Disney Dialogues: Things Imma Tell My Kids

Disney has been a huge part of my childhood. When I was five or six, my dad would get me a new Disney film every other evening and we’d all watch it together. Animated films like Winnie the Pooh, Toy Story, The Fox and the Hound, Finding Nemo, Pocahontas, Bambi, Robin Hood, Pinocchio, The Little Mermaid, Tarzan, Peter Pan, Aladdin etc. teach a kid so much about friendship, morals, love, teamwork, choices, dreams, growing up, the importance of kindness and life in general. If I ever have children, I would love to share this part of my life with them and ensure they take with them the same lessons.

But besides the endearing story, striking animation and lovable characters, it's the songs and dialogues that appeal to me. I've spent countless hours watching Disney films (repeatedly), and have developed an art of quoting the right Disney dialogue at the right moment. So much so, I realized that a number of them can be used as retorts to unruly children and overbearing teenagers, or as encouraging words when a kid needs some motivation. I set about compiling a list of dialogues I’d deliver to my kids if/when the relevant situation came up, complete with YouTube videos for tone and inflection, including the songs I’d break into at the appropriate moments.

Disney-inspired things I'm going to tell my kids if they:

      1.     Are getting ready for their first day of school:

      “Listen to your teacher and no fighting. Play nice with the other kids. Unless of course, one of the other kids wanna fight, then you have to kick the other kid's butt.” — Mushu, Mulan

      2.     Face peer pressure:

“Now remember, beee yourself.” — Genie, Aladdin

      3.     Make a mess:
“What kind of primitive beasts are responsible for this mess..?” - Terk, Tarzan

 
4.  Grumble about being taken them somewhere they didn’t think would be fun:

“Adventure is out there!” — Ellie, Up

      5.     Ask for a geography lesson (on South America):

“South America. It's like America. But south.” — Ellie, Up

      6.     Complain about the mundaneness of house chores:

“In every job that must be done, 
there is an element of fun. 
You find the fun and...
SNAP! The job's a game!” — Mary Poppins 

      7.     Ever suffer from low self-esteem:

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” — Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh

      8.     Are on the verge of giving up a task at hand:
“Giving up is for rookies.” — Phil, Hercules (couldn't find a video)

      9.     Lie:

     “A lie keeps growing and growing until it's as plain as the nose on your face.” — The Blue Fairy, Pinocchio

    10.  Disobey me in a hyperactive fit or didn't study:

    “I know that your powers of retention
Are as wet as a warthog's back side. 
But thick as you are, pay attention!
My words are a matter of pride.

It's clear from your vacant expressions,
The lights are not all on upstairs...” — Scar, The Lion King

    11.  Can't empathize:
“If you walk the footsteps of a stranger, 
you'll learn things you never knew
you never knew.” — Pocahontas

12.  Feel low or unhappy about something:
“Look for the bare necessities, 
the simple bare necessities, 
forget about your worries and your strife!” — Baloo, The Jungle Book

    13.  Find themselves in a moral conundrum:
“Always let your conscience be your guide.” — The Blue Fairy/Jiminy Cricket, Pinocchio

    14.  Didn't like what was for dinner:

     “A dinner here is never second best!” — Lumière, Beauty and the Beast

     15.  Try to bribe me into letting them have their own way:
“I don't make deals with peasants!” — Kuzco, The Emperor’s New Groove

                                         

16.     Said or did something incredibly stupid:

      “I’m surrounded by idiots.” — Scar, The Lion King

17.     Need to hear some inspiring words:
“Set your sights,
Upon the heights,
Don't be a mediocrity.
Don't just wait
and trust to Fate
and say that's how it's meant to be.
It's upto you, how far you go,
if you don't try you'll never know.
And so my lad, as I've explained.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained!” — Merlin, The Sword in the Stone

Of course, there are innumerable quotable gems in non-Disney movies that deserve their own lists, but I couldn’t resist adding a couple from The Lord of the Rings to my arsenal. If my kids:

- Were late for the school bus:
   “Fly you fools!” — Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

- Refused to study:
   “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” — Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

Oh yeahhh. My kids are gonna be awesome.

a godsend.

The past 10 days or so have been miserable. I've been plagued by a terrible toothache and had a depressing experience looking for a dentist on a Friday afternoon. I finally got it sorted with my dentist in India, who came through with a simple and effective remedy (apply Sensodyne!). A few days later (again, right before the weekend) I was hit by another toothache of a totally different kind, and emailed my dentist in India. He thought it might be my bite that had to adjusted and advised me to go to a dentist here to get it looked at. I booked an appointment with my dentist in a private clinic (having had more than enough of government clinics) for Sunday morning. It turned out to be a root canal that would cost 200 KD, which incidentally is the cost of ALL my dental work in India. The timing really sucks considering I was in India just two weeks ago…

It’s been a while since I've been so upset. I've had five root canals so far (including this one) and an implant. Almost all my teeth have fillings despite the pains I take to maintain them. Will it ever end?

And then, in the midst of all this misery, something truly unbelievable happened.

Yesterday, a friend texted me out of the blue saying he had something that had to be given to me that same day and that it couldn't wait, refusing to divulge any more. Mystified with the cryptic texts, I suggested he stop by P2BK (Proud to be Kuwaiti exhibition) since that's where I've been living the past week or so.
Between watching the Harlem Shake performance, getting snacks, handing out brochures and talking to booth visitors, I whiled away the hours until the designated time.

He showed up with a huge package.

"What the heck is this?" I asked, even more mystified.
"It isn’t from me."

I ripped open the pretty packaging,

and read the card.

"OH MY GOD! THIS IS SO FREAKING COOOOOOL!! THIS IS SO SO COOOL!!"
*bobs up and down in delight*

Sheikha is a reader who discovered my blog via Botamba. She leaves me immensely supportive and encouraging comments on every post, and only recently revealed her name.

I pulled the ribbon on one of the boxes (there were two) and discovered a cake inside. We exchanged a wide-eyed glance of amazement. Try as I might I couldn't tie the ribbon half as neatly as it was to take a picture—in my excitement, I forgot to click a pic of the original package.

I went home taking great care of my precious cargo and was bombarded with questions from my flabbergasted family:

"Where did you get this from?"
"Sheikha sent it to me!"
"HOW DOES SHE KNOW WHERE WE LIVE?!"
"It wasn't sent home! We have a mutual friend who delivered it to me."
"How do you have a mutual friend with an anonymous person?!"
"We live in Kuwait. It's hardly surprising."
"Are you sure it's a woman? Maybe it's a guy who changed his name?"
"IT'S A WOMAN!"

I opened the boxes, thus ending the ridiculous interrogation.

a godsend!

We devoured the cake and the cake pops (from The November Bakery). Delicious!

Sheikha, thank you so much for the lovely package! The flowers are especially gorgeous, I can't stop smelling them! I am deeply touched, honoured and overcome with joy with your heartfelt gesture and appreciation for my writing. It couldn't have come at a better time, especially since I've been feeling so low all week. I feel so, so blessed and I hope we meet someday. I wish you all the very best; may God bless you with every happiness!

Nikhil, thanks a bunch for delivering the package and keeping the surprise!

Sighhhh. I'm sooo happy.

the conspiracy.

I need atleast a couple of days to recuperate when I get back from India.

It's not that I get jet-lagged. India is just 2.5 hours ahead of Kuwait for Heaven's sake. But the Kuwait Airways flight departs from Chatrapati Shivaji Airport at 6:10 am, and the entire night prior is spent trying to stuff forgotten bits and bobs in the suitcases and then at the tedious check-in and immigration at the airport, in a lousy mood throughout.

But besides that, I don't get much sleep in Bombay. Unless I'm on an adrenaline rush, I'm in a constant state of exhaustion.

I stay at my aunt's house wherein every single inhabitant is a raging insomniac. We spend half the night talking, convulsed with laughter, and then sleep by 3 or 4 am. I settle into bed, setting the alarm for 11 am on my iPhone, forgetting in my naivety that I was in India.

My cousin begins his morning karaoke session at about 8 or 9 am, i.e. he cranks up the volume on his speakers and sings along in his room, shattering my sweet slumber. I wake up groggy and tousle-headed to him blasting LMFAO's Shots while playing Guild Wars 2, and close the door to the room I'm sharing with his sister (who continues sleeping peacefully). The door is mysteriously ajar despite my having shut it before turning in. I then settle back to sleep, my eyes wincing in the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

An hour of very disturbed sleep later, the doorbell peals incessantly, penetrating into my dreams. I wake with a start. The house and everyone in it, including my sister beside me, is still, except for my lunatic brother who is now passionately singing Coldplay's The Scientist at the top of his voice, oblivious to what's unfurling outside his lair. Shaking my head in disbelief, I take in a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to walk to the hall and open the front door. It's the milkman asking for his dues. I politely ask him to come back later in the afternoon. I bring in the paper and nariyal pani* left on the doorstep and then struggle to go back to sleep.

Barely thirty minutes later, the doorbell unfailingly rings yet again. Nobody in the house has stirred. No sound of music from my brother's room; I assume he's finally turned in. Disgusted, I open the door with a ferocious scowl. It's a delivery from Flipkart, a few books I'd ordered online have arrived. Only slightly mollified, I make arrangements for the payment, dump the package on my suitcase and head back to bed, falling asleep.

The doorbell rings once more.

I swing open the door with murderous intent. It's the servant. I let her in while singing praises of the Lord, now she could open the door for the next disturber of the peace! I climb back into bed and collapse, dead to the world.

Ten minutes later, my 11 am alarm rings.

*nariyal pani: coconut water

(Bombay, Feb '13)

bombay, how do i love thee...

Gateway of India, lit up in all its splendour.

Bombay may fail to appeal to one for a multitude of reasons. The traffic is loud, never-ending, and stops for no one. The beggars and eunuchs that haunt certain streets leave no vehicle unmarked with their grubby hand prints, whether it's a Bajaj scooter, an auto rickshaw or a Mercedes. It's almost always terribly humid—you could wring out your clothes at the end of the day and fill two buckets to the brim with your sweat. There are slums in perhaps every area, accompanied by filth and squalor. Too many of the residents are shallow and conscious about impressing an equally shallow society. I'm not sure I could ever live there.

Worst of all, in my opinion, the locals are completely contemptuous of the gods of English grammar and scorn the staunch and unyielding faith of the grammarians, repeatedly disrespecting and ridiculing it, trying to inveigle them into joining the Dark Side, as evidenced by this ad from Sony India (October 2012):

The copywriter wasn't too...bright.

Nevertheless, I love Bombay. It's the only city that I've been to (so far) where the branches of trees on either side of the road often meet in the middle, their leaves whispering and cajoling, paying no attention to the noisy traffic that drives by below them. There isn't much sunlight allowed into the side streets; the dense foliage of the many trees stand guard to prevent too much from creeping in.

Bandra.

somewhere in the suburban side of the city

And then of course, the family I adore lives there.

I made a quick trip to Bombay last week, the primary reason for which was to complete my dental work (three crowns on root canals, one cap on implant). To the dimwitted (who unfailingly inquire, "don't you have dentists in Kuwait?"), the cost of getting all that done with a good dentist in Bombay, plus the airfare, was about a third of what it would cost me here. Thankfully, it wasn't humid at all.

When I wasn't getting crowned, I spent my time with friends or family, usually at home or in a restaurant. My cousins have told me only too often of the 'awesome' food in this restaurant in Bandra or that one in Juhu. I love trying new things (not necessarily food), so I decided it was time to try a variety of food in as many unexplored places possible, with relatives or friends in the short time I had (nine days). The result was that I often had to have lunch twice with different people to ensure I spent adequate time with all I cared about.

It was worth it. Mouth-watering appetizers, dumplings and sushi (the range of veg sushi included mango sushi and olive sushi. That was a bit...strange) with my aunt at Global Fusion. Mocktails and a very forgettable dessert with close friends from MBA at TGI Friday's. Pizza with cousins at Alfredo's. Churros sprinkled with icing sugar and dipped in white and milk chocolate (YUM YUM YUM!) with a friend I met online at Chocolateria San Churro. Nachos and pizza with cousins at Bombay Blue two hours later. Ginormous crabs with half the family at Gondola where I appeared to have no knowledge of table manners. Chicken rolls, tarts and eclairs with another friend I met online at Candies. Portuguese Chicken with my aunt and cousin at Gaylord.

Damn that's quite a list. A couple of days I felt I would explode. It's weird; I lost weight despite the gluttony!

When it comes to interiors, a restaurant and a cafe completely floored me—Global Fusion and quite surprisingly, Starbucks.

Global Fusion has a lovely ambiance. The plentiful lunch buffet is served all around the restaurant, so you work up a bit of an appetite walking to inspect the buffet tables. It was busy; every table was occupied. A single table stood on a wooden platform above a pool of water. There were a couple of large toads (not real ones silly), with water jutting out their mouths, between tables in another, long pool of water. I didn't look around too much as the restaurant was closing and I wanted to eat more sushi, but it was very appealing.

A glimpse of Global Fusion.
Image source: http://mumbai.burrp.com

Shockingly enough, Starbucks in Fort takes the grand prize.

My cousin was immensely excited about Starbucks finally coming to India (in October 2012) and had made me promise we'd go there together, even though she'd been before. Having lived in Kuwait most of my life, where a Starbucks branch lies on every street corner, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic. I also despise beverages. My choice of drink is water (iced tea or nariyal pani* in India). If I'm in a cafe to catch up with a friend, I order hot chocolate. My aunt however, said it was a beautiful place so off we went.

Oh Lord. It was beautiful.

This branch of Starbucks was the epitome of the 'East meets West' concept, merging the American brand with European architecture and Indian culture, as my aunt put it. The Fort branch is in the Elphinstone Building, which is built in the Neo-Gothic style of architecture courtesy of the British. The quaint interiors of the coffee shop are reminiscent of places in North India, with wooden rafters, trunks for some of the tables, old-fashioned suitcases stacked in corners, carved wooden arches, high back armchairs, some antique furniture...very unlike the Westernized outlets in Kuwait and elsewhere around the world. The rustic look worked very well. I was smitten.

Don't miss the carved wooden
partition beneath the arch

                                                       

Another carved wooden arch

A closer look at the fine carving...can't seem
to get enough 

Note the milk containers and the print on the quaint
little suitcases!

Wooden rafters. I love them wooden rafters. 

A cozy corner :) I couldn't get closer for a better pic 

The drinks and cakes weren't a hit with me, but that's probably because I wasn't in the mood for hot chocolate, hate coffee and dislike cake.

It's always hard to leave Bombay. This time it was almost unbearable (in other words, I went emo). It's been a little more than a day since I got back but it seems like a distant memory now, as it usually does when I leave a country, even if it's Kuwait. I suspect I will post more to immortalize how I felt there so I don't forget. I forget too much too soon. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm developing Alzheimer's...

*nariyal pani: coconut water

(Bombay, March '13)

"death and all his friends."

Thousands of unmarked graves lie scattered. Some have a pile of bricks as tombstones. Some have sunk into the ground; others are just mounds of sand. I have yet to see a visitor. The dead lie forgotten, their abode caked in years of dust. 

Everyday this wide stretch of brown reminds me of life and its transience, death and its inevitability, and our ultimate finale. 

The winter rains transform the site, eroding the hard, dry earth into rivulets that flow across the graveyard. Green shoots emerge, fighting against the otherwise dry earth that suffocates them throughout the year, and breathe in the fresh winter air. They begin to grow innumerably, neatly covering a number of graves; enveloping them in a blanket of green. The winter also brings with it the wildflowers, which spring out amongst the verdure, giving the impression of yellowing broccoli from my vantage point.

Even in this vast expanse of death, there was so much life.

Most of the verdure grows out only atop the graves; the dead still have a purpose. The two seem to have an understanding—the remains of the dead nourish the soil, while the flora makes a prettier sight of their permanent abode.

The message remains: from the earth we have come, and to the earth we will return.

(Kuwait, December '12) 

Luminescence

The squeaking of the rusty swing in the deserted play area of the garden is a note foreign, intruding upon the sonance of the night.

The light zephyr carries with it secrets whispered to it by the frangipanis, as it blows through their flowering tree, loosening a blossom. The flower surrenders itself and is given a gentle lift by the breeze before it collapses onto the cropped grass. A bat, almost camouflaged in the dark, flutters out from a tree and disappears into the night.

The moon is almost full, sailing in her ascent to her cherished spot in the sky from where she reigns as the hours pass on. The clouds move with her, guarding her jealously. They claim her beauty for their own, refusing to share it with the world below. She peeks out shyly from behind an opening in the clouds that obstinately remain before her, a glimmer of her iridescence illuminating what little of the garden it falls upon, making the leaves glisten and outlining the empty playground, silent, but for a frog croaking harshly under the slide.

Finally, the wind intercedes and nudges the clouds, reminding them that their journey lies onward, elsewhere. Reluctantly they float on, leaving bare a jewelled sky, revealing the glowing orb in all her glory to beam down on earth.

The garden lies still in her luminescence, unmoved but for an observer who has been watching the transpiration, swaying wordlessly on the rusty swing.

an eventful weekend.

This weekend has been a very nice one. I'm sorry it's come to a close. Yes, I realize I said here that I was sure I had more to say than tell people in so many words of what a good time I'm having, but you know that feeling when you have SUCH a good time that you must share? This is me sharing. I promise to make it worth your while.

Since I started working, I've rarely had a very packed weekend in Kuwait. Occasionally, I do breakfast with the BFF and then we go gallivanting in her car across the country, or I take in a concert or a movie. Else I prefer to stay in and relax with the family, read or write. This Friday however, was different.

Friday morning I met the Q8 Foot Soldiers a second time (they deserve an entire post, stay tuned) to go running (in my case, walking more than running) on the promenade from Marina Crescent to Scientific Center and back. The weather, in case you slept in and failed to notice, was absolutely gorgeous. The walk/run was rejuvenating, the crisp, fresh air revitalized my senses that had been so dull and dismal and in danger of catching a cold the past week. My skin was finally exposed to sunlight—merciful sunlight—and I basked in it. So much more refreshing than a workout at the gym!

The scenic route: pausing to stare at the scenery

After the walking/running, stretching and socializing with a couple of the other runners, I met the mother for breakfast at Zaatar w Zeit and devoured the most mouth-watering and delicious fattoush salad ever. It was heavenly. I can still taste the lettuce doused in the tangy lemon-olive oil dressing and hear the echoes of it crunching in my head...I can never get that taste in homemade salads.

The afternoon consisted of a shopping spree for sports apparel at Decathlon with the sister. I think I drove her to the brink of frustration and insanity as I circled the store for nearly two hours in search of a long cotton jacket. Finally conceded to buy one two sizes too big since nothing else was long enough for my liking.

It's about time I linked back to my blogger-aspiring writer friend Lord Aymz. He writes exceedingly well, has a distinct style and wit, and his blog is the first local one I stumbled upon that was articulate and intelligent. We had a chance meeting at Better Books a couple of years ago when we were just following each other's blogs. He is also the founder of the aforementioned Q8 Foot Soldiers.

He likes to try new things, and somehow got himself into performing stand-up comedy for the first time at the Isma'ani Open Mic Night event Friday night at Argeela Bar. Carpe diem baybeh! The online audience registration had reached capacity so of course I invited myself, and attended with a lovely (and very lively!) member of the Q8 Foot Soldiers.

It was a very enjoyable evening and I'm still laughing at the hilarious dialogues and antics of the host. Aymz's act was very good, considering it was his first time (his face beetroot red with nervousness throughout). Stand-up comedy is probably the toughest form of public speaking and I admire his guts. Watch his act here. He has loads of potential and I've already invited myself (again) for the next show.

There was another performer, a beautiful young woman from Saudi, that grabbed my attention as soon as she started speaking. She narrated a letter titled 'Woman', a dedication of sorts to her 'yet to be conceived daughter'. It was the most stirring, soulful piece of writing I'd come across in a very long time. She received (much deserved) thunderous applause.

What made the day even more memorable is an unexpected meeting with Nada Faris, a very talented Kuwaiti writer and blogger. Her short stories and posts have become a crucial part of my weekly reading and I'm learning a lot from them. I spotted her across the room, recognized her immediately (having seen her picture dozens of times on her website banner) and patiently waited for intermission to go say hi. When it did come, I hopped over in excitement and after making certain it was her (I had a sudden thought that she could have a sister that looked exactly like her) introduced myself, and we enveloped each other in a bear hug. I love meeting people I know from the internet, especially the blogosphere. And especially when those meetings lack premeditation!

Saturday was spent in rumination and relaxation.

So that was my wonderful weekend, and I've introduced you to two awesome bloggers. Told you I'd make it worth your while.

The Sanctuary that Once was

Once upon a time in Kuwait, there lay a small sanctuary, deep in the ground, for lovers of the written word.

It thrived with visitors young and old, wandering through the aisles, the sight of the innumerable tomes appeasing their insatiable thirst for words. This lone oasis was all they had, all that was there in the desert that could offer them any satisfaction when it came to reading English books. The two guardians of the sanctuary welcomed them in and then let them be, knowing that they preferred to be alone with the great masters they were about to meet.

The sanctuary I speak of is the British Council Library, often abbreviated to the BCL, which once flourished in the basement of the British Council in Mansouriya. The two guardians were the librarians Khalid and Santana, who’d been working there for years.

When I was four, my mother initiated us into the BCL’s family membership. For years after that, I escaped from the mundane realities of school and homework by exploring new realms and sharing countless moments of joy with my companions on my many adventures—whether it was discovering the Golden Ticket with Charlie Bucket, soaring through the earth’s orbit with Willy Wonka in the Great Glass Elevator, stumbling into Narnia with the Pevensies, fighting battles by Prince Caspian’s side, vanquishing smugglers and kidnappers while camping all over the British countryside with the Famous Five or gorging at midnight feasts by the swimming pool with Darrel, Alicia and the other girls at Malory Towers. I led a very full life indeed.

When not saving the world or performing remarkable feats, I was absorbing facts on dinosaurs and the universe from Dorling Kindersley encyclopedias.  

We made our romp there every month. When my sister was born a few months after our first visit, my mother would carry her in one arm while browsing the Adult section. As my sister grew, she’d crawl all over the grey library carpet in the Children’s section. Once she started reading, she and I would dig deep for books we hadn't read, concealing some strategically to borrow on the next visit. We would then proceed to Mansouriya Market (the supermarket across the parking lot opposite the BCL), buy some groceries and Snapple’s Pink Lemonade, and then head to Hardee’s (right next to the supermarket) for a meal, all the while engaged in deep discussion of our loot from the library. It became an age-old family tradition.

There was a book sale once; the BCL’s Adult section was to be discontinued. Hardcover books were priced as low as a quarter KD. My mom went through the following week with an ecstatic smile after she bought bags and bags of books for a mere 30 KD. One of them, weighing at least two tons, detailed the entire history of the British monarchy. I remember excitedly tracing King Richard the Lionheart and Prince John’s line; I’d just read Robin Hood and had assumed they were fictional characters. Learning they existed made me believe the legendary outlaw was real, and I proclaimed him my hero.

The BCL adapted with the times; it even included a video library. This was where we would often find our mother, flipping through the video catalogues for BBC and other TV series, while our father would look for Bond movies to watch the umpteenth time. Through those catalogues, I knew all the titles of Dickens's work despite not having read a single one (unabridged anyway).

 

Bit of an odd name, that. 

My sister and I often borrowed VHS tapes of documentaries for information vegetable, animal and mineral, along with children’s movies or series. I dreamed of sailing the high seas like Horatio Hornblower as he marched the decks of his ship, let my imagination soar with the incorrigible Pippi Longstocking (1988), and sang all the songs of Oliver! (1968) over and over while secretly crushing on the Artful Dodger. I recall rewinding the song 'Consider Yourself' over and over while laboriously writing down the lyrics to ensure I got the words right! 

When the age of the personal computer began, the BCL brought in the internet, computers and a variety of interactive CD encyclopedias and games. I had an intense fascination with dinosaurs and would occasionally spend an hour or two surfing a particularly informative CD on the reptiles. It was around this time that I encountered Harry Potter and broke him out of Privet Drive with Ron and his brothers in Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia.

The blissful times at the BCL were not to last, for the Dark Forces were at work. Six years ago, we received the fated phone call from one of the guardians, with news that evoked a great deal of sorrow. The library was closing down.

There was a time when books held more worth to children than the latest thingamajig dominating the tech market, when what was deemed worthy of showing off was how many books you’d read, not what your score was on the game in vogue on the App Store. My childhood is intrinsically linked to the BCL and life would not have been as rich without it. I grieve for Kuwait’s loss, while cherishing a secret hope that the sanctuary will miraculously spring up again.

Addicted to Downton Abbey

The mother's been trying to get me to watch Downton Abbey for the past two years. About two or three weeks ago, having exhausted every other TV series I had, I finally played the first episode.

I'm hooked.

Downton Abbey is a country estate in Yorkshire that belongs to the Earl and Countess of Grantham. The British series follows the lives of the Earl's family and servants, and is set during the reign of King George V. The primary plot line of the series is the question of inheritance, since Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) has no sons. Who will the heir to the estate be? Will he be well-bred? In walks Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens), a practicing lawyer with no respect or understanding of the aristocratic ways of the Crawleys.

What I love about Downton Abbey is the journey through Britain's most interesting days, how writer Julian Fellowes has weaved in historic events and their effect on mindsets and lifestyles into the story line. The Spanish flu epidemic for one, bare shoulders and reducing hemlines for another—the sinking of the Titanic, World War I, the installment of electricity and subsequently the telephone in the house, flashy new automobiles, the suffrage movement, the Irish struggle for self-government, the imprisonment (and later execution) of Czar Nicholas II and his family, even a mention of Charles Ponzy! In the course of 8 years (1912-20), everything changes for the Crawleys, and so much of it is because of World War I. I suppose the war did some good too—women wanted more from their lives; they wanted to employ their time and mental faculties in meaningful and useful pursuits—but it was all at such a high price.

I have experienced a wide array of emotions while watching series 1-3. Delight at the Dowager Countess's (Maggie Smith) delicious dialogues, delivered with tongue firmly in cheek. Respect for the head of the household, and his American wife for adjusting so well to an English society. Disgust at the Earl's 'moment of weakness'. Intense dislike and perhaps even awe for the lady's maid O'Brien and the first footman Thomas for the ramifications of their connivance and intelligent manipulation. Sheepish grins whenever Matthew Crawley walked into a room. Head-splitting grief at the death of one of the most beloved characters on the show. Heartbreak at the third season finale (unfortunately, the mother is a walking spoiler divulger, and I knew about the horrific finale before I even started watching the show).

Not to mention longing and admiration for the beautiful vistas, and the grandeur and resplendence of the house that is Downton Abbey. Every time the scene took shape of one like the picture below, I'd pause the episode and click a snapshot of it on VLC Media Player, which evoked the remark, "you're such a Japanese tourist!" from the sister.

It sure is a sight for sore eyes.

The show also reminds one of how cruelly unforgiving the world was and still is, with regard to Lady Mary Crawley and the housemaid Ethel's pasts. The price they, especially Ethel has to pay, for one mistake is much too great.

It's funny how modern they believe they are. Today we're narcissistic enough to believe we're modern and open-minded, but I wonder how backward we will seem to the generations to come?

One of the funniest (and thought-provoking) dialogues is uttered in the scene where Matthew Crawley and Lord Grantham dress in black tie for a very la-di-da dinner. Black tie appears to be a form of undress, as the occasion demands nothing less than coattails and white tie. Their informal appearance invokes horrified looks from Lord Grantham's family, and his American mother-in-law (Shirley McLaine) comments: "You two look like you're dressed for a BBQ."
A black tie for a barbecue! Imagine that!

The series is rife with brilliance in terms of dialogue. A gem from the Dowager Countess, Lady Grantham:

Lady Grantham: "You are quite wonderful the way you see room for improvement wherever you look. I never knew such reforming zeal."
Mrs. Crawley: "I take that as a compliment."
Lady Grantham: "I must've said it wrong."

I've finished watching the series and am so bummed that season four will begin in September. It's no wonder the show has received rave reviews and broken so many ratings records. It's brilliant, well-written, well-directed and informative. Nobody's perfect (except perhaps Matthew Crawley, honestly he seems too good to be true) and some of the characters have many layers to them. Each trial and hardship they must endure peels off a layer and reveals something about them.

September is just too far off.