Iron lung Diaries

A young lad dressed ike a destitiute, vaguely concerned in his appearance, wind blowing that makes his hair sway nonchalantly. A exuberant beard on the glowing cherubic face that held visage to his enlightened mind. A bulky backpack that clung to his shoulders and followed him all through his journey.  Alexander Super Tramp, the aesthetic voyager never deigned to turn back from his voyage whch he embarked two years ago. Christopher John Mccandless would have been the only gifted one to be devoid of all spiritual degeneracies, was even envied of his life by the nature that he faced the ill-fate of succumbing to its treacherous foul play. Still it was more than his life to him than any thing The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild. Graduated from Emory University with a Master's Degree, he had every prospect...

The dusty expanse of Wasseypur, the supreme coal mafia, its pristine status towards the end of Colonial India, its impregnable outlaws, treachery and bloodshed for money and power, a family line inheriting the thirst for vengeance, funny and strange inhabitants dragged to their darker side truly were all that filled the screen when Gangs of Wasseypur was screened in Director's Fortnight, Cannes. It surpassed all the expectations and almost pulverised the prejudices that world audience have for Indian Cinema. It also raised the status of Hindi Film Industry for the season removing the contemptuous air of all utter candyfloss movies. As the film claims, “There are two kinds of human, one form is clever and the second form is stupid and this game is based upon these two kind of men, when some clever men started foolish things and when some fool has become a part of cleverness, You will never find out “ thus Wasseypur's story is strange.” The film GOW has gained a cult film...

For serious cinephiles, it's not very often that we come across films that adheres so strongly to its tagline. V for Vendetta is one film that proves the above condition true. " Ideas do not bleed, Ideas do not feel pain, Ideas are bulletproof" . Yes, not just the idea of the plot but the idea of the whole film itself is bulletproof. V, a utopian reformer, a shadowy vigilante, a brooding avenger is a unique character unlike the usual masked vigilante who heroically fights the goons of the city and saves the day. We have seen that over and over and had been only lucky to see a much enhanced version being brewed and overshadow its predecessors. Adapted from the famous comic by the same name by Allan Moore which is even greater than the adaptation as always.  Hugo Weaver gives life to "V" through his emphatic voice and truly captivates his foes by his stentorian verbiage. As V quotes, " Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there i...

Memory of my tripping nights is a shrilling torment now fuming many joints Flying like a parachute dying for a crazy delusion Master of  a broken life always despised my tired wife who loathed my marijuana lips and now I lost my way now I lost my chance I'd been on the spotlight Sung many gigs night to night Cheered the head bang party nights Now I can't sing anymore for my throat has gone sore from my fingertips music used to ooze but that was in a time I bathed in booze a body so weak and quivering like out in cold I'm shivering and now I lost my way Now I lost my chance From cocaine to heroine I rolled and rolled and rolled smoking the weed made me thrilled a way to believe i'm chilled i threw the life to pieces despised the archaic voices of my dear and near Just like an incognito in a city To be slain ignored is a pity Now I lay dying on my withered bed looking at  the earth to once I'll be fed And now I lost my way now I ...

Cold like a stone I went heedless, O you sensitive folk ! you are faithless, While some always try to be in a form I despise because attributions gathers no storm When genuine is severely persecuted, It's my thoughts that goes culpable. To cry when barbed by the perversion, is your habit of seeking conversion, from tensile to tender, for I may not, do things to reach a naught, but may fit as an anarchist before people who are hollowly altruistic Seeking haven is man's own brutality to his own pride and versatility, Throwing values at others faces, is what you can do when you hit the bottom of the vase Blind with prejudice you always try to drown, Seek respect but all you get is my frown. A despicable tomorrow is all you expect when it has turned a shadow for you I shed all my withered clad to be true to smell an air of scorn around me Materialism is your way to objectify but that is your stale version of hypocrisy to testify. It's your idea...

Knock Knock ! Some one has woken up again !