Alright, alright, it is a woman, to be precise.
——–

She watched the events warily as they happened

Each time the universe collapsed, she had distinctly felt an almost uncontrollable urge to snap her fingers.

Of course, she had no clue that doing that would bind her irrevocably to three other destinies that she had been following closely – albeit, merely out of curiosity.
Mercifully (and surprisingly) she had not yet given in to her almost uncontrollable urges - snapped her fingers, that is.

She had observed the entire proceedings right from the beginning. Her interest, however, had been piqued when she saw the duo collide.

Before that she had been vaguely aware of six cups of black coffee being delivered to the same table – all within a short span of two hours. Only, she wasn’t sure if the coffee was being consumed by the same person each time.

You see she was trying to focus her Chi. So she couldn’t really have noticed. You can’t focus you Chi if you are busy noticing inane things such as six cups of black coffee being delivered to a table and wondering whether they are being consumed by the same person. Tut, tut!

But when the collision happened, all her attempts to focus her Chi were abandoned in the hope (or promise) that an interesting scene would follow.

However unlikely it may have seemed at this point, the promise of an interesting scene remained just that – a promise. Yes, she was to be deprived of any interesting developments that might have resulted out of the collision.

As both the characters (the ones involved in the collision) went their separate ways, she was suddenly conscious of that urge yet again. She managed to overcome it with some difficulty.

It was no coincidence, she thought to herself, that he occupied the same chair that the girl had vacated.

And it was certainly no coincidence, she thought, that the girl had left her phone (distinctive ‘apparel’, she chuckled to herself) on the table. Not that he seemed to take any heed of it.

As she was noting these observations to herself, she wished she could jot them down for future recall. Rummaging through her haversack, she found a piece of paper, but no pen. Strange, she thought, and turned to call the waiter to ask for a pen.

It was then, that she noticed him standing outside the café.

One glance at him told her that some minor catastrophe had befallen him, especially, looking at the manner in which his clothes had been messed up. More than coffee, he looked like he needed a bath.

What struck her instantly though, was this – his face had a clearly hateful expression.

And it was directed towards the new occupant of the aforementioned table, the same one that had seen six cups of black coffee being delivered. What’s more, the new occupant had apparently ‘discovered’ the existence of the ‘appareled’ phone.

And then the waiter swooped down and came up with the scarf. A beautiful scarf. She felt a twinge of feminine jealousy, for a short moment. But the moment passed soon enough, and she was herself again.

Her rational brain her swung into gear by this time, and she quickly assessed the situation. Making all the correct observations and drawing all the right conclusions was a simple step. And having followed these steps, she arrived at a perfectly normal conclusion.

It was all a misunderstanding, and she could easily clear it.

She felt that urge again, but she shook it off determinedly. There was a task waiting to be done. She would question and analyze her own urges later. And having decided thus, she returned to concentrate at the task at hand.

So what was she supposed to do?

Ah yes, clarify the situation to the two characters involved in the silent drama. One, who was oblivious of the other, and both oblivious of the fact that it was a huge misunderstanding. But how was she to do it?

Voila! She could simply bring the two of them face to face and explain the situation, and they would easily see reason.

All she had to do was call for the waiter!!

She called for the waiter.

And, in doing so, the universe was recreated.

———-

I have a strong suspicion, this is leading nowhere. And if so, I better move this story to some place else.

What say?

——
The Story so far:

Nothing much, really.

A girl who drinks a lot of coffee. A guy immersed in Tarantino-Kubrick-Greenway films. Another guy who does not believe in omens. Put the three of them together at one coffee shop and what do we get?

Nothing, really.
——

He couldn’t see him, since he had his back to the entrance.

The waiter approached him and without warning suddenly swooped down towards his leg.

The first thought that flashed in his mind, was typically Tarantino. Is this waiter a were-wolf? Is he gonna bite my leg off? His questions ended up in disappointment as the waiter retrieved a pretty silken scarf and held it in front of him.

It was definitely pretty. Colors seemed to jump in and out of it. It would have looked pretty on any girl, even the librarian. It would have looked even prettier on the girl who had just collided with him, a few minutes back.

A faint thought rumbled in the deep confines of his brain.

He remembered thinking about olives when they had both fallen on the floor. Now he realized why. The girl had been smelling of olives and lemon. Maybe it was her perfume, maybe it was her shampoo.

And then, another thought rumbled in the deep confines of his brain. This one was quite far from the first one. But somehow, with a mighty effort, his brain managed to co-relate the two, and he brought the scarf near and sniffed it.

And then, the Universe collapsed, again.

****

As he stood at the café entrance, debating whether to go in or wait for her outside, a ray of hope suddenly parted the clouds of despair.

He took out his cell-phone and called her.

As he dialed the number he scanned the café area though the transparent glass door to check if he could spot her. And then he saw it.

Was it a coincidence? Was it…

The sweatshirt looked excruciatingly similar. And why was he not answering the call? Was he afraid? Apprehensive? Guilty? Worried? Would he reject the call? Would he answer it?

If he did answer it, he’d surely get an earful. If he rejected it, he’d move straight in and go one-on-one with him. He was in fairly good shape though he had stopped gymming a few months back.

And then, he hit the silence button.

Why did he do that?

Wait, here comes the waiter. What is he pointing at? He’s picking it up now. Is it… Is it… No it can’t be! Oh, but it is… the scarf!

The silk scarf he had so lovingly gifted her. The first gift out of his first salary and all that jazz. Why did she do it? Why him? He looks so… so… weird!

So that was why she was acting weird. That was what the entire charade was about. She’d been two-timing him, the bitch!

Wait, did he just smell the scarf?

That’s it! I’m gonna crucify him. I’m gonna tear him from limb to limb! I’ll kill him, strangle him, slit his throat, cut him up…

Wait, what’s the use? What’s he done? He must have fallen prey to her foxy ways. In many ways he’s in the same position as I am. No, it’s not his fault. And anyway, he looks weak. I could probably blow him away with a puff.

It’s all her fault! She’s the one to be blamed. She’s the one who should be killed, slaughtered, strangled, slit, cut up, etc.

His entire train of thoughts came to an abrupt halt at this point.

As he turned to leave, his eyes were clouded. And it wasn’t just hate.

—–

Author’s Note:

Mental Block reached. Trying to overcome it. Might be successful in a few days, hopefully. Wish me luck…

“I don’t have change!”

“Keep the friggin’ change!!”

“Hey thanks! You might smell funny, but you have a golden heart!”

The funny smelling guy made his way to the café entrance and was about to step in when the importance of the auto-rickshaw driver’s remark hit home.

******

It had been a really bad day.

The first thing he did every morning was wake up on the right side. Today, it had been the left. And then as he was brushing his teeth, she had called.

He really should have ignored that call.

“Hi, howey, Ah-b bwushib wight *slurp* wight wow..”

“We need to talk.”

The voice at the other end of the line sounded tinny.

“Fyo-ore, Whoa-awh-ead…”

“What are you doing?” It sounded irritated.

He spat the foam. “I said I am brushing. What is it?”

“Alright, finish whatever it is that you are doing and give me a call.”

Click. The line went dead. It was an omen.

But then, he never believed any of that crap.

His day in the office was markedly negative. Negative reviews, negative opinions, negative appraisals, negative colleagues, negative bosses, heck, even his bank balance showed a negative figure.

During lunchtime, he remembered that he hadn’t called her. When he did, she yelled at him left, right and centre. He didn’t understand most of it. Although, he was pretty sure he heard words like irresponsible, forgetful, pathetic loser. He caught three words quite distinctly – “evening,” “café,” and “meet.” Was that at six or eight?

Bad network connection – blame it on them. But then, omens do not really exist, do they?

And then things took a turn. For the worse.

He stepped out only to find both the wheels of his bike punctured. So what? There’s always Public Transport, right?

Unfortunately, for someone who’s never been in a bus, the first time is a terrifying experience, pun unintended.

He had barely managed to hang on to the foot rail.

Hanging on to the foot-rail is a thing of skill. You have to practice it for years, with a lot of rope and/or harness, or a trustworthy friend, before you can do that. Even the greatest of athletes tremble at the mere thought of attempting such a hazardous feat. And here he was, out on a limb, pun unintended, again.

No prizes for guessing what happened next.

The treacherous city roads existed for the passengers. They existed for pedestrians. They also existed for posterity. Basically, they existed for all mortals. And the bus-driver is no mere mortal.

The city roads, especially the pot-holes adorning them, did not exist for the bus-driver. There is no spoon, he muttered to himself and drove on.

One moment he was hanging on to dear life and the very next moment he was lying in a puddle that was probably on a vacation from its original residence in Sahara. Unfortunately, it had also brought along, it’s closest relative called Sand, and had turned into the Great Indian Slush.

And that was exactly where he landed.

What added to the discomfort was a cow had recently gifted the puddle some of it’s own precious water that it had made itself.

And that was how his day had been.

To Be Continued…

Arbit Observation:
The best part of writing a story can be expressed in three simple words:
“To be continued”

Obviously, he wasn’t around when they said that.

The collision was inevitable. She was engrossed in her thoughts, and he was trying to solve a differential calculus problem. The problem stayed where it was. He ended up as the denominator, and she, the numerator(1).

They soon regained their primate postures(2) and stood facing each other, uncomfortably. But one glance at the floor saved them from any uncomfortable exchanges.

The contents of her purse had spilled out, like in the movies and she hastily began to stuff them in.

It is indeed, a matter of awe to watch a woman put away her stuff back into her handbag.

First, the bundle of tissues (unused) went in. Then came the mini-make up kit, consisting of the compact foundation box, the corresponding brushes, a few mascara and kaajal sticks and a folding mirror (small). The face-wash tube and lip-stick tubes went in next. And finally, her wallet, which seemed to be bulging at the seams was stuffed inside.

The entire process would have been easier, had the hand bag been a little larger.

The said culprit of a hand-bag was slightly larger than her palm.

A matter of awe, indeed.

He resumed the differential calculus problem that had been so rudely interrupted and made his way to his regular table. He was pleased to find it empty and available. Smiling, he pulled a chair.

****

A steaming hot cup of lemon tea made way to his table.

“New phone?” piped the waiter.

“No, the same old one.” He replied on auto-pilot, his mind still on the calculus problem.

“Weird way to dress it up if you asked me… Heh heh!”

“Nope, I didn’t ask.”

“Well, enjoy your tea, then!” Saying thus, the waiter left him in peace.

A few moments later, it registered on him. He moved the cup of tea slightly to the left and there it was.

His first thought was that it was a headless doll. And then he realized that it wasn’t a Tarantino film. So he gingerly touched it. It didn’t move. He mustered up enough courage to pick it up.

And pick it up he did.

It was a sweatshirt all right; except, it was at least twenty sizes too small for anyone. For a brief moment he wondered if Tom Thumb and/or Thumbelina really existed. And the previous thought kicked him again. It wasn’t a Tarantino (or even a Kubrick, or a Greenaway) film.

The shiny zipper at the front demanded attention. And he tugged at it. At that moment he attained enlightenment(3).

The entire contraption was a holder for a cell phone. He was living in reality after all.

He sighed. What a disappointment. He made a mental note to watch less films.

No, strike that. Watch more films. At least, they are exciting, unlike reality and its representation in life.

While he was making notes to himself, the sweat-shirt began to shake as if possessed, and emanated weird sounds. The Tarantino-Kubrick-Greenaway connection had barely made its presence felt, when reality kicked in and brought him down crashing to terra-firma.

The phone was ringing. So much for imagination.

But now, he was in a dilemma.

If he were to answer the phone, he would be guilty of trespassing on someone’s private property. On the other hand, if he let it ring, it seemed likely that he would be verbally, even physically, abused in the next few minutes.

The spinal cord in cohorts with the medulla oblongata(2) does really weird things. From telling your heart when to beat, to snatching your hand away from a hot stove, it issues orders with the rapidity and precision of an army general.

It is still a matter of debate, whether it was the above medium or the brain that issued a command to hit the silent button, but the command was issued the same.

And then, the universe collapsed.

——
Footnotes:
1. Readers will kindly excuse the author’s affinity towards mathematics, pathetic jokes and any combination of the two.
2. Readers will also kindly pardon the author’s complete lack of any knowledge of biology. It wasn’t one of my favorite subjects, anyway.
3. Too many Zen Koans…

The emphasis on ‘again’ was not lost on her. But she chose to ignore it. It wasn’t his fault, really. After all, how could anyone drink six cups of black coffee in a span of two hours?

“No, thanks. The cheque, please.”

A smile lit up on the waiter’s face. This one wasn’t plastic for sure. And he scurried to the cash counter.

She sighed and looked at her watch.

Two hours. Well, she’d done her part. Nobody could say she hadn’t tried. One can only do so much, right?

She took her cell-phone and checked for new messages. None. Missed calls? None, again. Well, so much for living in the communication era.

The waiter brought her bill. She thrust her hand into her wallet and realized she didn’t have enough change. Well, to hell with it. I am not coming back here anyway, so what the heck, might as well go the whole nine yards.

And with that, she put a five hundred rupee note and uttered with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

“Keep the change.”

And she swept towards the café exit, leaving behind six empty cups of coffee, three empty water glasses, a three-hundred rupee tip and one bewildered waiter.

To Be Continued…

He stood there dumb-founded, the words not really registering upon him. She was leaving and he stood rooted to the spot. His mind was filled with a thousand questions all of which wanted an answer at once. His mind was filled with an impenetrable mist. He was lost in the fog. He was searching desperately for some kind of an answer. And by the time the mists cleared, she was gone. He stood there, looking at the ring in his hand.

***

She strode up rapidly toward the exit, dabbing her kerchief at her eyes attempting to remove the last traces of tears. But the harder she tried, the faster they came and then they didn’t stop.

His denial had been his undoing. The fact that he so vehemently denied proved that there was indeed someone else in his life. And he had been shocked when she first threw the accusation at him, hadn’t he? If he was telling the truth he needn’t have looked so shocked, right?

Oh why? Why me? Why does it have to be me? Didn’t I love him enough? Why did he have to go to someone else? What did the bitch have that she didn’t? She was definitely a hundred, thousand times more beautiful than her. Even he had said so. And even he admitted that she had a more beautiful smile than the bitch. She also had a better figure than her. Then why?

The strains of a latest movie song filled the air. She faintly recognized it as her cell phone ring-tone. She wiped her tears as best as she could, cleaned her nose and answered the phone. It was Sam.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I was a little stuck in a meeting here. What’s wrong with your mobile?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“He was trying the whole of evening, but it seemed your mobile was ‘out of coverage area.’ Even I keep getting the same response. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere in particular. Why, what happened?”

“What happened? Haven’t you heard? He’s been promoted to Project Manager!! He wanted you to have the news first. But your cell phone must have conked off. So he called me. They forced him to host a small party and he said he would be late. So he asked me to call you and inform. I was stuck in a meeting with my boss so I couldn’t call earlier. You there?”

“Uh? Yes…”

“He’s slogged mighty hard for it, you know. The boss was impressed. Now he can easily book that flat he’s been looking at the whole of last month.”

“Flat? What flat?”

“You mean he hasn’t told you yet? Uh oh, big mistake! I was supposed to keep it a secret until he told it to you. Damn, me and my big mouth!! Listen, don’t tell him I told you. He’ll kill me. Come to think of it, he should have been there by now. Hasn’t he come yet? Hello… hello…”

She heard nothing more. Clutching the phone in her hand she ran. She knew he wouldn’t be there. Nobody would stomach such an insult and stay. But in her heart she hoped he would stay. She already knew what she had to do.

She reached the park bench. He was nowhere to be seen. Her heart sank. And then she noticed a lone figure sitting on the grass. It was he. He was sitting desolately, plucking the petals off the bunch of roses. She walked up to him. He saw her and immediately stood up, the joy on his face evident, but masked by caution.

She bade him sit on the grass. He obeyed.

He was still clutching the ring. She took his hand in hers and slipped on the ring. He looked at her and smiled. Everything was forgiven. The moment of madness had passed, faded. She leant upon his shoulder and rested her head upon it. He moved his fingers through her long hair. She attempted to speak.

“I…”

“Shhh… Don’t say a word. The new girl at the office is on the phone. I thought since you had left, I might as well flirt a little…”

Well, life was full of surprises.

—–

Author’s note:
That’s all that I have for the moment. I intend to continue it later, from this point, but don’t see where to go… Maybe I need one of those flashes-of-inspiration things that people keep talking about…

She came over to him. His heart was doing a thousand already. When she spoke, it went out of control. He could barely hear her words with his heart booming. For a brief instant he wondered whether she could hear it.

She was saying something, but the words wouldn’t register. He was so engrossed in looking at her that he forgot that he was supposed to hear and answer – as is wont in a conversation.

” … you coming?”, he snapped back to reality just in time to catch the last few words.

“Sorry? I wasn’t listening…”

“I said, we – that is I, Sam and Anita – are going for a movie in the evening, and I was wondering, if you aren’t doing anything, then maybe you would like to join us…”

He couldn’t believe it! Neither his ears nor his luck! She was asking him out? But …

“Now, wait a minute. Isn’t this supposed to happen the other way round? I mean, I think you stole my line!!”

She laughed. It was a simple laugh with no strings attached. A laugh, that seemed to have originated in the deep recesses of her heart. A laugh that had frolicked all the way to her lips where it had played for quite some time, maddening him all the more.

“I had heard you were humorous, but this really takes the cake!”

“Oh!” he said, mocking sarcasm, “So you want an entertainer for the intermission?”

“Now, that’s downright offensive! Usually, I would take offense at such a remark and never ever talk to such a snooty person again…”

“Usually,” he said simply.

She blushed and replied matter-of-factly, “Yes. Usually.”

His cell phone beeped indicating he’d received a message…

He smiled and took out his cell phone. He opened the menu option for text messages and began composing a message. At the same time he turned to her and said, “I don’t mean to disappoint you, but I don’t think I can make it. The boss has me nailed for the evening. You’ll have to look for another clown for the evening.”

He could see she was disappointed. But she tried her best not to show it. She said, instead, “Oh! Hard luck, I must say. The critics have labeled this as one of the best romances shown on the Indian screen. Too bad you’re gonna miss it.”

“Guess I’ll have to catch it sometime later then,” he replied coolly.

“Hope you enjoy watching the movie alone,” she said.

She was fuming and making an attempt not to show it. It was really funny. She looked even prettier when she did that. He suppressed a laugh and continued with his work, satisfied with the result.

She (almost) stomped off to her desk and was in a pretty bad mood the rest of the day. She spoke to no one and didn’t even look at him for the rest of the day. He, on the other hand, was enjoying the day thoroughly, each and every moment of it.

***

Her anger had turned to sorrow and by evening she was pretty much in tears. She wouldn’t talk to anyone or tell anyone about it, but it was evident from her overall behavior that she was hurt. Deeply. Why did he have to reject her so outright? Couldn’t he have used some tact at least? She remembered the time her mother had told her, ‘Men are tactless. They don’t understand that a woman’s heart is fragile and needs to be handled with care.’

They met at the movie hall a good ten minutes prior to the show. It turned out that the tickets were nearly sold out, so Sam had to buy them in black and naturally there was a problem with the seat numbers. Two of the seats were in the last row and the third was in the last-but-third row. She looked at the two of them who were looking at her eagerly, hoping she would make a judicious choice, and she did.

As she sat in the bucket seat in the aisle of the last-but-third row, she wondered for a brief moment who her immediate partner would be. Hers was an aisle seat which meant there would be only one immediate partner. The mention of the word partner caused her to look back at the duo of Sam and Anita, the latter of who was busy feeding popcorn to the former. She sighed and turned to look at the screen. The lights began to dim, signaling the beginning of the movie. The last of the late-comers had begun to rush in…

“Excuse me!”

A voice in the dark. A familiar voice in the dark. For a moment she could not believe it. The voice continued.

“Would you mind shifting to the next seat? I have a thing for aisle seats, you see!”

She looked up and keeping her face as straight as she could replied, “I am sorry, that is not my seat. The ticket says this is my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you change your seat even if I requested you to? Or, what if I told you, that there’s something on the seat that you gotta see…”

She looked at him in disbelief. And then she slowly turned and pushed the seat down and gasped. Lying there on the seat, was a single red rose. She looked at him and saw him grinning. She didn’t have to look back, she knew they would be grinning too… She blushed and shifted to the next seat.

A few hours back, the text message to a bewildered Sam had read:

‘I’m joinin’. Don’t tell her. I’ll arrange 4 d tkts. Pik dem up wen u rch ‘

The darkness comforted him like an ally, a friend. He removed his shoes, undressed and sat down for a few moments, bare, almost naked. The floor was cold, especially during the winters. Each contact with the skin sent miniature electric shocks down the spine. Yet, it all seemed comforting, almost surreal. The cold tried to fight with his skin for a few moments. Then, the treacherous swine that it was, it did a one-eighty and bonded with his skin, comforting it, soothing it, lulling it to sleep.

And then the explosions began, one-by-one.

First came Frustration, which seeped in, throwing all senses into disarray. Then, Irritation and Anger mounted a combined attack, scattering all the vestiges of hope. Third came Cowardice, with its big mace, which it used to smash all notions of bravado and valor. Finally, Helplessness struck, filling in the gaps left behind by its allies. When it was all over, Desperation stood over the ruins surveying the conquered remnants of a broken soul.

Each blow took away a little more than the previous one. The brain began closing all its functions one-by-one.

Save one.

From the beginning till the end, He kept hearing a laugh, that of a small child. It seemed to come from a distance. It neither grew louder, nor did it fade. It stayed where it was, beckoning him to come closer, inviting him tantalizingly, slowly driving him mad. It was the same every time, somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle, just short of being a full-throated laugh, like one of those baby videos, or ring-tones that one comes across occasionally. It dared him to come and explore, to search for it. He stretched out an arm hoping to catch it, and yet, fully knowing that he would never reach it.

And then he found himself lying on the cold, hard floor.

Oddly enough, he never shed a single tear. Maybe because of a false mojo, or maybe because he had grown accustomed to it. No, the latter can’t be true. He had NEVER shed a single tear, ever. He wondered why?

He got up and poured himself a glass of cold water. And shoved it down his throat. He wiped off the imaginary beads of sweat on his forehead, and sat at the edge of his bed. The exhaustion took its toll and he dropped back on the bed.

Lying on his back, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly, He was suddenly reminded of the client meetings for the next day and the research he needed to undertake for his personal project. He was reminded of the post he needed to compose for his blog and about the premium he needed to pay on his insurance. The mundane took over slowly, and he shut his eyes. His sub-conscious issued a command to his brain to generate a list of To-Dos for the next day.

And he ventured into the abyss. Just like that.

Perf Members denounced it left, right and centre blaming Perf for all sorts of things. Some even went to the extent of threatening to close down their accounts, which I found weird. Nobody ever said that to Writely. Or YouTube. Or del.icio.us, for that matter.

I think Nick, Chris and all the guys at Perf are a fantastic lot. I would doff my hat off to them, if I was wearing one.

And then, the deal was called off. Performancing went through a roller-coaster of a ride, and things seem to have stabilized.

Hmm, lemme see:

Ads on Blogs - GOOD
Pay per Post - BAD

Premium Content - GOOD
Pay Per Post - BAD

Community Reviews - GOOD
Pay Per Post - BAD

Summing it up, as long as you are not associated with explicit financial motives, whatever you do is ALWAYS good. That’s a thin red line there, methinks.

Weird sense of morality we have, eh?

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Read it here: The Bond Walks Again.

But I am surprised, of the 45 comments (at the last count…) and through the entire post, there is not one true Bond fan.
Everyone keeps commenting on how Daniel Craig is un-suave and un-stylish, or at the very least less worthy than Pierce Brosnan and Sean Connery (Ye Gods!). I thought movies were meant for watching and *listening* as well.

For those who haven’t gotten the drift yet, check this link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Fleming#James_Bond_books

And a complete Ian Fleming Bibliography can be found here:
http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/series/james-bond/

A ‘Casino’ Quickie
Casino Royale is Ian Fleming’s FIRST Bond book. The book is about a spy who has been recently promoted to a double agent status and given the license to kill. In casino royale, James Bond is a brash, short-tempered, somewhat uncouth (if I may say so) young man who believes in here and now. More often than not, he lets his heart rule over his head.

Casino Royale is not about the shaken-not-stirred martini Bond we know. Rather, it is about the man who became James Bond 007. It is about the process of finding and losing love that eventually hardens him into the ‘Bond, James Bond’ as we know today. Ever wonder why Craig never says the trademark Bond line (”The name’s Bond, James Bond”) except at the end? Now you know…

Everything about Daniel Craig in the movie, from his clothing to his Body language is raw, and exudes a different charm. The Bond babes are there and yet, not quite there, if you get my drift

But this post is not intended to be a review of the movie. It is meant to quash some of the misgivings about the ‘Bond series’.

The Bond Series

1. The Bond series is not a ‘Series’.
   Or rather, it is not in a chronological order. Check out Fleming’s bibliography and you’ll realize what I am talking about.
2. Daniel Craig looks gay/wussy/________ (Your adjective here)
   He’s meant to look raw. It’s his first ‘assignment’. Or sort of. He’s supposed to behave like an air-head. A promotion often does that to you.
3. Daniel Craig is not as stylish as ________ (Your choice of Bond here)
   See point 2.
4. Casino Royale is not as stylish/gadgety/______ (Your adjective here) as _______ (Insert name of a Bond movie)
   See point 2.

Oh by the way, did you know Casino Royale was written in 1953? You didn’t, did you? I figured…

Trivia:
In one of the scenes during the Poker tournament, Bond orders the bartender to make a drink for him. He proceeds to narrates the recipe from memory for about twenty seconds and ends with, …”shaken, not stirred.”

Yep, that is the famous ’shaken-not-stirred’ Bond martini. The more observant of you may even have noted down the recipe during the movie.

Pass it on, if you did.