Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules

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I saw ‘Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules some time ago. Oh! yes, a kid movie, shoot me now. Well, I have no regrets, for it was hilarious and not at all emotional, but does give away a sweet message of shared love among siblings, in a family. The movie I felt good about because of the character Rodrick, older brother messing with younger one who is kind of sappy, yeah the cover says wimpy. It’s a sequel to the earlier in the same segment, adapted from Jeff Kinney’s well written witty story with comical illustrations.

The film portrays our very self. If your family is as protective and gaga about stuff as Greg’s parents were, you would have a hell of a time!

The Heffley family is a mix bag of awkward people who can be distinguished by each of their highlighted enactment.

“A mother trying to run the family, looking for better understanding within the family, kind of carefree with hints of social briefing.
A father who I guess is not in-charge, but has a say, shrugging off from wife’s uncanny behavior but pretending to like and accept, not so dominant on children for he once was a boy.
A big brother, picking on smaller one, the kind of fights we love, put up with and laugh as we look back and remember.
A smaller brother, who is innocent but then again pain in the ass, and because of his innocence nothing can be done about it.
However, most importantly, there is a boy in between all this, a wimpy kid, who would love to become famous, respected, adored, who dreams to set things right. He presents to us, our own self, started with pretend, away from awkwardness and humiliation to have friends and girlfriends, sometimes ending up there and other times blessed by a safe rescue, but no matter how far you run, you tend to find happiness when you abolish sham and be yourselves, when you least expect it, when you realize that mending ways with all who are close is all joy, and all trouble to reach the realization was worth it.”

The film was kinda family drama, since it was never predominantly about the kid, but the kid and people around him. Enjoyed the situation when Greg was picked up by his father as he was skating in front of all people, broadcast-ed by his mother out loud, felt like a loser and his father was like, “I know”. There was a good song playing before that, Atlantic Star – Always, gotta love the line “girl you are to me all a woman should be”. One of the Rodrick’s tricks to easy life was definitely true, the one with lowering parent’s expectations, though I won’t recommend it. The poop part was hilarious as well.

So, I think I liked the movie, I remember sitting on my chair, laying still and remembering my childhood, I would give anything to go back, but somethings are not meant to be, that’s why they say, “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose“.

Starting Over

“Oh Look, it started raining mother”, Adriel spoke with sheer happiness. He was convinced that this would put on hold or even better call off their plans to meet Dr. Len, but finding surprises has always been his strong suit.

She did not reply, he called out one more time, but still she did not reply.

He went in to look.

Kaya had been working hard as a mother and a receptionist in an ad agency. Things have been hard and life a little difficult after Josh died. It happened that morning, that dark morning, that’s how she describes it. She loved nature and knew the drill which it’s various associates namely, sun, moon, trees played every year, every season, every month, but after that day, she barely remembered as to why she was so in love with nature, why she ever thought of sun as god’s ultimate gift to earth, and hailed trees that only belong to the soil,  pretending to sacrifice their movement to foster mankind.  May be her doubts were an aftershock or may be she never really understood how rough things are around, outside her small solicited heaven. But she had reasons to believe, to blame and curse nature for it’s role in the misfortune, for she felt cheated, felt unsafe, for she had lost her husband to the dark morning, when the sun was playing, hiding behind clouded shackles, dim, and trees meant to stand, lied proudly on ground, silently as his car hit the trunk on road and rocketed off the hill, the repercussion an aftermath, a tragedy. A man died that night and so did the belief of safe havens. Continue reading

From RANDOM to RHYME

It’s decremental, it is, you will see.
I wish to explicate an observable beauty.

In a house, began my life, contemporary,
clustered with people, eating brownie,
non-complicated, and I was taught
lessons of life. I invariably bought,
curiosity was, questioning I did, most times,
they answered too, and so the frequent climbs.
I believed, for trust was larger-than-life,
not that I understood “what was life?”
but those first steps in school, sometime
I feel I had moved from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, it is, you will see.
I wish to explicate, an observable beauty.

In school, associations grew, and new
knowledge cluttered over existing value.
A walk in NEW unfolded variables,
I resonated with yes, for I trusted all angles,
But life as we know it, was not up for hide,
color it revealed, I denied, but it kept aside
morality, truth it showered, “yes, I was lied”,
trust, my innocence, that day “died”.
Conscious stammered, I reviewed my crime,
realizing life had moved from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, it is, didn’t you see?
I wish to explicate, an untold agony.

In life, started happening, contemplating,
caution grew paramount. It’s truth or acting?
Layered knowledge tampered, who to blame,
questioning all, life never remained the same.
Who knew, random was just scattered ties,
of placed, known and untested allies.
Who knew, rhyme wasn’t just a poetic tool,
but to sing along this manipulative solicit pool.
So, was changed, learned to not trust a dime,
with adjustment moved, from random to rhyme.

It’s decremental, placing trust, you see,
losing as aging. So, cerebrating, to seek some for me.

Note
The poem is on trust, how we lose it as we grow, remember childhood, how we believed everything and everyone, and now, when we meet people, it takes time, a lot of time, and sometimes even after the endless time we are left guessing.

Son to Mother, Happy Mother’s Day

The poem below is dedicated to my mother, she resides in Bhopal, India while I am studying in Gwalior.

 

She is the rhyme of my poetic life, artist who recognized me for good, my eyes to know the unknown. She is an extraordinary women, this is to you “Mummy”.


The divine rhyme of a verse,
an artist’s oculus rigid to the adverse,
the eyes to comprehend the incognizant,
her impressions remain salient every single moment.

The journey that I claimed,
investment she channeled returns
unclaimed,
the love she endowed is visceral,
exclaiming I am, ‘she to me is an exceptional person.

Being away, I miss the reminders, not fond though,
scolding over messed up room, spilled coco,
pecking over the uneaten food gone cold,
and here comes the fast driving, behold!

The fuss you put up with is respectful,
that you care so much drives heart cheerful,
a sociable person with generosity you are,
accorded to you our family relatives stretch far, very far.

“Good bye dear”, you called for me that night,
as I settled in the hostels, for future bright,
tears shedding from your eyes, mine buzzed off too,
as I bid adieu to my home town taking life’s cue.

The life for its most parts is uncertain,
only your being in it is fairly certain,
forgive me, if I fell short to show my love,
the bond we share is not bound to the lines above.