horror films, accidents and filmmaking.

This story starts on a Wednesday, a hearty meal; two weeks of insomnia and a get-together later I was making my ways back home. The 5.19 starter train from Bandra to Virar posed a healthy and easily overcoming threat to me. I could very well count the number of times when having to travel by this train would leave weak in the knees just thinking about how I'd get back home. Or would I be so lucky to even get home if I could convince a very few good-doers to give me the space to get off at the right location. With that thought in mind, I convinced myself I'd want to stand at the door where I knew a lot of horrific shit could happen. I put rest to my impulses and befriended a copassenger who provided me information of his travels, telling me how he stands at the doors even in the rains to not let anyone break the rules of Train Travel in the infamous Mumbai (Bombay) Local Line. This gentleman held himself responsible solely for every passenger's comfort travels and getting home safely by himself standing through the hard chestnut, wall-banging and earth-shattering rains. Reminds me of Robert Eggers' iteration of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. Anyhoo, we spent time chatting as we crossed Goregaon, Malad and made way to Kandivali. The situation at Kandivali was different. Here, we see some unhealthy miscreants who just want to get home. At the cost of whatever is in their way. Which in this case happened to be the gentleman I was making conversation with. The gentleman wished to see an old granny climb the train and making way for her he put his arm over the pole with 17 people trying to push their way onto the train, resulting in what I recall to be the single-most resounding and crisp snap of a forearm over a hard metal pole at 6 PM and the groans and moans of the gentleman who was connected to the said arm.

He got off the train, screaming. No one said a thing, no consolations, no one budged or moved as the bones escaped his flesh and came up for air for the first time. He screamed not looking at the crowd the broken arm he held together pieces of them. Now it was my turn to stand over for him, I didn't budge. I nodded at my mentor who taught me his self-sacrifice meant nothing. And that if I were to get home, I'd have to hone my skills, kiss him goodbye and leave him there at that station, learning not caring is better than shock therapy. So it goes. The train rolled-on. Leaving the sick, screaming forearm-trapped gentleman at Kandivali station as I took over his spot. Proud and happy.

-x-

Story Two

film

a day later as i sat in my home, i called upon my friends THE GOD OF SOMETHING (idk im not Hindu) and Sachi. they came over as called and we blackmailed two profound individuals to join our cult of profession, filmmaking. i did the honours of making the ransom calls and upon further probing we found that only The First would come over. Aarush was having his crybaby hours. THE GOD OF SOMETHING acted as our MC. it rained when we bought prints for the script and pulled over into the supermarket i'd been watching since i was 7 but never entered and bought chips. the bands moaned and whispered dirty secrets into their music and we rode through the shunning rain finding ourselves happy and calm. and even though the conditions couldn't have been any worse unless one of us got kidnapped and murdered, the whole scene was blessed with a beautiful bliss that upon completion, we'd have had gotten our results and they were marvelous, gorgeous glorious victorious and we were kings.

Story Three

i watched Cure (1997) dir. 

Kiyoshi Kurosawa

good film.