new house-new cat

so. it seems like the last few phases of my life have, thus far, been punctuated by different and distinctive feline presences.

in the first year at the ma there was the cat that snuck into my room every night and curled up on my pillow next to my head. then she had babies; one of whom had a preference for chocolate biscuits.

in the second year of the me, the orange, non chocolate consuming kit of the pillow-friendly cat moved with me to the next block. and was christened garfield (no i did not call him that to begin with, but he took to the name, and refused to respond to anything else). garfield liked to lurk at one end of the corridor, and race towards people as they stepped out of their rooms, then zig zag between their legs as they moved forwards, having to zig zag to avoid being stepped on. he also liked legs to stand still so he could rub against them. and was very selective about his food. he did not like to be fed fresh stuff, not even milk. it had to lie there, preferably in one of the hostel's many dustbins, before he would deign to look at it. to be able to allow my feet to pet him i set aside a pair of garfield socks, that i wore before letting him touch my feet. his bed was in the corridor distbin, and nothing could persuade him otherwise.

then there was a large black dat. who lived in a house with four other people, so was quitw spoilt. if you sat down for too long she would come and drape herself on you, and claw you for thinking abut shifting. i have often thought about her tail (most beautiful) wistfully, and want one just like it. would be so useful to use as a scarf, or fold up into a pillow.

andn ow i live ina house with a squashed faced patchwork black and orange cat. i donot know if it is a he or a she. and i don't think i'll get close enough to find out. he/she also sneaks in, but sleeps on the rug. and leaves as soon as i wake up. then returns when it thinks i should be asleep.

i wonder if this one will agree to being my friend

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.