SimCity... or should that be Sin City?

UPDATED SEE BOTTOM OF POST.

Several sections of text in the post open videos and news sites to support what i'm saying.

The short of this whole post is avoid SimCity. Seriously.

SimCity is a well regarded franchise with many PC owners having at least dabbled in the city building simulation at some point. There are a lot of people out there who fondly remember a disaster ravaging their perfectly laid out metropolis which made the anticipation for the newest instalment huge.

Anticipation which unfortunately has been met with a game that is crippled at it's earliest design choices and execution. To get the good out of the way first, SimCity is a good idea. In fact there are a few good ideas present in the latest version of SimCity. More so than previous games, the latest SimCity puts an emphasis on city specialisation and region interactivity. Two ideas which are fantastic. City specialisation lets you focus on a specific path.

Your city can focus on tourism and attract sims from across the region, driving up revenue for commercial businesses in your town and providing a pay check for the city when events are profitable (e.g a sports game at your stadium!). If you pick a plot of land with natural resources hidden underneath, your city can grow wealthy exploiting that resource. Set up a number of oil drilling or coal mining plants accompanied by a trade post and watch the money roll in. Alternatively, you can keep the raw resources and manufacturer finer goods, metals and petrol to sell at a higher price or use in your region. There is a distinct shift towards micromanagement. Before where you might plop a police station every three streets, now you might be best served upgrading the one police station you have. Most key buildings in SimCity allow you to upgrade, providing additional features or unlocking more specialisation options.

Region interactivity is another plus point. In previous SimCity games you could connect to faceless cities that bordered your town and exchange power, water or sewage for an arbitrary amount of cash. Now your cities (or those of your friends) can trade power, garbage disposal facilities, water etc. with each other too. It creates an asynchronous multiplayer which allows people to work together to provide the sims of the region with everything they need. One person could specialise in education and the sims will travel from the industrial city they live in to educate themselves. Or at least they should... in theory.

It's difficult to pin point why certain features of SimCity just don't work. On one hand it could be the overloaded servers which you are required to log into just to play, even if you want to play on your own (more on this later). Or it could be odd AI bugs that really hinder the experience.

There have been countless reports of the A.I and simulation in SimCity being somewhat broken. The Sims will take the shortest route to their destination, even if it isn't the quickest. They won't cross the road to use a bus stop, opting to drive instead. This could lead to everyone piling into small side avenues where main thoroughfares and avenues remain wide open. Your mass transit systems could just choose to ignore a turning or split in their route and ignore entire sections of the city that are “covered”, in theory, by bus routes. I had a group of low wealth sims complaining that they had no where to shop or work. But at the same time I had a group of low wealth shops complaining that they had no shoppers or workers. How???

The sims and advisors in the game will constantly seek expansion, which is understandable in the first few hours of city building but infuriating when you have completely filled the incredibly small map size provided. When you have no room to build anything (in the entire region), having the game harp on at you about “more workers” is really, really annoying.

The region interactivity just doesn't seem to work like it's supposed to either. There is a delay between interactions. For example I could volunteer up some of my police service to the next town but that won't kick in straight away, leaving my sims in the undefended town unhappy and unprotected until the game decided to catch up. I had built a huge university with lots of room and services to cover the entire region yet the sims on my adjacent towns complained of no education and flat out refused to go to the four schools, two high schools, college and university I had built just one town over. Now this could be because of the server issues EA and Maxis have been having with the launch of the game.

And thus we come to quite possibly the most prominent issue in the game. Online connectivity. You must log into their servers to be able to play the game at all. The launch of an online only game is always troublesome. SimCity had major issues, especially for North American users who had hours upon hours of down time. I, personally, have had a hand full of problems but nothing to the extent of what other players have been suffering. I've failed to connect on two occasions and I've had delayed response from the server when playing at times (region interactions, claiming city locations). In an effort to reduce the server load, Maxis temporarily removed features from the game. One of the key features being the ability to speed up time to Cheetah speed. The removal of this feature means … a lot of waiting around until you can get the money you need.

However, interestingly, a recent report on Rock, Paper, Shotgun shed light on the idea that this online DRM isn't required for the game. EA and Maxis have gone on the record stating that the online connection is a requirement for the game to run because some of the calculations are done server side. The RPS report states (from a source within Maxis) that this is not true. In fact players have reported being able to play for extended periods of time while connection to the server has been lost without being removed from the game. How is this possible if the online connection to the server is that critical? Could the online DRM just be a requirement to curb piracy and provide the platform to drip feed their players new content as microtransations (there are already items on the in game store ready to buy!)? This is a sign of a growing shift within the gaming industry from games as a product to games as a service.

It is unfortunate that such a beloved franchise has been hampered with design flaws and poor execution. Cities are small because they want to promote region play. However region play doesn't work all that great and the cities are so small that there's only so much you can do. Draconian online DRM limits when and how you can play the game, seemingly unnecessarily. Wonky A.I serve to frustrate and make the experience a chore sometimes.

There are some shining ideas underneath the rubble. Here's hoping things change and that E.A crawl off into a corner and die, i'd gladly pay extra for that to happened if it appeared in the in game store.

UPDATE: Following the news posted by Rock, Paper, Shotgun it seems that a modder has found a away to disable to artificial online requirement and play offline indefinitely. Online features such as region tools and save/load games obviously don't work correctly. Your cities are, however, saved onto their servers once you reconnect back to the online service. The UK Modder also stated that it is possible to edit the highways covering the region anywhere, even outside of the boundaries provided by Maxis and E.A. On top of this "bigmaps" were apparently referenced several times in the games code indicating that larger plots could be an additional microtransaction DLC in the future.

A Reddit post outlines all the recent discoveries made by the community. These include an inflation of the population, the ability for offline saves and the inclusion of terraforming tools (a feature removed from the newest edition of SimCity).

This is getting interesting.

T

Red

Apologies for the delay. I've been struggling with a mountain of University work that doesn't seem to be getting any smaller. I wrote this story a few years ago for a first year assignment. There is actually a script version that I adapted for a second assignment on the blog. I decided to go back and edit the short story version to include some elements that I thought up after and generally polish the dialogue and pacing.

I'm attempting to create a small collection of short stories that take place at the same time in Huddersfield. These will serve to introduce characters which I hope to use in a larger project that i'm working on. 

So here's the first one. Any comments or advice is always appreciated. Enjoy! 

T 

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Red

You find yourself alone with microwave meals that taste like warm shit in water. The only light in your life coming from the television that you leave on at night. BBC News channel presenters your only bedfellows. Life has a way of playing with you though. It has a way of shaking you awake just when you think it'll let you fall asleep and never wake up. It has a way of complicating things.

Red covered the ground, hair and blood flared out along the dark concrete like a sick piece of modern art. It was the last fare of the night. How did it come to this?

Dispatch mumbled something over the radio as the rear passenger door opened. The rush of cold air slapped me from my stupor. I yawned as I cleared the metre from the previous fare and started the taxi up.

‘Wher’ya going love?’ I asked looking back through the rear view mirror. My passenger stared out of the window for a moment before answering: ‘Westridge Drive. Beaumont Park’. It was going to take a while to get to Beaumont Park from this side of Kirkburton but luckily the roads were empty at this time of night. I don't often make it my business to think about the passengers other than if they're going to pay or cause trouble. She was young, she looked a mess and it was late. We've had our fair share of drug addicts causing trouble, especially recently, something about a new product being available. I don't really know. Her eyes were locked to the pavement as it rolled by and her hands were tucked underneath a brown leather bag. One of the buckles was dangling off. She better not try to bolt. I was on the home stretch for this shift, I didn't need trouble, and yet I couldn't help myself. I tempted fate.

‘Everything alright love?’

Nothing. Not a flinch. I don't even know if she heard me. She just stared out of the window, her eyes dead and bloodshot. I noticed some dried blood on her lip.

'Bang your lip on something or?'

‘Just drive the fucking taxi.’

‘I wa' just asking love, I didn’t mean to-’

‘Sure you didn’t...’

‘I was just concerned.’

‘Who the fuck are you? My dad? Just drive.' I would have left it there. I didn't need to know or get involved.

'You're about as useful as he was by the looks of things.'

She pushed it too far. I wasn't going to stand for this. What the hell was her problem? She could walk.

'Bollocks to this,' I mumbled to myself as I pulled over to the pavement. I killed the engine leaving a prickly silence momentarily. 'Get out, call another taxi.'

I looked back. She hadn’t moved an inch. ‘Did you hear me, Red? Get out.’ She shook her head and leant back, looking up to the roof of the car. I noticed marks around her neck.

‘I’m sorry… I just need to get to-’

‘There’s no charge, call someone else. Get out.’

‘Please don’t do this to me, not now.’

‘Don’t do what? Look, you wa' rude. I tried doing the decent thing and now I just want you out of my taxi.’

She pulled a gun out of the bag and shoved it into my face. My body froze immediately. I couldn’t seem to breathe.

‘Just take me to Beaumont Park. Now.’

I started the car back up. The metal pressing into the back of my head ran to my feet pushing the pedals down that little bit harder. I looked back at her. She was illuminated briefly as we passed the twenty four hour Co-op, and her eyes shone brightly before being plunged back into darkness.

‘I- I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have a choice,’ she stammered.

I tempted fate and fate spat in my face. She came in smelling of roses and looking like hell. I couldn't help myself. Idiot.

‘Stick up taxi drivers often?’

‘Please. Just drive the Taxi.’

‘Look you’ve got a gun pointed to the back of my head; I think we’re beyond being driver and passenger. So… why don’t you tell me why you’re threatening to kill me just to get to Beaumont Park?’

I changed gear and as I brought my hand back up to the steering wheel I knocked the receiver to dispatch onto my knee. I held down the button between my legs. The red light lit up on the transponder. It was brighter than I realised but maybe she wouldn't notice.

‘Well? I deserve to know… why you’ve got a g-’

‘Stop talking.’ I heard the gun click behind me, she slowly leaned forward and yanked the wire out of the receiver. The red light flickered off. ‘Nice try,’ she muttered as she leaned back into the seat behind me.

‘Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut and drive? You just had to talk and complicate things.’

'I have a habit of making things difficult.'

For a while we sat in a nervous silence. I slowed down to thirty miles per hour, I’m not even sure why I was prolonging the journey. We were just passing The Waterloo Pub when she began to violently cough.

‘Y’alright back there Red?’ I asked as I started to pull over again.

‘Keep… driving,' she choked. The gun lowered as she began to cough even harder, gasping for breath.

‘Just what the hell is going on here?’

The coughing slowed down. Her eyes watered as she desperately took huge gulps of air.

'It's got nothing to do with you!'

‘Really? You've taken me bloody hostage, it's got a lot to do with me now love.’

'I swear I’ll fucking shoot you if you don't shut your mouth!'

‘Bet you don't even know how to use the bloody thing.’

Shut up, idiot. Shut up! I never did know when to keep my mouth shut.

She leaned forward and pointed the gun towards the passenger side window and fired. The force of the gun shot felt like someone had punched me in the ear. The window shattered. Glass flew in every direction. I closed my eyes and hoped she wouldn't shoot me. The realisation that I was still driving felt like a jolt of electricity. My eyes flew open and I glimpsed a man staggering into the road. He didn't even seem to notice me as I swerved and kept the car under control.

‘What the fuck are you doing?!’

‘Drive! Or the next one goes through your big fucking mouth!’

I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. Partly out of frustration and partly because she was right.

Shards of glass continued to fall off the door frame as we made our way into town. Things had calmed down a little. We were passing Ravensknowle Park when I reached into the glove compartment. She leaned forward.

‘Stop.’

‘Relax Red,’ I pulled out a box of cigarettes and slid one into my mouth. ‘You smoke?’ I reached to the back with the box of twenty in my hand.

‘There's a no smoking sign on your dashboard.’

‘You remind me of my ex-wife.'

She smirked. I threw the box into the passenger seat. As it landed tiny shards of glass bounced up. If I didn't end up dead, Timmy was going to kill me for this. I glanced back through the rear view mirror. Red was still smirking. She shook her head in amazement.

‘What you don't think an old mug like me could be married?

‘No I’m just amazed you still want to talk.'

‘I got married. If that ain't a sign that I’m a glutton for punishment I dunno what is.'

‘Ex-wife?'

'Yep. As in no longer married.'

'I know what ex-wife implies, dip shit.'

'Easy.'

'So what happened?'

She looked intrigued. The gun had lowered a little. If she was to fire now, she'd probably miss the back of my head and hit the roof. Progress.

'Well... Carl happened.'

'Oh, and who might Carl be?'

'Some big bollock executive. He was in the office with the leather chair in a suit. I was in here in a leather jacket. Didn't really compare. Weak chin though. He hit like a girl. She always said I needed something to fix. I was quite the handy man, you see. Only thing I couldn't fix was me bloody marriage.'

'You fought him?' The grin got bigger, pearly whites peered through.

‘At their wedding, yeah. They were being married in front of this lake. Helped him cool off.’

She laughed and reached over to the front seat for a cigarette and the lighter. She looked so much nicer with a smile on her face. Why did I even think that?

‘Sorry love, no smoking.’

‘Whatever.’

'What's your name love?'

She hesitated for a moment. The end of her cigarette lit up as she took a drag and exhaled. 'I like Red,' she said smirking.

‘Got a son somewhere too. They moved away after the wedding. America. Not seen him since. Probably couldn't recognise him if he was sat where you are. That''s what anger does to ya. Makes things worse.'

‘Nothing can make things any worse than they already are.’

'Things always get worse. That gun you're holdin' in yer hand will see to that.'

'I don't have a choice.'

The progress I had made seemed to evaporate. The smile slid of her face and her steely eyes refocused. I felt the barrel of the gun poke me in the back of the head again. I shifted gear.

'You a film fan?'

'What?'

'Movies, films. You watch em? Well, my favourite is Leon.'

'Leon?'

'Yeah. It's got that English geezer in it. What's his face? Gary Oldman.'

'I've seen it. Is that what you think is going on here?'

'Well.... I don't think anything. I mean the US version they're just friends. But I watched them deleted scenes and commentaries and stuff, fucking brilliant. Anyway, in that they said they had to delete the scenes from the European version which had Mathilda fall in love with Leon. I mean, we can just be friends, like. I'm not-'

'Don't.'

'I'm just tryin' ta understand Red.'

'This isn't something you can fix.'

The cough returned. She doubled over clutching her stomach, her guts practically forcing their way out of her mouth. Her whole body shook as she wretched and spluttered. I pulled over to the pavement and she scrambled out of the car. This is your chance. Do it, push down on the sticky clutch, slip it in first and just drive away. You've tried to help, call the police. I reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out my phone. Outside I heard Red wretch and throw up, the smacking of hot liquid landing on the tarmac. I'd heard it a thousand times and never cared... why was this time any different? I cut the engine and got out of the car. More fool me.

Red was leaning against the back of the taxi. Vomit trickled down the hub cap and onto the tire. It was splattered on the black pavement. Streaks of dark red flared out like flames against the night sky.

'Do you want some water or something Red?'

She looked up, her eyes were watering and blood was trickling down her chin. The gun was shaking in her hand. She shook her head and averted her eyes, hugging her stomach as she leant against the boot and took a deep breath in.

'You're coughing up blood.'

'Why didn't you drive away?'

'Like I said, the whole passenger driver thing went out the window a long time a go.'

She looked away, a scowl on her face, her bottom lip quivering. She shook her head and rounded on me.

'Why do you care so much? What do you want?'

'I just...' Go on. Tell her. Tell her that she's been the only interesting thing to happen in your life for the last ten years. Tell her how much you want to save her.

'You really want to know why I need to get to Beaumont Park with this?' she shoved the gun back in my face. I nodded my head like an idiot, trying to cower away from the business end of the barrel. She pressed it hard against my forehead.

'I'm going to kill the man that took my son from me.'

I looked at the gun, down her arm which was covered in cuts and bruises to her neck which was covered in angry red strangle marks to, finally, her fierce eyes which were bloodshot from the tears and god knows what else. I began to count the freckles on her nose and cheeks as she continued.

'Yeah. I'm going to shoot that fucking pervert for what he's done to me.'

'There are other ways, Red. The authorities or a... lawyer or something right?'

'Oh yeah. Go in there all “woe is me, my step dad Wayne plied me with drugs and raped me. Woe is me, I was so addicted and alone, at the age of twenty fucking three, that I kept going back for more only to get beaten near half to death when he found out I was pregnant.”'

'I didn't-'

'This is the only way. Alright? This is all I’ve got left. This,' she pushed the gun into my forehead a little harder, 'is his. No one gave a shit about me. Not mum, or him or anyone.'

'I give a shit.'

'Well where the fuck were you when I needed you?'

I could have asked her the same thing. She recoiled. She'd let something slip. She grabbed her bag from the floor and stepped over the blood laden vomit.

'I'll walk from here, it's not far. I'm sorry about all this yeah?'

She turned away and began to shuffle down the street. Let her go.

'Wait!' I didn't even realise I’d called out to her. She turned back and looked at me, shaking her head. 'Get in, I’ll take ya.'

The passenger door behind me slammed shut and I started up the taxi again. I glanced into the rear view mirror, Red was looking down at her feet. The gun was at her side now rather than planted firmly against my head. I pulled away from the pavement and began rolling down into Lockwood as slow as I could.

'Murder isn't something you just get away with Red... and what about your kid? How are you going to explain all this when the time comes?'

'I'm not looking to get away with it.'

'So you'd rather go to jail is th-'

An empty plastic bottle bounced of the side of my head. It landed on the front seat covered with glass next to my cigarettes. It was some kind of medication but I couldn't see the label.

'What's that?' I asked dreading the answer.

'Ibuprofen,' she said in a small voice. I slammed on the brakes. The tires and Red shrieked in unison.

'We're going to the hospital.' I began to turn the car around, doing a u-turn at the cross junction at the foot of Beaumont Park road.

'No!' I heard the gun click as she brought it back to it's original position. The metal against my head had a rather different reaction though. I slammed the brakes once more, the gun pressed hard into my skull.

'Look. I'm tired, I’ve been in this fucking taxi for nine hours. Hell, I’ve been in this fucking taxi for seventeen years right and you... you come in and you don't even realise what you're doing to me.'

'Drive. Now! I swear I’ll-'

'I ain't going no where, alright? If you wanna shoot me then fucking shoot me but i'm not moving up that hill any more. We're going to the hospital or you're on your own.'

Without a word she scrambled out of the car and staggered towards her destination. A sense of relief washed over me but it didn't last long. Agitated, I grabbed my box and shoved another cigarette in my mouth. The lighter refused to work. I slammed it into the dash board – that always fixed things. It worked. Leave you old fool. I inhaled, feeling the burning sensation at the back of my throat. She doesn't feel the same way. She's half your age. I inhaled again, deeper. Smoke began to filter out from my nostrils. Half your age, half in love. I inhaled again – too much, the smoke filled my lungs and caused me to cough. I shook my head as I started the ignition again and turned around.

'Fuck sake.'

I bombed up the hill, looking for Westridge Drive, it was somewhere on the right. I glanced behind me and caught a glimpse of a street sign in the rear view mirror. I’d passed it. I slammed on my breaks and turned the car around. I frantically searched for Red. I got to the end of the cul de sac and looked around; to my left there were raised voices and shouting. I rushed out of the taxi and headed into the drive. Blood covered the gate. Up ahead I saw light streaming out of the front door. Red had Wayne held at gunpoint.

I called out to her, 'Don't!'

Red turned to see who shouted. Wayne made his move in that tiny opening and tackled her to the ground. I charged in a moment after and pulled him off her. Throwing us both into the opposite general direction. My head hit the stone wall. We tumbled to the floor. Wayne got to his feet first and kicked me in the head, the sole of his boot forced my skull to crack against the stone step. The world span violently. Wayne pulled me to my feet, his large, shaggy beard just millimetres from my face.

‘Who are you?’

I didn't answer. Wayne drew his large forehead back and struck me in the bridge of the nose. I staggered back, eyes teaming with tears. The gun shot exploded out of no where. Blood splattered forward and landed on my face, warm and surreal. Wayne fell to the floor, the bullet had struck the side of his head and torn a bit of his face off. Red collapsed against the wall retching once more. I tore my eyes away from Wayne and rushed over to her.

I knelt beside her. She fell into my arms, blood trickling from her mouth.

'Hold on, Red. Just hold on. I'll call an ambulance.'

I fought against my tight pocket and slid my phone out. She knocked it out of my hands and gingerly shook her head.

'You came back.'

'Aye. Look, I’ll call the ambulance. I can get your kid too and we can sort this out yeah? Just hold on.' I dialled.

'He would have been such a beautiful boy.' Her body shook as she held onto her stomach and then went still. I pulled her matted hair away from her face. Her lifeless eyes stared right through me to the stars.

The emergency operator squawked from the mobile. I didn't know what to say. They asked for a name. I didn't know it. I didn't know anything about her but it didn't matter to me. In my sorry existence called a life all that mattered to me was her. I was headed towards a hemp rope noose and she was the light. At least... that's what I tell myself at night.

Flash

Below is a story I wrote partially based on my personal experiences in an attempt to understand why I, like many others, have had to endure such a difficult family life. My reading of the way things had progressed with some of my family changed when I began to study Colonial and Post-Colonial Literature. It wasn't until now, armed with this new perspective that I had a sense of reason or an explanation as to why my grandfather was the way he was. It might not explain or justify everything but it's a start and it replaced years of misplaced anger that I had carried around. Please be aware that I've only taken inspiration from events in my life and a lot of the story is fiction, dramatised scenes based somewhat in reality.

I may never agree with his outlook on life but at least I understand him a little better. Unfortunately he passed away before I could tell him that, funnily enough, we shared similar interests after all.

Enjoy

T

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Flash

Who am I? It’s dark in here. I wish someone would come in and turn off these machines; their incessant beeping is keeping me awake and I am so tired. All I want to do is go to sleep; my eyelids are heavy with regret…

I can’t even turn to my side. The pipes connected to me get caught up and pull on my organs. My legs and stomach begin to shudder as a brown liquid begins to trickle down the plastic tube. The smell makes me wretch, I just want this to stop so I can go to sleep. I glance around the dark room. The chairs are stacked on top of each other in the corner… they should be around my bed… with people sitting on them. A tear begins to work its way over the bumpy wrinkles that cover my weathered face.

“Hurry up and get your things, we’re leaving now!”

The kids don’t understand that we can replace most of what they’re packing over in England. I’ve spent most of the morning going through their bags and taking out the things that we don’t need. I’m already exhausted and I’ve still got the monumental task of getting a wife and five children through a nine hour journey.

I rummage through my pocket where I’ve got all the important documents. Passports and tickets are all prepared, one way to Heathrow. Sweat trickles down my forehead, I glance up and the sun is almost above me, a blazing time bomb ticking closer and closer to our impending departure. Most of the village has turned up to see us off. A village elder hobbles into the courtyard; his white turban is stained yellow with sweat and his beard is a similar colour. He extends a bony hand and grasps mine tightly pulling me into an embrace. He whispers words of advice into my ear.

I pull away and smile.

“You don’t have to worry. Harjeet owns a bus company there. he’ll be able to help us out.”

Beep, beep. The ticket jolts out of the machine.

“Ninety five pence, please.” I extend my hand out from inside the booth. The young lad just looks at me, a petulant look on his blue eyes. He pulls the beanie from off his head. Matted and greasy blonde hair tumbles out from underneath and shudders as he shakes his head.

“I ain’t giving you nowt, fucking paki.”

He begins to walk towards the back of the bus. I shout him back but he continues down the aisle. The booth door creaks as I push it open and follow him. I glance to the left and the right at the other passengers who look on slightly annoyed. One of them has a newspaper, the bold black headline catches my eye briefly; “Paki’s go home.”

“Get off bus now.” He sits there, a smirk on his face. The other passengers begin to turn around and watch the commotion when one of them screams. I turn to see why when my head slams into the pole. Ding. I stumble off the stair and fall into the aisle, unsure of what is happening when a boot slams into my face and the smell of dog shit immediately fills my nostrils and lungs. My chest catches fire as he continues to pound me. I try to fend him off. My eyes frantically call for aid but there is none to be found. The young man steps over me. I feel a glob of sticky warm liquid splatter across my face.

“Fuck off t’where you come from, yeah?”

The walk back to booth seemed to take a year. I can feel everyone watching me. I gingerly slide back into the booth and close the door. People continue to push the bell to get off as I drive past their stops. I don’t care. The next stop is the bus depot.

A crackle distorts the presenter as he introduces his next guest, I wait for him to finish before, “Yes, hello.”

“Welcome to the show Mr. Singh. As I understand, you’re a retired bus driver and the author of ‘Zulm ka insaaf,’ in which you ask British Asian readers to justify the compromises they made to their culture, heritage or even language by living in England. So before I give you the floor, I’d just like to ask when did you come to England?”

“In 1964. Almost forty five years. Came here when I was twenty seven.”

“I see, so what would you like to add to this discussion then?”

“Well, I understand that Mr. Sahota is well educated but he is not very knowledgeable. And – no please let me finish – the problem with his programs to help our women get into more widespread professions is that he does not take into account our traditions, our history, our heritage or our culture, something which-“

“Alright, before you continue let me address that point. I’m not here to advocate losing our culture, rather simply to open up the playing field, as it were, for both the men and women of our heritage.”

“But what you are saying will lead to us losing our culture even more! It has already begun when we came here. They will begin to wear western clothes, go out drinking and such. It is important that we do not become more western in our ways. That is not who we are, do you understand?”

“Forgive me Mr. Singh but the issues I’m talking about are much larger than what clothes the women wear or how they socialise. I’m talking about getting equal footing in education and encouraging them to apply themselves. Be able to achieve whatever they apply themselves to. Isn’t that what you want for your sisters and daughters?”

“I do want them to work, but only where it is appropriate. We are Indian. We treat each other with respect, family is important. All the time I see white people getting divorced, why does this not happen with us? If the women are out working then who is going to look after the family? I ask you…”

“And yet some of these ‘white’ women, as you put it, have jobs and careers and are able to stand on their own two feet. To answer your second point, why can’t you look after the family? This isn’t the point I was trying to make but I’d like to ask you a question Mr. Singh…”

“Please do so.”

“Why are you here? I’m fascinated to learn why you came to this country at all.”        

If I close my eyes I can faintly hear the screams carried by the warm breeze. My fingers track the coarse stone and into the bullet holes still present in the brick. Behind me water trickles from a water fountain that has been placed on top of the well where so many perished. I glance around to the gardens and see my young grandchildren playing a game of catch on the grass; their laughter fills the otherwise serine atmosphere of Jallianwala Bagh. Behind me, across the courtyard stands a monument marking the exact site where General Dyer stood as he ordered his troops to open fire on a congregation of innocent Indians. That day the Baisakhi celebrations came to an abrupt end, it feels strangely surreal to be coming here, on Baisakhi years later as part of our celebrations.

    I make my way over the courtyard and as I do images of men screaming in terror enter my mind. Bullets zip past me and bury themselves into skulls, chests and appendages without discrimination. I look down and find myself trampling over the corpse of an elderly man, blood seeping from his wounds as my bodyweight presses down. A warm splatter of blood covers my face as another innocent is shot down in front of me but I don’t flinch. The rabid explosions of one hundred and fifty guns gets louder and louder as I approach the impenetrable wall of death made up of Dyer and his men. As I get closer I can make our Dyer’s facial expression. An evil glint is present in his eyes as he stares indifferently to the massacre happening just behind me. I try to call out, to make him stop but he doesn’t seem to hear me until finally everything fades away as my finger touches the small stone pillar where he stood. I’m taking a deep breath, when suddenly an odd thought strikes me, an unwelcome guest in this time of solitude. The dispatch manager at work is called Dyer, Richard Dyer. I shake my head with a grimace; I am beset by the ironies of my life.

The door opens. I try to raise my head to see who it is but it feels ridiculously heavy. Cold hands begin to fiddle with one of the pipes leading into my arm. I try and push her away but she is persistent. She takes some numbers from the machine and jots them down on my file before leaving. Why didn’t she help me? She could help me get back so I can rest…

“… which resulted in a hung parliament. As you can see now, David Cameron is going to see the Queen and propose-” I cut the news presenter off with a click of the remote and turn my attention to my daughter who is stood before me dishevelled and upset.

“What did you say?”

“I’m divorcing my husband, dad, try to understand…”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a drunk and I’m not happy with my life being married to him. I wanted more.”

Something bubbles up inside me. A volatile mixture of rage, shame and sadness threatens to react and force its way up my throat. I shake my head.

“You’ll go back home and make this work. Family is important. If that fails then God help us.”

“No, I can’t do that.”

“Since when did you start talking back to me?”

Another fragile voice pipes up. “Nana, I’m supporting mum in this, she’s not happy and-”

“Aasha, be quiet. When elders are speaking the youngsters don’t get involved. Go into the other room with the rest, me and your mother need to talk.”

I watch her leave. She doesn’t dare look at me.

“You will go back to him. Imagine what everyone will say if you get divorced. For decades we’ve managed to be a strong, Indian family in this country. It is important that we do not lose what makes us who we are.”

“You chose to come here, dad!”

“Pick up your bag and go home.”

“I can’t.”

There’s no going back. The eruption occurs. My hand jerks forward and grabs my own daughter by the hair. I drag her out of the living room and into the back room where the rest of the family are waiting. They look up in shock as I barge through the door and throw a sobbing heap to the floor.

“You do not speak back to me. From this moment onwards you are not a part of our, no, MY family. Do the rest of you hear me? You will not speak to them; they are no longer one of us.”

“Dad…please…”

“You lost the right to call me that. Get out!”

My chest tightens. It hurts to breath now. I try to scream out for help. I reach out for someone but I am alone in the darkness.

Bang! The fireworks explode overheard, a little earlier than expected but no matter. I look around at everyone staring up at the night sky and the cascade of dazzling lights that are flying above us. More fireworks explode into the air as I slowly head back into the house and head up the marble stairs. My hand brushes up the smooth hand rail. All my hard work accomplished this: a grand mansion back in India with enough room for all my children and grandchildren, who have all come to welcome the new millennium here in style. I head over to the master bed room and onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard - a veritable feast for the eyes. A wondrous array of colours swirl and bounce off each other from the suites the ladies are wearing and the turbans the men are sporting. The dhol drum beats a joyous and infection rhythm into the warm air. I can’t help but tap my feet. Another ten years and I will be retired. I can come back here a proud father, grandfather and live out my days in peace.

In the courtyard below my wife, my sons and daughters with their spouses and all my grandkids dance the night away in an ecstasy of joy, without a care in the world. We are together and that is all that matters. Someone shouts out the all-important “10!”

“9!”

I can see Aasha looking around for me. She glances up and spots me.

“8!”

I beckon her up and she bolts across the courtyard.

“7!”

Finally my eyes close and remain closed. A sense of peace seeps through my body, numbing my extremities and taking away the pain. The beeping fades. I extend my hand out to a memory long since passed and as the strength fades away it falls back onto the bed with a thud…

“4!”

People begin to hug each other. Cousins and friends all snatch up each other’s hands. The dhol drum beat begins to quicken.

“3!”

Aasha rushes onto the balcony. I turn and catch her in a deep embrace.

“2!”

“1!”

Better than Hoboken: Conflict of Narrative and Gameplay

Max Payne 3 was without a doubt one of my highlights of 2012 however it has an odd issue of identity crisis plaguing it at the core. Still, for me, Max Payne 3 represents an important step in exploring strong and compelling narrative in gaming, and was ultimately a really enjoyable experience.

It’s clear from the outset that the gameplay in this game plays second fiddle to the narrative. The biggest example I can give you of this huge flaw is the fact that there are compilations of all the cut scenes from the film (with the gameplay removed) and they run as a movie would, quite an enjoyable one at that. The only thing missing from this movie is the action which is often left up to the player to play through. This represents Max Payne 3 biggest flaw. The dissonance between gameplay and narrative is striking as the gameplay has no bearing on the narrative and the narrative only really changes where and what Max is shooting at.

Max Payne 3 is a solid third person shooter with some serviceable mechanics and a few key standout features. There are some problems with the second chance mechanic, which is when Max is dealt a fatal blow with pain killers in his possession he is given the chance to shoot his murderer and stay alive. The implementation of this feature comes off as quite wonky and can sometimes be hampered by the environment getting in your way or the inability to reload in this mode. There isn’t much to say about the gameplay other than that in its entirety it is quite well done but largely unimportant. Nothing you do when you have control over Max really matters. It’s a shooting gallery – a well-constructed and largely well-made shooting gallery.

One of the highlight features of Max Payne is its production style and aesthetics. Max Payne 3 boasts a thumping soundtrack from Health and a visual style that apes Tony Scott’s films like Domino and Man on Fire. Overall the production of Max Payne screams high quality and a lot of effort went into constructing a certain tone and mood to the game that feels very gritty and mature. Both the look and soundtrack really do wonders to give the narrative legs and an extra oomph in its emotional punch.

The story of Max Payne 3 starts out as a plot about revenge and redemption and while it remains that to the end there are a few issues that crop up with the story. Much like the paradoxical nature of the game, the narrative seems to be unsure of what it really wants to be. Here and there, ever so gradually, political overtones begin to appear and the latter half of the story feels muddled as it deals with the weight of large issues such as capitalism, American foreign policy and the value of life.  While there is room for an undertone of political commentary in most narratives, the problem with Max Payne 3’s story is that at times it detracts from what Max ultimately set out to do.

Some of that confusion is alleviated by James McCafferys performance of Max. The actor really shines in his portrayal of Max and his delivery of dialogue, which has just the right about of dry, wry wit about it really settles the game into “serious story” mode but one that doesn’t take itself too seriously all the time. McCaffery carries the weight of the entire game and really pulls off a strong performance that gives us a character we can engage with. It’s not all perfect in the realms of characterisation but it is there and Max, as a person, does change.

It’s just a shame that this change isn’t reflected in the gameplay and ultimately this dissonance between narrative and gameplay stops Max Payne 3 from being an amazing must play game but rather represents an important but tentative step in the evolution of gaming.

To me there are two clear cut types of games now: games which present systems and gameplay as the main engaging factor and games which present narrative and story in the forefront. Games like Max Payne 3 and Uncharted provide shining examples of relatively well written and engaging stories in games and they bring a form of validity to the medium. These stories are far from perfect but by in large they are really well done, even when compared to some films that are released.

On the flip side of the spectrum you have games such as FTL or Terraria which present players with hugely addicting and compelling gameplay mechanics, with little story and narrative to frame them, which also legitimise the medium. There is room for both styles of game in the genre and Max Payne 3 represents, to me, an important step in ensuring high quality, mature, story driven content with which players can interact with and ultimately enjoy. However for story and narrative to truly be seen as valid constituents of the spotlight they need to engage with the gameplay in meaningful ways providing players with input and interaction to fully engross the player and provide them with a full-fledged, story driven game – like Heavy Rain.

T

ThatGameJourney

I love playing games. It’s one of my hobbies and I’m quite passionate about it. In light of the recent bad press gaming seems to have had (things that I commented on in a previous blog post) I wanted to present quite possibly one of the most amazing gaming experiences I have ever encountered. I’ve actually wanted to talk about this game for quite a while but I’ve been holding off because I don’t think I could do it justice and convey just how exquisite an experience this is. The reality is the only way to truly understand would be to play it, uninterrupted, alone and completely open to be immersed by it. As gaming news and commentary is going to be something I continue to do, I wanted to start with “the right game” and it had to be Journey. There is nothing that comes close this year and arguably this decade. If you haven’t played it, I won’t spoil any of the key moments.

The main thing to note about Journey is that everything the game does serves one purpose and that is to drive the narrative and build towards a collective experience. It is difficult to talk about single aspects of the game because each system in the game compliments and supports another. It’s becoming more and more prevalent to see multiplayer or RPG elements added to games because it’s “in fashion”. Journey doesn’t do that, everything present is potent, masterfully crafted and has a purpose.

The first thing that hits you about Journey is the visuals. As soon as you start the game you are presented with a vast desolate desert, stretching out as far as you can see, and soon after you are quickly introduced to your single solitary goal in the game: reach the mountain top. A peak looms over the land in the distance and at its summit there seems to be a ray of light. As the title screen appears over the image of the mountain the distance it becomes abundantly clear that your journey is to get there. There is no quest text telling you what to do or mini map markers (in fact the UI is stripped entirely with all information being represented visually in the world or on the character), this is intuitive design. The simplicity of this game is its brilliance because it taps into core human emotions, this one being curiosity and the need to explore.

And then the music kicks in and suddenly you’re within the games grasp. As you wander the desert as the main character (who is designed with no specific gender) the music accents each step with emotion. Whether it is fear, excitement, curiosity or sorrow the games changing visuals and music create an emotional ride that sucks you in. The music in Journey is one of the standout features; it was nominated for a Grammy and if you’re listening to the video I linked at the top, it’s clear why.

The gameplay is as simplistic as the games aesthetics. You can jump (and glide) and let out a pulse of light. The pulse of light is an interesting mechanic because it is your only way to interact with world and all the wonders waiting to be found. It also serves as an interesting and creative way to communicate with any players you happen to pass by. Journey features a multiplayer component with adds to the games appeal, narrative and collective experience. You don’t know the identity of the people you pass by. There is no way to “connect”, anyone playing at the same point as you in the game has a chance to appear in your world and you theirs. There is no name plates, no way to start talking to the person, you cannot message them, you are just two strangers in a strange land and you can either continue on together or drift off into the sands. The multiplayer mechanic in this game taps into another core human trait, that being one of humanity. Simply working out how to communicate and work with a complete stranger was an uplifting experience.

It is this perfect cocktail of simple features and a world of wonder that make Journey such a fantastic game. I found myself exploring whenever I could and I was genuinely afraid when the games enemies would approach. Because there is no way of combating them, a crushing sense of fear and helplessness overcomes you. You feel concern for the person you’re on this journey with, even though you know nothing about them.

When it was over (the game clocks in at about two to three hours) I knew then that what I had just played was something crafted with care, with purpose and it was one of few instalments in this genre that can be considered art. I would put this alongside any painting, film or piece of music because it evokes the same emotions and I’d argue that those emotions are much more personal because you interact with the game, it is your story.

If you’re interested in games and are a little tired of the same old thing over and over again then I implore you to try Journey. If you’re not into games and enjoy books, films or music then I also implore you to try Journey when you get a chance, this goes beyond a video game and it is an experience. Journey is easily the best game of 2012, quite possibly the best game in the last 10 years.

Utterly haunting.

T