Shokugeki No Soma (Food Wars)- Anime Review #1

Anime is probably the next best thing after ice cream. It's addictive, fun and some of them make you lose your mind trying to crack it's code. I started watching anime a few years ago and fell madly in love with them and all that's Japanese.

Shokugeki no Soma or food wars, is in my view, a hysterical, orgasmic and tough look at food made by prodigies, each one better than the other. Season 1 followed the life of our protagonist, Soma Yukihira, who sets out to become one of the greatest chefs in the world and to one day, surpass even his father. He along with his father run a locally acclaimed deli. But, when his father suddenly gets into a lot of travelling, he gives Soma a chance to prove himself in cooking and enrols him in the Totsuki Culinary Academy. With more than a thousand aspirants fighting neck to neck to enter this world renowned institute, season 1 follows the challenges and face offs that students have to face to survive.

We end with season 1 on the century's worst cliffhanger and as all anime fans, you really need to have patience to be able to watch any show completely. After a long wait of almost a year, we're back with season 2 and it honestly has our expectations set high. This season will probably change the entire dynamics of the academy and that we will get to see a lot more action (pun intended) and heat during the cook offs. We're hoping that questions about Soma's father and his family are answered and we get a bit of flashback work. Also, the speculations about the love-hate relationship between Soma and  Erina are bubbling around the new season as we wait for a few details to be revealed.

As of what I've seen till now, season 2 seems to be more of work and less of play. It seems to have less comical elements as compared to season 1, but the overall storyline is definitely more gripping. Portrayal of  Soma is almost too unrealistic seeing him win every challenge set in front of him, but I'm expecting a really strong and unexpected fall with the end of this season (that could actually build up the tension for season 3).

Right now, I'm just glued to my computer every Saturday watching the latest episode. Only time will tell if this new season was worth the hype and the long wait.

The Hidden Corners of the Attic

The Hidden Corners of the Attic 

The years passed by and faded away, 

While watching pigtails turn into ponies. 

Watches turning from coloured to silver 

And people becoming less imaginary and more real. 

From the smell of the rain to perfume 

That filled her senses. 

To the old albums that were now in gadgets, 

And new friends piling up in her pocket. 

The little girl who she always was morphs

Into the beautiful woman she will be,

And sets out on her new journey. 

To fill another attic with memories. 

Ironies, CBSE and Favourite Subjects

Unfortunate circumstances of my life have forced me to visit my blog again. It's weird how a short write up on your blog becomes the best therapy session you've ever been in.

Ironies. The world is filled with them and we're no strangers to them. But I'd say a student of class twelve in India has seen ironies not just up close and personally, but in its more brutal and sadistic form. Take me for instance. I love English and plan to pursue it in the near future. For a fifty mark paper, I work my butt off, practicing almost all questions and writing letters. Some would say I go overboard and I don't blame them for thinking so. But, I love English so much that it doesn't feel like a burden or a job doing those questions.

Sadly, results don't reciprocate my feelings. I was completely shattered today when I came to know of my marks. Seeing myself lose twenty marks in just a few drops of red ink and crosses, I was given a violent shove back to reality.

CBSE wants what you don't. It wants you to go back on your vocabulary, to reset your knowledge about phrases that you pride yourself on. It wants clear answers with zero emotions and it wants writing to be soulless and boring. Basically, it wants you to kill any happiness or ecstacy associated with writing and wants to turn it into any other subject, a quest solely for marks to get into a good college. Because that's how we educate people, by turning them into savages running after numbers rather than help them strive for perfection or enjoy the childish lines of the poem printed on their paper.

For a girl who likes using phrases from Shakespeare or even quote Severus Snape's dialogues in perfect situations, it's completely a dream crusher to see her words swim in a sea of red ink, struggling to breathe in a world that's enclosed in a coffin of percentages and grades. The challenge before her now is to give in to this world and slowly morph with its people and get in line to enter the rat race. Writing would now come from the hand and not the heart. 

Impatient Yearning

Impatient Yearning

When eyes don't blink anymore
And the ceiling becomes a mirror.
Tears follow the same path again,
And drench an already soaked shoulder.

Hands and legs don't work for long
And give in to the loneliness.
Silence turns into a lullaby and
Ears fall asleep too soon.

Slowly, as I turn from anxious to miserable
The impatient yearning leaves me.
Breathes are no longer needed,
For it's now too late to think of living.

Shock and Awe

Shock and Awe 

Following footsteps and piercing stares, 

I'm a spectacle and they're my audience. 

Being judged and talked about, 

For choosing the right for once. 

Classroom now a courtroom, 

My friends turn into the jury. 

Convict me for a truly false felony 

For having the courage to give a chance. 

No matter how many times I hear the same words, 

The same looks and hushed voices, 

Deep down I always believe 

That I chose the truest of all. 

Kabadiwalas and Indian Mothers

"Kabadiwala or junk dealer is a term commonly used in Hindistani to refer to a person who deals with old household products."

Google shows you this when you search for the meaning of 'kabadiwala' but we Indian kids know they're more than just junk dealers. Every child was haunted by the call of the kabadiwala at some point of their early childhood. By the time they reached the mid-childhood years, they would wonder what exactly the man was trying to say (I'm still stuck here though). He was the person our mothers would scare us with, when we wouldn't go to sleep. End of the day, whichever part of the country you were in, at least once in three months on a Sunday that familiar voice echoed across the quiet streets and you'd know it's that time of the month again.

Kabadiwalas for our mothers were something else. They gave mothers an opportunity to trade all the old used goods for a decent price. You're basically getting money for discarding your old newspapers and scraps of metal and plastic. In a mother's perspective, you're clearing the house and getting paid for it! So, no longer could the "I'm a housewife. I don't get paid for my work and still I do everything" line work on us.

On the morning of the monthly ordeal, the kids would get a heads up to clear out all the old question papers, answer sheets and other stationery from their closets and cupboards. Then finally, close to noon, the doorbell would ring and everyone would get down to business. Stacking up newspapers and checking how much they weighed on the scale, seeing your mother bargain and haggle for an extra ten bucks on some charger that's in a "good condition" was another experience all together. Once everything was done, a look of accomplishment would sprawl across your mother's face. By then, reality would have caught up with her and her next thought would be- "what should I make for lunch?". 

Over and Again

Over and Again 

You asked to be excused today as well, 

For some work that keeps you busy. 

The procrastinator you always are, 

Takes a back seat when you're with me. 

And when you're away, all I can think of 

Is a conversation that lasts a minute. 

The frays of your "sorry's" linger on, 

As silence comes back to check on me again. 

Even so, every time you do come back

I let go of the past. 

As your lips touch mine and I feel your smile on them, 

I watch silence look back at me and say, 

I'll be back over and over again.