For a couple of months now, I have had no expectations from any man, woman, living thing or life itself. None whatsoever except the weekly episodes of the HBO show Game of Thrones. I have tried to distance myself from it, as I have remarkably done with everything else. I do not see each episode immediately, give it an inordinate amount of time for the whispers to stop. As a date, or time, the only thing that has been a landmark, or a date to wait for has been the 11th of a month, the beginning of a billing cycle for Airtel, where I could start downloading again (I insist on the high definition versions), but blah all of that, I am digressing.
Despite attempts to distance self from the adaptations of the novels to screen, the little things quibble a bit too much inside my head. For the record, the HBO adaptation is magnificent, and I can understand the impulses to change the screen adaptation to make it more popular (like the conversations between Arya Stark and Tywin Lannister, for instance). And yet, the blatant disregard for the words (okay yes, I am being harsh, GRRM is an executive producer on the show as well) HURTS.
That Tywin Lannister is not bald, that Jaime Lannister didn’t go bald after his incarceration, the absolute rape of the character of Asha Greyjoy, the fact that Tyrion Lannister’s nose was not sliced off in the war, there’s a reason Qhorin Halfhand is called HALFHAND, who the FUCK did Robb Stark got himself married to, and a million small quibbles like that. And the most fucking important of them all.
WHERE THE BLOODY FUCK IS REEK?