The spoils of a conquest

A pure white hair-band lying on the floor. In front of the drawn curtains.

The roller chair, abandoned between the room.

Flowers knocked over from the glass vase. The vase, amazingly, unbroken.

The laptop lying on its side with its charging cord dangling from the side.

The book, the page you were reading preserved so preciously till now, on its face on the floor near the bed.

The Ipod speakers blaring an instrumental track you normally always skipped over.

Pillows on the floor and the bedspread crumpled. Bruises on your legs, your calves and your neck.

Going to Imaginary Places..

Don't tear it up.. please..

You hold out a paper with your thumb and index finger. You clasp it tight. And then the train starts, at full speed, rushing past every tree, light pole, building, and glass structure. Rushing past some stations too. Then stops at one station, a slight pause, but the momentum is gained back.
And the paper is fluttering crazily in the continuous, fast and strong wind.

Sometimes the paper falls out of your hand, but sometimes you can hold on to the paper. No matter what.
Trust is like that piece of fluttering paper. Held just as gently between your heart and your brain. But once it goes out of your hands, another paper, just does not feel like the old one. Or it's really really difficult to find that piece of paper which flew with the wind. Difficult but not impossible.

And I hope that day never comes when that paper is just torn into bits.. and flung into the wind..

And no matter how much I love the wind, the heady gush of wind in a fast train, I hope till my last breath that the people I trust do not let go.. It's a crumbling feeling, getting all too familiar to me..

Spinning on my axis...

Ever chased a racing leaf on the sidewalk?
Watched the trees turn into spun gold/copper/red metal/pink gems?
Smiled at every stranger you met on the road?
Told your bus driver how you are sure she will find happiness in her new marriage?
Looked at the moon and squeed, "It's a full moon on a purple sky!!!!!!!!!!!" ?
Cooked something just because someone has been craving it from a long time?

These are the little pleasures of life here.

The crackle of leaves turned into a crispness, of color and material. I started a collection and RM and me both keep adding on it. The chest in our living room is beautifully decorated with all the colors of fall we could gather.




The beauty of the black,black trunk of the tree adorned and made even more beautiful by the beautiful colors of leaves on it. It is as if the trees have been decked up in gold, copper, and bronze jewelry. Really. Everytime I bend down to pick up a leaf and carefully store it in my book or bag, there is someone looking at me curiously. And when the someone understand that I am storing my first fall, gathering remembrances for life, they give a gentle laugh and an indulgent look.

Everybody smiles. I can't believe that I think it is rude of those few who don't. Me, who was a grumpy, cynical brat back home. I REALLY was. Everyone wishes you a good day, and everyone asks you how you are. Some even really answer when you ask them that back. They discuss their marriages, lives, moving out, children, growing up and growing old too. All it takes to start the conversation is, "It's so cold/hot today".



But the cold (its -1.5 in the nights, and 2 to 6 in the day) brings along with itself a resplendent sun. One that shines down like the king granting a favor by its presence. A lazy, slow glow. Which warms, but doesn't drive the chill away. And when the sun shines down on the skies? It creates magic. Especially in the evening when it's setting. It spins a mesmerizing, blanket of rioting colors. And then it leaves the skies, but leaves its purpleness, or whichever color it has spun behind. And then the moon reigns. And oh, it looks so darn pretty. I wish I could climb high up on a tree so that someone could take a picture of me with the beauty up there.

And finally, on a hectic, busy, workloaded sunday, when you remove the time to cook gujju dal, just because your roommate really, really wanted to have it. It feels good. Really good. Especially when the dal turns out perfect. And even if there was not enough left for you in the end. It feels good.


I just hope the goodness lasts...

I have realized...

You don't achingly, yearningly miss trains. You don't miss the travelling in local trains when you stop travelling. But when you do resume travelling by them again, or happen to have that one last run, you realize what you had been missing out on all this while. And after you are done, you get back to your old status quo.

Entering the world..

My entry into the world begins here.

Here on I leave the world of comfort..
Here on I leave the world of convenience

Here on I leave the world of ready to eat
Here on I leave the world of companionship

Here on I leave my safe little tight cocoon

Here on I enter the world of compromise
Here on I enter the world

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Virginia rejects, I bounce back to University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

"Its really one of the best Universities you know. Berkeley ke takkar ka.."

"Once you do six months in UIUC, Virginia will go on their knees to admit you.."

Consolations all of them.

But these consolations woke me up to the fact, that you don't always get what you want. Correction: Pragni, you don't always get what you want.

Just because I have never had a reject in my life where academics are concerned doesn't mean I cant get a reject at the most important turn of life. A reject which can turn life at full strength into a U-turn.

A reject which will change my career plans, and my tightly, cosily stitched life plan. A reject which will turn me into a Capitalist from an Idealist, a dreamer.

It took me time to adjust into this role, to slip into this skin.. For the first few days I stayed in my den, trying out the new part, nursing my hurt ego? or my hurt roar maybe.. Now I have made an effortless transition. Nothing hurting about.. nothing to figure out ( I finished all that already right?)..nothing to talk about. My wise brother had, very wisely, advised my mother to let me be for a few days, to let me figure out what I wanted to do. It worked. As all his advise always works.

So I'm out to fully utilize my two months here. Am seeing as many movies, trying to go to Red Lounge as much as I can, trying to eat stall wala food as much as I can, dosawala, paanipuri wala. Go out with friends here as much as I can. Go anywhere at all. Suddenly, I am ready to accompany everyone everywhere. I have nothing better to do, I plead.

Dance classes, Gym, Dentist's appointments, Skin Specialist, Eye Specialist, all lined up.

Along with four movies a week(wow), five new restaurants a week( double wow), now you see why I need the gym. Maybe I'll go for the blogger's party scheduled for June. Lets see...

Busy two months now. Vacant two months too. Quite Empty really.

Your Love and Mine..

For the guy who has been my constant support system from the last 6 years or more.

For the guy who sat with me in a shack, while I cried, at times when I hardly ever cried. And he just sat with the stranger because she was a fellowmate in the military camp.

For the guy who became a part of my family, with his helpful way of wanting to do everything for my me and my parents.

For the guy who has erred unfailingly and regularly, but has forgiven me too when I have erred, and not admitted it.

For the guy who has given me some of the most brilliant memories ever.

For the guy who just flatly refuses to read my blog.

For the guy who could never properly meet my brother, which is something I have always regretted.

For the guy who has been the most amazing best friend ever, the most wholesome best friend, who has not taken my grief, given me grief, fought with me, harassed me, irritated me, and cherished our friendship more than anything else.

For the guy who my other friends call a variety of names, from Chottu, Bandook Boy, Bhai, Ram Bhaiyya, and lots more.

For you on your birthday, though I know you wont be reading this ever.

I know we are not supposed to, but Thank you.

------------------------------------------------------

You grabbed my hand and pulled me in from the center of the road..
You kept me warm and heated whn my nose and fingers were chilling from the cold

You rode me along the beach and thn dipped ur feet in the water with me..
We climbed the rocks together and spoke abt everything & nothing- just letting me be

You brought me pretty nothings and significant small things..
We sat hours together sipping coffee unaware of our surroundings

You chatted with me for hours on the phone and together the deep night we brought..
You waited for me to go to sleep while on the phone just so u could hear my last thought

You kissed me on my forehead and made my heart burn..
You gave me unconditional love without asking anything back in return

You say you'll always love me.. and I say tht I'll never be able to..
You say you'll someday marry me.. I say I'll decide you'll marry who

I know you love me.. I know you care deeply
I know you wait for me to trust you.. I know I already do

You'll always be my bestfriend.. someone I'll always turn to..
Even if I never fall in love with you.. you'll always be my end

Something I wrote long long long back, on my old blog.

Just for a while..

"
I wish I could smile,
I wish I could study
wish I could concentrate
just for a while ..

I wish I could smile
I wish I could laugh
wish I had the courage
just for a while...

I wish I could smile
wish I could live
wish I could hold on
just for a while.... "

The Namesake, and what it stirs up..

**I could have called this a spoiler warning, but really, there is nothing about the movie that can be divulged.**

Books are beautiful. They weave stories, images, characters around the reader. But these images don't always translate into pictures, moving pictures or movies.

The Namesake (ध नेमसेक) is one such story. The characters, the flow, the performance, the direction and the editing are all flawless. So are the locales. But the only flaw in the movie is that it is not meant to be a movie. It is a book. And it is meant to be only a book.



I have not read the original. But the movie has been made so beautifully, that I can imagine how wonderful the book must be. The movie just makes for a wonderful read. Nothing more. And that hurts. Jhumpa Lahiri is a very good writer. Which reflects in the movie. But whoever did the screenplay and adaption, forgot to make the book into a movie.

The story sketches the life of a Bengali family settled in New York. And like a book which sketches the lives of several characters, even this follows the various dramas, loves, loses and lives. Among the many kinds of loves shown in this movie, the love shared between Ashok(Irfan) and Ashima(Tabu) is the most beautiful. It is a quiet kind of love, which I imagine the generation above us has actually gone through. Their yearning for India too is another kind of love. Then is their love for their children, Sonia(Sahira Nair) and Gogol ( Kal Penn). Also, there is Ashok's love for Nikolai Gogol and his book, The Overcoat. And the reason why he named his son so. "We all came from The Overcoat, remember that," he says forebodingly.

We follow the lives of their children and their growing up process. Typical teenagers, grow up to be typical Americanized Indians. Sonia is sidetracked quite a bit, because the story, as the name suggests, is about the namesake of Gogol the author. Gogol distances himself from his parents, believes in living life the American way and keeping distance within the family. But when his father passes away, he realizes his true self. Or True Indian Self. He comes back to home, and everything homely. Spends time with his family. Enter new love. Falls for a Bengali family friend, who has had a dubious past, and marries her. Gogol and Bong Beauty Maushumi. But life is not blissful after marriage as Moushami returns to her dubious and very French past.

And finally Gogol finds freedom in the most unimaginable way. While Ashima, returns to her motherland to restart her singing since that gives her true peace. Sonia is happily married to an American, who does try his best to fit into the great Indian Bengali Family, and is pretty accepted too.

With a cast full of stunning performers like Kal Penn, Tabu and Irfan Khan, being directed by Mira Nair, the movie is bound to be good. But if you are more of a book reader kinds, I think you might leave the theatre with a craving for the book. At best, the movie act like a trailer or an advert for the book, because it will compel you to acquire the book and read it to be able to be sated with the story and the thoughts started by the movie.

I wondered for sometime after the movie was over. I was trying to gather my thoughts to be able to comment on the movie. And while I commented, there was a nagging thought in my mind.

Marriage is not disposable

Gogol accepts Maushami and all her baggage। Like a true Indian Boyfriend, he asks her how many lovers she has had। And like a True Americanized youth, he lets it go when lady love bites his lip and says, "You don't want to know". No problems with this bit. He asked, she shrugged it off and so did he. And then they got married.

Then why is it important to show their marriage breaking up because she is going back to her past. Is marriage that disposable? This thought comes just a few days after I chatted with a few girl-friends and wise people about what compromises a woman. A lot of affairs and boyfriends?

One friend, P, very conservative, shook her head and said, "If a woman has a lot of love affairs, she is characterless"

Another, T, who I consider quite broadminded, because of her carrying-ons, agreed. But when i put the question again in front of her, asking her if she truly believes that a woman who has had a number of boyfriends is characterless. Someone who dates a guy, has a relationship, the relationship reaches a point where it ends, and then she gets over it, and dates someone new.

"Uh.. putting it that way, maybe not," she says.

Another wise one says, "A woman who sells her body for money to fill her stomach is more respectable than one who uses it for pleasure." Thus spake the wise one. I still fail to understand or agree with this one. But there are some people who's philosophies in life can NOT be changed. Today as I blog about this and open this to discussion, I will also put up this debate in front of my oldest friends. And see what they have to say about this.

After they finish hitting me for making the mood heavy.

Dreaming through a spyglass...

As of today, my Photoblog is on and active. Finally.

Drop in, anyone interested in seeing random pictures taken by me at random times and places.

http://spyglassdreamz.blogspot.com/

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the one person who helped me with this blog. And my mother, and my father, and my brother, and my friends. And the crew and cast of the....

And so are my recent comments hack. With due help from AnonEcon, who has been helping me a lot... Thankoo AE..

India v/s Sri Lanka: A Predictable Match - Yet So Disappointing

From 5 in the evening, I was glued to the Idiot Box. I had predicted that India would lose, but that was no huge feat. Half the cricketing world must have predicted that. But i was hopeful, which was also no different, all of India was hoping for the best.

When finally the toss took place at 6:30, I heaved a sigh of relief. India had won the toss, and Dravid, as usual, sensibly chosen bowling. When the first Sri Lankan wicket fell, there was an audible sigh which arose from my entire complex. Really. We could hear it. Everyone has their quirks about cricket. Mine is, that if I shut my TV off for 15 minutes or half an hour, a Sri Lankan wicket was sure to fall. And that happened. Our fielding was good. Near the end, and Sri lanka had not scored that well, not unbelievably... it was still possible. The demon called hope was roaring. I distinctly remember hoping that Silva would go. I shut the TV off again, surely the last few wickets would fall before the 50 overs were up. But when I switched the TV on, Sri Lanka had completed their innings with a score of 254. WHAT??? When I last saw it was on 211, whic only a few overs left. How could it reach 254. But it did. Gory truth.


Sachin got clean bowled, Yuvraj Run Out, Dhoni LBW. What was happening?? India was falling down like a house of cards. Dravid swung a few fours, attempted for a six, failed and got caught in the process. When Sachin got out, I told my friend T, we are gonna get run out. At 160 somewhere.. She said she dint expect even that much. I dint too, but I knew they would do 160 to 180 at least. I do hate my black tongue sometimes. And damn that Murli guy.


Now India has only one last hope of staying in the World cup. If Bangladesh loses against Bermuda. Not only does that seem like a far-fetched hope, it even seems like a dependant hope. Or more like Charity. Where it wont be the our team that'll get India into the Super 8 but another team's folly.

Sri Lankan Skipper Jayawardene said. ''India still has a chance, cricket's a funny game.'' While apna Dravid said, ''No one realizes the enormity of the defeat more than the players, I don't think anyone is more disappointed than the team. We all had hopes and dreams from the World Cup, an opportunity like this comes once in four years.'' Which is quite true, the dejected faces of the team were another tug to the heart. Wish they had avoided this by playing well.

I am not much of an expert on Cricket, neither am I a die-hard fan. Just another Indian, heart broken because of the match. I wonder why we said, Khelega toh Jeetega.. don't we know we hardly play under pressure situations...

Mandira Bedi and me...

"Has Mandira Bedi put on weight?" asks my mother, early in the morning at 10 when I have just slunk onto my chair for my life-saving element; coffee.

But the phrase 'put on weight' wakes me up completely, "I have"

Mom makes a face." Mumbai Mirror says that Mandira Bedi has put on weight, her hair is tousled, and her look is messy." "So what's so bad about that," I grumble,"I am all of that and more.."

"She needs to cover her arms and not wear tight stuff around her bust."

"Ah.. well..."

"She needs to wear her khadi kurta, pick up a jhola and go back to direction," says Mum quoting Prahalad Kakkar.

"I already wear khadi kurats, I already carry a corduroy jhola cum bag, and I want to go back to direction, if Prahalad Kakkar will take me."

"Her hair is tossed wrong and is shorter than last year" that's from some other designer or so..

"My hair is tossed, no rights and wrong about it, and at any and everytime of the day it is flying in mutinous directions, and it is shorter than last year too."

She wore plunging neck lines, halters and noodle straps last year.

"Uhh.. trump card, I was never fit enough to wear any of the three."

Mum sighs deeply and says.. these celebrities, even if they put on five Kgs of weight, it's so evident.

Aaah.. looks like she has forgotten that I'v put on five Kgs too. "How does it matter either ways Mum?"I ask wearily.

"But it shows on you too." she growls suddenly!!

Maybe that's why I've been having these mood swings...

Mumbai University's very own National Theatre Fest

On the occassion of the 'World Theatre Day' , the Academy of Theatre Arts, University of Mumbai , brings for Mumbaikars a bouquet of India's finest plays, in an 11-day 'National Vasant Natya Mahotsav'.

The Mahotsav, to be staged between March 22 and April 1, 2007 at the Kalina Campus of the University of Mumbai , will present plays by renowned directors like Ratan Thiyam, Ramesh Verma and Ranjit Kapoor.

Famous Indian theatre groups like the Chorus Repertoire Company from Manipur, The National School of Drama Repertoire Company and the Mysore Rangayan will be performing in Mumbai after a long time. "This is the speciality of the festival. There will be plays in various Indian languages by some of the prominent directors this country has produced," says Mr Waman Kendre, Director of the Academy. Along with this, several theatre luminaries like Anupam Kher and Naserrudin Shah too might grace the festival. Professor Waman Kendre himself is a very famous Marathi Theatre artist.

Some of the outstanding plays that Mumbaikars will have the pleasure of watching are:

Chakravyuha directed by Ratan Thiyam. This Manipuri play has been staged over a 100 times around the globe by the Chorus Repertoire Company.

Maya Sita Prasanga directed by Ramesh Verma from Kerala. This Kannada play is one of the more famous works of Mr Verma.

The NSD Repertoire Company will bring its famous plays Ram Nam Satya Hai and Shortcut.

Shri. Ratan Thiyam's equally important play Ritusamharam will also be presented in this festival.

Mr Kendre will present his famous play Janeman, which is based on the life of Hijras or Eunuchs. The adaption of the Greek Tragedy Oedipus too will be presented twice. This play is called Vedhapashya.

The entry for this festival is free. But the catch being that interested people need to pick up the Free Entry Card at the Kalina Campus of Mumbai University. The passes will be available from 20th March,2007 between 11 a.m. to 5 a.m. at Academy ofTheatre Arts, Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar Bhawan, 2nd floor, Vidyanagari Campus, Kalina, Santacruz(E), University of Mumbai. The organizers of this festival are available on these numbers for any other detailed inquiry: 022-26508200, 9869115199, 9820686506. The festival will take place at Marathai Bhasha Bhawan as well as at Muktakkash Rangamanch, Lecture Hall Complex,Vidyanagari, Kalina Campus.

Cross-posted on Mumbai Metblogs

The Oval Maidan- looking across from the sides..

Walking across the Oval Maidan, the wind tugs my hair out from behind my ears and lightly plonks it on my face, the pleasant woodsy smell of its wafts up to me.

The stoned path across the Maidan is always windy. And it always has at least 20 people crossing at any given point. In the morning, people can be seen hurrying along, noisily, in pairs, groups or alone. On the phone, listening to music or just sauntering along. If you look up while crossing the Oval, as it is fondly known, you'll see a huge expanse of the sky. With cottony white clouds tinged with blue floating across lazily. Or on an overcast day you'll be able to spot an sulking grey sky, with dark hued clouds gobbling it up. And observing the sky while walking on the path feels like you are crossing the sky and not the Maidan.

On the greens around the path, there's always some activity happening. Even in the sweltering sun of the afternoon, little children struggle with footballs in one corner. A group of mothers sit in a corner, waiting for their children's class to get over, with duppattas pulled down on their heads to protect them from the sun. In another corner, young men in whites are practising their batting swings and bowling arms. Setting up teams for a cricket match. Near the High court end, their is a group of girls and a few boys in jeans and tee-shirts. Huddled in a small circle, playing a match of under-arm Box Cricket.



While one end of Oval Maidan, faces the street opening out to Oxford, the book shop, and K.C College, the other end opens out to the campus of Mumbai University, adjacent to the High Court. The Rajabhai Tower inside the University Campus can be seen from any corner of the Maidan. Palm trees, Gulmohars and lots of other shrubberies line the sides of the Maidan. They shed their browned leaves in March, but still don't look bare. "Its autumn", the trees seem to be saying, "but we are not gonna leave you without any shade."


But the best time to walk across that path is in the evening. After Seven. The path is not lit and nor is the vast Maidan. Its just the sides of the Oval that are lit by street lights. Every evening, in the bleak darkness, numerous shaded figures can be spotted lounging in the darkness of the maidan. And another few, crossing the windy path in a hushed silence and beautiful navy blue inkiness.

Walking across the Maidan, in the windy lifts and lulls of the breeze, its a pleasure. A pleasure, which I wonder if I'll get when I leave this city of mine. I don't love Mumbai, I had once said, but now its time to back-track. I do. I don't love it enough to live here forever, that's true. But I love it enough to have loved all the 22 years I have lived here.


And I love every new part of it that these years have shown me.

Finishing.. but getting finished too..

"So why did you do it??" she asked him.
"I know, I know. It was the wrong thing. I just realized it too late."

She sat ramrod straight as he looked everywhere except into her eyes. This from the person who loved looking into her eyes. She knew that he still loved her. That Seven years of distance hadn't dimmed his desire or feelings. But seven years had dimmed her innocence and naivete.

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I know. You were the most important person in my life."

Painfully she noted the were. Past tense. The first slap.
"So you realize it now."

"I got angry when you dint call me on my birthday. It was always so important for you. And when I called you made the pretext of not being available."
"I was sitting right there. I did not want to talk to you" she clarified.
"I knew it. But I dint know why you did that."
"You dint know why? You dint know when i cried the entire week 7 months before that day."
"Seven months before?? Why then?"

Great. He dint even remember the day she found out all the truth. The day she sat waiting for him at the café. Looking at the door, waiting for him to swing in, armed with the truth and not lies. He dint even know now, after seven years, that that was when her soul died and her heart broke. That was when she stopped believing she had a heart.

"What was seven months before??"
"Nothing important"
"Don't say that to me. I remember all the significant dates. And I remembered you on all those days. You dint."

But that doesn't even matter. Her mind yelled. Those silly days, dint matter, this did. But her mouth remained shut. The second slap.

"I am my own man now. I am standing on my own feet. My own business. My own empire. My hard-earned money."
"So? You think money every mattered to me? I was a kid then, barely 17, I dint care if you earned just 7000 bucks."
"But now no one can tell me that I cant dare look at you."
"Maybe not. But tell me. Why did you do all that?? What did you want to achieve through me?"
"Achieve?? How could I achieve anything of you. You are the one. That's all you ever were"

He's confused about what he's saying. She thought. He doesn't even understand me anymore.

"I wont marry anyone. Don't worry" He said out of the blue.
"How would that matter to me?" she said.
"I wont let your dream come true. Even then, you used to tell me that if things don't work out between us you wanted me to get married elsewhere."
"I don't care either ways", she muttered. But he dint quite catch it.

After a pause she said, "Yea right. You are gonna get married soon buster"

"Well my parents might get me married. But you will be the first one to get an invite" The third slap.
"You wont know where I'll be from tomorrow. You wont be able to see me ever again."
"Oh that's good. Else I would have hunted you down, if I knew where to find you." Slap four.
You dint do that all these years. Her mind screamed again.

"You were my past. And you will not be my future" Slap number Five. And Touchdown.
"You were my nothing. And will never be anything for me." She retorted back and pushed her chair away. She walked out of the café. She felt small. Very small. Petty. And naive. All over again.

But for the rest of the day, she had only one thought in her mind.

Well even if I dint come to know what I wanted to know. At least it's out of my mind. I can start living again. She rushed home to him, and said, "Darling, its over. I met him today and.."

That's when she realized that even he had shut the door on her face. The Final Slap.

And this one hurt. But a lifetime of hurts had numbed her too much to be able to cry.

The Fried Souls of bloggers

When we entered the classroom, Melody Teacher greeted us. She then took our attendance, introduced us to all and placed us in our seats. After a while Melody Teacher thought that friends should not sit together. So she separated all 'supposed' friends and replaced the naughty ones under her nose. Melody teacher also made some girls, including me, and one boy stand outside the class for sometime. But Melody Teacher made that into an experience too, because she taught us how to stand still while moments were captured while we all naughty girls stood outside.

When it was time to leave, melody teacher bid us good-bye and also instructed the latecomers to reach on time next time like the good kids.

That's from the student. Now from the Blogger..

The blog meet happened. We (Puneet and me) entered the venue with Melody greeting us with, "Hi Bloggers??" and we left with her saying, "Let the kids go!!"

The two hosts, Sakshi and Melody introduced everyone around, pulled multiple legs, laughed and were generally great. The attendance sheet is with Melody, with all the links and the names but rattling off my top of the mind recall there was Melody, Sakshi, Vulturo, Bombay Addict, Vinu, My Pajamas, Peeyush, Amit and Shiju.
These are the bloggers. I had no conversation actually with last five.

My Pyjama had a first day blogger with him, while Shiju too had two more bloggers. Sorry dont have their names or links!! UPDATE: My Pyjama's friend and me spsoke about a common..uh.. friend.. but it is later that it dawned on me, that it was her mischief that had introduced me to the common friend.

Plizz to notice that I have not mentioned the two gems I was suppoed to look out for. One did not come as it turns out. And the other, turns up but when I was about to leave. I was pretty eager to meet IdeaSmith, so much so, that I even asked Sakshi when I sat next to her if she was IdeaSmith!! Sorry!!

IdeaSmith did come and I did meet her, but unfortunately it was just that. A brief encounter. Thankfully we did take a lot of pictures. Selma you were missed a lot!!

A lot of people asked me if I knew Selma!! And I kept wishing I did!! Personally that is. I am glad she convinced me about this meet.

Conclusion:

This meet was not to become bosom, chuddi-buddies with each other, but more to step out of the virtual world we live in, and see each other in reality. I am really glad I met a lot of people there. I realized that there really are more people who read my blog apart from the ones who comment.

Surprises:
I was surprised to see Amit, the shahrukh of blogosphere as Sakshi called him, but well I did just that, see him because he seemed to be busy with the people around him.I was more surprised to see Vulturo..

I was surprised when Bombay Addict discussed a recent post of mine. He was very nice, and it was fun talking to him. Though again it was a brief talk. He gave me insightful tippanis on how very few people blog about riots and such. Surprised again!!

I was surprised when someone told me randomly... "hmm I've heard ur name somewhere" Yeah?? Wow!!

I was surprised to hear the name of a blog, Twisted Indifference. No surprised is not right, I was impressed. Somehow the name sounds..just perfect to me. Makes a lot of sense. But I dont think I told him that.

Sadly, I missed a lot of interesting people because I had to leave. And from the other posts here, here and here, it sure looks like the party had just begun when I left it...

PS. : Selma, you were right, about everything you told me to expect from the meet..the good and the bad!!

More posts here, here and here.

The ' 92 riots

On Moharram today, my cable-wala decided to show one of the most poignant movie of all times, "Bombay".

The movie starts with a love story peppered by communal tension. Both the protagonists are from different castes, Hindu and Muslim. Their family takes time to accept their love and keep showering each other's families with religious insults. Then the riots in Mumbai break out, in which the couple's twin boys get separated from them. One of the little moys asks innocently,

"Hindu ya ni kya?
Muslim ya ni kya??"

My mother asked me if I remembered anything from those times. And I have some very vague memories. My father and all the uncles in our building gathering in our flat above, with thalis and katoris, and maybe even glass bottles. Everyone stayed indoors and all the lights were shut off. My mother said that all the people in the entire society surrounding ours had decided to keep vigil in each building form the roofs and if any violence was seen near our buildings they would start clattering the vessels, the noise form one building would activate all the others and the cacophany would drive the trouble-makers away. When a procession of naked swords bearing men entered our lane, this plan was put in action which drew the violence away.

Around these days, I remember going for my dancing lessons to the building next to ours on the first floor at that time. Suddenly we heard shrieks from behind my teacher's home. When we ran to her back balcony, we saw that the house in the opposite building on the same floor, occupied by Muslims was being ransacked by some Hindus. They seemed to be in a daze, glassy eyed and faces twisted into a horrible knot of anger. The buildings were close enough for us to understand exactly what was happening there. And my teacher was too stunned by the violence to realize that a seven year old was witness to it too. But suddenly a larger man entered the house. He looked Hindu from his garb, and he took the frenzied men away with him.

Today my mother told me what had happened that day. She did not know till now that I had seen that scene, so she explained it today to me. The place I live in is a fairly gujarati area, and the society exactly behind us, adjacently so, is a totally Muslim populated area. Gujarati Muslims, or Boras. When the '92 riots broke out, the Muslim head and the Hindu head of both these socities had a meeting where they decided to abstain from violence. They would control each other's men and not let anything detoriate here. They would protect their own against outside violence. The Hindu's who were attacking those Muslims were from an outside area, Jogeshwari most probably, and were convinced by the Hindu head of this area to leave, since they had no part in the riots.

When those Muslim, sword bearing men had entered our society, even the Muslim society behind had joined in the thali and katori clattering routine to scare the men away. That's how we had survived unscathed. While my mother assures me that our suburb, Andheri, had relatively less violence, there were some horrifying storIes too. There was a Muslim pregnant woman who was turned away from a Hindu hospital. She had to give birth on the street. There was a major store on S.V. Road which was burnt to nothingness.

My professor of Journalism, had covered these riots and she told me that while the city burned outside, there was a hoarde of reporters at Bal Thackeray's residence. They clamoured to know when this would stop, and what the casualties were. He had a stoic reply,

"Everything is fine. There is peace in the city."

"But", they all stuttered collectively, "we can show you footage showing violence. Children are getting orphaned every hour. "

"Those reports are rubbish" he retorted back with indignance, "I know my city"

The film also potrays Bal Thackeray and his politicking ways. But I have heard that it went through a lot of cuts. The most revealing of his comments had to be edited. But still, the film does its work. It reduces the viewer to tears. It did that to me, and rarely can a film do that. The twin boys have acted beautifully.

Riots and violence move everybody I guess, but somehow its a topic I have always pondered about. Everytime I try to write a script or a story, it always has some riots in the backdrop. Whether its the Partition Riots, Khalistan Riots in Punjab, The'92 riots of Mumbai. The godhra Riots or anyother.. But the kind of justice Mani Ratnam has done to this film, leaves me spell bound.

After the movie finished, I suddenly heard the Bombay tune playing. I jumped, it was my phone. It is then that I realized that my phone's ringtone is the Bombay tone, the haunting flute which plays while the violence unleashes. And the ringtone had never moved me as much..

Aankhon mein ummedo ke kuch ho sapne

Aanchal ho man ka toh tan man mein aapne..

Raatein ho gehri toh kya, aata hai aakhir ek din naya

-Bombay theme tune

A face from the past

She saw a face from her past today.
Flowing with the crowd on the station's overbridge..
She spotted him walking towards her.. right next to her..

Before the first time anyone ever held her hand..
Before she ever fell in love..
Before she was ever touched with love..

This face had become the friend she was searching for in a crowd
This face had enjoyed her tomboyishnes, her innocent ways,
He said he would always look out for her..

She was a tender sixteen but strong inspite of that,
He was an older 26 and seemed soft inspite of that,
He looked down at her through his thick glasses
His thin face giving an experienced kind of a smile

She she accepted his friendship guilelessly
He came closer to her, artfully
He cried about his problems and asked for a shoulder
She complied, they were friends after all

Younger though she was, she heard his worries through
She patted his hands and told him all would come true
He grasped her hands in his and clung to her for life..
She thought he needed support and he needed strength

She noticed his hands growing firmer and thought all would be fine
But he refused to let go of her hand instead held on tighter
He held her by her shoulders and demnded to be comforted..
He sneaked up behind her and forced a kiss on her..

She pushed him away and said a firm no,
They were friends and friends is all
He laughed on her innocence and pulled her even closer
His face dint look thin anymore, his touch dint seem friendly

He told her he dreamt of kissing her, and he wanted to see reality
Terrified, she turned away from him,
She had nowhere to go, she was stuck with him in a car
A car full of all their friends, each busy with another

He put a hand on her shoulder and said,"Gimme a kiss babe"
No, she screamed in hr head, let me go far away
She pushed her face into the glassed window, as far from him as she could
He put a hand on her shoulder and moved it back and forth..

She shrugged the hand off, it came back again
A little rougher this time..
She shrugged it off again
and it came back again

Before she could shrug it off this time,
his fingers caught on to the elastic at her shoulder
He tweaked the little strap and whispered,
"you are mine sweetiepie, dont run now"

She rammed her elbow into his stomach
"NO.. STAY OFF YOU DIRTY BASTARD
I DONT WANT TO BE YOUR PLAYTHING.."
But the yelling was only in her mind...

The car screeched to a halt,
the door was opened and he was thrown out

Before the first time anyone ever held her hand..
Before she ever fell in love..
Before she was ever touched with love..
This face had violated her trust..

He had pressed her to a corner
And demanded payment for his friendship
This face had breached her innocence
This face polluted her thoughts.. thrown her into a shell..

She dint see him again till today
Walking past her at the station..
Their eyes collided and recognized the other
She dint falter, she dint stop.

She walked down the stairs, out of the station,
Up her street into her lane..
She entered her building and shut the door
She dint look back, not even once..

Salaam-E-Ishq...Deserves no Salaam's

Dialogue pre-Salaam-e-Ishq between Nikhil Advani (Director) and Suresh Nair ( Producer)

Nikhil Advani (NA) - Hmm, after Kal Ho Na Ho, I wil have to prove my mettle as a stand alone director without Karan Johar's Backing..

Suresh Nair(SN)- So how do you plan to do that?? you will need a solid script and a solid casting for that if you want to do it without Johar or Chopra backing..

NA- Hey!! How about we take six scripts instead of one, and instead of just a lead hero and heroine, we take a dozen. Dozen ka bhaav sasta padta hai na??...

SN- Hmm, its an idea.. If we take six different kinds of scripts then we can even take six or seven differnt songs. And looking at so much will occupy enough braincells of the Audience hence the technical nitty gritties like directing and editing will not matter to them.

NA- We'll try to rope in a couple of actors who have crossed their hey days, and if we can we'll even put in a pardeshi mem.. we'll put in one middle aged couple, one married struggling couple, one to be married couple and one in love couple. The sixth one can be the just married today kind of a couple. Hmm, I think we also put in a mix of locales. One location will be London or paris, one will be Mumbai ofcourse, then we have Delhi, Udaipur/Rajasthaan, and ofcourse a U.P type setting for the rural crowd.

SN- And we'll put in one Item number type of song, one or two marriage and sangeet wala song, one romantic number, one sad number, one will be proper dhinchak bollywood number and one can be a soft making love number. Oh for the oldies we'll even throw in a old song but remixed ofcourse.

NA- That sounds perfect for me. But I think we can take liberty with the film's duration when we have such an amazingly solid starcast, script, locale and even songs. Let's make the movie some four hours long?? Afterall, boring movies like Mohobbatein and Border too were that long and people were entertained.

SN- What about the characters Nikhil Bhai??

NA- See, we'll take one hot and happening pair, say Priyanka and maybe Salman?? Another pair should be very romantic..

SN- John Abraham and Bipasha Basu??

NA- No no, romantic and unlikely. How about John and a very gharelu homely kind of actress..

SN-(Doubtfully) VIdya Balan??

NA- Bingo!! OK, then we should have one middle aged couple. Lets take Juhi Chawla, Yash Chopra sir will be happy. And with her we can take Anil Kapoor. They can be this comfortable predictable NRI couple.

SN- Let's give a break to an actor past his hey days too Nikhil Bhai. Lets try and fit in Govinda in any role if you can..

NA- Suresh you are right. We can have the role of a coolie or maybe a taxi driver?? that sounds like a good idea.. and make him tht. With the typical accent and all. Hmm, we now have the working class puller. If we put in a U.P type couple, crude, vulgur noises et al. How about Isha Koppikar for that?? She was crude enough in Kya Kool Hai Hum right??

SN- Yes boss.. And we'll put in Ayesha Takia, she'll bring in all those FYJC & SYJC students in hoardes.

NA- And we'll put her hero as the most eligible bachelor in Mumbai.. or maybe Delhi.. Hmmm.. and he'll be absolutely vella, with mounds and mounds of money to throw around...

SN- that forms all our couples.. uh.. sir.. umm.. what about the.. you know.. the dates??

NA- Oh they'll give it. We'll float a rumour that Karan Johar is gonna ghost direct the movie... Now thinking logically we'll need good music.. lets use Shankar Ehsaan Loy

SN- Oh that should account for some brilliant music then. Even if the settings of the songs are cliched, the music will bring the visuals alive.
*Pauses*
But sir what if the audience dont sit thru the four hours...

NA- hmm.. I think, that they ll keep waiting for the movie to reach some milestone till the end of the four hours.. so even if they think about leaving, they'll keep hoping that something will turn the tide and make the movie good...

SN- Sir will we make the couples, all of them, meet sometimes or somewhere atleast once??

NA- Hmm.. we'll see.. if all turns well.. maybe Karan can get Kajol or ShahRukh to do a cameo.. hmm maybe Karan can himself do a maeo in the film.. I;ll tell him that that would be my homage to him.. hmm.. free cameo..

And hence an absolutely well publicised, well advertised, well rhymed movie got ruined. The editor, the cinematographer, the actors have all done their two bit in ruining the film. In all, from the entire 3 hours and 45 minutes of the film, only ten minutes were worth remembering.. Those were the times when Vidya Balan was grappling with her memories and Govinda was grappling with his vocab. The only time I really laughed was when in the end Shannon Esra, the pardesi mem goes up to her rejected in-laws and spurts hindi expletives. Priyanka just looks good, goes on random ego trips and screams. Salman has a new wig (??) or hair transplant. Sorry, that was the only thing noticeable about him. Sohail Khan and Isha Koppikar were downright vulgar. Although Vidya Balan and John Abraham has scenes showing more physical proximity, it was done aesthetically. The absolutely lovely Ayesha Takia had no scope for performing, and Akhshaye Khanna blew his top on the role. The new face, Anjana, shows a lot of skin but also a lot of promise. Juhi was just satisfactory. Nothing spectacular.

Despite the fact that it was a special premier show, people were audibly pissed, bored and absolutely disgusted with the movie. Meeting the stars too did not compensate enough for the absolute torture this film is.

The only ones who tried to not be bad were Vidya Balan and Govinda.
Imagine if I'm saying that Govinda is good in the film.. what happened to the rest!!!!

Lesson Learnt: Never ever try to copy American hit films thinking that the Hindi counterpart will be even better. Even a mix of Love, Actually's stories and Crash's technique cannot CANNOT turn out good..

Word of Advice: PLEASE please dont see this movie. Even if you are paid to see it dont. Even if anything.. Dont.

Five years later...

Do you wonder how lives move on??
Do you miss those times we spent together??


Its a dusk I'll never forget..
I questioned, You dint answer
I provoked you to reveal your intentions,
You dint let go till the end..

I abused, you agreed,
I kept enticing you, maybe you'd say what I wanted to hear
You kept quiet, took the blames.

It could have meant that you pleaded guilty
It could have meant that you were defenseless
It could have meant that you did not need to give excuses
It could have meant that I was senseless


Its a ride I will never forget..
I knew I'd never see you again
You were already etched in my mind,
Yet I etched you all over again

You knew you would never touch me again
You had already touched my life,
You touched it all over again..

It could have meant that I finally knew the truth
It could have meant that you were sorry
It could have meant that I was still giving you a chance
It could have meant that it was the real end of the story


Its a night I will never forget..
Alone in the wide expanse of my house
Alone devoid of the love I'd known so long
Alone, rid of the farce that I had known as truth

It meant that what had changed my life,
had itself been an illusion
It meant that what had become my truth,
had never been the true.


Do you wonder if I still dream on??
Do you remember our sacred five year promise for a forever??

Stubborn ignorance

Its taken me more than I had expected to start writing this post. Evrytime I would just open the new post window and stare at it. I knew what I wanted to write, it was inside me, but it wouldn't come out for some reason.

A few months ago, the farmer's suicides in Vidarbha District of Maharashtra got some media footage. As time wore off, the media, as usual and expectedly, forgot about it. My department, as I have always known is the pro-activist sorts. Hence this year, for our study tour we were packed off to Waifad, a village there. In Waifad, we were broken into groups and asked to study and make films on different but significant aspects of the village. I was assigned in the School and Education Group. Our work began the day we arrived. Two days after we had been there and seen some of a lot that we had to see, I suddenly found myself introspecting. Standing on one a roof (which is the only place we got network) I looked around at the sun washing all the farms with its brightness. I saw the school a few minutes away, where we had spent gruelling hours working and getting shocked by what conspires there.

I looked over the small houses, some like shanties and some big, palatial homes with an angna, jhulas, TV and the works. I looked over the small trees, neem, cotton and other trees associated with barren lands. And I thought, " Will this change my life?? Will these experiences, whatever we have seen here, the desoluteness, the helplessness and the lost cause effect my character in anyway?? will it mature me, make me more receptive to human problems and open the doors to the world to me??" It seemed likely then.

The next day, we visited Dorli.

Wardha is one of the main towns of Vidharbha andWaifad, is a thirty minute ride away. Another 20 or so kms away is this village called Dorli.

As soon as one enters the village, there is a banner which wishes a local politician happy birthday and then says below it, Hamara gaon baech do, please!!



Dorli, has been in local news recently because of a very surprising reason. Sick with debts and financial problems faced by the people there, the entire village has put itself up for sale. The village along with all its farms, houses, animals and everything. This was the main destination of our trip. As soon as we get down our Minibus, an Old man comes ambling around, pats the pockets of my professors bomber jacket and says in Marathi, "Give us money"

My professor is a Visual-hungry man. He looks at every scene as a shot of life in a film. He puts his camera on, and speaks to the man. He tries to find out why they are so deperate. The man keeps repeating that he needs money, he asks for a lakh, five hundred or even just hundred rupees.

Somehow, there's no pity or empaathy for these people. I dont think any of us, were sorry for them, or felt like pulling them out of this situation. This lack of understand could not be explained then. But somehow, seeing the old man begging for money, in the foreground of a huge hut, which had a dish antenna sticking out, refused to stir any emotions in us. When we questioned him abt the dish antenna, he said that the man who owns that hut is very rich. Huh?? But I thought that the entire village was so poverty stricken that they wanted to sell their homes out. We asked him if that man too was a part of the entire scheme of selling the village. He said, well I guess the man need not sell but since the entire village is collectively doing it then he cant back out alone can he.

Alright, so the one man, who has enough self-esteem to not beg and has enough sense to make money too has to bend in front of these men. As the Deputy Sarpanch took us through the village, he put up a great show about the poverty surrounding them. The extreme mendicancy they were reduced to. We reached a clearing and took a break. I was busy taking Cutaways with the camera and my prof went and planted himself among a group of villagers. He asked them what their problem was, one of them replied, "we have nothing sir, government gives ur packages which finish immediately, the rates we are given arelow, and the rainfall is unpredictable" So why dont you leave farming?? "we dont want to menial jobs.."why not?? Do you have an option now?? "No we will not do any work, government must give us money"

For a minute before this interlude, me aand my friends had been discussing that giving whatever money we had in our pockets would make no difference to these people. Not only would they beg for more, they would even curse us. Plus giving them money was equivalent to giving them fish to eat, tomorrow if they need more, they wont know how to fish.

And here was my prof, teaching them that if they just came over to Mumbai once, get some kind of a job,. come back to the village in the farming season, and once it finishes resume your job in town. This way you are earning a solid income to feed and clothe your children. But no. These men refused. They did not want to get up on their lazy ass, get out of their cocoon and approach the world outside. If moer money was required, the farmer would suicide. His family would get one lakh from the government out of this wont they??

These people I call farmers, are actually farm labourers. They majorly dont own farms, or if they do they are very small, hence they work on the farms of the other "rich"people in the village. Their yound children visit (please note the use of the word) the school at Waifad apparently to study. The school is a private one, hence the government gives them grants on the basis of their students' performance in standard 10. From first to ninth standard the students are passed through with exams which are just namesake. In standard ten, the exams that are held are university exams, hence the classrooms are locked from outside, and the teachers pass around guide books with marked answers. Those students who are intelligent to passs on their own, do just that, pass, on their own. And the rest, pass with flying artificial colors. The honest students are disillusioned. They get lower marks then the duffers of the class. Once all these students graduate to a junior college in town, the honest ones stick through till twelfth and the artificially colorful ones drop out in the first month itself. Those who dropout, convieneniently forget to mention it at home, and keep visiting the town daily with money to spend on frivolous or negative activities. These dropouts dont learn farming because their parents think they are educating themselves and they are not even literate enough for the lowest of desk jobs anywhere. What we are left with is a generation of misplaced and useless youth. Youth who need money. When out of frustration and need, their fathers commit suicides, these youngsters start evaluating life in terms of money. When my father killed himself, the government gave us a lakh, if my mother will also kill herself after a few months when she is established as the bread winner the government will give us one more lakh. They count death and money on the same fingers. These youths.

No this experience will not enlighten my life ahead. No this desoluteness, helplessness and poverty will not open the door of the world's problems to me. I will just move on, thinking that there are people in this world who have lost their self esteem and their strenght to money. Their are people in this world who are best studied and then forgotten..