Final thinks

I finished the book at 3am today morning. Wow.

I didn't sleep immediately after because I was replaying scenes in my mind. The book just got better and better until it ended. All the characters got better. Situations got worse and then okay. The story got faster. I want to read it again.

I'm really happy Charlie wrote that last letter to his Dear friend. It gave that friend and Charlie closure, I think. Although the ending was happy in a sad kind of way, it was so important. It wasn't about a happy ending or that everything went back to normal or that things were all okay, but that things would be okay soon and it was headed there. The story didn't just end with the book. It leaves you knowing that Charlie, Sam and Patrick are out there facing new problems and still living their interesting lives. It leaves you wondering what life would be for each of them after everything that happened. There's more to come, but for now, things are alright.

Also, Sam has long, flowing hair in the book. He says this only in the very end so I realized I had been picturing her wrong throughout. But then when I thought of Charlie describing her 'unconventional beauty', I like the idea of her with short hair much more.

I'm now happy that I bought the book instead of borrowing it because I feel proud to own a copy. In fact, I think I'll put my name in this one.

That's all. If you haven't read it, please do. 

The Perks of Being a Wallflower (my thinks)

I watched the movie a couple of months back and kept thinking about the story. I wished that I'd read the book first because I imagined it would be really good. I knew a couple of people who had the book. Borrowing the book to read from one of them was on top of my list of things to do after my exams ended.

While my end semester exams were on full swing, I got thoroughly bored of my same old songs and the fast-paced 'modern' pop songs drove me up the wall. I remembered that the soundtrack from The Perks was fabulous, although I couldn't remember the titles of any of the songs. I found the whole album online and downloaded it. I make no exaggeration when I say that every song (12 in all) is beautiful and wonderful. They are the kind of songs that just don't get old, even if you hear them thirty times a day for several days or weeks. My first favorite is "Come on Eileen". I can't get enough of this song. To take a much needed break from my studies, I played it on loop and danced like an animal. I haven't danced like that...ever. It felt a kind of great-good that's hard to put in words. Tied in for my second favorite are "Could it be Another Change?" and "Asleep". These songs are the only ones I listened to through the rest of my exams and no other song seemed worth switching to. Listening to these songs made me try to remember where they play in the movie, the story and the characters again. I remembered I need to read the book.

After my last paper yesterday, (also the last day of my first year at college), I was out with a friend and we went to a bookstore. There I found many, shiny-new copies of The Perks. I got so excited that I completely forgot about (a) my friends who already had the book and (b) how broke I was. The book was bought. I started reading it last night and finished with part one. I stopped reading there because it was late and sat thinking about it for a while. Then I got up and came out to see my mom was still up. I was so full of thinks that I started telling her about them. In a nutshell, my thinks ran here:- The experiences of reading a book after watching the movie and watching a movie after reading the book are quite different. When you read the book first, you imagine it your own way and pin certain expectations on the movie. You realize how the story is changed to suit better visually and wonder which way worked better. But it's always the visually appealing version of the story that sticks with you, even if you like it less than the print. When you read the book second, you discover the parts that were left out and notice that some smalls parts of the story on screen are actually so much nicer to read and more important in the book. Also, since you already know the story, you pay more attention to the writing than the story, appreciate it better and form your favorite moments as you go along. In this particular case, since the movie was so good, it influenced the reading of the book more and am thoroughly enjoying every bit of it. I'm happy I read the book second.

Before I found the book, I had no idea that The Perks of Being a Wallflower was written as a series of letters. I think that's another reason I bought the book without thinking twice. I'm halfway through the book now, and I think I love Charlie.
Reading it, I feel like the anonymous friend he's writing to and it makes me think about what it would be like to receive letters as detailed as these about someone's life but not knowing who that someone is. It must be nice. Charlie's personality is gripping. It's so innocent but deep.
I don't know if it's because it's a coming of age story, or because I'm really getting engrossed with Charlie and understanding his feelings, or because this is the second time I'm going through the story, or because I'm emotional and Charlie is emotional and sensitive, or because it's been a while since I've read a book as good as this, or because anything written as a letter means more to me and hits me harder- but I love this book. And I don't mean it in a frivolous way. And I love it more as I cover more of it.

Also, I think I'll start signing off my letters with 'love always' as Charlie does. Not as a fan copying something because she loves the character, but because it sounds so sincere. It sounds less vague than 'lots of love'. That is anything but sincere. Now that I think of it; lots of love < love < love always.

I will now get back to reading part three. I had to take this break to write about it because of all the thinks in my head. It's one of those books that make you pause. You need that pause because you need to let the fact that the book is so good sink in.

Quandary

The old man with the walrus mustache sat pondering. He rocked in his rocking chair blinking. Would his wife believe him when he told her? Would she think he's going senile? He took a moment to wonder if he truly had seen it. Yes.Yes, he was certain. He drifted back to the consequences of sharing his thoughts. "Ah, 'ol Muriel will jump right out of her over-sized woolens!", he chuckled to himself, thinking of the surprise on the face of his small-built, shapely, coy-but-bossy wife. He thought again of her jumping up, this time with her hands up in the air with an "OOH!" and he chuckled some more. "No now, no now you foolish bag 'o bones, 'ol Muriel can't take all this excitement. Be sensible 'ol boy. She'll be worrisome. She wouldn't believe you. Ahhh, not in a thousand years. I'll bet you an ivory box full 'o cigars she wouldn't believe you bag 'o bones."
He sat rocking. "Aooo!", he heard a wild dog cry at the setting sun.
Muriel returned. She carried a large cane basket full of old papers in one hand while the other swung violently as she walked. "What news good man?", she asked routinely as she went about her business. "Eh, need to grease this chair, I'd say.", he replied routinely. "Get to it then already you fusspot, you!", she replied routinely. "Yes dear...", he replied routinely. They looked at each other and laughed. He got up, went inside and brought out a dusty jar of grease. He got down on his knees with some evident discomfort and greased his 'ol rocking chair as the dog went off again. "You alright, 'ol chap?", she asked with genuine concern. He nodded as he worked. She knew something was different but didn't know what. He glanced at the questioning expression on her face and smiled to himself. "No now no now why worry dear 'ol Muriel? I must have been dreaming anyway."
He rose to go back inside, squeezed her hand and left. She smiled after him until she felt the thick grease in her palm. "You blasted 'ol bag 'o bones, you.", she murmured to herself. 

Monkey doing funny things

Monkey

Today, as I walked to my grandparents' home in Bandra, I met a monkey.

This bonnet was sitting on a low branch of a tree. This was quite a sight. It's not everyday you get to see a monkey roaming free in the city. I approached him. He wasn't perturbed by my presence, but was alert and eyed me keenly. I stood about 15 feet from him and just watched. He was self conscious; looked back at me after every step or two and simply watched me back. Then he lost interest and started walking about freely. He jumped down onto the building wall and scratched. He was closer to me now. Shooting occasional glances at me, he went about his business and looked around for fallen food. I took out my camera. He was now interested again. He looked right into the large, round lens wide-eyed. When the shutter sounded I saw his ears twitch. A flicker of wonder gleamed in his eyes. He sat put for a few moments before getting up and pushing his head forward to get a better look at me. He then walked away, crossed the road and sat down on the pavement. By now, some amused rickshaw waalas were watching his antics too. One of them bought a small packet of chips and gave it to him. He picked up the packet, ripped it open with human-like ease and started eating the chips, two at a time. He then threw away the packet, dusted the salt from his hands and yawned. By now, I could come quite close to him. He got off the wall, came up to me, touched my knee and backed up a few steps. He did this a couple of times. As he looked up at me, I looked back into his small, chocolate-brown eyes. When you look into the eyes of a monkey, it's like looking at a person. There's so much emotion in those eyes, you can't help but personify them.

I could have taken a lot more pictures than I did, but I enjoyed just watching him and getting closer to him. It made me realize that if I do end up in a forest somewhere, studying animals, capturing them in action or in photos won't be on top of my mind. When you're around an animal for more than a lucky, fleeting moment, the joy of observation exceeds the joy of taking a picture.

This monkey made my day.

Elephant

Life of a cat

A cat.

That's the life to have.

Being a cat.

Preening and sleeping.

Eating and bounding.

A silly outburst of enthusiasm.

Spot jumps and muscle spasms.

Pawing eagerly at an unknown stranger.

Or leaping into the face of apparent danger.

Letting ignorance rule my life.

The world being my prey.

Jumping into dustbins, looking for food.

Or perhaps being pushed into one by a passing troubler.

Looking coy.

Having large snake-like eyes, that hypnotize.

The ability to crouch, ready to pounce,

Hair on end, waiting and waiting.

Still as a statue. Imperceptibly breathing.

Pulling my ears back and extending my whiskers.

Stepping into wetness, my only worry.

A natural born yogi.

Yes.

That's the life to have.

One of a cat.

Mental neurons

Dreams are intriguing. A combination of our subconscious and imagination. Memories repeating in our minds. We dream up such a multitude of bizarre stories in strange, unknown locations. There are scientific explanations for these happenings. But part of me doesn't want any explanation. To wake up each morning, wondering about the ridiculous spectacle I just beheld and puzzling about the series of events that lead to the putting-together of that dream is too elating to be ruined by science. To a child, the formation of a rainbow is sheer magic. But to us educated folk, knowing light splits up into seven colors just makes it a beautiful phenomenon, not a magical one.

Dreams may be deep-seated fantasies. We see what we wish would happen. We imagine these situations, sometimes repeatedly. But this theory worries me. I once dreamed of bathing, butt naked, right in the middle of my college. People were walking around me nonchalantly, some even stopped to make small talk. There was nothing unusual about this dream- while I was dreaming it. When I awoke and tried to recollect what I dreamed of, the thought of bathing in the open highly amused me. Deep-seated fantasies, huh?

Our brain doesn't store unnecessary information or mundane details. It tries to remain clutter-free. Almost as though it's constantly making space for new input. Like clearing out your memory card before setting out on a photo-taking spree. But it seems to have a very well defined mechanism for selecting what is relevant and what isn't. Our dreams don't stick with us. They are wiped from our minds sooner than we can crawl out of bed and make it to the bathroom. We often wish we could record our dreams and re-watch them. Our brain, however, knows better than to save it up for a re-run. Why reuse something when it can come up with something just as good, but unique, again? Our subconscious mind must have an ego about the dreams it puts together.

What about the childhood nightmares we always remember? I remember two. The first one was a falling dream. I was about two years old and was seated at our first floor window. I saw my mother downstairs and began to fall- calling out to her. The second one was of being chased by a white phantom. I was older this time, perhaps six. What I recall distinctly was the feeling of being carried through the air, uncontrollably, when all I wanted was to get out of the dream. So what about them? Why do they stick around? No theory is hard and fast. There are exceptions to them all. Hidden loopholes.
Scientific discoveries are made to be disproved by future scientists.

Dreams are like a child's new toy. Something to explore, to figure out. The more you know, the more you want to discover.

If someone came to me and spewed out neurological jargon about why we dream the way we do, I'd be unconditionally fascinated. But it would have killed the magic.