Category: Thoughts uncut

Why I Didn’t Read the Millennium Series

millenium

I started reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but I couldn’t even get past half of the book.

But the funny thing is that I hadn’t accepted it, until now. I tried giving it another try, again, and again. And again, and again I failed.

I just couldn’t get through it.

Perhaps it’s just me, I thought. But now, I’ve learnt to forgive myself; it’s the book. I just don’t like books like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

I only tried it because of two reasons: One, my book-freak cousin recommended it. Every time she spoke about the book, her eyes would sparkle with dream-like awe. She had warned be about the dull start, but she also told me how awesome it would get after that.

I never got to the interesting part. I couldn’t tolerate it that long.

Second reason: The title. I do this a lot. I judge a book by the cover, but more so by the title. And ever so often, I’ve been wrong. But I still stick to my instincts.

It was an attractive title. A story about a girl with a dragon tattoo. I like dragons, tattoos, and girls who get tattoos. I drooled at the title.

For all the drooling I did, the book disappointed me. With my cousin’s word, I had expected too much of the book. Perhaps it was my fault to set unrealistic expectations. Still, the fact is, I don’t like topics that the book addresses.

Of course, I enjoyed Lisbeth Salander’s attitude and arrogance. Sure, I could relate to Blomkvist’s thirst for recognition, but I did not enjoy the plot moving all over the place.

I’m uncomfortable with simultaneous subplots and empty scenes. A lot of slow-moving incidents threw me off the main plot, and I couldn’t find my way back with the same enthusiasm as before.

And so, I stopped reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I wanted to like the book. Just like so many others. People kept saying how great the book was, tying it with the author’s sinister death.

I couldn’t see it, though. I couldn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I tried, and I failed. And disappointed. I didn’t want to hate the book.

But shit happens.

Never Say Nay

Today’s prompt was a little weird. Deprive, it said. And I at once thought of a stern mother depriving her child of ice cream. That was too obvious. So I thought of one other thing you should never deprive yourself of. I came up with a list.

  • Sleep

Because, well, not sleeping for too long will kill you and no one wants that. Besides, what’s the worth of living if you don’t give yourself some time off?

  • Food

I couldn’t help it. I have a troubled relationship with food. Sometimes, I binge, and sometimes I cringe at food. But even I can’t say no to some bread and shredded chicken.

  • Love

People say it’s the most important thing for a human being. I’d agree, but only if it involves self-love. We live in a world that teaches young children to look in the mirror at hate what they see. And from what I know, a child who deprives self-love deprives life itself.

  • Books

Everyone should be able to read. It’s not just a gateway to worlds as mysterious as Narnia, but a book is a treasure to cherish. Plus, you’d look cool quoting Aristotle during a fancy dinner.

  • Coffee

To keep us going…

  • Tea

It’s not often that you see both tea and coffee in the same list, but I’m weird like that. I like my tea first thing in the morning. And I like it better when I make it myself. Because, sometimes, you just need tea.

  • Shakespeare

Never deprive yourself the treat that is Shakespeare. From “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,” to “Thou art as fat as butter,” to “All that glitters is not gold,” the man is too precious to ignore.

I might have left out a few, but that’s my list. What’s on your never-deprive-yourself-of list?

Life Goals

I wake everyday thinking to awe myself

I clock in earlier at work to awe my boss

I linger at the canteen to awe the woman

Regret wasting time, but awe her nevertheless

˙˙˙˙˙

I work late into night to awe my colleagues

Order for a fancy dinner to awe the waiter boy

And drown a pint of beer to awe the bartender

I’d throw up afterward, but awe them nevertheless

˙˙˙˙˙

I wake everyday thinking to awe myself.

And sleep at night thinking, “tomorrow.”

The Fun Plan

“The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins…”

There’s thrill, sure. And blood pumping through my veins. But there’s no chase. At least not the kind Sherlock meant. I’m chasing time instead.

Let’s start over.

We’re planning a trip to one of my favourite parts of India: Kerala. And I can’t sleep thinking about what to do, what to eat, and how to make it more than just another holiday.

There’s so much joy and excitement in planning for a trip. I’ve never fancied myself as a person sticking to plans and schedules. I like to just go with the flow. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy making plans.

phoebeEvery morning when I pick out the day’s clothes, my eyes land on that one pair of jeans, or that shirt that would be great to wear on the trip. Or when I’m munching on a new flavour of fries, I make a mental note to buy it for the ride. “Ma would enjoy it,” I’d tell myself. I browse through cakes online to get “an idea” of the kind of cake we should order.

I take a virtual tour of the route we would take, look for decent rest stops, snack shops, sweet stalls, and memento stores. I zoom in and “search nearby” on Google maps, looking for fancy restaurants and coffee shops.

I go on trip planning sites to read through reviews of speciality food, and I scroll through menus and imagine myself ordering steamed fish and savouring how well it goes with the fried rice.

And I plan my work around my trip. I’ve become extra productive this week, so I could be at peace when I leave. I beg my colleagues to finish tasks soon because I wouldn’t be at work to check them out next week. I’ll go around bragging to every tea lover that I’m off to holiday amidst tea estates.

And all the while, I pretend like I don’t even have a plan. But every night, as I twist and turn in bed, sleepless, I’m glad I’m a day closer to the trip.

For The Love of Gondolas

I was fourteen then. Everything that caught my eye caught my mind. Life was school. And school was a routine bore, with a few interesting classes thrown in at times. My text books and note books were all just calculations, corrections made in red ink, and the occasional green signature.

It was yet another day, yet another class, with yet another teacher asking us to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four. The faint Harry Potter reference was all the entertainment we had. That was until I saw the picture in that page. It was an English class and for reasons still bewildering, the lesson was about gondolas.

The Mysitc of Venice
Venitian majesticity

For some odd reason, I thought of orangutans. Perhaps it was the sound of the two words, or the colour of the picture facing me. Nevertheless, when I took in the word, gondola, I could only imagine an extra-large orangutan crouching itself inside a deep brown boat staring at the camera, and at me.

It took me a while to erase that image from my mind and look at the topic of discussion: Venice.

That’s how I fell in love with gondolas.

Now that I think of it, I don’t even remember the contents of that lesson. Except that it spoke of the no street Venice and the gondolas people used for transport. The idea fascinated me. I was never a fan of the Indian roadway system. Somehow it always makes me regret my food choices.

But this, this was genius. Travelling through the city in boats. I could picture the beauty of it, the environmental awareness in such a system. This was a time when global warming and pollution were so huge that they were essay topics for school students. Here was a city that boycotted them all. And I wanted to experience it, despite my aversion to all water bodies — I had taken swimming lessons for three years before my mother realised I wouldn’t do anything more than holding on to the edge of the pool with my head high above the water.

Staring at that pixellated picture of the gondola and the people in it, I realised I wanted to go to Venice. Just to ride around the city in a gondola.

For about three to five years after that, I didn’t think about Venice at all. It had become one of those school-days’ fantasy that people only cherish when they grow too old to pull themselves off their armchairs.

But one day, I thought back to the tingling sensation I had felt when I saw that picture in my text-book.

Craving for more, and clearer photos, I went looking for Venice and gondolas in Pinterest. The next thing I knew, I had created a board to collect all the beautiful Venice photos I could find. I still don’t know what good that would do, but that’s how love works: you never know why.

So Venice is my ideal destination. I’ve spent a lot of waking hours and much more sleeping hours wondering how I’d go to Venice. Or if I’d go at all. It didn’t take long for me to realise, going to Venice was no big deal. At least the dreaming part of it wasn’t.

I’d go alone. Because I haven’t found that one person who’s worth going with, and I don’t want to wait if I could go instead.

When? Tomorrow if possible, but this is just a plan so I’d leave the “when” to availability of flights and possibility of cash.

Where? Venice, of course. Perhaps once I’ve seen enough of Venice, I’d go somewhere else, but I’m not the kind to draw out detailed itineraries. I’d go where my gut takes me.

However, I’d like to make a stop in Bulgaria and Croatia on the way. I have no idea what’s best in either countries, but people don’t talk much about them, and I’d take that as a sign these countries need more travellers.

Oh, and since I’m already landing on Italian soil, I might as well pay a visit to the Colosseum, make a tribute to Madame Nightingale’s birthplace, and say hello to a few models in Milan. And once I’m done mingling with the tourists, I’d traverse away to some of the less known parts of Italy. Grab a pizza at Crotone, maybe, and spend a day watching Friends.

And then, when I’m ready to come back, I’d go back to Venice again, thank the gondoliers for a few more rides, and return with memories worth bragging about.

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