tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265514972012-02-17T03:22:49.733+05:30White noise is a random signal (or process) with a flat power spectral density. In other words, the signal's power spectral density has equal power in any band, at any center frequency, having a given bandwidth. White noise is considered analogous to white light which contains all frequencies.ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.comBlogger1681100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-50920511754458600232011-07-05T10:46:00.000+05:302011-07-05T10:46:38.610+05:30

Sitting at the Domestic Airport in Bombay waiting for my flight to take off to take me to the capital for THE monsoon wedding and realizing I haven't blogged in a while. Whattodo, we are lazy like this only? Enjoying free Wifi in India! Nandita Das is telling me to save the trees from the TV. Gulamnabi Azad is lamenting the increased number of homosexuals in India [sic?]. DK Bose's heavy guitar

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-75633447921972082772011-03-20T12:10:00.001+05:302011-03-20T12:10:45.886+05:30

@font-face { font-family: "ＭＳ 明朝"; }@font-face { font-family: "ＭＳ 明朝"; }@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Cambria; }.MsoChpDefault { font-size: 10pt; font-family: Cambria; }div.WordSection1 { page: WordSection1;   The little feather dustSlow dance around usBacklit by a bleach

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-50545585227638252712010-12-08T06:58:00.000+05:302010-12-08T06:58:06.285+05:30

Sambaman is snoring in the bed next to mine, singing Anjan Duttta's Bondhu in Portugueshe in his sleep. Anjan is serenading us, alternating with Paco de Lucia between bouts of wine - a 2007 Bordeaux on a tequila sunset over the Miami skyline. The vantage point is room 1424 of the French Hotel Sofitel, where everyone wishes you bonsoir with Cuban accents as you run into the hotel lobby from the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-3442171832036431062010-11-20T15:30:00.000+05:302010-11-20T15:30:01.267+05:30

I am a freak - a raging lunatic right now. Slept like 4 hours last night. Had to stay awake in the office. Injected myself with some double espresso Starbucks elixir (branded bullshit I know, but what the hell there was nothing else around, so don't judge me) and now I still can't sleep. It's 12:32! You must think I am working hard - slogging away like some nymphomaniac workaholic prostitute, but

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-61281969006306306892010-11-18T16:13:00.000+05:302010-11-18T16:13:30.907+05:30

Willie is tall and gaunt and likes to be alone. He is one of those guys who looks effortlessly good in thin ties and slim black pants. He wears pointed shoes and has a generally antiseptic look. Terry is tall and double chinned and bearded with that perpetual smile of satisfaction escaping from the corners of his mouth. He smokes pot, dines and wines all the time. Women don't fancy him and don't

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-44813849253199863072010-09-22T11:02:00.000+05:302010-09-22T11:02:13.181+05:30

Steely cold blue misty night. Two riders approach on dark blood-nosed horses - twins, the horses that is, not the men. The men seek locks of MacKenna's gold tresses from her hidden areas - locked away and guarded by her blond bearded man. The riders unsheathe their scrolls and ready for a duel. The creatures of the night settle in their front row thrones, chewing on the carcasses and sipping the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-4582816815427983802010-08-08T12:37:00.000+05:302010-08-08T12:38:15.273+05:30

I hate seven o'clock - every day, each day till the last stop, which seems especially far away even when you are just whizzing by those mid-twenties stations. The food vendors call out to me like some Japanese scented, mute old Madame in a rundown Parisian whorehouse, trying to appeal to the hunger somewhere deep in me. And then she brings out the shapely glass maidens, of all sizes and colors,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-51862797381898746582010-07-16T00:38:00.000+05:302010-07-16T00:38:31.641+05:30

An endless desert of gray stonesBlue and cold under a giant moon Two parched lips seeking warmthAmong two fertile angel breastsNot even wild animals in sightSleepless creatures of the nightFornicating under gray stonesWild cries and nasty moans Begetting uglier offspringsFor the frigid arid worldLucifer waits and watchesFrom his blue lunar throneHa ha ha every time we conceiveAfter countless

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-5047407797973566232010-06-07T04:42:00.000+05:302010-06-07T04:42:52.514+05:30

They are back! After a hiatus of almost a year - older, but hardly any wiser, ArSENik and Sambaman pack like the Wolfman and a woman, respectively. Sambaman explains he needs a specific brand of shampoo for his thick hair, rubbing salt into ArSENik's receding hairline, and that they don't make them in little airline packs. ArSENik cooks up a controversy between the shampoo manufacturers and

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-4409613032987153372010-06-04T23:30:00.000+05:302010-06-04T23:30:29.045+05:30

I got up this morning and wanted to write - not try to be coherent and check myself on turning points and character descriptions, but just write. So, here I am - shirking away from all the responsibilities that come with a glorious Friday morning. Have to make a million calls, coordinate schedules, complete my ugly storyboards, send random faxes to people in undoubted positions of authority, but

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-837784820185272382010-05-13T11:51:00.000+05:302010-05-16T00:18:10.257+05:30

The clock ticked ahead shyly for eternityAnd I feel a new prickle under my arms.Daddy, I need a mic for my sweet sixteen!I wanna sing to all my friends about Tony. Tony is pink and hairy and jumps on troublesLike they were three mice stealing from meAs if I were a Nazi dairy running very dry,Forever after Peter and Michael, before him. Oh, Daddy, Tony is sick and I need a micTo tell my friends if

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-17314048894116399412010-04-29T15:31:00.000+05:302010-04-29T15:31:13.198+05:30

Another sleepless night. Another forced technological intervention. Facebook at 2:14 am, hoping to fall asleep on the banalities of others' lives, when suddenly - a spider - black, but subtly back lit by the spill from the laptop monitor against a dull, yet rough white wall. Jesus! Arachnophobia past mid-night. Surely, there must be a law against this kind of behavior somewhere, but not here,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-47413018185702900422010-04-08T14:52:00.000+05:302010-04-08T15:17:11.122+05:30

I am a blind pilot, passing over some ice-topped mountains in Greenland. I can't see anything of course, but if I could, it would be like a dessert cooked in a household of Irish-English heritage, if such a thing is at all discernible. But there lies the quandary, because the smell at the time would just be stale, metallic, reproduced oxygen - your staple fare at 3000 feet above air. And what

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-7046120263320268232010-03-12T03:03:00.000+05:302010-03-12T03:03:38.166+05:30

Please check out the website for my thesis short 'Six Women'. http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1631757069/funding-for-production-of-short-dramedy-six-women Thanks

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-25357778632761292972010-02-07T13:04:00.000+05:302010-02-07T13:10:30.084+05:30

A mouthful of overheard gibberish water cooler Arabic, those indecipherable yet beautiful conversations in the barbershop, the imperfect tip of a McDonald's $1 vanilla ice-cream cone, drive-through desserts on three full stomachs, liquid body soap, revolting against this to maternal authority, the magnificence of Cirque Du Soleil's "Love" in Vegas, clandestine "Please Please Me" on the black

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-87105052765428481222010-01-30T14:55:00.000+05:302010-05-16T00:18:50.661+05:30

You like to wear your hair shortAnd your mother is in full cohort,Having forgotten our matted daysOf picketing for Rosa through the haze. Your little girl wears tight jeans todayAs blue as the free misty ocean sprayWhich wet the hems of our bell bottomsBefore the man jailed us and got 'em. You shout against animals and ozoneAnd while I may not have an iPhoneCount me in when you sign your

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-51664652620119150892010-01-10T12:11:00.000+05:302010-01-10T12:11:18.728+05:30

Originally published at PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/sapphire/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-24700641201026594552009-12-30T13:21:00.000+05:302009-12-30T13:22:06.041+05:30

It was a usual hungry chilly morning When you waltzed in through the window Wading through the specks of sunlit dirt With pure lyrical Felliniesque fluidity. Then you changed into something rich Red like the torn petal of a discarded rose And we made love in one another's sweat Scared to close our eyes lest we woke up. And then the moon appeared in a starless sky And pulled you away from my

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-59735206170494103802009-12-13T16:54:00.000+05:302009-12-13T16:54:26.401+05:30

I love it when it rains. And no, it's not just the smell of the wet earth, because I live in a concrete jungle. Like most recent things, it is aesthetic in nature. And not just any damn drizzle, but I am talking about mother pouring rains like the kind Maharashtrian farmers pray for. The roads are wet, throwing back at us our very own luminance - the red, amber, green of the traffic signals,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-47330049624606229562009-12-03T22:51:00.001+05:302009-12-03T22:52:12.675+05:30

Originally published at PFC here: http://passionforcinema.com/classic-menage-a-trois-jules-et-jim/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-86434730466224964772009-12-03T11:49:00.000+05:302009-12-03T11:49:38.408+05:30

"too many locations", "too little money", "not enough time", "too many characters", "too many scenes"! Self doubt raised its ugly head in the midst of all the nay sayers, and hung around for a couple of days. Consecutive winter afternoons of searching for that elusive self-confidence in vain, resulting self-loathing and that sinking, helpless feeling that you aren't good enough to swim with the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-35970128238766986332009-11-26T23:59:00.000+05:302009-11-27T00:00:31.567+05:30

A fun little social experiment conducted in LA's busy Hollywood Boulevard.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-9371408817200200092009-11-25T01:32:00.001+05:302009-11-25T01:32:41.252+05:30

As he inhaled, the quiet of the corn field let him hear the little searing of his joint, introducing a little dash of vermillion into his otherwise hibernating subconscious. The sound brought back nostalgia-dripped memories to his otherwise arid existence. He remembered the first time he was here, back when hair had first sprouted on his upper lip, led by the obese, experienced hand of the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-83527595423185456032009-11-23T06:42:00.000+05:302009-11-23T06:42:22.026+05:30

The search was unsuccessful. Even something as vast as the world wide web was unable to throw me the face I was seeking for my desktop. I wasn't asking for too much, was I? - just the right sized image of Anna Karina's sad mascaraed eyes in her expressionless face encased by her short hair in B&W in the just watched Godard film 'Vivre Sa Vie'. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever write a single post

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-65695818429870323082009-11-18T13:42:00.000+05:302009-11-18T13:42:46.267+05:30

Her slender artistic fingers clutching that last cigarette, His unlined palms. Her bouncing love handles as she laughs her infectious laugh, His skinny jeaned legs. The enviable straightness of her long blond flowing hair, His receding hairline. The slender nape of her neck when she wears her hair up, His jutting Adam's apple. Her color changing eyes depending on where you stand, His Lennon

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-62430092334780416622009-11-13T22:27:00.001+05:302009-11-13T22:27:48.582+05:30

Originally published at PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/delicatessen-how-to-tell-a-story-through-sound/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-706084105579051232009-11-04T22:07:00.000+05:302009-11-04T22:07:02.345+05:30

Originially published at PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/the-cutting-of-the-400-blows

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-74258807839452652982009-11-02T07:21:00.000+05:302009-11-02T07:21:30.643+05:30

The sky has suddenly gone dark, depriving us one of those Californian sureties - a sunset, as if a housewife in Victorian garb in an anti-Liliputian world has mistaken our sun for a poached egg and served it to her farmer husband for breakfast. Maybe he belches a little, and even farts as an afterthought, resonating the crowing of the hen as it yawns and turns off its alarm clock - one of those

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-44921213494911644132009-10-30T21:29:00.001+05:302009-10-30T21:29:39.382+05:30

Originally published at PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/a-cinematic-exploration-of-the-evolution-of-film-noir-se7en/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-46188466239259257832009-10-26T14:07:00.000+05:302009-10-26T14:07:29.311+05:30

Insomnia of the worst kind. Staring at the high grainy white ceiling with bags under the sleepless eyes. Sitting up and staring at a bleakly lit profile in the larger than life adjoining mirror. Thinking about the dichotomies of life - both professional and personal, of whether to stay warm and let the beads of sweat trickle down over the tiny black hairs on the legs, like transparent

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-82246553904611459772009-10-23T10:55:00.000+05:302009-10-23T10:55:23.943+05:30

Originally published on PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/in-a-lonely-place-hedunit/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-89188509048210567682009-10-16T12:16:00.000+05:302009-10-16T12:16:36.767+05:30

Originally published on PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/mr-smith-goes-to-washington-we-the-people/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-65475946553649766602009-10-10T12:45:00.000+05:302009-10-10T12:45:58.352+05:30

I am a fairly regular reader in bed (the only other place I read in is the toilet) but today I am scared to go to bed. You can thank Aravind Adiga for that. The anger of the pages from last night seared the tips of my fingers enough to force me to think a million times about returning. The fire, the fire within is affecting the temperature in the room. I am sweating on a mildly chilly October

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-21582357905075069532009-10-05T21:02:00.000+05:302009-10-05T21:02:34.949+05:30

The amateur photographer in me always wondered whether sunrises look any different from sunsets, aesthetically speaking. Not being a morning person traditionally, I knew I would never find out for myself. And then there was jet lag. My love affair with this romantic concept is very erratic. It's been six days since I've been back and yet the flirtation continues, alternating like the mood of a

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-39501838629242412712009-10-05T06:33:00.000+05:302009-10-05T06:33:12.077+05:30

We've grown old together - hand in hand Lying on one other all these years, Holding on to words that take a stand, Soaking in all Scarlet's dried up tears. He had a lot of style back then. All his friends who heard Him write Would throw their tools and pick up pens Like children tearing books and chasing kites. But then His friends grew bigger Than His spoken and written words Since their wages

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-78661398783830685132009-09-04T08:05:00.000+05:302009-09-04T08:06:59.278+05:30

Originally published on PFC: http://passionforcinema.com/ritwik-ghatak-and-ajantrik/

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-1364715360758532862009-08-10T22:11:00.000+05:302009-08-10T22:39:53.687+05:30

"The soda is included with the fries, sir", said the McDonald's employee. As I narrowed my eyes and tried to smell the conspiracy behind this forced soda binge, I smelt only the grease patented by McDonald's fries. I also realized the guy was as innocent as a young actress from a small town trying to make it big in tinsel town (the metaphor is a hangover from watching "Luck By Chance" on the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-75774175038733838402009-08-03T04:02:00.000+05:302009-08-03T04:31:20.437+05:30

It's been almost two days. Still waiting, like Romeo probably did in Shakespeare's head for Juliet (I have never read it; probably strange for a writer, huh?). I know patience is a virtue and all, but who needs more virtues anyway, especially when you have trouble writing dark, evil characters. OK, OK fine. I'll stop before this gets completely autobiographical. It's not that I have a choice but

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-27586198396526383502009-08-02T22:26:00.000+05:302009-08-02T22:29:07.827+05:30

Made for a competition organized by TeaUSA, and based on Apple's ads.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-49236668931407386982009-07-19T06:44:00.000+05:302009-07-19T08:02:14.484+05:30

I have just watched Fellini's 8 1/2, no wait, actually that was a few hours ago, but I am still very much under the influence. This was in no way meant to be a review of the film. I am too insignificant to be reviewing the Maestro's films, but it has taken such tones. It is but a wide-eyed rant. I would describe 8 1/2 in one word - brutally honest, OK fine, two. And the scene that captures the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-44230939263499233382009-07-15T10:39:00.000+05:302009-07-15T12:37:05.358+05:30

The first thing that hit me about Rio were the red-tiled roofs of houses adorning the side of the main road we took from the airport, taking me back to those underdeveloped areas around the Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport in Calcutta - people drying their few clothes under the tropical sun, little boys in vests playing football on the clay pathways. That usual companion after

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-26992586110839367542009-07-12T12:57:00.000+05:302009-07-12T13:54:40.114+05:30

Could anyone else have played Luke with the confidence that The Man enthused? Maybe, a present day Owen Wilson, but it would be a different film then. There would be that laidback quality to the character and more humor, but what about screen presence and this huge persona that The Man brings? There would be no lopsided wry grin in the face of authority, when cutting off the heads of parking

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-53268446642192458862009-07-02T01:55:00.001+05:302009-07-02T02:47:03.824+05:30

I am hot and the moon (which isn't actually up yet) isn't blue. Sambaman is offering to turn on the air but I feel like a shy bride still trying to adjust at her in-law's place, and politely decline. Our flight takes on in five hours. Till then it's just waiting, and wondering if there's any way to stay behind - to go soak in more sun than was possible on this trip. My visa cost only 20 bucks and

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-69957694515090836942009-06-28T21:05:00.000+05:302009-06-28T21:26:06.425+05:30

We have broken for lunch on the first day of the shoot. After days of cloudy skies, and surgical procedures and brooding around in our 12 ft. by 10 ft. enclosed space, staring at a mounted TV with glazed eyes, talking to us in Portuguese, it is great to be able to shoot. I feel an almost cinematic rustiness. The sun is playing hide and seek from behind the clouds, moving during a shot at times,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-3094037258926712312009-06-14T02:53:00.000+05:302009-06-14T04:22:45.051+05:30

Epilogue:One of the two protagonists of this story, ArSENik has spent the last seven years of his life in the US, three of which have been spent on the inimitable West Coast of the US. And yet, he is part of the 5% of the population that belongs to this dynamic that hasn't visited Vegas. Before you start 'tsking', hold on, because that's not all. He also has the rare distinction of belonging to

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-85404770071600661232009-06-08T04:46:00.000+05:302009-09-01T10:27:53.677+05:30

My grandfather was not a man of emotions, and so, this moment seems very inorganic. Nevertheless, the rest of us aren't as strong as he was, and we need to let out from time to time. My earliest memory of my grandfather is us watching Australia play a one day international on TV and me being infatuated with the team's yellow uniform. After the game, we made our way to a nearby sports shop and he

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-7498939423972889132009-06-04T11:23:00.000+05:302009-06-04T11:35:52.501+05:30

I have just watched Pixar's latest creation - UP and there is this unfathomable levity in me suddenly. A spring has materialized in me from somewhere and I want to shed my lazy inhibitions and springhop down the street like Jim Carrey. I want to flashforward to graduation and go work for Pixar, even if I get offered only a sweeper's job. Screw realism when you can create such UPlifting art that,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-43685941198491638822009-05-26T07:31:00.000+05:302009-05-26T08:06:57.207+05:30

They fell like drops of rose waterReminding me what passion was like,Each drop returning that familiar painThat the pale body so sorely needed.I cut myself the other dayJust to be able to feel again.I had forgotten that sweet feelingNumbed by this sterile world.I took a giant leap downFrom the lofty height of my balconyJust to see if I had learned to fly yetOnly to meet failure, that prisoner of

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-51509163173621541422009-05-13T08:07:00.000+05:302009-05-13T09:19:57.744+05:30

I don't mean to sound racist, but you must have seen Asian men in red hats and beige shorts that show off their legs, balancing heavy backpacks and expensive digital SLR's, snapping their better halves in front of every building in every city. I didn't want to be that guy (yeah, I am technically Asian too!) on this trip to New York. So, the camera didn't make it along with the laptop and the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-40608545950014614962009-04-28T11:37:00.000+05:302009-04-28T12:20:25.347+05:30

I am sure you have watched those movies before where an old person takes up a new hobby and excels at it. Like "The Visitor". It's escapism I tell you. A non-suspecting me accompanied The Rabbit and Sambaman to the Guitar Center. Now, Sambaman is no mean musician. Son of a musician, he is one of those people who can play something that he hears randomly playing on the radio. The Rabbit is pretty

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-64073608010779584142009-04-15T10:59:00.000+05:302009-04-15T11:37:54.753+05:30

There's no point bathing the Blue Lady here. She gets downright dirty by the next day in LA's smoke - an obscene, familiar gray halo that greets you as you approach the city from the outskirts, soon to engulf you in its twister of dust. It's frustrating, and yet in some way, I feel closer to home than in any other US city I have inhabited.The north is phasing out gradually and the word "home" is

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-71354862728058303252009-04-03T04:52:00.000+05:302009-04-03T05:34:48.722+05:30

When I looked up from my comfortable perch in the back seat, none of the other cars were in sight. A close, squinted look at the speedometer told me why. X was driving at 5 miles below the speed limit. After some unpublishable swearing in Mandarin, the little white creature lurched forward. After a deep-fried Taco Bell meal, I took over the reins, and punctuated by only greasy belching, we threw

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-35847286303797463062009-03-22T13:59:00.000+05:302009-03-22T14:38:05.248+05:30

I promise we'll only laughSo that you don't push me awayLike that ragged doll that made you feel,Only to haunt that poor little girlAnd all of her helpless mates.We'll escape to the moonAnd bounce off mushroomsAs we see the earth burn awayFar away, reversing timeTo its nude infancy.I won't call you from your treeWhile the others drown down hereIn toxic pools of quicksilverUntil there isn't anyone

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-43100370555381802442009-03-18T06:17:00.000+05:302009-03-18T07:24:48.282+05:30

Crossover literature, or that of the Indian diaspora scattered all over the US has been done to death. This is probably why I was apprehensive about "Inscrutable Americans". Nevertheless, it was authored by Anurag Mathur in 1991, whose hilarious "Making the Minister Smile" had made me more than smile when I read it, and if anything, "Inscrutable Americans" was one of the few books to probably

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-6921445259959327372009-03-08T09:35:00.000+05:302009-03-08T10:13:01.562+05:30

As I have mentioned in some of the recent posts, the great aspect of The Dark Knight was its focus on the villains, or specifically, the circumstances that led them to their villainy, at least for me. Bandit referred the graphic novel The Long Halloween to me keeping this in mind. However, after Watchmen and The Killing Joke, this one was a disappointment, in comparison. I found it uni-layered,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-34267521802883228462009-03-05T23:46:00.001+05:302009-03-06T00:06:02.284+05:30

When I entered the theater to watch The Dark Knight last summer, I had expectations since the previous Batman film had been the best one and director Chris Nolan seemed to be making the characters layered. What ended up happening was that I almost forgot Batman was in the movie and was completely emotionally vested in the bad guys, especially The Joker. Recently, Bandit told me that the character

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-83736499779285667372009-03-05T00:25:00.000+05:302009-03-05T01:03:50.543+05:30

Mandrake the Magician - that was the name of the last comics I enjoyed. Also, read a few of the Tintins. However, these were around 18-20 years ago. Pop culture graduated me to adventure stories, and finally, "more mature" literature over time. Recently, through peer pressure, and aggressive movie marketing, I ended up reading Watchmen and discovered that there is a whole parallel universe out

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-37581627767664027132009-03-04T09:00:00.000+05:302009-03-04T09:22:32.408+05:30

Hello,I was gonna write something on the Watchmen novel, but don't feel like it right now. Promise to do it before the film releases and I catch the phirst day phirst show at midnight on Thursday. I like Ozymandias. Jack is awesome. He makes the world colorful. I think alcoholism is born out of boredom. Life is unboring. There is Jack at 6 in the evening on a weekday and I am watching Knocked Up

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-57388716488837447202009-03-01T00:58:00.000+05:302009-03-01T01:19:51.018+05:30

Khush Hai Wahi Jo Thoda Betaaab Hai Zindagi Mein Koi Arzoo KijiyeSome of us are pot-bellied contented folks, resting our fat asses on cushioned lives, and then the creativity goes away, leaving us disillusioned and ignorant of our loss. But then, happiness hardly ever lasts forever, and then we get hungry again and start creating. So, technically, if you are happy and satisfied, you can't

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-55395624629976234562009-02-26T11:30:00.000+05:302009-02-26T12:14:16.698+05:30

It is interesting that India is still viewed as a land of great religion and mystic charm, while she has produced a generation of Godless beings such as myself, and yet, we aren't running amok tearing our hair out, because we have something equally mystifying - cricket. The game may have started on the cold English green lawns, meant to be enjoyed amidst polite cups of tea, but it has certainly

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-16780800913840303402009-02-24T11:26:00.000+05:302009-02-24T11:33:05.835+05:30

A film-noir style advertisement for an imaginary product.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-67803916813189096342009-02-20T11:47:00.000+05:302009-02-20T12:32:54.099+05:30

I want Forrest Gump's feather to flow and glide and go where my GPS tells it to go. Forget gravity for a while, and stop telling me that it can't move like that when there is no f@#kin' wind, that it's a feather, that due to its weight and the atmospheric conditions of the place at that time of the year, it is bound to fall limp to the ground. And stop introducing mechanical fans that would cause

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-33672078799459314102009-02-17T01:15:00.000+05:302009-02-17T01:19:58.957+05:30

This Indian Bengali film was directed by Satyajit Ray in 1959. It is the final part of a trilogy. Ray was ahead of his time. While most of his peers were still making escapist cinema, he, influenced by Jean Renoir and others of the New French Wave cinema, concentrated on realistic films. I picked this scene because in my opinion, it is the best scene in Indian cinema that depicts love in its true

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-76505317797153152232009-02-11T07:30:00.000+05:302009-02-11T07:51:46.035+05:30

Fight Club is one of my favorite movies. I own the DVD and have watched it on multiple occasions, notably when I have been down and wanted to reach out to anger and violence to justify my rehabilitation. Before you lean back in your chairs to ready yourself for a movie review, let me go ahead and disappoint by saying this post isn't about the movie, or the brilliantly written book. It's about

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-75532541832341302092009-02-09T11:49:00.000+05:302009-02-09T13:25:44.829+05:30

Since time immemorial, I have always been a fan of History. The only instances of our armed conflict were the eve of my History exams, back in school, but academic interest aside, we have always been more than friends. So, it shouldn't be a surprise that I fell in love with "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" since it combines her and the pretty object of my current passion - Film. This biography of

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-11324364970224920682009-01-28T13:00:00.000+05:302009-01-28T13:30:09.094+05:30

A friend of mine randomly messaged me on the chat feature of Facebook the other day urging me to watch "Steal this Film" and then blog about it, before returning to her usual set-building. At the time, I was clueless as to her apparently random passion on the subject. However, now, having seen both parts of the documentary, it makes as much sense as the diet of an athlete. She probably chose me

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-30137293866347135922009-01-10T23:47:00.000+05:302009-01-11T00:20:29.679+05:30

It's a luxury I haven't enjoyed in a while now, but the optimist in me (like most protagonists in Ray's movies) knew that bad times don't last forever. Kishor's Kahan Tak Yeh Man Ko flashes though the head and Youtube makes a reality out of what a friend had once said was the reason for the banality of life - the lack of live playback music, like in escapist Indian cinema. The luxury, by the way,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-48977887891320766662008-12-14T12:04:00.000+05:302008-12-18T02:22:12.106+05:30

This is what has been keeping me busy for the past month or so.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-57527104951784855992008-12-14T06:06:00.000+05:302008-12-17T14:58:24.901+05:30

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-72134701124871743332008-11-15T22:45:00.000+05:302008-11-15T22:51:31.986+05:30

This is based on the following scene from Wes Anderson's Bottle Rocket. Of course, completely, different scenario.EXT. RAILROAD TRACKS. DAYAnthony and Mr. Henry are jogging along railroad tracks inthe warehouse district. Anthony wears a blue T-shirt andshorts. Mr. Henry looks like a boxer in grey sweats with thehood up and a crisp white towel wrapped around his neck andtucked into his sweat top.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-85274757461498164862008-11-05T00:20:00.000+05:302008-11-05T00:21:11.519+05:30

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-73607574788479743312008-11-03T07:58:00.000+05:302008-11-03T08:18:08.843+05:30

The Lunatic is in my head. The Lunatic is in my head. That's probably why I want to do a little short about the Joker with Brain Damage playing in the background. It all started a week or so ago when I chanced upon Brain Damage on the radio. It was love at first, well, sound. Didn't know the song was called Brain Damage. Had to send a Morse Code across the Atlantic to Red and he helped with the

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-41652272739380889982008-10-29T21:08:00.000+05:302008-10-29T21:10:07.354+05:30

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-38148027859612699842008-10-03T21:35:00.000+05:302008-10-04T21:36:17.458+05:30

This is the updated video. I discovered there was something wrong with the music in an important part of the last version.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-50993842960280429842008-10-02T12:43:00.000+05:302008-10-02T13:35:14.844+05:30

I am tired. Got home at 11:30 to a cold, frozen dinner, hearing the refrigerator's song after 14 hours. You see this is Hollywood and everyone has talent here. Our refrigerator is no different. So, she tries her hand, or should I say, voice, at singing once in a while at frequencies only attainable by her kind, especially, when the rest of the house sleeps. Shyness and these amateurs, I tell you!

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-82976606041508643912008-09-30T10:57:00.000+05:302008-09-30T11:28:45.073+05:30

Have the robots won? Have the worst fears of crazed, paranoid Sci-Fi writers come true? Are we shielded from the good ole' organic truth? Or has the unreal simply been enlarged and "enhanced" so that it is a giant in comparison. No? Then why is the natural stuff hidden somewhere in a little corner among the neon signs. Hah! It's almost ironically poetic - like some archaic pot of gold in an

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-9619649043601877962008-09-26T11:48:00.000+05:302008-09-26T11:49:50.148+05:30

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-26298688819329502572008-09-24T21:29:00.000+05:302008-09-24T21:31:00.525+05:30

The theme was exchange and it had to be silent and B&W. Shot this in an hour and a half.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-88176645953685098092008-09-22T10:43:00.000+05:302008-09-22T11:28:26.186+05:30

Why do nails grow as fast as they do? I mean how much can one's teeth take, right? And those of you prim and (sic) propah ones don't give me that crap about it being bad manners and all. I think it is a sign of a thinking being. If I had my way, I would recast The Thinker to portray him biting his nails. It's almost as if Rodin (according to Wiki) wanted to do it that way (notice how his fingers

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-26829667548012522812008-09-19T10:59:00.000+05:302008-09-19T11:27:45.893+05:30

They say sequels suck and there are popular exceptions of course like Godfather (though personally I liked Part 3 more than Part 2 overall) and more recently, the new Batman movies (isn't it lame that most of my comparisons are cinema related? Oh well, that's what you get for hanging out in this blog for too long!). Unfortunately, Upamanyu Chatterjee's "The Mammaries of the Welfare State" is not

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-68072238298274627392008-09-11T11:11:00.000+05:302008-09-11T11:36:21.161+05:30

I am here and LA reminds me a lot of Bombay - the evil skyscrapers still leaving a piece of the sky to reach out to, the horrendous traffic, the proximity to the ocean and yet miles away from it, hell even the weather and of course the film industry with its beautiful people, and not that beautiful on the inside crap that beauty contest winners subscribe to, but pure physical charm that you can

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-35325906506254786082008-08-28T11:34:00.000+05:302008-08-28T12:12:26.397+05:30

It's been so long that Blogspot's changed her Dashboard, much like the Blue Lady - the rainbow colors, when the sun storms off like a Diva with all her light, plus the flexibility of 255 RGB component values so that you don't have to whine about not getting your mera wallah turquoise or whatever exotic color strokes your artistic ego. The Blue Lady has hit puberty - the 30K smear on her track

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-53849742630673119282008-08-04T11:01:00.000+05:302008-08-04T11:28:57.507+05:30

The space has its emptiness back againMuch like most corners of the heart.The walls are bare white againDevoid of your tobacco coated smile.You can hear the hollow within againBouncing off into the light.The sunlight is no match for youAnd the fresh clean air only dampens my spirit.Those obese white pillows in the skyOnly remind me of you blissfully chugging awayAt a habit that is killing one of

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-90218325157638754352008-08-02T03:24:00.000+05:302008-08-02T03:27:11.835+05:30

This was done a while back. The Ajit isn't that good, and this doesn't have my favorite one - Amol Palekar.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-16234039656132446282008-07-22T06:08:00.000+05:302008-07-22T06:56:59.686+05:30

The Bay Area traffic scene is not a terrain I would recommend for people with malignant hearts or impending pregnancies. Thus, the introduction of tears in such an environ is like wearing green to Bal Thakerey's birthday party. The tears flow south, colorful specks like discarded bile in an acid infested tummy pass you by east and west and the sorrow wobbles on in every direction. It's a high

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-21020791067933318122008-07-17T22:08:00.000+05:302008-09-11T02:18:04.401+05:30

I am considering a switch of careers. No, no, not becoming a full time filmmaker, well not just yet anyway, but I have realized that I am completely wasting my real "talent" in the Semiconductor industry. I am sure Captain would support my decision with extreme understanding, that is if he believes me. I don't know if any of you with Gmail accounts have noticed, but the Spam messages have gotten

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-64001708252285374552008-07-10T23:03:00.000+05:302008-07-10T23:46:58.012+05:30

It is 10:34 am and I am sitting in my second successive meeting of the morning. The caffeine has thankfully started taking effect and I don't feel like I have been hit by a meteorite anymore. Let me go ahead and crib a bit. Thursday is the only day that I have a 9 am meeting. It's usually 10:30 am when I drag my feet into work on other days. Now you might envy me after knowing this, but c'mon,

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-78086288698900017502008-05-13T11:46:00.000+05:302008-05-13T13:36:12.806+05:30

Every once in a while a movie comes along that forces you to stop and ponder about the banality of your middle-class holistic existence. And any movie that can stimulate such soul searching thoughts, automatically carves a place for itself in the threshold of the Hall of Fame, where the Lord presides over his court of lesser Gods with nether-worldly masochism and unparalleled rustic charm.Tashan

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-41390844032913866252008-05-02T11:08:00.000+05:302008-05-02T12:36:12.294+05:30

If you are still around, yes you, ardent reader of White Noise, you will realize posts have started appearing with the efficiency of an Indian Gorment employee, still endeavoring to smart from all the red tapism. Why you ask? Cuz it's my bloody blog, and you may be my customers in a business sense, but my entrepreneurial skills are like Dravid's T20 skills. So, what's happening on the western

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-966400188373121732008-04-17T10:16:00.000+05:302008-04-17T10:56:34.674+05:30

As that man in black with the voice of a God sang, "I fell into a burning ring of fire". Just that it wasn't a ring of fire so much as a deep deep well, with the same intensity though. It's happened before and I had hit myself hard against the rough dry cruel base of the well so as to shake up my gray matter. I even knew that this well (in Ms. Robinson's backyard) was dry and not even that deep

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-30789018761535635832008-04-05T05:43:00.000+05:302008-04-05T06:41:50.666+05:30

Sunshine on lime green nailsTapping against steely untuned strings,Singing of sad sad talesAnd of false hope they bring.Vibrations of dark dark woodAnd questions blowing about.Rich smoke maintains the moodThat the answers would never be out.More street corners and more nailsRed, blue, yellow, magentaAsking about dead dead quailsAbout changing the agenda.But the man is color blindAnd supposedly

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-81113921686339582822008-03-27T00:52:00.000+05:302008-03-27T00:56:05.029+05:30

Have you seen my guitar?Bright as Floyd’s crazy star.I don’t even see her shadow at home.Might have hiked to Paris or RomeOr to the dark craters on the moonAnd I fear she won’t return soon.My room is empty and hollowAnd I can’t but cry and wallowBut the tears can’t fill her spaceSince my baby’s gone without a trace.All the pages are clean and yetAre little boats so that I am not wet.The three

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-26038232407232994002008-03-20T13:31:00.000+05:302008-03-20T13:47:02.032+05:30

The narrative statement shall be a mature and self-reflective essay (2-3 typed pages) detailing the applicant's reasons for pursuing a degree in the motion picture arts. The essay should take into account the individual's history, formative creative experiences, contemporary influences and inspirations, and personal artistic dreams.Orson Welles once called the middle class the enemy of society.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-86920811474889337712008-03-06T13:14:00.000+05:302008-03-06T15:50:20.015+05:30

Having lived through painful years of Social Science, Biology and Organic Chemistry in school, I have a severe phobia for remembering lines (latest Hindi film song lyrics are always exceptions). Hence, acting is a huge no no, especially in theater productions, but I do enjoy the whole experience (especially, hanging out with equally crazy liberal folks) and like to be involved in less perilous

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-20342756671224639132008-02-29T11:32:00.000+05:302008-02-29T12:54:26.933+05:30

There seems to be some kind of contagious tag epidemic going on in the blogs I visit and mathematical probability has caught up with me after all. Dreamy has sneezed this tag into my lungs and the only path to recuperation is to pass it onto lesser suspecting bloggers. More on that later.Life Ten years agoThe world had still not started preparing itself for the terror of Y2K and I was steaming in

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-74466059987121698732008-02-26T11:34:00.000+05:302008-02-26T13:30:06.676+05:30

As I pulled up to my usual parking space in the nondescript back alley of the building with unprecedented punctuality, I must say I found myself a little blue to find it conspicuously empty. I entered the building through the usual back door and walked up the endless gray steps one last time to embrace the cocktailed aroma of fresh baked cookies and Mexican diligence emanating from the little

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-2550217667802150842008-02-19T06:22:00.000+05:302008-02-19T06:55:38.964+05:30

I am nervous as a schoolboyJust before a significant test.And I don't know whyA melancholic tune keeps nagging my head.You hold me with your steady stareAnd send me into fits of uncontrollable coughingWith copious passive smokeFrom your guiltily lit yet necessary Marlboro LightOn a windy balcony with the backdrop of a hopeful, almost vermilion horizon.Needless apologies followThat only heighten

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-77243631453550631152008-02-13T12:54:00.000+05:302008-12-09T04:05:11.066+05:30

Its that time of the year again when all single people around the world use humor as a defense mechanism and appear uber-nonchalant licensed by their bachelorhood. So, let me tell you about the most eventful V-day I have ever had, next to going for a Desi Buffet with 15 other Indian males on February 14, 2004 of course. Oh, almost forgot. Ad Libber wants the single people who aren't depressed and

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-2914491264563983832008-02-12T02:40:00.000+05:302008-02-12T02:45:55.917+05:30

to everyone who voted for my poem Incoherence on poetry.com. They tell me it is a winner and enters the next level of judging, becoming eligible for the 2007 Annual Grand Prize that will be awarded in February.

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26551497.post-76782566144021689932008-02-11T06:11:00.000+05:302008-02-11T06:54:49.922+05:30

The Stanford Theater played host to me twice this weekend as I found myself there watching Hitchcock's earlier 1940's films - Suspicion and Rebecca. It's a classical theater in every sense of the word. What differentiates it from the run of the mill AMC's and Regency theaters sprouting up in suburban America everyday is its plush maroon carpet and the concept of the Balcony section, something I

ArSENikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09772597502937491090noreply@blogger.com4