The last few months have gone in haste, just as they had come. Rare work meant most hours in the day looked after themselves, but thankfully, some were spared for the customary cricket and cinema; make note I call it cinema here, even if it sounds preposterous for some reason. The last travel was more than a year back but thanks to the two Cs, I’ve not lost touch with geography. I’ve seen Brazil, Peru, Argentina, Georgia, erstwhile Czechoslovakia, Korea, Japan, Russia, Finland, Germany, Africa and a few more places during these months and add the cricket tours to these and I have pretty much got around earth once.
Yet, there isn’t much to write. In fact, apart from the North-east tour diary, the note on Scorsese and the absolutely spontaneous take on my “benched” books, there has never been much to write. The most confounding problem is of cricket. Not a single entry on the sport here, or perhaps anything I might have ever written, has been worthy of being written. They have just been monotonous pieces which have only managed to keep an imaginary clerical meter ticking. But this paucity has cut right through all sections of media and it is sadly a breaking, barren land, where Cricinfo and a few other individuals are the oasis.
So to prevent this from becoming a boring dump of unnecessary articles, I thought of revitalizing it. While thinking of this vitality upgrade, I realized that writing itself was a pathetic exercise most of the time. Unless words fit themselves into sentences and each of these sentences lead to the next, it is utterly dull, and generally vain; which is why most people are good only at writing letters. Even though nobody reads this blog, writing open letters as a rule would be ridiculous.
The solution to this, I feel I’ve hit upon. The diary.
To carry the remarkably slothful tone of this blog entry a bit longer, I must say I hate keeping a daily account of what I do. In fact, I hate other people keeping daily accounts of what they do, too. So this left me with precious little options, but I decided to pick the best one for now.
The answer to this dilemma, I found in a series of diaries spanning 16 years the Soviet film-maker, Andrei Tarkovsky, kept. He made some fascinating observations in them and among them, at regular intervals, he would list out the movies he wanted to make. In their simplicity, they are strangely spectacular, these diaries. For example, the entry for June 15th, 1979 says:
Sea Salt – 2 tablespoons
Pine needle extract – 1 teaspoon
Aubergine skin – 1 teaspoon
Sweet sedge root – 1 teaspoon
Mix with vegetable oils and rub on gums.
This is followed by another recipe which ends with, “Mix 360 gr. of oak bark decoction with 150 gr. of the infusion. Gargle.”
Grrglllllllllllgrrrrllllllllgrrrrrrrrgrr… feels so much better.
I hit upon the idea that, even though I won’t write my recipes, I will surely plan my imaginary movie from now on, here. To mark this, I thought of creating a separate category which would also be a tribute to Tarkovsky for giving me the idea. It had to be named after one of his movies and so, this is how I sifted through them:
Steamroller and the Violin: Too big a name
Ivan’s Childhood and Andrei Rublev: Inappropriate
Nostalghia: Hmmm… No.
Sacrifice: Not yet.
Mirror: Too pretentious
Solaris: Sounds good, and has no adverse meaning attached. But the next one sounded better.
Stalker: Means closest to the idea and Tarkovsky didn’t make more than these eight films.
So the next entry will formally unveil the Stalker Blogs. Do book in advance to prevent heartburn, disappointment or both.