Man, I wrote a rather glorious slam here but I deleted it because of mindfulness, baby.
I played some Hearthstone but then got bored, been reading Ancillary Mercy, and just had a really nice turkey, butterhead lettuce and herbed cheese spread sammich. Still on the fence about whether I want lamb briyani or spag bol. May wind up going out for dinner and eating something else entirely.
This means not having to cook, so I like this idea.
I was very clever today — directly after my lovely brunch of buttermilk pancakes with diabetic friendly, sugarfree maple-flavoured syrup and turkey slices, I ate my meds, drank a lot of water, and just curled up on the couch. No drop happened, yay. I think Mon-Wed I am going to do 1/4 of the pill instead of a complete end.
Then Thurs to Sunday can be a complete weaning off.
I actually feel okay today. I feel quite cheerful and optimistic. I mean the abnormal bleeding happens to most women my age and the profs at obgyn may just be super-cautious which is not a bad thing. I haven’t been bleeding for over a week now, I’m just weak from the medication adjustment. The speculum thing was painful for about two days which made me extremely okay about never having sex nor having kids. I don’t want anything in there again omg what was that pain how do people survive childbirth wtf
Okay. I got another editorial peptalk last night which is making me nervous (but in a cheerful way!) about not having enough stories out but I also owe my poetry editor something. But my dear editors, my academic editor in chief is also asking me “When are you going to send me another article?” and that’s been hanging in the air for months.
God, I am so grateful I am still cheerful and cheeky. I don’t want to lose my golden joy.
But I don’t think I ever lost that. I’ve always been a happy person. But also a sad person. That probably doesn’t make sense to most people. I’m cheerful in my sadness, made up of both shadows and light. I’ve always been this way, even as a child.
So far I am feeling…docile.
Not sad, not angry. Just docile.
Not dull either. Only dull in the sense of emotional fatigue but it’s been a helluva week and you know having another potential cancer scare is not fun? Also, increased insulin dosage. But I have full capacity of cheekiness, and my sense of humour seems to be doing fine.
Earlier today I did have that “drop” again. Funnily, both times it happened an hour after my first meal + meds of the day. So it could be sugar levels. It was okay after I had lunch.
Next week is semester break, which is a good thing as I am completely tapering off by Wednesday. I am mildly optimistic about this so far. The bad part was earlier this morning but in the grand scheme of things it was not so bad. Actually, I think on a full dose I would have been angrier. Here I was just all, “Huh, no, that’s not what I meant”, and that was that.
And a student tried to needle me in the afternoon. All I thought was, “Huh, this kid’s being odd.”
And that was that. So there’s some basis to the contraindication notes I’ve been reading that the supplement actually increases serotonin levels. That’s just a summary conclusion of mine.
I feel less edgy, and less hyper-vigilant. That’s not a bad thing. But I’m also worried about my writing. I did manage to do some small fiction writing earlier — and that was a relief. But since I have this mental and emotional exhaustion, not much was really done. Let’s see how I feel after a full night’s sleep.
I was going to transfer the pink roses tomorrow morning but I noticed that despite diligent watering, they were already drooping. Also it looked like the wind messed them about a bit. The problem with buying plants at Tesco is that they cram so many blooms and tiny plants into a small pot. It looks nice in the supermarket but roses really do need their roots to have room. So I pruned some of the more knocked about roses and they’re now on the dining table in a glass half-filled with water. And I carefully transferred the rose plant into a pot I’ve been priming since yesterday. It’s got a mixture of dark brown earth and some red earth. I watered it again, dug a hollow that I held back with the forked trowels and quickly placed the plant in. This is the fourth time I’m doing a transfer so I’m getting better. This time the rose plant was not lopsided (like the purple rose plant), but I did quickly put up splints from the dried ginger plant stalks anyway. Helps with the droopier roses. Also watered again and fertilised. Here’s hoping it lives. The purple rose plant is doing okay but no more buds for now. I’ll chatter at them tomorrow and loosen the earth a bit.
Oh! And I also bought a citronella plant!
I went out for dinner. Was going to have thosai, but wound up craving roti canai again, and omg it was so good. Sooo good and fluffy and crispy and awesome. I had it with their chicken kuzhambou, sambar and a mug of hot cow’s milk (if you want fresh milk instead of the powdered stuff in Indian restaurants here, you say you want cow’s milk).
And I had time to ponder my decision of no longer plugging my publications and acceptances on my FB personal account.
I wondered if I was nuking my career. Was I?
But no. I had so many responses yesterday for my personal stuff, and it was good. It meant so much to me that people cared. And then there was that one post, sitting awkward, out of joint, saying “Oh, I have so much going on right now — and here’s this story!”
Like everyone who is like me, I am secondguessing everything I do. I guess we follow by example. If you have social media, you must plug stuff, if you don’t plug stuff, you’re a failure.
But when I’m talking with friends (precious little that I have), I don’t go bla bla bla bla here my story came out, bla bla bla bla bla. In my real life, I rarely mention that I am an author.
And the people who interact with me on social media often, I like them, and yes, I care for them but in a non-creepy, non-romantic way. It’s as simple as that. It’s as…I don’t know, “pure”(?) as liking pictures of baby animals. In such a way, I have a rather simple soul, and I am easily pleased.
So it felt like taking away from the integrity of the moment, of who I am. And I want to return to that. I want to return to the quiet joy I take in writing, in crafting things. I do want the rest of it — more readers, more recognition — but on my own terms.
I’m not a blaring horn kind of person. I’ve never been that — mostly because I never felt I was good enough and up to my 30s I was always writing for myself, keeping my light under a bushel, trying to take up as little space as I can.
And the readers I’ve got, the people who tell me they like my stuff are not the people who read me through social media.
So. I have a choice. Of posting and posting and posting and feeling both ashamed/frustrated/unhappy, or just confining my self-plugs to : (1) My “author” website (2) My “FB” page, and writing more stuff, and retaining what inner peace I can while I can, while I’m still alive and healthy enough to finish my novel and do the things that matter to me.
Just like I have a choice to be either cynical or carefully joyful in the good things in life. I choose the latter. I choose kindness, both to myself and to others.
That is all.
So yesterday I received news via a writing friend that my Borgesian culinary planetary romance featuring a soupcon of body horror and a middle-aged male protagonist/narrator was out. That was a really nice way of getting to know the story was out, especially since he liked the story a lot!
I posted about it very minutely on my FB but got no reactions. Either FB algorithm was suppressing it on people’s feeds or there are just too many story shills on FB timelines. So I decided today to remove it. I did get a “like” on my FB author page, so I reckon I will just post notifications there, on my author blog, and on Codex. Use FB for personal posts. I mean, quite a few people will be reading the Sockdolager issue anyway. If shilling is exhausting and brings me no joy, why do it? I’d rather carpe the heck out of my diem, and conserve my spoons.
My cyberpunk chapter is also finally out in that book, hurray!
It was not an easy day, but I got through it. And now, thosai for dinner. Later, I will read storybook and work on my own poetry. Deadline’s soon.
Forgot to add in the last post. I know that de-activating myself from twitter in some ways completely knocks me (presumably) out of the running in Awards Season 2016. But.
Last year, I felt the pain of seeing myself not on the recommendation list. I did, inexplicably enough, make it on Tangent’s list. And this year, Charles Payseur put Tower of the Rosewater Goblet on his best of 2016 hashtags. (Charles is so awesome). But you know, that was it.
I had more longer form stories out last year than this year. Oddly, I have more pro things out this year, but they disappeared under the radar. I didn’t have anyone apart from Charles plugging and championing my work. I had editors tell me behind the scene how much they liked my writing — and that kept me going. But it’s about the readers, innit? I did have some people come forward to also say nice things about my writing. And being on that pro place helped a lot. (but really I just like it because I can talk to people of like minds and I really really appreciate that, this is not performative, fuck no).
But I also remember the pain of being passed over last year. I saw the Nebula Recommendation list this year and know it’s going to start all over again. And when I tried plugging myself last year, I had people mocking me for daring to aspire. And I see other SFF authors on twitter being bitter and ugly, year in and year out during Awards Season.
I don’t want to be like them. I don’t. I don’t want this to drag me down and destroy whatever joy I have in the craft. Awards aren’t worth it. But yes, seeing yourself continuously passed over is upsetting, even to a phlegmatic INTJ. So my remedy for this is simple. Every year, around awards season, I’m going to bump out of twitter. I’ll do nice things for myself instead.
I’ll do the bare minimum of putting up a list of things I have out on my author blog. Thassit.
Like I said, this is how you be like Bob Dylan. Just be all zen and chill in an ornery kind of way. Do the work. It’s always about the work.
This is my last year of being eligible for the Campbells. I already roughly know who will be shortlisted and longlisted. Not me. But you know, years ago when I was so clueless about this process, I thought I had already missed the boat because my first sale was in 2007. But it was a token USD5 sale. So be it then. My entire chances of a nomination actually hinges on Tower of the Rosewater Goblet. I also think Moult and Morning Cravings are solid stories but they’re too short. And they haven’t been getting enough mention/love. I mention this because it’s so odd. Tower of the Rosewater Goblet was at first something I only wanted to be published posthumously because I was so terrified people would take it the wrong way. And then I was going to self-publish it. Instead, it got on Strange Horizons, paid for this laptop, and people are still telling me online that it’s such a good story. I mean. That’s an award enough.
I’m just going to distance myself from the rest of it, yeah?
I deserve better. I deserve to be happy.
Okay, I’m going to write stuff about SFF now.
- The events of the past weekend were rough on all of us (or most of us). It was not just the naming of a predator in SFF. It was that he was one of us, a POC author, and who exhibited certain behaviour traits that we could see in ourselves as well. It felt a bit like a demonizing of the young(ish), up and coming author with all of our hopes, desires, imperfections etc. It is not to say we did not believe. Absolutely we believed the victims. But it made us a little sad, and a little scared.
- Does this sound familiar? Absolutely it should. Every time something bad happens in SFF, there’s a lot of discourse and narrative arising that is not wise, ending up in online fisticuffs and side brawls. In 2014, asking for reason and moderation, plus trying to talk reasonably, wound up with me being gaslighted, demonized, bludgeoned until I was severely agitated, and was unwise. My writing career nearly got nuked because of that.
- I learned from that lesson, so for subsequent SFF emergencies and bad happenings, I engaged in Operation Ostrich ™.
- This current thing is happening during a really rough time in my personal life. So I engaged, gave my two cents and now am disengaging. I’ve disabled twitter and will likely return only in March 2017, though there will be periodic re-enablings.
- Lists. For awhile now I’ve realised that people aren’t going to be naming me in their lists of plugs. And it’s never been a “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” kind of thing. It’s more of three things (a) I thought you liked me! (whine, sad sniffle) (b) Shit, I am such a mediocre writer, even people who know me don’t mention me (c) *growl* damn cliques and exclusion. To hell with all of this! /disengages
- I used to plug people because to me I thought this was an antidote. Do good, don’t be selfish, feel better about the whole thing. But I got nasty comments and people thinking I was trying to get reciprocal kudos. Other people took me for granted and wanted me to be their personal cheering squad. Unlike a certain individual, I did not craft some machiavellian scheme of getting back at people etc. I just disengaged. Stopped plugging. Muted at will. I do occasionally mention things I like these days but mostly, I avoid doing it, knowing that it means some people won’t plug me also. So be it. In the end it’s about the readers, and the stories, not about being the most popular person in a clique of writers.
- The antidote to this for me is just to ignore lists and focus on the work. The popularity game is not how I want to be an author, and I’m too old and ornery to be the POC flavour of the month anyway. I don’t begrudge others their successes, but if I think they’re shitty and condescending (to me), I turn off, I ignore, and occasionally, I block.
- Professional Jealousy? I’ve been the victim of professional jealousy but I’m an INTJ and this is really not our deal. We’re (or I) am upset that I am not noticed. This is not the same as begrudging another’s success. I’m happy with the success of others especially if it means they leave me the fuck alone. The thing is, some of them DON’T. So I think there’s something fundamentally compulsive and insecure about their respective personalities. Hey, whatever floats your boat, man.
- Professional Fear? Yes. I worry about things like, what if these cliques perpetually block my path to success etc? I have that fear of slipping further into obscurity, having all of my chances removed. I fear dirty tactics that block me, like blacklisting or worse. I fear that legitimate methods of identifying abusers and predators are used for shady and illegitimate means of “getting rid of the competition” by various others who have it in for me since 2014. (and you know, some proponents locally have used it because they have a grudge against me). And you know, these people I mention? They exist on both sides of the fence. I avoid all with prejudice.
- Antidote? To be careful, be mindful, and avoid the negative stuff. Not easy. You can avoid a rabid dog, you cannot stop it from tailing you and biting you on your round brown ass. But I intend to keep writing — and to avoid these individuals. This includes, going back to my resolution in 2014 to not go to any Cons ever again. I don’t want to associate in such an unhealthy environment. I like various people in SFF, and I’ll participate in that professional forum, but that’s enough for me. Totally enough.
- Judge me by my fiction and poetry, we don’t have to be best friends, we don’t have to meet.
- If I save enough money for a trip abroad and am hopefully healthy + cancer-free next year, I’m going to visit bucket list places. Like Venice, or Hokkaido, or Kyoto, or Vietnam, or Greece. I really really hope that the surgical procedure will yield the result of something minor that can be fixed because anyway these things are normal for a woman of my advanced years.
- And yeah, other people hungry for more, and more, and more acclaim, publications, credits, kudos, the adoration of the masses to the extent that you are willing to stalk, dominate, be abusive and hack into people’s computers to grab their ideas (yes, it’s true)? Go for it. Knock yourselves out. I hope to be one day like Bob Dylan. So chill and into my craft that I don’t even answer the phone call of awards committees. Now that guy knows where it’s at. That’s good enough for me.
So I have investigative surgery happening in November. Yesterday’s procedure was so painful I was crying and crying in the obgyn clinic. The prof gave me two days medical leave to recover. I’m also tapering off one of my over-the-counter herbal supplements I take for mood control. I started it when I was a PhD student in Australia. 2010 was a really rough time for me. I was dealing with post-traumatic stuff from a lifetime of various intersecting forms of parental abuse, I was dealing with bullying of a very toxic (but non-physical) kind from some other PhD students, and various other personal problems you face when you’re a third world international student in a first world country. I walked into a pharmacy one day and saw “to help with stress”. So I researched the supplement, and saw it had no real side effects (I was wrong, as it turns out), and so I started it.
The change was slow, but dramatic. I started it on a “hey, let’s see if it works” but I never felt such clearness, such clarity. I started improving the shit in my life. I changed my supervisory team, I finally broke ties with my abusive maternal unit, and I felt like I was finally fully utilising my mental capacities.
I always meant to stop at some point but I never got around to it, and then I got scared about how I’d be if I was back to that person I was in 2009-2010. It is like looking back into a dark place after you’ve been in the sunlight.
But then I remember other things. Like being happy pre 2010. Deliriously happy. Like, I was never suicidal. I was depressed, I slept a lot, had low mood, but never suicidal. Like, I used to feel more things, used to be more engaged with people, used to be more compassionate.
Like, I wrote with more feelings. Like, maybe this herbal supplement did not always change my mood in the best way.
So. It’s about adjusting my emotional frequency, and not being afraid to feel sad(der). It’s trusting in my own emotional and spiritual strength and knowing I can get through this.
Ostensibly this is because of contraindications and taking this while undergoing surgery puts me in danger of a heart attack. There’s also insulin resistance, which I just read up about on WebMD this week.
But also, I think it’s time to return to who I was, now sans the abusive relationship, as a person with a doctorate, a stable job, my own apartment. I think I’ll be okay. I’ve already told people who need to know so I have people looking out for me. I’m not saying people don’t need antidepressants who are clinically diagnosed. People with MI, please don’t think I am down on that. If you need the meds, take the meds.
I am not clinically depressed. And this is my choice to make, to rediscover who I am. I may or may not be returning to the Underworld, but this time I am prepared, and I’m bringing flowers.
I needed to cleanse my visual viewing palette after a diet of too much mayo which I found cerebrally and spiritually unsatisfying. So I watched some old favourites of mine
1) Mississippi Masala and Monsoon Wedding (dir: Mira Nair)
2) Bollywood/Hollywood (dir:Deepa Mehta)
and two new-to-me movies:
3) Lunchbox (dir: Ritesh Batra)
4) I Can’t Think Straight (dir: Shamim Sharif)
All deeply satisfying movies that manage to address important and ugly issues while still having a feelgood feeling at the core. I really needed to watch Monsoon Wedding this evening — not just because of the visual candy, but because at its heart is the decisions an old family has to make about familial associations and loyalties. Naseeruddin Shah was brilliant as the tormented and ornery patriarch who finally does the right thing. And it’s such a strong statement about rape culture — and how it is NOT something one should condone just for the sake of tradition or reputation. How the nicest abusers hide behind masks while grooming their victims. How they isolate victims and make them confused and too troubled even to confide. How, when you confide, society retaliates.
“Oh, she just wants attention”, is a pretty typical statement in these cases in Asian cultures.
Mira Nair deals with this conflict masterfully in Monsoon Wedding. I find her movies so important because of how they portray South Asian women, as being centered within their traditions while still railing back, voicing themselves against constraints and various oppressions women suffer everywhere. And she does this sympathetically, compassionately. She portrays the pain and helplessness of flawed allies as well, as portrayed by Naseeruddin Shah.
Mississippi Masala is another movie with a complex and flawed patriarch, a daughter who knows her own mind, and the intersectional conflicts of race, gender and class between and within races. Also, Denzel Washington, man.
Lunchbox was a beautiful and romantic movie, with the kind of elegant correspondences that we’ve come to love about movies like 84, Charing Cross Road, but centered within Mumbai and the famed dabbawallah of Mumbai. I loved the realism of this movie, the flawed but lovable characters, the auntie upstairs who yells down recipes and ideas to our heroine, and the long, sumptuous shots of food preparation and consumption. It’s the kind of movie that just strikes you at the heart, at the heart of what it means not just to be human, but to be South Asian. The kind of comfort you get from opening a tiffin, that’s this movie. I’ve only two things I’m not satisfied about here.
(1) Irrfan Khan is portrayed as a man in his twilight years but god he’s just way too fit and way too cagey for the narrative. I’m not saying there aren’t fit and cagey 60 year old men about, but it’s just the way he carries himself. Don’t get me wrong, I thought he was a perfect foil for the woman protagonist (and he’s dreamy), plus there are fit old men around — but there was just such a dissonance in his portrayal in this role with his whole body language. On the other hand, when I think of all the women who are, in their late thirties portrayed as older women — this is probably a nice turnabout.
(2) The ending was beautiful, but a bit of a copout, I thought. It’s such a typical arthouse/independent movie kind of ending, but ambiguity doesn’t always work, not when an ambiguous ending becomes a visual and expected cliche. I understood why it had to happen though, but I just wished they had been a bit bolder 😉
I Can’t Think Straight is a recent find, and is a glorious movie about two closeted QWOC who come out during the course of the film. Semi-autobiographical of the life of the director/author of the movie and her spouse who produced it. There are some flaws, but overall a very enjoyable, funny, and feelgood movie that was good to watch.
I’ve watched the first 15 minutes of Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress, but I think I’m going to read in bed now. There’s a lovely light rain with strong winds. I went out to take the trash earlier and breathed in deep gulps of fresh air.
My father phoned me earlier and asked me how I was feeling (re: health issues), and I wound up crying on the phone. So I guess that’s how I’m feeling. I’m just going to be kind to myself right now.
I was discussing with someone last night how tokenism, or the fear of tokenism by some — leads them to do weird things. And how funny it is, because most of the time, people get my ethnicity/Nationality dead wrong. They don’t go Nin Harris, that Malaysian author. No. I’ve been called Australian, Indonesian, even Latina once or twice. So people thinking about precious “Malaysian” slots are really silly. Honestly I am really happy there’s so much new Malaysian work to read and analyse in my research. I’m not so happy with the way certain individuals treat me but that’s on them and their respective consciences. I just want to be left alone to do my stuff. Life is short, my health is not so great, I would rather focus on the good things in my life.
As for the latest SFF scandal — I am staying the fuck out of it because a side-convo I had last night led to me being triggered. I don’t know the people involved, and have mostly avoided them because they weren’t the kind of personalities that appealed to me. Also, gut instinct.
For today, I’m reading, making spring rolls for tea (I had instant noodles and coffee for brunch because I am out of bread, beans and sausages). Dinner will be rice w/ last night’s chicken and red date soup. I’ll stirfry another vegetable side dish, I think. There’s also two more overripe bananas. Haven’t decided what to do with them. I already had fritters last night and that was a lot of oil. So maybe muffins?
This is the source recipe which I got by googling “chicken and red date soup”. I’m crediting because I ganked the idea of putting in garlic cloves with their skins on. Since I am not kissing anyone, I put in a whole bulb! Same principle as making rasam! She uses a whole chicken and goji berries (which I don’t have). To balance the taste profile because I used only two chicken breasts, I added a chicken stock cube. Also, dried mushrooms, and 5-6 peppercorns. And 1/2 a star anise. End result was unbelievably delicious. I had two bowls of the soup and felt soul-nourished.
Chicken and Red Date Soup
2 chicken breasts on the bone
water for boiling
1 chicken stock cube
1 small bulb of garlic, smashed in their skins
6 red dates
about half a handful of sliced dried mushrooms (more would be overbearing)
1/2 a star anise
5-6 black peppercorn
Place the chicken breasts in a pot of water. Boil till lightly cooked. Drain the water and wash the excess scum off the chicken. Place back in a pot with new water and all of the other ingredients. Boil for minimum of an hour. Two hours is better. Season to taste. Drink on its own or serve with rice and a vegetable dish (this is what I did)
BTW, this is a nice recipe for poh piah. Since I am not leaving the apartment and have no jicama bean, it’s going to be a combination of
(1) scrambled egg
(2) cabbage w/ dried prawn et mushroom
(3) french beans
I like her idea of sriracha and hoisin sauce for the sauce part of the poh pia equation. Since I have both on hand, that’s what I’ll use. May make a combination of fried and wet poh pia, just because. Julienned cucumber in the wet one.
Mostly because I have a backlog of stuff on my ASTRO byond PVR box. Also, I don’t know why, I like to watch stuff when I’m eating. I have a mild suspicion that this is how I overcome the …I don’t know, unnerving feeling of eating alone in one’s apartment. Helps me digest the food. It’s an uncomfortable suspicion given I’m supposed to be comfortable alone. Heh.
(1) How to Make Love Like An Englishman — surprisingly not as trashy as expected, and not as bad as the rotten tomatoes review claimed. I find the trope of the supposedly hot English Lit Professor annoying, however. I’ve been in this profession for 12 years now and have yet to come across a hot Lit Professor. So sorry. 😛
But it’s a nicely diverse movie and I like both Salma Hayek and Jessica Alba. To me the story was about them. Sorry Pierce.
(2) One True Thing — A cancer movie. I didn’t know it when I started watching it. I was actually looking for light and trashy stuff. I kept watching because the acting was compelling from Zellweger, Streep and Hurt. Story’s really way too mayo for my liking, though. Also has the trope of the lothario male Lit Professor of the Great White Male variety. Who of course reads only other Great White Males. Apart from the excessive mayo, a good movie. I think I counted only 2-3 people who were not mayo in the movie. Entire shots of street scenes that were all mayo. Easily one of Meryl Streep’s best performances.
(3) The Fox and the Hound — Partway, that is. I started watching it just now. This is an animated movie I’ve wanted to see since I was 7 years old. I badgered and badgered my dad every time we were at a video rental place.I never got around to watching it. So today I watched the first 20 or so minutes. But anticlimactic. I had spun an entirely different (and darker, naturally) version of the movie based on the trailer I saw in my 7 year old brain. I’ll get around to watching the rest of it next mealtime, I suspect. Just need to get over the shattering of my childhood expectations first.
(4) The Amazing Spiderman — Look, this was my first superhero crush. Peter Parker always seemed more intelligent than either Superman or Batman to me. And he had a sense of humour. I used to buy Spidey comics, and read them in the papers regularly. So I didn’t watch the Sam Raimi/Tobey McGuire movies, and *thought* I had recorded that one. Instead it’s the reboot. Since I didn’t watch the Tobey McGuire movies, I watched this free of those expectations. I’m really enjoying it! Solid performances all around! Looking forward to watching the rest of it. Love that Peter’s humour comes through in this story, and I really enjoyed the scenes of Peter getting excited with his new abilities. Coolbeans. Also quite mayo, except for the South Asian villain character. Whyyyy is the villain character Irrfan Khan? I mean I would be happy that he was in the movie except he’s the bad guy. Not the first sf/f movie or series in which the bad guy is POC. Ditto Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children.
I’m sorry but if you have an all-mayo cast and your POC token actor is the bad guy, I’m kinda meh about it.
Still, an enjoyable movie and I will likely finish watching it over this weekend of being an invalid. I think I should also watch The Lunchbox next because the stuff I watched has been too mayo, and Irrfan Khan, is in it.
This looks interesting!