The End of the Mess of Guy Ritchie

I welcome 2012 lamenting the failed directorial antics of Guy Ritchie in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. This is rather dismal for me, given that I assumed myself to be a Ritchie follower (Holmes, as well - but I assure myself this fact will remain so perennially).
Ritchie, the presenter of a beautiful mess in his earlier films - take Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Snatch, Revolver and RocknRolla - and the forte with which Ritchie seals the fate of these films into halls of glory is sorely missed in Holmes 2. I'm afraid Ritchie's downfall is inevitable, unless he can find a resurrection, but we are informed that Guy Ritchie is plunging into an espionage project? Is that wise? His protagonists aren't swanky or gadget-wielding heroes; they are in fact the small-time crooks, unorganized and 'messy'. This is what makes Ritchie 'Ritchie' - the mess he creates with his plots, simultaneous sub-plots, confusions, unabashed action are missing in Holmes 2. Therefore, my outburst to Ritchie:

Dear Mr. Guy Ritchie,

Sherlock is calculating, strategic and never leaving anything to chance, but your characters are not - they are 'messy', without a plan, and their salvation (if any) is always out of a mere chance. Sherlock is not for you to articulate - it does not suit your signature. It is now decided that Sherlock Holmes is too competent for your competency in creating the 'incompetent character' (a characterization style that made You). With regret, I inform you that your attempt at Holmes 2 has clearly failed.

A thoroughly dejected follower.

Table of sorts

Making a table using recycled materials: wooden fruit crates and writing boards. All I had to do was purchase 50 gms of one inch nails, a hammer, sandpaper (60) and transparent wood varnish - a total cost of Rs.150 only!
Since, I'd picked up the wooden crates from the scrapyard behind my office, I had to 'sterilize' and dry the boxes out in the sun for a few hours. The most difficult part was sandpapering the wood - you will need goggles and a face mask (and a shower after!). I'm putting up some pictures of the work in progress...also sharing a paper puppet that my friend (Koonal) made for me.

Lampshade of sorts

Made from rolled-up glossy magazine pages, and stacked them (using white resin glue) on a cardboard frame. Used cloth cord to create a knotted chain on the top of the stack (border).

Monothoughts of an Aging Individual

Can't sleep at night. My day's aren't helpful either. When I was young, I was carefree. No fear. Who knows where it came from. Maybe, time. Guess it's not easy to tell, to tell if there is freedom. The chains that hold you are invisible. And yet, it bogs you down. The past comes back to haunt constantly. Those who love you are not enough. Often, peace comes in solace. They say, we of the softer sensibilities act tough. It's more complicated than what it seems on the surface. Scratching off that surface can be a challenge. Not, when you know someone. But then, who says happiness lasts a lifetime. The end goal in itself is after all a search for the ultimate...in everything. Until then, fear always remains. Like a shadow that wouldn't leave you alone. And that is the problem. That we're in a constant search, while happiness is momentary. Quickly fading. Swiftly gone. Unless, we keep up with that movement. To grasp it is within my power, I keep reminding myself. The lines on my face is a reminder of that race. The scars on my feet continue to tell that story--------------

Bobbles and Lace Scarf - Finished project

Bobbles & Lace Scarf

This was done some months ago, but I finally remembered to put up the pictures.

'Eye' Make-up

To the sound
of husky LaMontagne
singing Trouble
and his soft strums
playing
on the radio
the day begins.
Made my eyes
while thinking of you.
A smile,
whisper,
the familiar scent.
The buzz from the  fan
cools the humid air
this sultry morning.
Taking a step back
I see
the lines are drawn
curved
but, like I wanted.
I smile.

A Tale about the Sublimating Notions of Entirety

Mere gestures - a flicker of an eye, a slight turn of the head, a wistful look, a breaking smile curving at the edge of the red lips, a sip of tea from that blue porcelain cup leaving a mark on the brim – mere gestures, she thought. This was her. And yet why was it that she kept looking at these gestures, she wondered.

Perhaps it brought back memories of her days gone by, of sitting by the courtyard in her ancestral home; or overlooking the cliff, seagulls calling out their mates; smoking her cigarette and blowing the smoke while watching the wind trail it away, here and there. Smoke...it reminded her of when she tried to build a fire on a fishing trip with her father. Her eyes red from blowing the twigs. It must have been damp, and so making her eyes water from the smoke and yet no fire. She remembered feeling frustrated, while her dad was gutting the fish behind the tent, but she didn't want to ask for help. She had to prove that she could build a fire, be as smart as a boy...for the boy her parents never had. Fire...it reminded her of the warmth she felt in her heart and trailing down to her groin when she first saw him; of the burning candle on the dinner table when he proposed to her; of the time when her first child breathed the first gulp of air screaming and kicking. She had more memories, just wasn't able to recollect them, she wanted to think more but all she could see was light, white and bright. Not glaring but warm and welcoming... “Mrs...can you hear me? Can you hear me?”...the voices were fading and she started to walk towards the light. She no longer had memories. She was at peace.

The oversized machine near the hospital bed gave a long beep, until the nurse switched it off. The man declared, “She's gone. Call the family”.