Day 1: One gets a call from one’s teacher, highly recommending Aamir Khan’s Taare Zameen Par. One watches the movie with friends and is happy to note that he is not the only one crying.

Later that day, one chews on the movie for long and is thankful for his childhood. His tinkering and doodling was tolerated.

Day 2: One makes mother and aunt watch the movie. Much to one’s relief, mother cries and they hug each other as Shankar Mahadevan sings, ‘kya itna bura hoon main ma?’

One is told that the first time his vegetarian mother actually killed a mosquito was to protect him.

Detachment is an interesting concept. Many advocate it. Many others doubt the possibility of its execution. How can one live in a world, love it, and yet not be attached to it?

I saw the Transformers movie yesterday night again (for the seventh time), and was struck by yet another midnightly insight. What is it exactly that differentiates a Transformer from a human being?

I know they are actually giant alien robots who can turn themselves into machines of their choice and there really is no comparison here. But then again, they feel pain and anger just like we do. Also they seem to like certain things about us.

Between all the praise flying around for Chak De India, combined with the occasional whine by people prepared to hate SRK no matter how well he acts, I saw the movie twice last weekend. Tricolour marketing and ‘India’ in the title aside, I couldn’t help thinking the story stood for much more than the mere patriotism flick it was being served as.

I can imagine the producers rubbing their hands in glee at the multiple marketing pitches the story presented. Patriotism, feminism, sports (a friend decisively labeled the movie ‘SRK’s Lagaan’). I got to thinking about what Chak De India really meant.

There is hardly a superhero franchise more retarded than the Power Rangers. And yet, it clicks with a worldwide audience in a way few others can. The past few months saw much of young India (including this blogger) wallowing in Power Ranger stupidity with a glee that made marketers and advertisers cry with joy.

So I got to wondering… what is it that makes Power Rangers work? To what insanely dense part of my psyche do five masked, garishly-costumed, kung-fu-fighting teenagers and their equally dimwitted antagonists appeal?

Over the last week, I have been having an e-mail conversation with a college friend on the nature of faith and inspiration. It boiled down to the strength (or lack of it) of one’s faith. I am not a faithful, being inclined towards the skeptic’s ways. I call myself an agnostic, which puts me in the enviable position of being able to claim all faiths as mine and to question and dissect them as and when I want.

What would this have been like? The final train station fight in The Matrix.

Agent Smith and Mr Anderson at each other’s throats. Then flinging themselves back and whipping out handheld shooting devices. Then running at each other and shooting while in mid-leap. Then falling on to the concrete, at each other’s throats again, guns at each other’s temples.

Smith: You are empty.

Anderson: So are you.

They race each other back to their feet. A moment’s pause (stylish, real stylish).

Smith loosens his grip on the gun, lets it dangle for a second, then flings it aside.