Six words that changed the face of espionage and have held sway over the movie-goers for nearly half a century- the immortal "The name's Bond, James Bond"
I really doubt whether Ian Flemming realised what a phenomenon he was creating while covalescing from an illness during which he penned his first bond novel and now blockbuster Casino Royale. Bond... the beginning.
Bond has given people an ethereal sense of existence capped with a license to kill all under Her Majesty's jurisdiction of course. he lives the fantasy many of us dream. Suave, witty and heroic: he is the epitome of what all of us wish to see in a spy. The racy cars, fabulous women and deranged villains form the standard plot lines but each time in different proportion so as to sustain and keep the audience at the edge of their seats. Exotic places, out-of-the-world gadgets and outrageous albeit sinister plots all rivet the storyline to culminate in a fast-paced thriller ensured to grab your attention for the better part of three hours. Even thought the opening scene is invariably followed by the title song, it has never failed to impress.
The latest bond flick shows the upstart of James. A little violent but amazing in terms of the Stunts ( eye candy!!!).Bahamas is the new location with extra emphasis on the Beach club there (watch out while giving the keys to the valet)... Twas Bond as it was meant to be- action-packed, pretty women, beachy locales and a license to kill. What more can one ask???
Over the years Bond has grown from actor to actor, each with his own characteristics to apply to enigmatic and ever-changing Bond. Ultimately they've come and gone but we never tire of James but have begun to accept his cohorts- M, Q, Moneypenny and the rest of the gang; not just expect but eagerly await their roles (essayed to perfection....) in the twisted convules of the plot. All said and done, the series is all about 007- James Bond... So what are you still reading, go grab a ticket and watch him in his latest larger than life venture: Casino Royale
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Requiem for a Dream
A dream is more precious when unattained because it embodies that which we all aspire for- greatness, recognition and a dash of adventure- all of which come plunging back to the ground when you attempt to realize the Dream. I too had a dream- something I cherished in the deepest folds, embodying my ambition, my wish to separate from the path my parents had made me walk, a rebellion where I stood tall and proud amongst my peers for having tread the path less followed, a grand finale where life was a bed of roses and me the heroine. But alas, fate had other plans in store…
It took every bit of my courage, every ounce of my fears and all of my determination to break free of the shackles that my education, professional disposition and most everything else to look beyond the horizon and force myself out of my torpor to do stuff my parents didn’t count me capable of. The result? Pretty much the usual…
The dream was like a delicate flower, newly-blossomed and fresh in the valley of ambition waiting for me. Just looking at the flower and imagining it in close-up would transport me to raptures of ecstasy. Ah! How lovely it would be to possess such a delicate object of beauty… So thinking I bought the shovels, plastic pot and other equipment intending to either transport the flower to my drab garden or else offer my services to the flower. I followed its fragrance doggedly through days and overcame the fence of self-doubt, still dreading that I should be unequal to my task. Finally I stood trembling in awe of its creation at the entrance of the flower beds.
A task was delegated to me- to create pathways in the arbor-filled spaces. I set to my task- seeing neither time nor effort as this was what I’d wanted and revered. The task was completed- I’d line the pathways with grass and laced them with smooth white pebbles with a pattern formed by brown stones. The pathways ran in curves all through. The gardening committee derided my work saying they had asked for pathways and not their arrangement. I was disappointed. They said perhaps I needed to figure whether gardening was what I wanted or just buy a bouquet for myself. Crushed and defeated I felt my world crumbling, haziness cause by a blur of tears and a heavy heartache. Sorrow I know thy nature now…
I realized my prowess exceeded their requirements, maybe I couldn’t transplant myself to the flower or subscribe to its nature but I needn’t let go of my dream. Its just that gardening wasn’t my best venture thus far. I got as far as my home before breaking down and was recipient to my parents and friends tirades on how flowers were never of any use other than the sight and smell and how structure was above all such things. I wasn’t crying because I am a bad gardener- I was crying for my dream: that elusive wisp that fairy tales are made off had been crudely taken off my shoulders. Sure there would be other dreams- maybe bigger and better where I will be the star but for now my heart mourns for this one. That flower just wasn’t for me. May the person who chances upon it relish it…
I’ll end my torrent of sorrow and wallow some more in self-pity with this verse from Emily aptly titled Success…
“Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!”
And for the finale one of mine own…
You dream of a vision with silver wings,
Designed to take you high
Of hope, effort and other wistful things
That will build your castle in the sky
But alas you were mistaken
That spot up there was forsaken
To another fortunate whose fate dictates
The very destiny for which your heart aches
Much as I hate to admit
That does not mean I quit
It means I’ve realized my dream has flown
And I will treasure the experience that’s helped me grow
And shed a tear or two for I
Was not allowed my kite to fly
But revel I would in the thought that I
Did the best I could- gave my mightiest try
And though defeated now I may seem
Soon I’ll be chasing after another dream
It took every bit of my courage, every ounce of my fears and all of my determination to break free of the shackles that my education, professional disposition and most everything else to look beyond the horizon and force myself out of my torpor to do stuff my parents didn’t count me capable of. The result? Pretty much the usual…
The dream was like a delicate flower, newly-blossomed and fresh in the valley of ambition waiting for me. Just looking at the flower and imagining it in close-up would transport me to raptures of ecstasy. Ah! How lovely it would be to possess such a delicate object of beauty… So thinking I bought the shovels, plastic pot and other equipment intending to either transport the flower to my drab garden or else offer my services to the flower. I followed its fragrance doggedly through days and overcame the fence of self-doubt, still dreading that I should be unequal to my task. Finally I stood trembling in awe of its creation at the entrance of the flower beds.
A task was delegated to me- to create pathways in the arbor-filled spaces. I set to my task- seeing neither time nor effort as this was what I’d wanted and revered. The task was completed- I’d line the pathways with grass and laced them with smooth white pebbles with a pattern formed by brown stones. The pathways ran in curves all through. The gardening committee derided my work saying they had asked for pathways and not their arrangement. I was disappointed. They said perhaps I needed to figure whether gardening was what I wanted or just buy a bouquet for myself. Crushed and defeated I felt my world crumbling, haziness cause by a blur of tears and a heavy heartache. Sorrow I know thy nature now…
I realized my prowess exceeded their requirements, maybe I couldn’t transplant myself to the flower or subscribe to its nature but I needn’t let go of my dream. Its just that gardening wasn’t my best venture thus far. I got as far as my home before breaking down and was recipient to my parents and friends tirades on how flowers were never of any use other than the sight and smell and how structure was above all such things. I wasn’t crying because I am a bad gardener- I was crying for my dream: that elusive wisp that fairy tales are made off had been crudely taken off my shoulders. Sure there would be other dreams- maybe bigger and better where I will be the star but for now my heart mourns for this one. That flower just wasn’t for me. May the person who chances upon it relish it…
I’ll end my torrent of sorrow and wallow some more in self-pity with this verse from Emily aptly titled Success…
“Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!”
And for the finale one of mine own…
You dream of a vision with silver wings,
Designed to take you high
Of hope, effort and other wistful things
That will build your castle in the sky
But alas you were mistaken
That spot up there was forsaken
To another fortunate whose fate dictates
The very destiny for which your heart aches
Much as I hate to admit
That does not mean I quit
It means I’ve realized my dream has flown
And I will treasure the experience that’s helped me grow
And shed a tear or two for I
Was not allowed my kite to fly
But revel I would in the thought that I
Did the best I could- gave my mightiest try
And though defeated now I may seem
Soon I’ll be chasing after another dream
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