One last time

We suit up, listening to Captain's voice commanding us to, putting on our Marvel merchandise apparel, a good number of them screaming Tony Stark's name in the form of bright, shiny arc reactors on our chest, but none brighter than the brightness of our faces as we walk into the moments of revelation of the conclusion of one of our most favourite stories ever.

As the moment approaches, we relive all those days when we laughed and cried, in rapt obedience to the writers' nudges, watching, rapt, the screen lives of characters that unfailingly became a part of our own selves, when Yinsen asked Tony to not waste his life, when the old, Einstein-like Dr. Erkinske made Steve Rogers promise that he'd continue to be a good man, when Thor chose to sacrifice himself, thereby deserving the hammer, when Fury made up a small lie to unite the Avengers, when Tony and Bruce's plan to develop an AI to protect the world backfired, all those joke with people calling each other names, all the way up until that snap in infinity War.

The fever of anticipation reaches a zenith as we walk into the okay looking theatre. My brother makes a note of observations to mention on the theatre's Google review, with me pitching in points but we both know we don't care. We know that we are just trying to rush time into giving us the movie we have waited so long for.

Incidentally it has been exactly a year after we watched infinity war, and we know this day is going to be memorable. We tremble in anticipation as we push ourselves through the crowd of Marvel fan brethren, wanting so desperately to reach our seats on time.

As the words "Marvel Studios" come on the screem, we curl up, our hungry eyes sitting unblinking behind 3D glasses, finally seeing what we waited so long to. We are going to have this moment. One last time. And this moment is ours. My brother's, mine and Marvel's. And we'll own this and give it our everything. Whatever it takes.

Winter fell

The first episode of Season 8, "Winterfell", begins, reminding us of the sweetness of the Pilot episode of Game of Thrones, "Winter is Coming" its name baring the similarity it admits to portray.. a young Northern boy running to see a king and a queen arriving at Winterfell, Jon hugging Arya, lifting her up, this time in a long awaited reunion, as they both discuss Needle, his gift to her.. A glimpse of Winterfell, and a short interaction between Sansa and Tyrion, this time with those beyond the fourth wall relating with each face seen on screen, their eyes, quite like Arya's, as they look upon their favourite characters walk back onto the screen one last time.

These pleasant scenes do not put our hearts at ease. Perhaps the scenes themselves know that they seem to be dim reminders of the past that made us fall in love with these people, and that their attempts to tranquilise watchers of GoT before they suffer being told the terrible ending that's lurking are failing miserably

"Winter is coming".. "What is dead may never die".. Quotes of famous families now seem statements that reflect the inevitable doom that is about to befall the great Westeros, and, perhaps all of civilisation. We watch, with bated breath, to know the magnum of the tragedy that is about to befall the already broken Stark family we love so much, and all the others.

One is reminded of the grim prophecy Harry's old Snitch revealed, "I open at the close". Like with that line scribbled away by Dumbledore, Season 8 is more the final reckoning of what was bound to come, than some twisted, edge-of-the-seat interpretation of a prophecy misinterpreted by all. It is the arrival of dread, the manifestation of the most terrible of our fears, and it's here.

While the stories that are read to us through an audio-visual voice in April have been long-awaited conclusions to sagas we have followed for a decade, Avengers, kicked off by another hero named Stark, whose possible death we wait to behold, merely promises to add to the morbid experience we are all going to face, with the characters that've shaped our stories. And while the gloom promises to be as long as Winters last in Game of Thrones, a strange feeling of belonging engulfs our souls as we sit, in solidarity, with the rest of the world, separated by a million factors, but our hearts beating as one.

Who said we need wars to bring us together? This millenium stands testimony to the quote that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, not merely in bringing harm to others, but in bringing souls together. Fortunately, the writers of today are extremely sensitive to this, and while they battle fiercely to dodge theories and speculations to deliver the high that fans desire and deserve but are so willing to let go, giving in to the incessant dance of their restless intellects, and still deliver a poetic and justified end that a great story must have, they smile, weaving treasures with their fingertips, crafting legends that shall be remembered for all time.

And as a fan, I put my pen down and curl up in front of the screen that so easily touches my soul, and hit the play button to see my favourite story unfold. One last time.