Harishchandrachi Factory might be one of the few movies that lived up to all the expectations created by the critics. Although it has already dropped out of the Oscar race, this movie is still quite a gem, and a must-watch for movie lovers.
Harishchandrachi Factory, as known already by most, is about Dadasaheb Phalke, the man who made India’s first moving picture. The hoopla around Indian cinema (aka Bollywood) is so grand these days, that it’s hard to imagine that its roots go back to this middle-aged man with no other means available to him than his deep passion for the art of film-making. In fact, Factory could easily be described as a movie about madness. So profoundly crazy does Phalke become in his journey to make a movie, that his friends think he has lost his marbles and drag him to a mental institute. Nobody sees the magic involved in making a “moving picture,” and the movie deftly portrays the importance of family support for a venture as crazy as this.
Phalke’s passion is so infectious that he quickly manages to get his wife and sons involved, and with their support he ships himself to London to learn how to make films. He comes back, borrows more money and manages to make a full-length motion picture based on his favorite story – that of Raja Harishchandra of Ayodhya. He insists that the movies he makes should be based in India, and represent Indian culture and history.
It is heartening to see such quality cinema in Marathi – especially because Maharashtra has always been rich in theatrical productions. For some reason, Marathi cinema fell prey to slapstick comedies that lacked substance in the late nineties. After the lull, it’s good to see that Marathi film-makers are bouncing back with great stories, and movies that are genuinely well-made. Shwaas might have been good to see once, but it did grate on my nerves when I saw it the second time. Factory, simply due to it’s quirky appeal, would be great to see again. In spite of being an inspirational story, it’s not didactic or over-bearing. I especially loved the scenes which were filmed like a silent-movie, which quickened motions and a chirpy background score, reminding the viewer of how Phalke’s original work – Raja Harishchandra.
The Indian movie industry might be the most productive in the world, but the cinema it produces is not always of the best quality. It’s a shame to see that the audiences have dumbed themselves down to the kind of movies being made. How else can one explain the success and good reviews of a mediocre movie like, say, Wake up, Sid? Factory works because it stays true to its message. It’s a sincere movie about a dedicated man. If you truly appreciate the art of movie-making, you’ll thoroughly enjoy Factory. It doesn’t pander to anyone’s likes, yet its loyalty to cinema will win your heart and remind you why you love watching movies in the first place!
Robert Neville is all alone. He leads his life with seeming easiness – doing chores around the house, fixing things, cooking, and so on. But he is alone. Not lonely alone; but alone alone. Eerily so. And that eeriness will not get to you so easily, because just like me, you must have seen the movie, or at least heard the story from someone. But still, in the first few pages of the book, Neville’s aloneness is striking. He goes around the house, doing things, and keeps thinking about “them.” We are not told who “they” are, but just by reference, we know that they’re not good news. And as nightfall comes, and as Neville locks himself inside his house and plays loud music so that he can’t hear their sounds, we slowly begin to feel his aloneness. His solitary existence, surrounded by blood-thirsty vampires, not only scares us, but bothers our sense of complacency. Matheson takes us on Neville’s journey, forcing us to wonder what we would do if we were the last living being on this planet.
Death usually marks the end of a work of fiction; but Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones begins with death – the death of the protagonist, no less. Right at the beginning of the book, Susie Salmon introduces herself, and tells us that she’s been killed and is now in heaven. The novel, then, is a look at how Susie’s family copes with her death and how she watches over them, hoping that her killer gets caught. Sebold gives us a detailed description of the after-world, creating specific rules around what heaven means according to her. Sebold’s interpretation of heaven is an interesting one – a place where dead people can create a reality of things they really love. If what you love intersects with what someone else loves, you’ll meet that person in heaven.
It’s very rare that I read and enjoy a book like Amit Chaudhuri’s Afternoon Raag. My mother often reminds me how I kept badgering both my parents to tell me stories. And I’d demand new ones – not finding solace in the familiarity of a story told over and over again, like some other children might. That love for stories has not left my disposition. So when I pick up a work of fiction, I am looking to read a story – a new, fantastic tale. I love getting into the lives of other characters, watch them unabashedly and know that they’ll always be there, hidden under the shiny cover of a paperback. So when a book like Afternoon Raag doesn’t tell a story, but more or less meanders over descriptive passages, back to back, with no end or beginning, one would think a reader like me would be disappointed. And one would be wrong.


When you pick up a book to get into the groove of reading after a month-long reading hiatus, you want the book to slap you in the face, wake you up, and get excited about the activity of reading itself. But that’s only the best case scenario. With Monica Ali’s Brick Lane none of that happened. I started the book and I wondered every now and then, why I was still reading it and why I wasn’t keeping it down. I finished it to save face (from myself), but rest assured, what’s going to follow is not going to be pleasant.
There are so many books, and so little time to read. Maybe that’s why it’s quite difficult to read more than one book by the same author (unless you’re a die-hard fan of the writer). Avid readers usually read the most well-known book by an author. In Khaled Hosseini’s case, it has to be 

