If human relationships could be bracketed under mystic wraps, then I would be the most prominent protagonist to breathe life with pretentious fame.

‘Mayakkam Enna’ is one such tantalising epic that miscodes and quotes life in phonetic modes. A great ‘hounds and fur’ portrayal of versatile characters in situations of despicable abyss, ME enthrals most of it with flaws of pardonable stature.

Once again, the foundations of a film has been rested on the most curative and blissful relationship known to man: friendship. A spurious gang with a heart of gold, the best friend with an inexplicably beautiful date and the primitive ‘genius’ who gets the better of the both to marry his best pal’s so called girlfriend: the plot and the sequences have been put in place with casual importance. Struggles and veracity are parallels to this bunch of youngsters who fall and blossom with the timeless vein.

The screenplay has been the lynchpin of this Selvaraghavan courage and I was surprised (quiet honestly) to see the maturity in the script. Performances have been top notch and are praiseworthy. Seldom in the elite annals of Tamil cinema has a woman been showcased to be the epitome of man’s evolution (even though the current crop of generation has been able to come to terms with this lost but chrome reality) with such powerful grace. The 8 minute magic were Yamini is requested to embrace infidelity by one of their best buddies owing to Karthik’s pitiable state and her stunning response to his lustful penchant was pure aesthetics from a woman who was very much in love with her husband. It remains to be one of the finest moments crafted in Tamil cinema and I remain loathed till it flows away.

Dhanush delivers a sedate and impressive performance, once again. Here is one actor who is coming of age, never mind if it’s touch unorthodox and lacks pomp. Richa Gangopadhyay’s histrionics are a testimony to Selvaraghavan’s stint with a filmmaker’s pantheon. The supporting cast doesn’t go over board and Karthik-Yamini roll it over with calculated restraint.

I have always penned Selvaraghavan’s works with disdain. With ‘Mayakkam Enna’, he is realising his doses well and is an improved talented version of what he was with his earlier mishaps. An inspiring film with the right ingredients, I look forward to his future assignments with unpredictable glee.

As I watch the ‘Agneepath Series’ at the spectacular MCG, I had my notions revisit the legacy of the OZ juggernaut.

When Sehwag was dropped by the wicket keeper (few minutes before tea), I was like “Omigosh, this isn’t the Aussie side I have witnessed in the last 18 years” and my pandora wasn’t hinting at nothing.

I still remember those days when I used to cuddle myself up to watch a series down under (I refused to replicate those efforts when I had my exams knocking the door and usually, I am under prepared) and an inevitable Indian scorecard of 33-3 or 21-2 would invite my sober eyes. We would end up losing the series by miles (Boss would have scorched few relentless knocks during the course of those defeats but for a losing cause) and we would end the tour with McGrath and Warnie going home with buckets of wickets. I am talking about the world champion Australian side of my era. It doesn’t belong to them any more.

With due respect to the Pontings, McGraths and Warnes, but they were an admonishing asset to the Aussie armoury for years and I, by all means, miss their valour on the inimitable cricketing field. An Adam Gilchrist will be hard to find in the vicinity for half a century, to say the least. Evidently, great bowling attacks had the demeanour to destroy the famous line ups of the world and to our dismay, this generation doesn’t have even one to it’s credit.

The Windies were a Prophet in the cricketing annals for heralding such fire with the ball. Garner, Roberts, Holding, Marshall, Walsh, Ambrose.. I look back at those names with awe and their superiority was stuff that legends are made of. The OZs had that touch of blemish-less arrogance for almost 2 decades but then, as they say, “Even Caesar’s rule came to an end”.

I loved watching those stalwarts as much as I hated watching India crumble. Today, we are the world champions, but with all my oscillating emotions in close quarters, I don’t think we have an Indian bowling side that could take 20 wickets in a test match. We are a phenomenal batting colossus (my equations would change when I fork out the Big-3 out of the playing eleven but I will talk about that in my next ordeal) but our exploits with the adjacent quarter is pedestrian.

As I craft my thoughts over, we are at a steady 147-2. I am smiling with plummeted resistance.

Our ability to emote is a variable widget in our lives. It’s preinstalled but comes in to use depending upon the circumstances and the kind of people we are surrounded by. I, conspicuously and by finesse of nature, am not an emotional creature. But, moments of poignancy does take its toll. When it did evolve this week, I was stranded precariously. And to my fluid pride, my battle with human relationships continues to amaze me.

I believe, places have souls. Cities breath a different aura of tenacity and I get myself constantly sucked in to it’s culture. The same feeling waved along as my third visit to the Charminar city plunges in to some fine moments of my life.

I am not a person who solemnises ceremonies. I conduct myself to the highest order, when confronted with one though. And this time, my presence was a prerogative as I watched my little angel getting in to a holy movement of quick distress and vital fulfilment. I wasn’t very me as the usual phonetics embedded within me gave away to the little one’s grimaces. All well, alright, but for me, it was a resident feeling. Never do I let myself in for such occasions but this one invited itself for a rare celebration and my obligation was customary.

I felt like adulthood was basking itself in such organic gestures and once more, I salute the DNAs for drafting what’s inherent of myself. Being so very human.

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“Being iconic doesn’t indicate invincibility but symbolises pervasiveness”.

“A picture perfect story could be buried under debris when pookish fixtures confront you”.

“Andheri, Bandra-Worli Sea Link, Haji Ali, Marine Drive, Wankhede, Aston Martin.. an illustrious ride to Colaba couldn’t pack more muscles”.

“Happy Anniversary to Suddha-Babli, probably the only elite couple who allow me to intrude their privacy :)”. You guys are the best!! The next showdown awaits us with pomp”.

“San Joao offered divinity in abundance: Benoleum took our breath away and ‘Rex’ fed us with plenty to gobble with oomph”.

“Landscapes, curvatures, Jesus in churches, cashews on by-lanes, waters in peripherals and villages amidst bacon paradise. Goa is calling me, I sans insanity oblige with panache”.

“Sports and waters are engaging partners; I engulfed myself and the sea embraced me. Result was mutual: ecstasy!”.

“If affordable becomes my veins, Aston Martin would kiss me, Bentley would cuddle me and Rolls Royce would romance me. Tick tick, time has become a frog, leaps before the carpet reaches out”.

“Destinations don’t matter as long as the desire to provoke and prolong becomes a consonant of my cognisant mind”.