cogitated thoughts

I'm not even in one of my contemplative moods or anything. I reckon it is one of those days when you suddenly feel like swearing away to glory for no particular reason ; without meaning to cause any harm whatsoever. I mean the kind of mood I'm in, the next thing I'll probably be doing is telling my mother to 'fetch me a goddamn glass of water'.

Last Sunday, I went with my parents to the railway station to see off my brother and grandfather who were going to Rajasthan to my uncle's place. My aunt was going with them too and so, her folks, which consisted of her husband and her daughters came along as well. I was perfectly happy for my brother since he was going and all ( I even helped him pack!) but ah well, such things don't last too long and the stale, mixed smells of a typical railway station have this manner of agitating the traveling instincts in you. Well, whatever be the origins of sadism , point is I was suddenly thinking about why the hell my brother wasn't in 12th std or better still...why I wasn't in the 7th std. But then such things don't last for too long either so my cousins and I thought 'peace' and spent our time, looking wistfully, at the various assortments of food that some hazaar vendors were selling all over the place. Not that train food is even a micro centimeter close to being edible but then it is train food and trains are beautiful. Especially if they are taking your brother to Rajasthan and you can't go.

The thing with having a big, no... prodigious family is that we cant' even go to the next street without tripping on a couple of our relatives. I mean I'll probably decide to go to some arbit village, south of Congo, one day and find my great uncle's daughter's niece waiting for me at the goddamn airport. And when we aren't doing that; tripping on a couple of our relatives that is, we are probably attending a wedding. Meaningless jabber this...I don't even have anything against having a gazillion relatives...atleast not now ..when none of them are visiting us in our house, when I'm not visiting any of them in their house and more importantly when I'm not attending any damned wedding.

I saw this movie called Amelie some time back. It was in French and had subtitles and everything. When I was younger, I could somehow never imagine the whole subtitle movie concept thing. It confused the shit out of me, how you were supposed to shift your eyes from scene to scene, absorb what was going on, read the subtitles and still have your two eyes and your tiny brain intact when the movie was over. But then subtitles aren't the end of the world; and I generally found myself getting used to the idea. One of those things you get used to without actually meaning to I guess.

Only, you can't afford to think about the whole thing more than just that slight amount of thought that almost everything is entitled to, especially movies. The reason I'm saying this is that there is this part in the movie when Amelie finds a box belonging to someone who had lived in her apartment a very long time back. Just then, she has this absolutely perfect look in her eyes. I mean I don't even know how the hell she managed a look as perfect as that and suddenly I was thinking about the number of goddamn retakes, the director must have taken just to get it right and it somehow killed me.

Anyway, that's not the point I was trying to get across. What I actually wanted to say was that the movie is one of those nice, beautiful things that brings light into our otherwise mundane lives...like Salinger...like blackbird by the Beatles...like deer outside Siddhartha's window...like the reflection of a tube light outside your room in a puddle of rainwater... like the feather in Forrest Gump...like the polythene bag in American Beauty...like the memories of a childhood that Alice's Adventures in Wonderland manages to reawaken in you.

In the distant background, The Doors tell me to 'break on through to the other side'.