Under the Marula

“He’ll come”, she thought as she sat down under the marula tree, resting her head on its strong trunk.

The sun’s yellow rays pierced through the branches of the marula, the heat stinging her body. She shifted a little so the sun wasn’t in her eyes. The agamas were out; their soft scratching noises on the bark of the marula created a hypnotic, buzzing harmony.

“Oh how the sun wears one out,” she mused as her head drooped in a sleepy daze.

She woke up. The sky was drenched in the orange blood of the setting sun. Above her, the marula fruit hung deliciously, its intoxicating scent wafting through the air. The heat lingered on without the slightest breeze to usher it away. She felt cool and damp, her skin soaked thanks to the blazing sun all-day. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper as it clung desperately to the roof of her mouth.

It wouldn’t be too long now.

She opened her eyes with a start. Dusk was cloaking the savanna. The last of the sunbeams danced from branch to branch, trying to escape their inevitable fate. A crisp breeze floated in bringing a welcome chill with it. Out in the distance, hunters were stretching out of their slumber; the hunted were retreating into the safety of their warm huddles and the scavengers circled the air, spectators to the bloodbath of the night.

A few vultures hung nearby – an animal was about to breathe its last somewhere close. She felt sorry for the waning creature, as it lay there alone, waiting for Death to come and claim it. No loved ones, no farewells, just the bottom feeders waiting; watching with cold eyes. And a cold heart.

She wept quietly under the marula for the lonely innocent, the tears streaking her face. Darkness closed in.

The next morning, newspapers lamented the rise of poaching in the area, when yet another elephant, was found stabbed to death, her long tusks pulled out from her face.

Forest rangers found her under a marula tree, her head resting against its strong trunk.

A Rant against Music Snobbery

Hey hipster, when I say I am not into indie music, why do you shun me?

Does that mean we can have nothing to talk about,

share in common, friends ever be?

Tell me another thing Hipster, for it makes no sense to me.

Why do you abandon your favorite band

when they get oh-so-poular and mainstream?

Seriously!

Are you so shallow, that its hard for you to say you like them

And maintain your integrity?

Who cares if more people like it with you?

Is it a universe-shatteringly important detail I do not see?

Hey Hipster, explain to me

How discussing music is much better than listening to it

How can one talk for hours about the percussion and the bass of that band in that song from that album

But not even be able to play an instrument at all

Not “I used to play but it broke so now i don’t”

No no

Rather “I never fuckin' learnt it” ever

But mask that handicap lest anyone see

Mask it by spewing all forms of assorted music geekery.

Hey Hipster, tell me, if u dont know every band in the world,

Why do you expect me to?

And why can we not talk about anything else

Outside of the comfort zone confines you adhere to?

TimBurtonland

Curiouser and curiouser.

That about sums up Tim Burton’s version (complete with a Disney filter) of Alice in Wonderland. It’s not one of his best, but certainly not the worst.

If you are expecting an exact depiction of the Lewis Caroll’s masterpiece ala Harry Potter, this is not that movie. Is that bad? Not really. If you’ve already seen the Disney cartoon, you’ve got the gist. Better yet, read the book - even LSD-powered imagination can't top it.

I personally applaud Burton’s bold take on the story – in that he created an entirely new one with the original cast (take a hint – Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag, psssh).

The film begins on a baby Alice interrupting her father’s business expansion plans to talk about her nightmares – one where she is chasing a rabbit in a waistcoat. Zip to 13 years into the future, where Alice is being passive-aggressively forced to marry a bloke who has the runs. And a runny nose.

Rather than surrendering to her fate, Alice prefers to follow her waistcoated rabbit down the hole. She travels all of Wonderland, sneaks into the Red Queen’s court, runs off with an Excalibur-like sword to eventually kill a monster and end the Red Queen’s reign of terror.

Predictable? Yes. Delightful? Equally.

Clever little touches abound. For example, the Red Queen’s heart shaped lips. Her court full of people with some kind of enormity – heads, chins, ears or paunches. Or the swollen pig thrust under the Red Queen’s feet to soothe them.

Speaking of which, Helena Bonham-Carter delivers in heaps as the Red Queen. She makes you loathe the character and feel sorry for her at the same time. Mia Whateverhername’s attempt at a confused Alice comes off as a stupid Alice, not withstanding the blonde hair. Anne Hathway as the White Queen looked like a creepy version of Gaya with black nails and silvery hair.

The biggest disappointment however was Johnny Depp, who felt wasted in this movie. Asking him to play the Mad Hatter feels like asking a third grader to do basic multiplication (wait, can they do that?). Surely Tim Burton could have done something infinitely better with the talent pool at his disposal.

The graphics are not going to put Avatar to shame. Nevertheless, they are beautiful. Stick around when the end credits roll.

Which wont be hard since this not an altogether shabby movie. Not at all.

Average banter during panel