Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is short, racy and predictable

I got up early this Sunday morning all excited. It did not take me long to get ready and charge in the shortest time possible. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child was releasing today. And for the first time I’m in a place where I can actually buy it on the day of its release, a dream I had and never realised until today.

So I paid Rs 900 and bought the book at 11.38 a.m. today. After causal chit chat and lunch, I was home. At 2 p.m. I started reading the book and did not dare take my eyes off from my hard bound until it was 5.30 p.m. when I was done.I don’t know what you call it, when you are at the end of a book and did not want it to end. As I turned every page, I hoped pages would increase. But of course it did not. It moved on, pretty fast, almost nostalgic with grown up Harry and all that.

Harry is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, as you know married to Ginny, and has three kids – James, Albus Severus and Lily, with her. Hermione Granger is the Minster for Magic and has two kids – Rose and Hugo, with Ron Weasely. Draco Malfoy has a son, Scorpius who is lovable surprisingly and for me he was the real hero who moved the story along.

As the reports said the book is about Harry Potter and his second son Albus and how they confront the dark past that wouldn’t let them go. But plot per say is nothing new. You know how the story is going to flow and how it is going to end. But then again it was written for a play and though the story was detailed it was not very deep. 

It is a very fast read, took barely four hours to finish 300 odd pages. But it satisfies your curiosity about how your favourite characters have grown into. It might be a 40-year-old Harry who is still struggling with the dark past but trying his best he could to be a great dad. It could be Ron, as funny and lame as he could possibly be or Hermione as bossy and clever, as in the past. You even get to see Dumbledore in the photo frame.

It gives you a glimpse of everyone’s life and what they made themselves of after the Battle of Hogwarts. Something we all wanted to see for ourselves. I loved what they have become.

But at the end of it, when all ends well you just can help asking for more. What to say, we potter fans are greedy. 

To Harry, With Love

To Harry,

Harry Potter and I go way back. I met him when I was in Class 6 separated just by a television screen. He was short, rather docile, and bespectacled with hair that looked like it needed a trim. He looked ordinary. I was fascinated and I did not know why. It started then, my affair with a wizard on the magical ground of Hogwarts.

I loved him like only a 9- year- old could - innocent and oblivious but happy to just look at his face. It was a very nice face. If you had asked me if it was Daniel Radcliffe, the actor, or the character Harry I liked, I wouldn’t know. For me, Daniel was Harry.

As I grew older, the way I began to look at him changed. It was that of an adolescent, who is just beginning to understand and differentiate between a girl and a boy. I found him attractive. I had started to read earlier installments of books by then. I began to understand Harry, his quirks. I began to like him for his flaws, and they were many.

I was in Class 11, when fourth installment of the book, ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of fire’ was made into a movie. The book featured a ball, where Harry mustered his courage to ask his crush Cho Chang for a dance. He was rejected of course. They were looking for Asians who would play the role of Parvathi Patil, his date for the dance and Cho Chang, his first love, in the book. I was split between which roles to play; regardless that there is no way I was going to be cast. It was a worry of a teenage girl at the clasp of love. My friends bore the brunt as I ranted non-stop until the casting was over. I did not stop brooding for a long time.

A year later, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was released. I forced my dad to get the book for me as my birthday gift. He did not refuse. I was in Class 12. Reading it was absolutely forbidden, for I had my final exams that would determine my future. But how can I not.

Back then, I would rather learn curses than do mathematics. I wanted to brew potions than do titration experiments in chemistry. I wanted to tame wild beasts and dragons than dissect cockroaches and frogs. I wanted to fly on a broom more than learn about rockets and its fuel efficiency.

Such was youth that keeps redefining the boundary for stupidity. As always stupidity wins and I finished the sixth book first before my subjects and of course it reflected on my final year scores. But I do not regret it.

I was stupid yes but you are allowed to be one when you are young. Adults have way too many consequences to face. I was stupid and happy just immersing myself in my fantasy with Harry and I’m happy I did so.

For, when I look back now I could laugh at myself and tell myself that I have grown and come a long way. I’m no longer a giddy adolescent I was back then. Nothing excites me as much. Precisely for those reasons, I cherish those times when I pretended to study when I was actually reading the book. I know now that these are the feelings that could only be felt then. Thank you Harry for those memories.

For me, Harry is one of the very few links to my past that connects all of me right from Class 6 till the time I was a Sophomore in college. While other links are either forgotten or faded away with time, Harry continues to remain through my fragmented memories and tattered books.

As Harry turns a year older tomorrow, all those memories come rushing and teleport me to early 2000s where I see a giggling, blushing girl in pigtails I hardly recognise now. It is a sense of nostalgia one feels when you go back to your roots. It is the same for me.

Now as someone inching towards her thirties, I still see the bespectacled boy with hair that looked like it needed a trim, but in a man’s frame and think, you have grown up to be a good man Harry. So have I.

With love, Swathi.

Kabali da – Rajini prevails…

Kabali, the overhyped ‘thalaivar’ movie we were all looking forward to and going great lengths to get first day tickets. Most of us were disappointed for we couldn’t manage to get our hands on tickets even if we were willing to pay Rs 700 at Kasi Theatre.

As July 22nd dawned with a note of disappointment, came the reviews that rated the movie from worst to average, blaming the director who couldn’t do justice to Rajini’s image and the aging star for losing his yesteryear charm. But when I finally got to watch the movie this Sunday, I realised reviews couldn’t be more wrong.

Rajini’s introduction more or less justified his larger than life presence, donning a grey suit and salt pepper hair, his style and charisma intact. The movie takes off like a regular Rajini flick but soon moves on a different tangent devoid of punch lines and duets with younger heroines, one not usually associated with a typical Rajini movie. That’s exactly what I liked about it. Rajini’s role on screen matched who he was, an aging star, but a star nevertheless commanding respect. 

Here, we got to see the vulnerable side of our favourite hero who loves his wife Kumudavalli and misses her deeply. You know at that moment he meets her again, he feels alive again. It was as if those decades they did not see each other disappeared. The film captured those tender moments between Kabali and Kumudavalli, that was nothing more than meeting of the eyes, so beautifully. The romance though not the main theme, was fulfilling and powerful. 

You would be a little disappointed if you were expecting the likes of Baasha or Padayapa. Could it have been taken in a better way or project Rajini in a better light? Probably. Could the movie have a better villain? May be. 
Yes, it is not a usual Rajini flick, but it is not the same Rajini either who can sing and romance like a 30-year-old when he is 60.  

But you could still immerse yourself in the movie, whistle as he makes his moves and clap as he prevails over his enemies.

For all those who comment how the bad movie is and the actor is senile, after all these years he is one of the very few stars who can still charm and draw people like no other. And it is this Rajinikanth that we love and will continue to.  

Darkness

Things often look different in the night, often revealing their true self, hence more beautiful than the day. Cloaked under the night sky at the dawn of a new day accompanied by whispers of rain and sound of lightening, I wished the time would cease; I wished tomorrow shall never come to pass.

The unfathomable night with its shallow darkness and sinister corners taunts me, moves me, attracts me and arouses me. The night, an embodiment of bottomless secrets with its mystic sky, has magic that binds and entices the dreamer in me. The night with many shades of grey, captivates the ignoble me more than a rainbow that adorns the gloomy summer sky.

Sprinkles of the night that stroked my skin were as gentle as an embrace and warmer than a night of passionate love making. It made want to become a part of the night, invisible during the day only to be encompassed in the darkness.

Dripping in the shower and laughing with the thunder under the moonless sky with no star in sight, I found myself embracing the darkness in me. The shadows of the past and regrets of the bygone days came alive engulfing me letting me relive those moments. Those precious moments of sadness, happiness that encumbers one during the day.

Sitting by the window sill, listening to song of thunder and the torch of lightening that illuminates the narrow bead of rain I wished the light away. 

Irudi Suttru, packs truck load of punches

Tamil movie Irudi Suttru aka the final round stars Maddy on screen after a long gap. The story revolves around a boxing coach and his pupil through whom he wants to realise his dream of winning World Boxing Championship. It is pretty much similar to Chak de India where Shah Rukh coached the Indian hockey team but with much less drama.

Prabhu, known for this ruthless training methods, due to personal vengeance of his yesteryear colleague was transferred to Chennai, where he finds potential in a fisherwoman Mathi. He persuades her to let him train her, polishes her and prepares her for the final stage – the ultimate championship boxing ring.

In the almost two hour movie from when he begins to train Mathi to the last round of the championship, it is a roller coaster ride of vacillating emotions, of disappointments and of perseverance. The movie was not just about winning; it was a portrayal of dedication a coach has over his sport, brutal coaching that belies kindness and a deep bond Prabhu shares with Mathi with a subtle hint of romance that was heartwarming.

Even as the movie ends, despite an end so clichéd it makes you smile.

As cheerful and gutsy the heroine is it was Maddy as Prabhu, the no-nonsense coach with disheveled hair, overgrown beard with a tinge of grey at the corners and taut muscles, who tugged audience along. Sure, it was not the Karthik we knew from Alaipayuthey who enchanted the audience with the smile of Prince Charming; rather it was an older and matured Prabhu, a rugged Heathcliff, who seduced the audience with a smile even more devastating making you fall in love with him all over again. 

A wanton life

My fingers wouldn’t move, my thoughts wouldn’t flow despite the overwhelming emotions only I can feel. I’m always searching, always looking for something that would help me live the way I want; the way I thought I should. What am I searching for? Is it love of a man who doesn’t exist; or was it the mere feeling of being in love – an inexplicable emotion that gives you power and strength; an anchor for my wandering soul. Who am I looking for? Is it a soul-mate, who exists only to incite the flames of lust that is under slumber; or is it a forbidden fruit that I desire that is sure to destroy my soul? Because of my flawed beliefs have I already lost sight of what is in the vicinity for the love of what is far beyond my grasp and could possibly never exist? Am I always going to live in the days of tomorrow at the cost of the present?

I know not anymore.

It makes me want to cry like a wild beast that is on the verge of dying; I want to howl like a storm that is raging to savage anything that block its way; I want to moan like a deer that just witnessed the death of its mate; I want to weep by the embers of my ebbing passion.

I could still feel the tremor only passion could ignite within my body. I could feel it in tremble of my fingers; haggard beat of my heart. I’m lost in a maze of my own frustrations, falling at every turn looking for a way to rediscover my lost passion. During the search many a moments I yearned to wander recklessly with abandon in the labyrinth of my mind’s creation, if only it would make me forget. If only it would make me forget the wanton life I’m dwelling within the confines of a dissipated shell of a human girl. 

I'm afraid

I’m afraid to think, for the fear of facing the reality is more than intellect

I’m afraid to laugh, for I know it would become a way of life to escape the torment of everyday life.
I’m afraid to talk, for the fear of having pretending of everything is well the entire life
I’m afraid of smiling, for I know I can smile and the facade would never fade away.
I’m afraid of moving on, for the fear of losing the one last connection with the past.
I’m afraid of finding a dream, for the scar of the shattered dream still taints my routine.
I’m afraid of resurfacing again, for the fear that it would only be to go under again.
I’m afraid of crying, for I know it will be only a temporary solace for the battered soul.
I’m afraid of changing, for I know I have already come to a place where I can never go back.
I’m afraid to sleep, for the fear that I would never want to wake up and face tomorrow. 

May be I could dream just a little

I want to escape from the world that is determined to enervate my soul; I want an escape to the world, which defies the very law of my existence.

I wish I could bury the yearnings that claw at me at the dawn of everyday; I wish I could act on them and evoke the rebellion in me.

I hope I could accept the fate and go on as I always do; I hope I could break them all and not give a damn.

May be I can dream on and this ache will go way. May be I could dream on and wish the life away. May be I wish I could dream just a little.
  

It was and always will be a mystery

Mysteries are galore in the world, known and unknown, oblivious and obvious, to the man. Entangled in the misery and conundrums of everyday life, mind rarely lets the man realise there is a world beyond us, far beneath our understanding.

But for the elusive few, who managed to break free, it is the abstruse question of why and how that was never resolved drove them to the point of insanity for generations.

Puzzles of the universe, abstract and trivial, engross the earthlings. There is a charm in the vagueness and allure in anonymity of the seemingly impenetrable veil that separates the familiar and the unseen.

Rationale for the desire and fear of the indefinite and search for the incomprehensible will always remain a mystery. 

At the crossroads, at that moment

At the crossroads, after 13 years, I met her again. Time ceased, heart stopped, at that moment.

At that moment those years of nothingness effaced; I felt alive again. Just for that moment I knew what it means to resurrect; I was reborn. Just for that moment hope blossomed like the cherry blossoms during spring; Just for that moment I wished I had never grown up; I wished I was 13 again. Just for that moment I wished the moment had never come; I wished we could be together again.
Just at the moment I knew she would never be mine; I knew I had to let go; I knew I have to live.

 And maybe I will.