We got our new numberplates on Saturday and I came home while K got the car inspection done at a govt-authorised private inspection centre, dropping me off on our way back from the dealer's centre at Raritan. I prepared lunch, a simple repast really but a rather gloomy one, if you take the weather into consideration. The latter is becoming moodier by the day, so that we are rolling our trackpants into shorts one evening and freezing under the comforter while watching TV, the very next day. And it's not really so bad unless it's raining. Then it's properly depressing. It makes you just want to go back to bed, wanting to wake up to a clear blue sky, lush greenery and sunshine streaming onto your warm face. Anyway, we settled down to watch a movie after that. 'Shoot on Sight' seemed rather cliched in terms of storyline and slow in terms of narrative progression, so we moved onto something more light and lively, namely 'EMI'. Unfortunately, the last part didn't seem to be available but what the heck...we got to watch the film first day, first show (well, not exactly perhaps, but it felt like that) and we liked it. Or as much of it as was within our access. Of course, we were lucky enough to locate the last part the very next day. It was a bit of a letdown. The slowly and smartly built up quartet of drama and crises seemed to resolve itself all too hurriedly, so that what was gained in terms of time was definitely lost in terms of credibility and audience satisfaction.
That reminds me. I've been reading a collection of 5 Agatha Christie novels entitled: ' Murderers Abroad' : Five Complete Novels'. Three of these novels (They Came to Baghdad, So Many Steps to Death and Passenger to Frankfurt) run concurrently on a fairly complicated plot against a bizarre backdrop, anarchy and conspiracy in and around the times of the post-cold war and in the sombre aftermath of the first world war. One motif is strangely similar, the inconspicuous - because plain and naive looking - woman getting to the bottom of it all by simply letting the villainous lot interpret her in the most obvious manner, thereby underestimating the worth of her solid common sense. This struck a chord with me as it reminded me of several instances when my mother/sister or a certain friend insisted on a particular person or incident making them feel uneasy and I had just shrugged it off as nerves. They were almost always annoyingly right. Whereas my father always overlooked these gut feelings, dismissing them as feminine fears and now K seems to do the same, as if concrete evidence could always account for something that later goes irretrievably wrong. I think all these people (the nervy ones) might have one thing in common, the fine power of perception combined with an instinct for survival that unconsciously alerts them to a potential crisis , thereby making it easier to react to people and situations who/that may be too opaque to the rest of us, futilely trying to balance the logical and the lyrical.
I never respected the Kolkata weather until I had to be at the rceiving end of snowfall in Oct and minus temperatures dropping sharply in Nov. Titai, my nonod informs me that it's still hot and humid there and that's a saving grace when you consider all the successive outdoor festivities, where the weather does make a marked difference to the extent people do or do not enjoy themselves. Here it's a bit scary as influenza is secretly at large and flu shots have been made available at your nearest pharmacy for $30.
It's tough if you have long hair. You get dandruff both when you wash it and it doesn't dry fast due to lack of sunshine and even when you don't wash it often enough. It's just a matter of choosing what type of dandruff you'd rather have. The hairfall is equal for both dry and oily dandruff, by the way, FYI. I was all for cropping my hair short and growing it back after winter here, which would mean post-March (post-April, if I'm singularly unfortunate). It wasn't a happy thought, considering the frustratingly long time my hair took to reach the mid-back length and I was petrified at the thought of all the oiling, shampooing, conditioning, seruming and hair-spaing I would have to do to regain the lost treasure...er, I mean tresses. K was traumatised at the very notion of re-trimming my hair (I had subjected him to that torture a month and a half back) and bought me a hair-dryer at the very next opportunity. Now, I wash my hair twice a week and dry it immediately afterwards. It seems I might not go bald after all.
We also watched 'The Omen' on Saturday evening. This was my latest sortie into the arena of apocalyptic reel fiction and I must admit that it was scary enough to satisfy my gargantuan appetite for the supernatural in Christian religious mythology. It took me back to my 'Exorcist', 'End of Days' and 'Stigmata' period, which I didn't recall with much nostalgia until now. I guess I haven't paid my preferences much of their dues. But I think I can afford to do that now, with a 100 mb/sec net connection at my service. I love the thought of being scared !!!
