Review: Gilian Flynn: Dark Places

I was never going to buy this book. Sure I was interested when I read its reviews when the book but when it came down to it, I wasn't sure if I wanted to spend a lot of money on an author I was not quite sure about as yet.

Thank god I read this book. I picked it up at the San Francisco airport during a recent vacation when I realised that I was facing two 10 hour flight journeys on the way back home and just was not feeling sleepy enough. This was just some book that was displayed prominently at some random bookstore in the airport but what happened was something quite magical - I was hooked within three pages.

The book introduces us to the ever unreliable :Libby Day, a protagonist you simply cannot trust. As a child she testified against her own brother as having killed her mother and her sisters and is now living life as a drifter. One day she is contacted by a group obsessed with solving murder mysteries and her already pathetic life is turned upside down.

What I loved about the book was its lucid voice. Right from the beginning you learn to empathise with Libby's life and her setbacks.But she is no saint and you are wholly aware of it. You are also point of view chapters from both her mother and brother dating back to the 80s when the ill-fated murder took place.

The Days are a filthy family. They are filthy people. It's not just a matter of hygiene. They simply are the kind of people one would generally avoid interacting with. The kids are always dirty and up to no good and the mother is a sad stretched woman who fantasises about dying because she simply can't take it anymore. What more, she is not a very good mother to begin with. And all that is reflected beautifully pages after pages in this gem of a book that unfolds like a thriller.

The book at once works as a commentary on poverty and also a taut murder mystery where nothing is as it seems and where everyone has a hidden agenda and there is no decent human being and everyone lies. At the heart of it all is a damn good story and a great plot that never loses its pace. At one point you are almost peeking at the next page to see what's in store for you. And what makes it truly wonderful is that you almost feel like you are one of the Days by middle of the book. You feel dirty.

I was not entirely convinced by the ending but the ride was so enjoyable that I can't complain. I loved reading this book and definitely would recommend it to not only fans of thrillers but also ones who love a good story.

It's out of stock in Flipkart but if you can get your hands on this book, don't miss the chance! www.flipkart.com/dark-places/p/itmczyzfjysk5dun?pid=9780753827031&otracker=from-search&srno=t_1&query=dark+places&ref=58113a6b-0159-41cc-88a8-fa105353fce2

The truth about my prayer

I am not hip or cool or whatever it is kids call it these days.

I am a child. A woman. A girl. A human.

And while I often wonder if there is a god out there who has time to watch over 6 billion people and billions more animals and plants,

on one measly planet in one measly solar system in one massive universe.

I can't help it. I pray. 

I pray because I am alive. 

In a universe where there could be millions of possibilities, there is only one me.

Now isn't that a miracle by itself? 

I am a miracle, I say...a pulsating, messy miracle! I pray.

I am always afraid.

Of that boy looking at me.

Of clowns, of heights, of aeroplanes, of failing...of succeeding.

But I am afraid. Isn't that just great? 

My fear is proof that I existed.

So I pray. 

I think of that dark night huddled under the stars, watching the millions of stars sparkling over me.

It was so bloody beautiful that I never slept. I watched the sun rise and start putting out those little lights one by one.

And yet the next day, I knew those stars would come out to once again play.

How lucky am I to witness that? How can I not pray? 

I think of the people who have hurt me.

Ones that I spent many days wishing them...well I wished terrible things upon them.

But don't judge me harshly, for I am only human. 

And even though I have been hurt by many a man and woman, I still go and happily place my heart in the hands of yet another one, doomed to perhaps make the same mistakes.

Call me naive but that's ok. 

It gives me reason to pray.

I think of that day in my childhood past when I should have died.

Confronted by a monster both real and at once imaginary, my feet carried me to safety.

My heart carried those scars but they too will heal one day. 

I pray. 

It's not that I am looking for something when I pray.

At least I don't think I am...

I am just grateful for what I have

It may not be much.

I am still confused about everything in my life.

And my football team may never win a trophy.

I may never marry a prince or a movie star.

And everything I have could easily be packed into two bags.

But I am here. I am part of someone's future. I am part of someone's present.

And I am already part of someone's past. 

And that means I exist for all time...infinite, like the universe.

That's gratitude my friend, for my life that is both long and incredibly short.

I smile. I pray.

And no, I don't know if there is a god out there who cares about anything I have to say.

A god who cares that I really want George R R Martin to live so I know what happens in the books that he writes.

A god who cares that I really hate Justin Beiber and I really love Jane Austin.

A god who knows that when people say hurtful things to me, I hurt for days. 

A god who cares that I really want my niece to share my love for books.

But here's what I know and while it may not be much, it's the reason I pray.

I have people I love to hug. People who may want to hug me back as well. 

I have books and music and an endless supply of television shows and movies.

I have two feet and I run. 

I have an old ancient pair of shorts, that my mom would dearly love to throw away but I keep hidden away. 

So if it so happens that one day, I meet the man or woman upstairs.
I wouldn't expect to reap the benefits of a life hopefully lived well. 

I would tell that person - dude let's hug.

You need a hug and people tell me my hugs are bloody awkward.

So let's embrace.

And pray. 

Thank you Mr Ebert

Thank you Mr Ebert

It was 2am in the morning, when I read a report that said that celebrated critic Roger Ebert had passed away. Generally I only pause when a celebrity passes away but this time around, it hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes welled up and I couldn't choke back my tears. My favourite writer, critic, human being, the man whose opinion I trusted more than my own had passed away and I was lost.

It would not be an understatement to say that I love movies. Even now I watch up to three films a week eschewing even sleep at times and there is so much more left to explore. I came across Roger Ebert's website when I was teenager, just out of school. Up until that point, I only watched the usual popcorn fare that made box office noise and nothing more and the movies a person with a basic cable connection had access to. But Ebert introduced me to a world so fantastic and wondrous - he introduced me to a world where a great movie not only exists but is also appreciated for its merits and not its stars and a bad is rightfully derided for being, well bad.

With his guidance, I learnt to understand movies from the perspective of its screenplay, the direction, the acting, the background music. It wasn't just about enjoying a film anymore but rather seeing it for all its nitty gritties. I understood what he wrote and he patiently, through humour and empathy guided me. I discovered filmmakers like Errol Morris, Ingmar Bergman and Billy Wilder through him. I still remember the day I read his review on Some like it Hot and rushed to find a copy to view it. That movie was splendid and I laughed so hard that it hurt my sides. He was right as always.

It's not an exaggeration at all to claim that I have read every single review on his website (I have spent close to seven years visiting his website several times a week; do the Math) and have watched nearly 80 per cent of the movies that he recommended (his website has a section titled Great Movies filled with thought provoking analysis of the best films). I read his top 10 lists at the end of each year and even though I didn't always agree with him (I still cannot forgive him for hating Fight Club, a movie I love), I respected his opinion nonetheless. It remains my instinct to this day to immediately Google his review, the second a movie is out. I don't trust any other voice but his own. He was the man who introduced me to Jaws, ET, 3 Sisters, The Seventh Seal, The Graduate, The Godfather, Psycho and more movies than I can list. And today he is gone.

I had a teacher when I was pursuing post graduation from a very prominent communication's institute in the country. This teacher was supposed to take classes on film appreciation but more often than not, his classes were pure torture for me. He put down students for having opinions different from his own and he always made me feel inferior for loving Star Wars. Why am I talking about this teacher, you ask? Well, I thought of him briefly as I read the news about Roger Ebert. It was the period in my life, when watching films was a chore rather than something I did out of passion. Then I read Ebert's review of 500 Days of Summer. It was a movie I loved and it turned out, he loved the movie too. And he was able to articulate, in ways I couldn't why that film spoke to me on an emotional level. The teacher who was paid to teach me to appreciate movies very nearly killed that passion in me but Roger Ebert was the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe that's the reason I feel lost and despondent today. He was my teacher. He was my guide and at times when I direly needed a laugh, he was my tonic for that too (do read his reviews on Movie 43 and North to truly appreciate his caustic yet amazing sense of humour).

He was also one of my inspirations. Cancer or not, voice or not, he never gave up. He kept chugging on, watching movies and spreading his love and passion to the rest of the world. He interacted actively through his website and blog and no matter what life threw at him, he was never down. So, Mr Roger Ebert, I hope you are at peace where ever you are. I hope you know that you have touched the lives of millions through your passion (and your active Tweets which I loved). I hope you are in heaven right now watching the movies you love, by directors you love. I will think of you when I watch a bad movie. I will take you with me when I watch a good one.

Thank you Chetan Bhagat for saving and changing me

Dear Mr Bhagat,

I don't know you very well but I consider myself your victim, having read two of your books (Five Point Someone and Two States). I read the former because I bent down to peer pressure and read what everyone else was reading at the time much to my own disappointment and read the latter because a friend insisted that I was exactly like the female protagonist (side note: just because I am also an Iyer from South India does not mean I am anything like the horrendous female protagonist in the book!).

Anyway it is sufficient to say I am familiar with your (bad) prose and therefore as a rule I avoid your column in Times of India and refuse to venture anywhere near your blog for the sake of my own sanity. However unfortunately for me, your words always seem to seep into popular culture (i.e Facebook) and I find myself wondering why anyone would take you seriously. I have however for the most part kept my peace because frankly my dear I could not care any less. However I could not help myself, when I chanced upon your blog on women's day where you have given women advice on how to change themselves for the better. (http://www.chetanbhagat.com/columns/five-things-women-need-to-change-about-themselves/). I wanted to respond to your highly scientific take on women. Bear with me for a few moments (the emotional fool that I am) and hear what I have to say here.

The first behaviour that needs to end is the constant desire to judge other women. Women are hard on themselves. 

Right at the beginning you have characterised all women as being catty and judgmental.  I am not going to sit here and say that I have never judged anyone in my entire life but rather want to point out that everyone judges and it is not an exclusive trait reserved only for women. According to (Everybody judges) statistics a "first impression is formed in the first 7 to 17 seconds itself. This first impression is based 55 percent on appearance, 7 percent on the words we use during course of our conversation and 38 percent on the tone of the voice" Scientifically it has been proved that everyone is judgmental.I am not hard on my own gender but rather on whole of humanity. So, next time you ask women to stop being such "gossip girls", you might want to take a good hard look at yourself and see how you have in the past judged women severely and frankly quite stupidly. (http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-07-29/all-that-matters/32923106_1_indian-men-new-woman-life-partners)

The faking needs to end. A common female trait is the relatively quick adaptation to feed male egos.

Oh lord. Where do I begin? Feed male egos? Hardly Mr Bhagat. I suppose no man has ever pretended to have an interest in some random romantic comedy or tv show or a book in order to impress a woman. Men would NEVER stoop to such a level where they have to fake it to make it? I have to the best of my knowledge never pandered to a man just so he would like me but I see no problem in telling a white lie either in order to make someone feel better. Oh both my mother and my father have in occassion lied to one another in order to make the other feel better about a particular situation in life. It's not called pandering Mr Bhagat, it's called being a partner. It's called love. Like I said, I have never pandered to another man in my entire life but I look forward to the day, when I have to hold someone's hand and tell them everything is going to be all right even when I know it's not. Why? Because I want to know what it's like to be in love and really mean it. As long as I don't lose my identity, I should be fine. Thank you for your concern but you can keep it.

Too many Indian women are emotional fools 
Seriously dude,  I am trying to be polite here and you go and call me an emotional fool. I am not even going to justify that behaviour other than to merely point out that there is nothing wrong in at times being emotional or a fool or both. NOTHING.


Women need to become more ambitious and dream bigger.
What does this mean exactly? That even though I am a reporter in a reputed daily, armed with a  Masters degree from a reputed institute and happen to be as a good as anyone at my job, I somehow lack ambition? Please define ambition Mr Bhagat. Is it to get ahead at work? Is it to earn money? To be happy in life? To have a successful family? To be able to brag about having written Harry Potter fiction? Ambition and dreams are subjective and different for everyone. My dream may be to have my football team (Arsenal...Gunners forever!) win the league or to some day run an NGO all by myself. Who are you to judge what my scale for success is?

Don’t be too trapped in the drama of relationships
Oddly enough, this is what truly pissed me off in the article. You are telling me to be selfish here. What makes you think I am not already selfish? Why have you already pigeonholed me into Mother Teresa? Do you know women at all Mr Bhagat? I am confused, happy, angry, emotional, opinionated, passive, funny, redundant, competitive, selfish, self centered and even selfless. Sometimes, all at the same time.  But it's not because I am a woman....it's because I am me. An individual. Prone to my own flaws and addicted to my own mistakes. They make me who I am. By giving me attributes without having ever met me is an insult to me and women everywhere. So stop it. Stop telling men to "choose" working women because housewives are "phulkas". Stop telling women to "change" themselves. And please invest some time, energy and money in taking some creative writing courses. You don't have to be Shakespeare but at least you should be capable of stringing two sentences together without falling into cliched traps. Thanks.

Love,
Aishhwariya Subramanian

It's not right but it's okay

Marina Keegan is a young graduate from Yale. She is 22 years old. She studied English in one of the greatest and oldest universities in the world and she is planning to start working for the New Yorker. I never met Marina. In fact, I never knew who this person existed until I read her essay - The opposite of Loneliness. She wrote it as her final column for Yale Daily News. Her words are an exuberant celebration of life, the confusion of youth and a dogged determination to live life to the fullest. I cried reading the essay as it was so beautifully written. It spoke about things I knew and understood. The only thing I did not understand? Marina died days after turning in this column due to a car accident. She wanted to live. She did not want to be lonely. She was confused and excited about being young. She just wasn't alive to see her promising life through.

"We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life." These are the words with which she begins and ends her poignant essay. Keegan wrote that now is as good as any time to to embark on a new adventure and that it is ridiculous to lament the hopelessness of life, because life is not hopeless. Marina's words are what I believe in during the good days and what I want to believe in during bad days. I know many people my age and even younger than me who complain about dead-end lives and dead-end jobs, not realising that most of the problems they face can be easily fixed if only they could fix their attitudes...their outlooks. Marina understood that. She understood about being young and what a confusing time it is to make decisions. We are all bogged by the realisation that most of the decisions we take right now will present us with consequences that will last a lifetime. What we don't realise is that, it is never too late to start over.

In yet another searing insight, Keegan notes - "We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that’s okay." That's okay. What wonderful and yet easy words to use. Nothing fancy about those words and yet are so healing. Sure, we may screw up our lives beyond recognition at some point or the other (some more often than others), but it is important to know that it's okay. It's okay. The situation may be less than ideal but it's okay. Marina understood that. We may fail at work, with family, with friends or with love. But it's okay. We are young (always). And we can always begin all over again.

I know complaining is the easiest thing to do. But Marina can't complain about how unfair fate is because she is dead. If you are alive enough to complain, you should be grateful enough to live. Her words inspired me. They made me cry. I shed tears for a girl I had never met and never knew until she died. But I have always believed that reading what someone has written, is one of the most personal ways of getting to know them. So, I know Marina. I hold onto to her words. I hold onto to her hope. And I hope someone else gets to read her words and is inspired as well. It's easy to complain but it is so much better to say that everything's okay and try and fix the bad situation. Being lost and confused (especially at our age) is normal and it's okay. But let's not bog ourselves down with the negativity of what it represents but rather celebrate the fact that we can always get right back up and keep going. To start afresh. To make lives our own. Our decisions our own. The consequences of our lives are also our own. There is no such thing as a hopeless situation but there is such as thing as a new beginning. Marina you may be gone now but your voice has been heard. The world is not done with you yet. 

Marina's Final Essay

I am not a cliche

No. Just no. I am really tired of people thinking that the only things girls can think about is when they will get married. No. I can't emphasise how much I hate that generalisation and how wrong it is. And it weakens the sex further by making it look like a woman cannot participate in another's good news without a twinge in her heart and wondering when it will be her turn.

Why? Why run after marriage as an institution as a goal? Does happily ever after only begin there? Does life become roses and other crappy flowers the moment a woman and a man decide to sign a paper stating that maybe they will spend their lives together? Why do women themselves sometimes perpetuate the idea that they are running out of time? What are we running out of? I hate so much when people whine when others get good news. Life is a graph, sometimes you are ahead, sometimes it's someone else's turn. Be it career or relationships...the drill is the same. No one wins all the time and if you kept winning, it loses it charm and power. So, it's ok if you are married or unmarried. If you employed or completely without employable skills. Life will get you your turn and when you let is happen naturally, rather than forcing it, it will feel right. It will feel wonderful.

As for me, I am genuinely happy that so many people I know and care about are tying the knot. No, I am not ready for anything like that but I am not going begrudge anyone for taking that step in life. I admire their courage for being ready to make a commitment but I want to be free. In the meantime, I will dress up to the tens and show up to as many weddings and whatevers as possible. They are fun. They are free food and they are one more reason to celebrate life. And no, I will not sit in a corner wondering when it will be my turn. My life is too full for that. I have too many friends. I love my family and I love my job. How many people can brag about that? My life is full and I am ok and I refuse te be turned into a cliche.

A state of love: A Handbook for the diehard romantic

First act: Introduction aka why I am the way I am
I am in love. Ok, let me re-phrase that...I have always been in love. My first recollection of falling in love, was when I was about three or four years old and I saw this kid wearing a red cap, when I was on vacation and I knew that the pit in the bottom of my stomach has nothing to do with indigestion. Since then, I have never stopped being in love...(not with that kid...we literally grew apart when our parents dragged us both back home after the vacation).

Being in love all the time however can be exhausting and in my opinion should be avoided if you can help it. Take it from someone who doesn't just fall in love with idiots on the road. I fall in love with fictional characters, I fall in love with music and books and television shows and friends and burgers (ok I actually HATE burgers) and work and dogs and unicorns and butterflies...(again an exaggeration...I HATE butterflies) and pretty much anything on the face of this planet. I have read that being in love is a feeling so intense, that you feel sick pretty much all the time...your head is always a bit woozy and lightheaded and you tend to piss everyone off because you are so damn happy (woozy) all the time. Well, fellow diehard the romantic, the answer I give you will shock you to the core - it is all true.

Living in a heightened state of happiness where a cow pooping will remind you of a song, is going to piss half the world off. That's ok. You still love them for being "adorably grouchy". Go ahead, say this to the genius who is ticked off that you are happy - it pisses them off more. Perfect. However I have come to realise that the perpetual state of being in love is a scary thing in this world...so here are a few tips I have always found handy, when I realise I have started swooning over something as redundant as, well a cow pooping on the road...(but really what is not to love about that? I have seen it only once and I thought it was the most brilliant thing ever! LOVED IT).

Second act: The actual meat of the story...you can just skip to this part if you want to know nothing about me

DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH A FICTIONAL CHARACTER
See how I put that all in all-caps? Well, it's true. On my deathbed, if someone asked me, who I would love to kick the most in hell, (because let's face it...am I really heaven material?), I will unflinchingly say - "Jane Austen". That bitch ruined my life. No one could possibly find a Mr Darcy or a Mr Knightley...but I might spend the rest of my life thinking those bloody perfect specimens of fictional literature might actually exist. Ugh. Note to future generations who are just now picking up their copies of Pride and Prejudice...just put that book back in the shelf and walk away. You are not Elizabeth Bennet and even if you are, unfortunately there is no Mr Darcy. Oh and Jane Austen? That bitch died single.

Don't make music your only priority in life
Sure being a music snob will give you street cred (with no one) but spending your life listening to music, can screw your head (and could unintentionally turn you into a diehard). Now even when you are brushing your hair, you will suddenly find yourself humming "Eye of the Tiger". You will end up thinking that your life (like in the movies) comes with its own soundtrack and that all the lyrics will come true. It's cute but deadly. It will kill you. Or you will spend hours boring everyone you know about the music you listen to and the music they should be listening to. Honey, take it from experience, stop stalking musicians on the internet and well, get a life. It's a little late for me but I wish you the best. (Cue in Greenday's Time of your life, at this point. The song really fits this moment).

You! Yes, you! Stop staring at the night sky, it's freaking people out!
Ok so you are listening to Cat Steven's, The Wind, and you just want to lie on your back under the stars and just be in the moment...well, stop that, go back home and switch on the news. Staring at the stars is how one becomes a diehard romantic. Those bloody stars, who think they are soooo pretty, will literally burn you. (No really if you ever come too close to a star, keep away, they are pretty from a distance but up close they are just hot gas...much like love). Oh and if someone catches you staring at the night sky, you are screwed cause they think you are nuts. So, be smart and come up with an awesome excuse...example - "Oh I was just waiting to spot a UFO". This example will make you sound sane and smart and scientific.

Know your limit
Falling in love with a fictional character (damn you Mr Darcy! You perfect perfect human!), may not actually be the worst thing that could happen to you. That would be falling in love with Royalty. My personal experience had me falling in love with Prince William as I watched Lady Diana's funeral on tv at age 8. I have since had mixed feelings for both the Royalty and funerals. Unless you have found a way to lock eyes with the object of your affection, best not to fantasise about the big rock that the good Prince will give you...cause one day the good Prince will give it to the bitch Kate Middleton. Sigh. Yes, it has been known to happen, so know your limit. Movie stars however are ok but make sure they are not dead or about to die. I will never be able to marry Jimmy Stewart, Shashi Kapoor, Gregory Peck or Jack Lemmon and my heart will never heal. You have been warned.

Books make you smart, stop reading them
They also fill your head with ideas and give you unrealistic expectations and really, why bother? I have always found that while reading a book, I sometimes mimic one of the characters. I am guessing this is true for other diehards out there. If so, I suggest you steer clear of books where the central character is a murderer or a hooker who makes a rich man fall in love with her. Which leads me to my last piece of advice...
DO NOT DAYDREAM ABOUT BECOMING A HOOKER
This goes to all the idiots who watched Pretty Woman and wanted Richard Gere. First of all, the hooker should look like Julia Roberts in order to have someone like Richard Gere fall in love with her. Second of all, honey you should not be daydreaming about becoming a hooker! Now if you are clever, you will say - "But Aishu, didn't you watch/read Breakfast at Tiffany's? Holly Golightly was a hooker! Surely you want to be Holly Golightly". To that I say, fair point. Just one question, is there is a mirror nearby? There is? Ok good. Now stare at it for a second. Do you look like Audrey Hepburn? No? Shocking. Ok, you can stop staring now. That should be reason enough for you to stop fantasising about becoming a hooker. Just STOP IT.

Third act - the end
Ok, this was my unsolicited advice. Feel free to throw it out of the window even without reading. I won't mind as I am currently staring at a pink unicorn and already in love again...but while it is too late for me (which is why I am termed very scientifically - hopeless), you can still turn around and become a pragmatic and serious and sad and quiet person. I wish you well.

Epilogue
P.S If you are going to be a diehard, do NOT list Titanic or Twilight as your favourite films. I will hunt you down just to kill you. They are NOT LOVE stories and they are stupid and dumb and ugly and my hatred for them is actually yet another post in the making.