Finally The Namesake is behind me - the book and the film, in rapid succession. The book, as always, is better. Apart from the several ways in which the book scores over the film, the story succeeds in moving its focus from Ashima-Ashoke to Gogol. The film, on the other hand, keeps Ashima as the protagonist, not even Ashoke. Gogol's angst with his name happens to be incidental, a crucial departure from the book. Now whether that is the consequence of somebody of Tabu's stature playing Ashima, or Mira Nair's interpretation of the book, is something that I am not in a position to comment on. And, of course, the glaring continuity error in the beginning is just not expected in Nair's work...

Jhumpa Lahiri's writing as such is not among my favourite. It lacks an universal appeal, with immigrant Bengali (or Indian ) families being the content and target at the same time, as was the case with Interpreter of Maladies. The film being set in a time frame which is more than a decade later than the book is also perhaps telling of the effort to make the film more contemporary and the fact that the dilemmas of Ashima and Ashoke belong more to a past generation, rather the average NRI in Silicon Valley.

On a more Leedsian level, life is suddenly devoid (however momentarily) of studies. Invigilation duty of course has added a rather interesting shade to life! It's definitely a feast if you like observing people - the morning grogginess still in their eyes, you can say who knows his stuff and who is faffing, who is just itching to get out, who is trying, who is despairing and who has just succumbed. It reminds me of all those teachers who walked the aisles with supplementary sheets and graph papers while I sat for all those innumerable exams through school and college.

I just got a whole pile of X-Files! Have rarely felt so lucky in life... Thanks to a darling, N. Fox Mulder still makes me flip!!

Ah, I almost forgot - these pictures along the side. Quite like the way they look. Wish had snapshots of New Alipore and Dada... but digital cameras had not happened back then! Also, started shooting with my SLR again - felt really good. The sheer weight of the camera in my hand, the view finder, the light metre, the focusing, the sharp crack of the shutter, winding the reel... brings back the thrill. The dark room comes after this...

Now that the intricacies of Indonesian democracy lie behind me - although I will have to revisit it once again shortly - I began watching a film from some years back. Dil to Paagal Hai. I remember watching it one afternoon when school life had come to an end and college was yet to begin. There was a telephone conversation. I said I was watching the film and the voice on the other side asked me whether it had a significance in my own life. Strangely, it did. That voice found a strong resonance in one of the characters. I knew it then. Then on the film felt very different...

Now the film feels like pure mush - sickeningly. This obsession with love is seriously over rated and I think I am in a position to claim that I know some amount about the subject. The idea of love perhaps is so overwhelming that it overshadows reality - willing suspension of disbelief at its best (or maybe worst!).

But that afternoon's conversation and what the voice said still makes sense.

After that rather grim outpouring, I thought I should write something a little lighter on the head and heart!

The cherry trees now have this bleached look and have decided to finally grow some leaves! It's amazing!

It's almost as if after the unending months of bleak and gray winter, the trees lose their minds when they see the warm glow of the sun. And in the sheer euphoria that follows (which, incidentally, causes the human female here to shed clothes at an alarming rate!) the trees burst forth in bloom - myriad shades of white and pink - in celebration. Then after having stood there all dressed up in their blossoms for a couple of weeks, they begin to feel a little silly when they realise that they don't have any leaves! So, rather reluctantly, they finally give in and the little green sprigs begin to show.

And then it's green all the way.

But what a truly captivating phenomenon! As Amitav Ghosh puts it, if you missed that one week when the tree was in full bloom, you have not know the tree at all!

Cheers to cherry blossoms!

It is very easy to sink into the thought process which constantly cajoles with the idea that everything in the past was good. Must admit it has happened to me a bit too often as well - in phases I must add. Childhood was good, so was school and home and friends and everything else that came and (sadly) went with it. But when I read this recurrent theme in someone else's thoughts, it becomes irritating. And then I realise that my past-was-good thoughts must be irritating as well, specially to someone who has not been a part of that past. Maybe even to someone who has.

The other sink pit is the 'I-have-changed' thought chain. Again an easy trap for the idle mind to fall into. The repetitive voice in the mind which keeps saying how 'I was' and how 'I am'. Along with comes all the things that 'I used to care about' but now don't. Etcetera etcetera etcetera...

Apart from the fact that it would indeed be quite pathetic if we remained at 26 what we were at 16, the thoughts somehow seem soaked with self pity.

Fact is, reading someone else's thoughts can sometimes tell you what not to think about - in unhealthy excess at least. And that is perhaps happening to me. It's a very unpleasant mirror to glance into, because the moment you do, you know what you will see and you don't like it.

What I can hope is that I have learnt something from what I have seen in that mirror. And yes, I shall keep glancing into it now and then, just to make sure that I am still on track!