Alice in Wonderland and Jemima Khan

The dancing bit of the movie was just weird.

Am in new found love with Avril Lavigne (had to google the song at the end, without which I would never have figured it was her).

And is it mad that I'm really glad I found Jemima Khan on Twitter- she seems so lovely.

The Dollhouse

Because I work crazy shifts my weekends don't always arrive on Saturdays and Sundays. Like this week- Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Which turned into the weekend from hell. And the only thing that made it better was an internet connection fast enough to allow me to watch the entire second season of The Dollhouse . I never was much of Buffy person though I do enjoy the Buffy-Spike fanfic. And I never understood the attraction of Angel. However i am very sad about the untimely demise of The Dollhouse. Though I do not see how they could resurrect the story should some cable network choose to revive it.

What I like about the Dollhouse is that it didn't compromise on vocabulary (maybe many Americans just didn't understand what was being said- and this is why it is going off air). A character in it said soupcon (now I know how to pronounce this).
I truly and utterly loved some characters. Like I used to love those on That 70's Show, which was very deeply, but also very long ago. Think starry eyed teenager love.

The casting was very very good. Olivia Williams being the most lovely woman I've seen in a long time. And I thought the guys who played Topher Brink and Alpha were most competent. This is the second thing I've seen Alan Tudyk in (the first being the hilarious Death at Funeral) and I shall be looking out for him.

Meanwhile I also saw Lucky You. Which was .. bleh. Though one would think the beauty of Eric Bana should be able to make all things better a lot depends on the right hair cut. And after the perfect coiffures of everyone on the Dollhouse this really was a let down.

All this while being down with the flu. Now my weekend has gone and I have not done anything but meld with my couch. And tomorrow work begins again. Sigh.

The Harmony Silk Factory

I can see this being made into one of those really lovely glossy world war two movies. With the Malaysian version of Keira Knightley playing Snow. It would be the sort that might be Oscar nominated for cinematography, costume, music and supporting actor. It would be the sort of movie with one really involved sex scene and long pauses in conversation, during which characters exchange meaningful glances while sitting around a breakfast table while servants shuffle in the background. You know the kind I mean.

I liked the first third of the book. When it seemed to be like the boy was in search of his mother. I liked the second part of the book when the father was established as not so much of a monster after all. But I got got a bit tired of the third narrator's voice, when it became clear that it was still a story about a boy hunting for his father (another one- yawn). I am tired of books about boys hunting for fathers. I am tired of boys who are hunting for their fathers. Mothers are important too. More boys should be hunting for their mothers.

Also, while I got the whole, pastel-watercolour approach to detail that Aw seemed to be doing I would have liked a little more explanation for why people do things. For example- this is a really wealthy family. It wasn't ok for them to allow their daughter out with just anyone. Now that she's married they send her off on a trip, in a boat with no servants, with no chaperone or maid, to an island retreat with no constructed shelter on it? Where they have to go hunting for food and cook it on their own- two Englishmen, one Japanese spy and two of the richest locals in this little Malaysian outpost. Sounds very fishy.

Aside from the obvious logical loopholes, of which there was more than one, I felt like the book was an anaemic version of a better draft, that must be lying around somewhere. If only in Tash Aw's head. It also seemed to draw a lot from the work of Amitav Ghosh, and tryig to be magical in the same way. It comes sniffingly close.

More books

And then after that I read

1. The Guardian of the Dawn, by Richard Zimler
Which, set in early 17th century Goa, claimed to be ' a riveting historical mystery', 'impeccably reasearched' and ' a powerful reinterpretation of Othello'. It was none of these things. It was, in the beginning, a detailed description of Jewish customs four hundred years ago, nof of a way of life that Jews on the west coast of India might have had come centuries ago. And later it was a whine about the persecution of Jews during the Inquisition, and not in any way an examination of a set of historical factors, actions and circumstances. A large part of it was a justification for religious intolerance (as Tiago's impossibly intolerant father is the moral centre of the book).

And no, just because Tiago got to sleep with a Hindu that does not make it all better. That only happened because the author cleverly manages to have the Hindu girl convinced of how Hanuman is a character from a Judaic tale. No recognition of her seperate religious identity. She needs to be assimilated. And the Muslims of course are evil and must die. Even addressing the issue of self-loathing and guilt, as the book tried to do in the end couldn't salvage it for me. By about half way through I'd had it with the irritating family, and was completely unsympathetic to all but the Christian wife of the converted uncle (who the book was intolerant of). Anyhoo. I finished it. And I will not be buying Richard Zimler again.

2. Brilliant- Marne Davis Kellogg
This was not published by Penguin. And it had no pretensions to historical accuracy, 'spark of genius'(yes I'm still quoting the cover of the Zimler book) or profound exposrations of human nature. It was a fast and funny flighty little book about crooks who are past their twenties and still attractive. I haven't read all those many books with middle aged heroines, who like their food, sex and beautiful jewellery. I wouldn't read it again, but I would recommend it to someone who had to spend all day in bed with a cold, or recovering from a nasty ex boyfriend.

And now i am part way through The Harmony Silk Factory. I shall wait until I am atleast one third in to form an opinion.

new house

so i finally have a place of my own. which is making me really happy. even when i get back at 10 at night and there isn't anyone else who might have kept dinner for me. once the weirdness of having only myself for company wears off i think i shall begin to like it.
and- this is no small announcement- i have discovered what is, in my opinion, the best chicken tikka roll in delhi, right down the road from the house. well- down the road and left. it was perfect. not too spicy, with onions and cabbage in a salad (not just reeking of onions), and with a really yummy green sauce, wrapped in the lightest rumali roti, that refused to turn into a stretchy rubbery mess, even after an hour ( i kept a bit- just to check).
most yum
and in two pieces, with 3 tikkas each, for a hundred rupees. not bad at all i thought.
joy

So this is what I have been reading

1. Black Swan Green- by david Mitchell.
I loved Cloud Atlas, despite tiring a bit at the end, and not caring enough about the last story. All the other bits were great. I must read everything else by this man. And according to wikipedia he looks pretty nice too.

Black Swan Green I enjoyed a lot too.


2. The Memory Keeper's Daughter.

Did not like this much. Am now suspicious of things that have an Oprah's Book Club sticker on them. The last few have turned out to sentimental American pap.

Eating out in Bangalore

The last few weeks have been a blur of socializing, madly mugging Spanish verbs, and zipping about the city on strange errands for parents and grandparents. All resulting in me having, and not really minding, eating out a lot. A lot.

I'm a little tubbier than I was last week, but once I go back to Delhi I won't be able to do this, not much anyway. Food of the kind that costs 200 rupees here costs about three times as much there. And is usually not better.

Some Delhi foods though I really miss. Like crispy chilli potatoes, especially of the form found in north campus. At every place that offers this in Bangalore I have ordered it, sometimes to the despair of companions, who have tired of eating potatoes at nearly every meal. Today, at a restaurant called Rendezvous in Koramangala we were served french fries with masses of chopped and fried green chillies. Nice, but not the real thing.

In the same way I long for the gobhi manchurian that places like Sukh Sagar, Megh Sagar and the others in Bangalore do, so oilily (not a word? but fun to type) and so yummily. Gobhi manchurian in Delhi is a disappointing affair. Gloopy and wrong.

My hunt for the perfect lasagne in Bangalore continues too. As I leave in less than a week I doubt I'll get any closer on this visit.

Oh well.

P.S- Rendezvous is the reincarnated version of Friends, that used to lurk in a lane parallel to the one on which the Koramangala Corner House in on. It has acceptable beef steaks (not to be found everywhere), and an extensive menu. I tried a strange drink called Pussy Foot- coke and pineapple juice (not to be repeated). I would have liked to have liked the place more. It's got a pleasant airy feel to it, with rubber wood furniture, and an attentive but not-too-enthu waiter. Didn't like the sauce in my pasta bake much though. And the garlic on the bread was a particularly tenacious sort. Despite having brushed twice, since returning home, the ghost of garlic breads past still haunts me.