Video gamers are a zealous bunch. We have our own religion, a god for every genre, our legacies, our defectors, conflicted heroes, the full house. It's sorta like a Greek mythology kind of think. The religion was dying, wasting away... the Consoles were corrupting the once holy land, drawing the faithful away. We stuck to our Need For Speeds and watched helplessly as Sundays became longer and our eyes less red.
Then, unexpected, a hero rose. The legends spoke of a prince in pixel... of the treacherous vizier and the kidnapped princess. The accounts were hazy, some said he was the first Platformer, others dismissed him as just another Sidescroller. Soon a new generation of Gamers rose, and they did not know him. Soon we DOS-ers were left wondering if he really did exist. Till he came. In glorious 3D. With an incredible story, with extraordinary agility, with charming wit and of course, with BLOOM effects. The world rose as one, and many bits were rearranged in the One matrix. They set, reset and swapped till only the main diagonal remained. He gave us an Identity (matrix).
The point being, for a whole new generation of gamers, Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time was the original pill, the dope, whatever. This was hallowed ground. You do not walk into Ayodhya and put up a banner on Global warning where the temple/mandir/both/neither stood. Granted, its good, but dude! Put that somewhere else!
The PoP movie is good, it really is. Jake Last-name-fought-with-tongue is exactly how you'd imagined the Prince. The guy we all wanted to be, shut up in our rooms days at a stretch. The vizier, well, could you have found a better actor?! But otherwise, the story is a complete joke - granted, video games don't have story material for feature films, but they could have at least built up on what they had!
Actually, deep down, its not the story either. The PoP Storyline is too convoluted to market to a mainstream audience, and I understand that. It's just that, when you've spent hours perfecting those wall walks and those perfect time-manipulated combos, its a bit of a let-down when none of it comes on screen. Yes, it is an amazing, stylish and perfectly entertaining movie - yet it is not the movie of the game, but a poorly misunderstood spin-off. The dreams of a creed were misinterpreted and misunderstood, sadly willfully.
One note about video gamers. They hate to be misunderstood. Prepare to be Pwned, soon.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Incredible Truths
I have always wondered how the animals that roam the road, and I mean the ones that necessarily have to use four legs and not the ones that choose to, often characterize the local flavor. Not the cuisine, the flavor of the place, so to speak. You know, the kind of thing that makes a guy yell his gizzards out selling eggplants and what not at 6 in the morning, clearly misguided into believing that decent people wake before 8. Or, if you will, the kind that makes that little meter go kaput, and instead force you to engage in some intellectual exchanges regarding time, distance, and space - if the Auto has any for you or not. Chennai has dogs and Trichy cows. The whole of Kerala, of course, has fish. Any smart alec comments about fish not being on roads will be met with the curt, cutting and sharp retort that roads aren't in Kerla, as much as rivulets.
In this vein it must be mentioned that my current whereabouts has pigs on the road. The type that were never taught hygiene, grunt, choose to play right in the way of diligent people minding their businesses early in the morn. and of course, eating everything in sight. The astute observer would no doubt have, well, observed, that I spend most of my life in such a set-up - the inmates of Lapis are notorious for their upkeep, or lack of it. Yet I mean pigs in the literal . Actual, flat nosed, oink-oinking, soon to be sausage types.
Speaking of pigs, I was called one, with numerous titles attached, by a close friend yesterday. The issue was a trivial one, simply a case of a slip of hearing. I was pretty confident that she mentioned a Canadian Godzilla, but when I ventured to suggest that Godzilla, being Japanese, would have been exported to a score of countries and that hence, she was as likely to find a Canadian Godzilla as a Sudaneese Godzilla, I was promptly called an extremely well qualified pig.
Further investigation revealed that she had, in fact, spoken in a tongue known only to signboards and bus conductors in a certain cosmopolitanu cityu.
A note on the 'u' concept. If highly placed sources in the government are to be believed (meaning the guy fixing the telephone pole) the 'U' movement was a direct marketing retort to the 'I' movement. While the 'i' stood for intelligence, individuality and incorrigible-overkill, the Naidu's and the Krishna's sat together and decided that since the Indian way always puts the guest above self, ours would be the 'You' movement. For marketing reasons (and because SMS is the next big fad after Buddhism, Power Yoga and Waging Expensive Wars) this became 'U'. Further, one family, being of kind, generous and slightly dull disposition, said that since they had U's almost everywhere, from cheppu to sudoku, ceded the chair of the movement, the lantern of progress and what not to the other. Thank U very much, they said, and merrily went about repainting signboards.
In this vein it must be mentioned that my current whereabouts has pigs on the road. The type that were never taught hygiene, grunt, choose to play right in the way of diligent people minding their businesses early in the morn. and of course, eating everything in sight. The astute observer would no doubt have, well, observed, that I spend most of my life in such a set-up - the inmates of Lapis are notorious for their upkeep, or lack of it. Yet I mean pigs in the literal . Actual, flat nosed, oink-oinking, soon to be sausage types.
Speaking of pigs, I was called one, with numerous titles attached, by a close friend yesterday. The issue was a trivial one, simply a case of a slip of hearing. I was pretty confident that she mentioned a Canadian Godzilla, but when I ventured to suggest that Godzilla, being Japanese, would have been exported to a score of countries and that hence, she was as likely to find a Canadian Godzilla as a Sudaneese Godzilla, I was promptly called an extremely well qualified pig.
Further investigation revealed that she had, in fact, spoken in a tongue known only to signboards and bus conductors in a certain cosmopolitanu cityu.
A note on the 'u' concept. If highly placed sources in the government are to be believed (meaning the guy fixing the telephone pole) the 'U' movement was a direct marketing retort to the 'I' movement. While the 'i' stood for intelligence, individuality and incorrigible-overkill, the Naidu's and the Krishna's sat together and decided that since the Indian way always puts the guest above self, ours would be the 'You' movement. For marketing reasons (and because SMS is the next big fad after Buddhism, Power Yoga and Waging Expensive Wars) this became 'U'. Further, one family, being of kind, generous and slightly dull disposition, said that since they had U's almost everywhere, from cheppu to sudoku, ceded the chair of the movement, the lantern of progress and what not to the other. Thank U very much, they said, and merrily went about repainting signboards.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Delhi is full of gas..
I wouldn't think there are many places that have both humans, and fuel being doled out by the kilo. It is thus that I looked up to count my lucky stars, promptly getting blinded by the midday sun, when I saw a sign that said, Gas - 21.70 Rs/Kilo.
To put it in context, for all you lovers of Mr.Bean jokes sniggering away, Delhi, by the account of one fine young gentleman, who provides excellent company from Noida to Gurgaon, and even drives a cab, has 85% vehicles running on CNG. That's a LOT. Being of the shrewd, calculating, 16teraflops-and-counting-processor types, I asked him, "How much mileage doth thou revievest?".
What I wanted to as, is of course, obvious. But thanks to the CBSE's terrific Hindi teaching pattern, where we learn to speak like we're at a Hindi dubbed high-tea bash, thats how the poor fellow heard it. In any case, he was sporting enough to smile and say, "8 kilos to 100 kilometers". Some frenetic processing ensued where I determined the square root of infinity, before concluding that this was, in short, aces. No wonder then that I spent 40 mins waiting in queue at a CNG bunk.
Another interesting observation... the CNG pumps are all automatic. Meaning you can plug it into your cylinder thingy, and keep holding the button. Some complex thermodynamics ensures that the thing doesn't blow up or overflow. In fact, even saw a few readings do a small dance routine at 5.67 kg... 5.66kg... 5.67 again... ah yes 5.6 at last.
One last, completely rad thing I noticed. Heard of how the sun never set on her Majesty's empire and all that jazz? We'll, for a democracy we aren't doing that bad. The sun rises at 5.30ish and sets at 19.30ish. Dinner is served at 21.30. I rest my case.
Like Obelix would've admirably put it, "These Delhi-ites are crazy!". But darned good looking, too. So we forgive them, as we have forgiven so many others, and just thank the Sun god for those extra hours of light.
To put it in context, for all you lovers of Mr.Bean jokes sniggering away, Delhi, by the account of one fine young gentleman, who provides excellent company from Noida to Gurgaon, and even drives a cab, has 85% vehicles running on CNG. That's a LOT. Being of the shrewd, calculating, 16teraflops-and-counting-processor types, I asked him, "How much mileage doth thou revievest?".
What I wanted to as, is of course, obvious. But thanks to the CBSE's terrific Hindi teaching pattern, where we learn to speak like we're at a Hindi dubbed high-tea bash, thats how the poor fellow heard it. In any case, he was sporting enough to smile and say, "8 kilos to 100 kilometers". Some frenetic processing ensued where I determined the square root of infinity, before concluding that this was, in short, aces. No wonder then that I spent 40 mins waiting in queue at a CNG bunk.
Another interesting observation... the CNG pumps are all automatic. Meaning you can plug it into your cylinder thingy, and keep holding the button. Some complex thermodynamics ensures that the thing doesn't blow up or overflow. In fact, even saw a few readings do a small dance routine at 5.67 kg... 5.66kg... 5.67 again... ah yes 5.6 at last.
One last, completely rad thing I noticed. Heard of how the sun never set on her Majesty's empire and all that jazz? We'll, for a democracy we aren't doing that bad. The sun rises at 5.30ish and sets at 19.30ish. Dinner is served at 21.30. I rest my case.
Like Obelix would've admirably put it, "These Delhi-ites are crazy!". But darned good looking, too. So we forgive them, as we have forgiven so many others, and just thank the Sun god for those extra hours of light.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Blank
There is absolutely nothing to write about. Not to say my life is static. That too.
Just that in this melange of interviews/exams/birthdays/treats/train rides, somehow you realize that 4 months have given you the slip, each quicker than the previous one. Jocularity about language proficiency seems old, stale and stupid. Goodbyes seem childish for summer, yet inside each of us there's this small gear creeping - how'l it be next year? If 3 months can evoke a small sense of longing and sadness, what can 2 years, or 5 or 10 do?
Some bridges you can cross when you come to it. Others you jump headway into the river below and pray that it takes you to good places. I'm guessing passing out of college is the latter! The integral part of that statement being, when you come to the bridge, you jump. Any earlier, and you look like an idiot. With such impressive words of self-admonishment, I ground myself. Even as a few aircrafts whiz over my head to Germany.
As for myself, I leave for Gurgaon on Tuesday... taking with me a lot of luggage, confusion, disappointment, excitement, the usual circus. "All are here, the old familiar faces" said VS, and how true.
Anyways, at the risk of sounding overtly sentimental, goodbye all. Bon voyage, et al. Get me something back from wherever you're going, and for god's sake come online. Cheers, ye' idiots all!
Just that in this melange of interviews/exams/birthdays/treats/train rides, somehow you realize that 4 months have given you the slip, each quicker than the previous one. Jocularity about language proficiency seems old, stale and stupid. Goodbyes seem childish for summer, yet inside each of us there's this small gear creeping - how'l it be next year? If 3 months can evoke a small sense of longing and sadness, what can 2 years, or 5 or 10 do?
Some bridges you can cross when you come to it. Others you jump headway into the river below and pray that it takes you to good places. I'm guessing passing out of college is the latter! The integral part of that statement being, when you come to the bridge, you jump. Any earlier, and you look like an idiot. With such impressive words of self-admonishment, I ground myself. Even as a few aircrafts whiz over my head to Germany.
As for myself, I leave for Gurgaon on Tuesday... taking with me a lot of luggage, confusion, disappointment, excitement, the usual circus. "All are here, the old familiar faces" said VS, and how true.
Anyways, at the risk of sounding overtly sentimental, goodbye all. Bon voyage, et al. Get me something back from wherever you're going, and for god's sake come online. Cheers, ye' idiots all!
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