one taboo subject after another. In many ways, this is an angry book, an extreme book, and your first reaction may be we are not this way at all. But then, we're nothing like the hagiographies we like to write and read about ourselves too. So I suggest you read both extremes and get a sense of balance of who we really are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7152968121428249282?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7152968121428249282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7152968121428249282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7152968121428249282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7152968121428249282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/mixed-marriage-and-other-parsi.html' title='Mixed Marriage and other Parsi stories/Meher Pestonji'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-3151319312717396120</id><published>2008-06-01T17:01:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T17:03:05.195+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Histories for the Subjugated/David Hardiman</title><content type='html'>As a community, we Parsis have always regarded our history in India as a glorious one, full of pride and achievement and very little else. But there are other aspects to our history as well, unsavoury aspects that we choose not to see because it doesn't fit into the self-preceptions of who we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Histories for the Subjugated gives us a subaltern view of history - history from the point of view of the opressed, not the oppressors. In our case, they are the adivasis of Gujarat who got subjugated to Parsi liquor dealers and landlords in South Gujarat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Parsi as the evil Thakur who usurps peasant lands and has his way with their women won't go down well with those of us who believe that we can do no wrong, but the fact is that despite good thoughts, good words and good deeds, we are no more human than anyone else. And alternate readings of history provide a much-needed balance to our perceptions of who we are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-3151319312717396120?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/3151319312717396120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=3151319312717396120' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/3151319312717396120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/3151319312717396120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/histories-for-subjugateddavid-hardiman.html' title='Histories for the Subjugated/David Hardiman'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-683546895748424957</id><published>2008-06-01T16:37:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T16:59:46.205+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Salata Baladi (Maison Salade)</title><content type='html'>When she sees her little nephew listening intently to the mullahs dividing the world into Islam and its enemies over the loudspeakers one Id, Egyptian filmmaker Nadia Kemal decides to introduce him to the multicultural origins of her family. The result is her documentary film Salata Baladi (a Parsi approximation of the title would be Akoori ☺).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A beautiful portrait of a family develops, as we slowly get to know the characters – the nephew who’s far more intelligent than his years, his grandmother who reveals a depth far beyond a cuddly old woman, her husband who’s insignificant through most of the film, but shows a most unexpected side of him when it really matters, and an extended network of family and friends spread across countries, cultures and languages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The film is long but absorbing, and unfortunately, not yet available on DVD. The best place to catch it is at a documentary film festival. Meanwhile, here’s a trailer you can watch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAFJU2pkKTU"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAFJU2pkKTU&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-683546895748424957?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/683546895748424957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=683546895748424957' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/683546895748424957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/683546895748424957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/salata-baladi-maison-salade.html' title='Salata Baladi (Maison Salade)'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-6273379428766438832</id><published>2008-06-01T16:39:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T16:58:45.220+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Silent comedy: Buster Keaton</title><content type='html'>The world world seems to know Charlie Chaplin, but not that many people have heard of Buster Keaton, another legendary comedian from the same era. But among those who know him, Buster Keaton enjoys cult status, as he traverses from adventure to adventure with the same deadpan expression on his face. Two of my favourite Keaton films are Sherlock Jr and Seven Chances. The chase sequence at the end of Seven Chances is just too hilarious. The women of the entire town run after him to get married to him. I couldn't find it anywhere though to show you all, but no matter, here is Sherlock Jr. Watch and laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8074699069179823154"&gt;http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8074699069179823154&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-6273379428766438832?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/6273379428766438832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=6273379428766438832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/6273379428766438832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/6273379428766438832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/silent-comedy-buster-keaton.html' title='Silent comedy: Buster Keaton'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-892291957818484895</id><published>2008-06-01T16:41:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T16:56:17.457+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The world's first films: Lumiere Brothers, 1895</title><content type='html'>I didn't know that the world's first films made by the Lumiere brothers still existed until I saw them at film school. Watching a part of history was quite a moment for me and I thought I'd share it with you here. Watch the films screened on that memorable day, 28th December 1895 here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZIfZ0yJPX8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZIfZ0yJPX8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-892291957818484895?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/892291957818484895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=892291957818484895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/892291957818484895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/892291957818484895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/worlds-first-films-lumiere-brothers.html' title='The world&apos;s first films: Lumiere Brothers, 1895'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7618923015642264904</id><published>2008-06-01T16:42:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T16:54:54.810+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Another early film: The Conjurer/George Melies, 1899</title><content type='html'>When we were shown this film in film school, we found it hard to believe that such a film was made in 1899. Melies was a magician before he got interested in films, and here he performs magic with film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYa4gBBFaqY"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYa4gBBFaqY&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7618923015642264904?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7618923015642264904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7618923015642264904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7618923015642264904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7618923015642264904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/another-early-film-conjurergeorge.html' title='Another early film: The Conjurer/George Melies, 1899'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757240377417812293.post-7371887902186414605</id><published>2008-06-01T16:43:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-06-01T16:53:29.471+05:30</updated><title type='text'>An introduction to Iranian cinema: Children of Heaven/Majid Majidi</title><content type='html'>If you are tired with the formulaic fare of both Hollywood and Bollywood, a good alternative is Iranian cinema. Subtitled DVDs of Iranian films are available across the globe, and the masters of Iranian cinema - Abbas Kiarostami and Mohsen Makhmalbaf - are among the all-time greats of world cinema. Their styles are very different from each other. Kiarostami is spare and austere, even downright minimalist in his later films, and Makhmalbaf uses melodrama in very unmelodramatic fashion. If you haven't watched foreign films too often though, it could take some time to acquire a taste for them. A good way to begin watching their films is through the films of Majid Majidi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Children of Heaven is a simple story of an Iranian schoolboy who loses his shoes, and has to share a pair with his sister. It leads to a lot of problems in school, and the only way out is to come second place in a race, the prize for which, you guessed it right, is a pair of shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can watch it on the net at&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2085360636693346701"&gt;http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2085360636693346701&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not my favourite Majidi film. I personally find the film a little manipulative in extorting emotions from you, but it's a good introduction to Majidi's other films that I really like, Colours of Paradise and Baran (Rain). But the reason I talk about it here is that I think it is one film that will hook you on to Iranian films, and make you want to see more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7757240377417812293-7371887902186414605?l=kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/feeds/7371887902186414605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7757240377417812293&amp;postID=7371887902186414605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7371887902186414605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7757240377417812293/posts/default/7371887902186414605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kaevanumrigar.blogspot.com/2008/06/introduction-to-iranian-cinema-children.html' title='An introduction to Iranian cinema: Children of Heaven/Majid Majidi'/><author><name>Kaevan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05275241689045970304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='13630372929333970658'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>