And now our watch has ended…so let us all kindly move on!

(The following post contains spoilers. Please don't read ahead unless you have watched the last season of GOT)

At last count and at the time of writing this blog post, over a million people have said to have signed a petition to remake Season 8 of the world’s most popular TV series- Game of Thrones #GOT. Apart from the sheer audacity of people to demand such a thing of a fictional product and the ridiculous hope that someone at HBO is listening, I am miffed at how people have so much time on their hands and so little on their minds to be affected this way! So today’s post is to try and help these people to understand why the show has given us plenty of reasons to be joyful, grateful and hopeful. Joyful because we were hooked to our screens lapping up this entertainment for a decade now and no one forced us to watch it. We did because we enjoyed watching it- period. I don’t know about you but I have been over 30 years on planet Earth and I am grateful I saw something of this scale and prowess in my lifetime. Such shows don’t get made everyday and now I am hopeful that someone in this lifetime treats me to something of this stature again.

I was a late bloomer as far as the GOT fandom is concerned. It was only after three to four seasons had gone by that I finally started catching up by binge-watching the show in fifth gear mode. I was hooked with Episode 1, and successive seasons got me craving for more drama, more treachery, more evil and more vengeance. We can go on about the moral degeneration of our times and how we are lapping up content that does not shy away from violence, sex and even misogyny but the truth is, 18 million people across the world have been hooked on to this show like no other show in our generation. To limit the reasons for viewership to just these is to denigrate the efforts and creativity of its makers and its literary source, courtesy George R R Martin.

Yes, the show went beyond the books. Yes, the producers twisted the plot to suit their themes and independently wove around its endings as they thought fit. And yes, the show did look rushed especially this last season. Now consider the millions of dollars spent in production of this show. The man hours each person connected to the show, from technician to actor spent on making it is unbelievable. The making of just ‘The Long Night’ in this season took 55 long nights. For ‘The Bells’, an entire set was erected to look like King’s Landing and then burnt to the ground because obviously the makers couldn’t go back to Dubrovnik and burn up the city to show the destruction Daenerys inflicts on Cersei. Real people risked their lives to make the burning look as real as possible. The magnitude of the show is unheard of, let alone bringing it to life. I thought I had watched the most spectacular battle scene ever when I saw the Battle of Helm’s Deep in the cinematic version of The Lord of the Rings. So why are we behaving like a bunch of ingrates with the way this season has turned out?  

Dany’s character arc: Sorry to break everyone’s bubble but Daenerys’ whole premise to justify her right to the throne was convoluted, right from the start. Her sudden bloodthirst for the throne is passed on from her brother Viserys when he dies failing to claim it for himself. If she wants to break the wheel which proclaims that every direct relation of the king must not automatically have a right to the throne, how is she tracing her own lineage to the Mad King as the reason why she should be sitting on it? How can she justify manipulating her husband Khal Drogo to fight for the throne when he is completely happy raiding villages with his khalasar? How can she conveniently refute the fact that she walks over many dead bodies, burning and killing at will only so that she can get to the throne? How can someone liberate slaves and yet harness their lives to the single-minded and selfish purpose of wanting something for oneself? How can she conveniently shrug off the fact that her nephew is the rightful heir to the throne while he is still alive and kicking? So much for her faith and loyalty to House Targaryen. There was always an unreasonable, warped, childlike ‘Id’ complex Daenerys suffers from. It just got heightened as she came close to reaching her goal so all those people who missed all those telltale signs, stop whining and accept you just bought in to her ‘Mother of Dragons’, ‘Breaker of Chains’ act.

The feminist angle: The show went through an early phase where it did objectify and use women to serve the purposes of men. Then moved to raising them up on a pedestal as characters like Catelyn Stark, Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Cersei, Yara, Lady Olenna, Ellaria Sand and Daenerys started emerging as women growing from strength to strength, becoming important decision makers and equal plot turners. I think since then it has steadily upheld its feminist banner by having female protagonists and antagonists share maximum screen time, to a point where all the principal male characters look like support staff- right from Jon Snow, to Tyrion Lannister, Varys and Jaime. What better than having Sansa Stark rule Winterfell as an independent kingdom, Arya Stark turning explorer and go beyond Westeros to discover errr….America may be and Lady Brienne taking on the mantle of the Kingsguard, from a so-far male bastion?

The rushed deaths: Anyone who thinks prime characters were being tossed out of the show like nine pins hasn’t seen episode one or has clearly forgotten it. It ends with Ned Stark losing his head! This show’s storyline is anchored by the numerous deaths and how those events influence a succession of plotting, planning, scheming and sorcery.

Life comes full circle: The whole story based on the books, traces the tragic seperation of the Stark children as a family, how they all find hope in their toughest times. The TV series goes a step beyond and takes on from there to depict their phoenix-like rise from the ashes and how they all become invincible in their own way to reclaim what is theirs. The final culmination of who sits on the two most important thrones (and even beyond the Wall)- Winterfell and King’s Landing is a resounding victory for all the Starks. Jon Snow who became Lord Commander after Jeor Mormont retains his position in the end and is a severe and yet complete sort of justice, bringing him back to where it all began so he can come to terms with his fate. The Starks are who the story started with, they were always vital to the plot and were the best candidates for the posts we see them assigned to. Our sympathies, our hopes and our determination to see them safe and victorious has been rewarded through the show’s ending, so what are we really complaining about?

At the end of this long investment of our time and patience, we as viewers need to feel relieved that we can now go back and challenge ourselves to find better ways of spending our time. I think a show like this has tried to do the impossible already by animating these characters that haven’t even reached conclusion in the original books on which they are based. To try and please every one of its 18 million fans is a tall order and was never meant to be achievable. I choose to remain on the side of those who salute the show for all it has accomplished in the span of ten years. Take a bow, D B Weiss and David Benioff and all the people behind the show. You deserve credit. Take the criticism with a pinch of salt. It shows you have touched people in a way they can’t even come to terms with!

The Auscillating Indian: Caught up between two countries

Pic courtesy: Matt Evans (Visit Canberra)

Now that I have started this post, let’s get the negativity out once and for all. I never wished to migrate- leaving my motherland for a foreign shore was not part of my wildest dreams and I have had a few wild ones, trust me. I never wanted to move out of Mumbai either. I did that too of course, never to move back. So yes, life hasn’t really worked around the way I saw it, a decade ago. I was in fact, quite the self-appointed ambassador of staying rooted, sharing a sense of belonging with one’s city. I love Mumbai- the pulsating vibe of the city still rocks my boat. Every time I visit now, it embraces me like I had never gone, like an old relation who saw you fly the nest but can’t really get enough of you everytime you visit. So I remember sitting by the seaside with a good friend who wanted to move to Delhi back in the days when I was still in ‘Me Mumbaikar’ mode. I was forthright in my cause of trying to steer her away from the plan, emphasising the fact that the city would never accept her sense of freedom and space. Everyone who knew me could bet I would never move a limb to the blasted capital, with its extreme weather, the profusion of North Indian culture, the widely prevalent class divide, the issue of women’s safety, the so-called conservative outlook of the middle class and so on. There was enough to actually dislike the city. And then I moved there myself, surprising anyone who remotely knew me. And now I seem to have shocked more people in coming to terms with my migrating to Australia.

I have always been very nationalistic. Not the trigger-happy variety who think we should just kill every person who does not like my country, swearing my patriotism at every Indian flag I see or even the ones who believe they have done their bit by standing up for the anthem every time it plays in a movie theatre. I like to associate myself with the country which is tolerant amidst all its multicultural hues. I devour all kinds of Indian music, performing arts and cinema. I am similarly obsessed with reading good Indian authors writing in English. And with time, I came to accept even Delhi as my home simply because there was enough of Indianness around me to keep me grounded, secure and satiated. The opportunity for moving abroad was always open right since I was student. Then why let go of the seemingly comfortable life one has, and move bag and baggage, kid in tow to a place where I had no assurance of ever feeling that sense of belonging again? At an age when couples are usually falling in to the gentle rhythms of the daily grind- read marriage, children, permanent jobs etc. I was busy booking tickets to an island country, nearly 8000 kilometres and time zones away from India.

On the contrary, age has a lot to do with the decision of moving out. Unknowingly, I have been mentally listing down the things I see myself wanting for the future, and it wasn’t long before I found a place that ticked all the boxes. Especially after the birth of my child, it became essential to plan out her upbringing to give her the best she can get. Whenever I caught her coughing on the choking Delhi pollution on her way back from school, I asked myself, is this how she will struggle through her childhood? When I saw parents bar their children from playing unsupervised in the neighbourhood park, I wondered if this is the claustrophobic way I want her to be raised- always having to look out for her lest she become prey to crime against women in a country that is gaining a disturbing reputation for it. When I saw the reason why young parents were heaving their way through jobs in the private sector so that they could send their children to good English medium schools, I wondered if earning a fat pay cheque only to pay through your nose for that private school fee, tuition and day care was finally worth it- all for the price of not being able to be there for the actual upbringing of those kids they were spending a fortune on. Even after motherhood, women in competitive jobs are expected to be superhumans, clocking overtime and then rushing home to get supper in order, day after day. It is the ultimate balancing act I shuddered to undertake and am in awe of every woman who is managing to keep it all together. And after everything, I was confronted by my own need to want to have it all- a decent income that is enough to keep my financially independent status, time to nurture my child’s journey in to school, college and finally adulthood and even then, have time to relax, rejuvenate and rejoice in what I love to do for myself. Read a book, hell, may be even write one. Paint. Take a walk in the park (without wondering if a mosquito will bite me and bring me down with malaria!) Swim. Did modern urban life in India give me space and time to accomplish all this? Was I ready to give up good money, a great support system (relatives, grandparents and household help) and materialistic comforts, to seek more from life?

My husband and I over the past few years, have been discussing how we spend the better years of our life raising a family and nursing a job full of drudgery, only to end up with BP and a thousand other health ailments in the latter part of life, when you really actually get down time to call your own. We would fondly joke about taking off to the hills as soon as our daughter was old enough to take care of herself. So I wondered, what if we could combine the beauty of living amidst untamed and unspoilt nature with the best modern utilities of everyday life? For someone for whom God is in the details, I was up scouting for cities that met that match. And that’s how we found Canberra- a city that gave us ammunition enough to bid farewell to my first love- India.

With its bountiful natural beauty, quiet and private urban lifestyle, safe and secure domesticity, four striking seasons, wide roads and twenty minute commute around the city’s length and breadth and the best education prospects Australia could offer, this was the best place to move to as a young nuclear family. Add to that the surplus offers of working casual hours and still being able to earn a decent buck, no angst of fighting a rat race and work discipline of rising early, closing early and we had the means to earning our freedom post 6 pm.

The promise of good nutrition via healthy food products, parks and play areas at every corner, state-of-the-art housing within one’s budget and an education in a public school that empowers my child without costing a dime- plenty of reasons why my daughter has taken to the city like fish to the water. Speaking of water, we recently went out for a drive and within ten minutes, hit a happily gurgling river and camping site with kangaroos hopping about, curious to check us out, albeit from a distance. With its abundance of crystal clear lakes, endless expanses of green landscape and spectacular twilights over the valley, I know I am now breathing easy. Will this be my last stop as a migratory bird? Time and tide have taught me to believe, I can be proved wrong when it comes to life decisions. At least, I don’t hope to wallow in the predicatability that mid-life crisis will bring with it. Until the next twist of fate, I am taking in the lush red, yellow and orange hues of this pleasant autumn day, while bringing this post to a close against a backdrop of a swaying eucalyptus tree outside my kitchen window.