For Basic love of Things

The year is drawing to an end and I am on a high, about the basic love of things. Originated amongst a few Delhi youngsters, this artform appeals to all four senses, they keep the taste buds out, unless one decides to give into some good addiction for the complete feel. For the experience one must go for a gig before turning to the next signal.

Calling themselves BLOT, honestly the music and the visual medium makes an impact that made me travel through time and the roller coaster ride did not need alcohol or stuff to accompany.

But Basic love of things does not begin or end there. It was all over in December. The winter shivers, the craving for a drink of warmth, the excavation of minds, the fact that letting go becomes easier each day, yet leaves a tinkle of sigh. Life cannot seem to encompass itself in a few words, the textures were varied and dear to heart. Going back to Bombay made me grow up in folds. But the raving battle with the old estranged lover seems to be never ending. So much so that everything else seems to be illusionary. Maybe they still are, maybe they will be but it’s the grey I love. It’s the forever changing colour palette that feels the orchids fresh and right on the skin, tickling old emotions, only making one realize it’s not all dead, it’s still simmering somewhere and that is hope for tomorrow.

Amongst people, its amazing to see different worlds collide and still come together over music and life. Aren’t we all trying to create masterpieces all the time? Aren’t we all striving for excellence that will make us immortal? I therefore like the madness of Henry the viii th . Sometimes respecting nothing and loving everything does hold good. It gives you a feeling a completion thats very personal, very signature.

I maybe invisible as me by the end of the year but I will be someone else. The role reversals with people you meet and get intimate with in most inane ways, over shots, over smoke, over chokerblock traffic or tears and most importantly over the promise that we will walk alone with each other . The quirky sunshine is not hiding behind the clouds. Its somewhere in the sky, as I count days for the days to end, I pin my hope to see and hide in the sunshine forever.

Lofty ambitions, hope of an impossible?
What if it crashes? Speculation has never led us anywhere. So let the Obama effect take shape, let my country wake up to reasons and determine its future and let my imagination run wilder.

Lets live for basic love of things.

Figments of a Sleeping Imagination

The body lay on the bed.
From the window the moonbeam filtered in like the silver stream. It was peaceful for 15 secs and then one something that looked like the body wanted to get out of the body that laid still.

The transparent look alike moved out from the room and reached another one. There was a wheel that moved in rhythm, and had figments of marijuana in it. The more the object wanted to get hold of the green,the faster the wheel swirled.

And then something happened.
The wheel chased the object, and the object tried saving itself from the defeat,there was no way to stop either one of them. At one point it felt losing track of who was trying to over power whom and in the mayhem, the object reached a brightly lit room, it was so bright that it could blind but the swarms of people inside seemed to have some superpower symbolized by that one roll between their fingers, it was smoky and the smell could kill.
And an overdose of something you love never saves the soul. The object was stupefied, not knowing it was love or something that's a fall out of bitter love.

The object did not move and then it suddenly gasped for breathe and called out for the body that was still peacefully sleeping in reality. The body refused to wake up, unperturbed by the room where the object had reached and was dying under the inability to see or hear. All the object knew was that of a feeling that gnawed something that resembles the heart, the object though was not sure if there was something like that. It closed its eyes and wanted to transcend to a world where it could breathe for death of claustrophobia was not something that it ever imagined.

How true it is when they say whatever we want does not happen all the time. As the object desired a life afterlife, all that it could fathom was the light in the room went dim, soothing and the psychedelic phenomenon clouded the vision. It was nearing impossible to get the feet to move into a direction that could let some fresh air in. But the window in the vision had the light of the day that tantalized like a lover does after a series of passionate love making moments that drives the partner for more, even if the epitome of pleasure has defied all definitions. And probably that is why the lovers reunite for the rest of the night even if the pleasure have been sucked beyond obvious.

The black human like objects transformed themselves into choker blocks and would not let the object move beyond two inches in one direction. The phobia was spreading itself and a tarantula crossed through it everytime the object refused to submit to the smoke that led one into the bottomless desire to crawl and lick decayed blood in search of ecstasy.
There was no path to escape, and it was at that moment the body that slept opened it eyes, dashed out of the room in order to find the object, it was an insane search for now there was a body that rummaged through graphic spaces searching for its soul and the objectified soul knew it was not there anymore. It had travelled to a world where breathing spaces where locked in rooms that did not contain holes that would not let air either in or out.

The body refused to give up, it ran with the determination that it had to save the virgin in the whore house but little did it know the man the soul slept beside when in transcended into the airless realism that it was over,the virginity was lost. But the body remembered waking upto screams of despair and helplessness, but it was late. The soul was lost and like millions microcosms do in search of themselves.
And the moment came and went by, little to the body's knowledge but the soul lay there in with eyes wide shut.

The quest to nail the soul down, probably turned it into ashes which does not rise from the phoenix; like everything else trust,truth,love,friendship,absolutes are all illusions of the body.
The soul lives many lives,in many spaces, and mourns over all thats lost and rejoices much more to all that's waiting to be created. Its stoned, its drunk and passes out but its not for the body to understand.

Words do not serve any sentence
Imagination does, Ideas does and sometimes not being there does.

Hail!!!

I live here for Love

The worst time for my lifeline.
The black end of Global terror has finally unleashed itself full blown that lasted over 48+ hours.
It seemed that it was a film running. I had heard it,seen it but the distant experience in real life had emotions that I cannot come to describe in words.
I am amazed, speechless and cannot get to believe it still.
Imagine the depth of hatred,imagine the strenght of nerves, imagine the mental space beyond which life ceases to matter.
This time it was the masses inclusive of the classes and how bare naked and shallow stood the intellegence and basic security of the country, of the financial capital of the country, of the biggest and oldest corporate empire of India.
There was anger,grievances,disgust,outrage but it was pushed and everybody somewhere basked in the glory that Bombay will bounce back.

When the news channels showed the spaces, I felt like own skin was being scathed. It hurts but its hurts so much that its numb.
I am tired of blame games, tired of political gang wars, gimmicks,bytes,reality TV and using Pakistan always for a purpose thats convinient.
I cant even drag myself to sign petitions,send emails,join groups,write protest mails.
Thats not how much I can do for love.
The maximum city has given me maximum experiences in the last almost five years. I am supposed to do much more,more than what meets the eye.
In return I dont want to depend on systems that are dying of incurable diseases - corruption, inefficiency,non-chalance and blah blah blah.
One might think everyone doing little is a lot. But a lot is already lost.
What do I do? I wanted to change the world when I graduated in 2006. And now I want to change my eyes. I dont want to live under the shadow of An Andalusian Dog.
Its difficult to live out of ones set of beliefs.
I screamed out loud when Combating Terror was thought of as strategic programming. Sam says my space has changed and my voice has to be silent. Professional (mis)fortune. Like you cant have a mind that has thoughts beyond the normal stream. I debate over niche and crass, and I decide for those million sensibilties.
So why cant my sensibility make the choice to protest in what is apparently my space?
Anyways, thats not really the point.
The point is mis-interpretation of a community, a faith and a book which is probably much ahead of its times. Its misrepresentation of concepts that were meant to empower and engage and not dissect people furthur into deeper depression from where there seems to be no return.

The vision as of now seems unexplicable and clouded with emotions of betrayal and loss of faith and lives and humanity.
There will be light at the end of tunnel.
Its my belief and its here to stay.
I Live wherever I live, but there I lived and live for Love.

Matter Mastering!

Ya have been away from this space for a while.
Not a good thing,for my health too as I realize, too many thots spoils the head
How has life changed? Wondering......
Well it definitely does not give me time to brood, but panic attacks occur and I feel desperate, distressed and willing to hit the door and bang till it drops dead.

National Geographic Channel high has settled in, the cool quotient with the launch of Fox History and Entertainment too feels old now.
Boy!!!!! everything in life is coming to be shortlived.
Why am I even beginning to think of it? Didnt I know from 35 mm I was moving to a life that began and end in precisely 30 secs. If you are thinking its too little time,on air it costs huge.
And ya in the first week the biggest lesson learning in progress are -
1. Thinking time = Money, and if I do it right, or I only knew the trick I could be a billionaire :)
2. One has to learn to be nasty, and not regret it. Everybody out there needs a reason to get on to nerves, so stay calm but edgy.....and nobody tells you the irony beneath it.

Got choaked over a period of time, over nuptial conversations. I am getting numb over convinience, if at all that is convinience till I rediscovered myself over Fellini's 8 and a 1/2.
The struggle has not even hit the high. It is still in the womb, beyond these random words and emotions they have not seen the light of the day.
So girlie,get going.....it takes an insane toll to get to the level of being a legend who creates breathtaking 24 frames per second.
Dostana was an exciting venture! Somewhere homosexuality is inside the Indian bedrooms. Yes, the community can complain of stereotypes, and sudden unwelcome gestures but people its out in the open. Lets celebrate the first step....the bollywood way!
Presi bonding happened and it felt weird about changing spaces, but I never wanted roots,or lets say do not know how to live with them. But as ace friend and confidante Divz would put it, dont try to hard on yourself,everything would sink in.
The first fight with R gave me an insight of getting edgy over inability to fill in absence. But in the mind, I knew I was there as a silent spectator.
Lifes good, spaces get smoky,thots wriggle inside my head as if its waiting to scream and few words out I am already feeling better. Like the Zoya Factor, all s fair in Love and Cricket, naah alls fair in a life for love,live for love.
Random never had one shape,one emotion,one color. Thats why it beautiful.
All the best to survival spirits and life in 30 seconds.

Dun have an answer :(

Dear Rijz,
Whr do I begin? Not randomly when I met you in the greens of Shantiniketan or when I was trying to unravel the socio economics of Dhokra artisans with you?
But everything went grey @ the JNU bus stop! My jaws dropped.....I didn know how to react, lost my voice and my ability to introspect.....the beer @ the stadium didn do good.
How did I do this? I of all people, to you of all people.
I behaved like a jerk and quoted our experience as mine,your exprience as my verbatim!
What the fuck was I thinking? Was I getting too full of myself? I was losing my mind!
Hope you understand the no answer situation but I am sorry,seriously sorry.
Would try n make sure I get over this aspect in life, of ensuring thots get converted into reality and the thots that belong to whoever gets across rightly.
Thanks darling for bringing it across and being a friend.....beyond boundaries and living in and out of scripts.

Love
A

Whiney Minie Miney Moe

Ya I want to whine a while, I was wondering if I should use this space,but thanks to our lifestyles and slavery to the keyboard and my almost left blank yearly dairies finally made me get myself to whine here. And play the favourite game as a child,of choosing who shall be slaughtered...Ini,mini,minie,moe.
Enuf, I have too much been talking about the world.
Ya fine,its been threatening my basics and made me addictive to have been reeling under the spell of terrorism,communal violence and wall street crisis but I did keep the regular stuff, that I live with, off the radar.

So whats new? Saw Kidnap-long and short of it...lotz but this Khan is promising.
Did not even take a look at the pujas and seems I didn miss much,of course till my celebrity anjoli pal turned me nostalgic. A lovelorn friend was in town with whom I did revisit my state of affairs too much and still have not reached a conclusion. And then I gave into the regular stuff,and picked up this chick-book called You are here. While I was reading it I was looking into those million times gone by. I have lived them but never thought it could go down to become a book because there was nothing extraordinary about it.

But as chickbook also tells you stories that you had almost forgotten.
And on the eve of 2nd October after almost three months I heard myself engaged into genuine exchange, of ideas,experiences and was listening to people without my mind flying into forbidden areas. Am I coming in terms with my breakup finally? Maybe but the question that now is disturbingly nudging me and not anymore working as the possibility of 'things will be fine' is - have I really broken up? And as always,amongst those few good men and women I have in life,one of them told me a way out,and till that happens I will live through the interim like I have always lived life. Probably thats why cartoon films like spirited away makes one feel so special :)
And at this point, well soulmate,missed you like one of those realllly wanna speak to you times

Met these really interesting bunch of people who are in their quest of life. Happily living moments like its one of those precious times for engaging in a dialogue. And ofcourse the warm hearted prejudiced friend who was all out to work out options for freshly out of break ups. It was embarrasing till I realized its all in good faith.
While I write this however I am taken back to all the memories and I still do not know what went wrong.Why are all our lives so perplexing-ly mundanely screwed? Is it realllllyy true that all my aspirations of being able to break free of what is most obvious will really not see the light of the day? Will I get entwined in the regular whatevers.....I mean its a choice that I have to make. And I do not think it would be that difficult to hang onto the fact that I will not follow rules.

Anyways I have gotten addicted to Leonard Cohen. I cant think of a day in the last three months when I havent read or heard him and as I was hearing tonight will be fine on the comp,on television I saw sex and the city-the movie on Oprah. And that was yet another time I realized what a sucker for chick stuff have I become. Hehhehaahee. Boy it felt so good to see these girls again and of course hearing about all that. As dear Charlotte says 'twenties are the most miserable' I nodded vehemently saying...yes I still do not know what is there to me. Gone are those days when people would be all sorted by 25. Boy I am just 25 and there are 25000000000 things I have to do. How can I ever get sorted to save my life? So dear friends and fellow men,thirties are the new twenties. So much for my convenience.
And most importantly I do not see Mr.Big anywhere in the circumference,forget him in the circle. The guy who plays Mr.Big,Chris Noth is a father of a three and a half year old child. And I cannot begin to get smiling as to how adorable he looked. So in real life he did not have a cold feet . And that leads me to question the real avatar of Mr.Big. Is he all only fiction? Hope not,there must be someone as incompletely complete like him. Or maybe in real life an amalgamation of many nice-ness about men around shapes upto Mr.Big. So therefore keep floating. Dunno if that is a good feeling. Maybe not at the moment,but it excited me till this Quirky delightful disaster happened.

I need to go back to Bombay for a while and get over this bit, I dun want to give up on that special warm hearth because of alleys where I lost myself.
Gosh I can almost start a love story memory museum in sometime.
But honestly doesn't all of this almost make me feel miserable that the hopeless romance like Roman Holiday kinds does not exist anymore.
Well honestly it does.
But with a fairly good number of failed relationships I am beginning to question the concept itself. One can always choose to be a hopeless romantic at heart and not compromise. But then it is important to realize that humans are susceptible to change of kinds unheard of.
For some I am surely the crazy romantic kinds and for others I am the brutal honest demon sucking out all romance.
Ya,as I write this I also realize I know what I do not want but at the same time I dont really know the inner calling. What does it take to be the right man or be the right partner? There is no formula and thats nothing new I am telling you but what about those couples you come by and say,they are just so perfect!

I do not know how is life gonna shape up,I mean I never wanted to know,but I think the times are changing and as of today I am feeling better to be able to look up and chase my dreams again,the half written scripts,the dead dear laptop,the disengagement with the world,not paying attention to whats happening inside me, all of that needs to change.
It has to blossom to a fresh autumn morning.
Maybe I will smash myself over alcohol and stuff and have these really irritating conversations over how I found and lost the perfect man but at the same time I am looking forward to the whole exercise again.
So as this interesting explorer I came by talked about Shamanic dreams and Ayuvaska also mentioned, lemme end it on that note, ya so ....if at all there is something called love.

Hoping the weekend trip planned instinctively will get me better. Over horses and ridges, and deserts and trenches, will there be a Mr. Big waiting?
Well well, if they could be there in a class full or people...amongst hundreds in a rock show,or midst a crowded pub,one must not lose hope.
It happens afterall out of nowhere.

Browsing Delight

I’m a Modern Man

GEORGE CARLIN
on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno on 15nov2005

I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium.

A diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect.

I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading.

I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin' the wave, dodgin' the bullet, pushin' the envelope.

I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs.

I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge.

I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar.

A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary.

A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach.

A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda.

You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. 'Cause I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers.

I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; Laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance.

I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail.

But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver.

My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow.

I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports.

I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the F-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes.

A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically-formulated medical miracle.

I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed.

And . . . I have unlimited broadband capacity.

I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff.

I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

Drivin' and movin', sailin' and spinnin'; jivin' and groovin', wailin' and winnin'.

I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time.

I'm hangin' in, there ain't no doubt; and I'm hangin' tough.

Over and out.

From my neighbourhood to Wall Street

A lazy day when the phone rang and concerned family and friends told me of the series of bomb blasts in Delhi. My first reaction was, whats new, yet again, lives don’t matter anymore. It has been a series of 11 blasts since 2001 and nothing concrete ever came out of it. And now blasts in the capital in all the major hotspots and all we will see are media channels giving breaking news with funny dummy stories and visuals. And the ever hungry Indian consumer will watch that raising the channels TRPs. There will be blame games amongst political parties and increased allocation to the Intelligence and security systems of the country that anyways have not made headways in the last 7 years.

Thinking deeper I realized there was unrest in the country in almost all parts and we have become so immune to it. Life seems to be going fine for me, so how does it matter?

But the red alarm reels inside the head some thousand times when even I am flipping through the newspaper or television channels all that is there to the country today is reports of death of innocent human beings, be it as victims of some blasts, pro-freedom movement, police encounters or torching down of minority establishments.

At this level when I turn my attention to rage against the governance in this country, thanks to friends in the financial sector that I delved to read news on the global economic crisis. An establishment as revered as Lehman Brothers, one of the oldest investment banks of the world files for bankruptcy on September 14^th. It was a blow to the global capital market. When PWC was brought on board as administrators they reported there was no cash in the company post the fall. The shock had not been absorbed and Merrill Lynch was bought by Bank of America. Finally they became bank holding companies and the US government paid $700bn to tackle the worst economic crisis in decades. With the developed north crashing there is not much hope anyways for the developing south. Anyways the Indian aping of neo-liberal economy without much deliberation has brought us at the edge of the blackhole.

The economic crisis as the base of the Marxian base-superstructure theory, now poses a severe challenge to the already dwindling food and fuel crisis in India. As if the governments failure to generate employment for the exploding population of the country was not enough that now there will be major cut down on human resources by the MNCs. The shift of focus though doesn’t change the fact that inflation had reached 12.9%.

I had all of this reeling in my head when I went to attend the National Convention on Union Budget 2009-10. I was left flabbergasted with the numbers. Each sector thrashing out inadequacy in allocation, implementation, even conceptually the sectoral understandings seemed to be unclear and that having high levels of ramifications. I wondered about the complexity in the naivety. If experts even cannot develop a macro perspective, sincerely there is threat, of collapsing without even an alarm. The review of the MDGs at several parts of South Asia does portray a grim picture for India. But panelists here except for two did not give me holistic sense of the economic paradigm shift and its implications.

Though as I write this I realize the grassroots experiences are complex and there are several layers before we reach the policy level. How much can one embrace and how much can one choose to keep at the threshold? But can it be the dead end? Is there no solution to it? Or atleast the promise of respite somewhere?

The blow to Wall Street will have deep impact in India, and here people were advocating against remaining bystanders and fighting for marginalized factions of the society. Do they not know the overall implications? Do they not know that factionalizing at this point will only reap indefinable complexities? As much as it remains a serious concern, it frightens me to not see any able leadership developing in this country to be able to address these multilayered issues and crisis the largest democracy of the world is grappling with.

Coming back home, the encounter where the police apparently nabbed the masterminds of the Delhi blasts, the incident took place two blocks away from the place I live in. In the month of Ramzan when the whole community is fasting, this encounter took place in the bylanes of a crowded locality near Jamia Millia resulting in the death of a police inspector of the Special Cell and established the presence of terrorist cells in minority pockets. When I was on my way back home the eerie feeling in the lanes shook me from the roots. I felt scared of being an Indian, felt scared for the people who are family are Muslims and the majority wrath would not spare them, felt scared because every other young guy in that space resembles the faces which appear on the wanted lists. Scared for the age group thats the promise of the dawn tomorrow,the mighty young brains between 22-25 are taking up arms against global socio-economic discrepancies,I was scared because the area was prone to a communal clash in the batter of an eyelid.

The reports doing rounds of all the convoluted claims of nabbing terrorists comes later to me. What comes out first is the Muslim community is under severe crisis. Though I cannot not accept that communities at their levels have not thrashed one another and that is a blessing in disguise but the Muslim community who were anyways the point of attack by majority extremists is today questioning identities at all levels. With the blasts taking a national character, the global war to curb terrorism going full swing, India today is hiding from the danger that has no face. The communal violence inflicted in eastern, western and southern parts of the country by the Sena has not even received a strong reaction from the centre. I am deeply troubled by the complacent attitude. The backlash against the Home Minister definitely needs to be heard by the people in command. Have the Gandhis forgotten the trauma the country went through post the 1984 riots? Have they forgotten the series of assassinations in their family? So why is there no strong resolution to combat the communal tension in the country?

On the onset it might sound like those several blame games that every one is up against another, I understand this is far more complex than the words actually puts forth, but this calls for action, this calls for concrete ways in which the country can look at violation of human rights and not treat the present situation as a political game of ideology. Lets rise beyond creating opportunities from conflicts for human lives are not frivolous.

The array of natural disasters in the country already is sign of nature backlashing against the human civilization, lets not create spaces for the ugly head of man-made disaster to breathe into us the venom of intolerance and hatred.

24th Sept.New Delhi

Chemical Imagination heard the musical nitrate junk

A series of earthly happenings and a mixed bag of emotions, resurfacing from the hollow cylinders to severing guilt loaded associations,to keeping ego at some far away highland to losing father figures like lightening on a scorching summer day.
I am almost coming to believe the equation of life can never be for a moment be balanced, and I remember in the ninth standard I would take a lot of pride in the balancing the chemical equations and score a 10 on 10. And then life said,no we cannot let this happen. A lunatic was born and have been on the streets since then,looking for the right space where the sets for the dream production could be constructed.
But it was after dribbling with the ball for a while the quest seemed to suddenly have colours of grey and brown.

Who said it was easy to find the right creative space in a country were natural disasters are results of faulty constructions,where more then half the population lives under Rs.55 a day. There having the means to construct ideas which are more often than not mainstream is a difficult proposition. It is almost an impossible to compromise on work qualities and methods in terms of form,content,ethics and aesthetics. It is a better idea to keep trying to breathe fresh air than to breathe carbon monoxide to survive. If survival was in question, guess one would not have ventured into the pool of uncertainty. If the conviction is compromised the 25 year old journey would be meaningless.
The fact that the only resource called confidence dies under the utmost pressure of personal ramblings is an alarm that one is giving into the vacuum of self pity. The superpower somewhere has blessed some lunatics with support systems that rarely comes by. A family to be there through times of trouble,A soulmate with open arms through basics of life, and Friends who know you for whatever colour you are washed with. And strangers to fill up gaps of crisis.
It takes a lot to let go but it takes a little more to keep it all together,sometimes time heals it for us and sometimes the hope puts the puzzles together to create a new picture than how it looked like years ago.
Rock on reiterated it for me.

The film was an average film but it seemed to have stories that I was born with,characters I have lived with and would always fondly remember the magic they still create in my life.


But it strengthened my believe in the passion and madness,to go wrong,be abandoned and then come back.I hope my friend on the highway manages to hit the roads soon.


This is what he most recently showed the world-Ya Allah
Dearest You,excuse me but you have to kiss the sky!

I hope dreams also come alive as my dear lil miss muffet paws es for a thought.

I felt speechless to hear about the demise of my best friend's dad,it was too unexpected to withhold any reaction. I do not know what it takes to believe in deaths,maybe it helps to become numb to it. However much we say it was better than suffering,I wonder if it is as easy as that. My losses has been deep,the losses I see around are deeper,but if that vacuum can be lived with as if you have that person in the next room;it is often a source of inspiration and strength. Easier said than done but somewhere it does mean living with the hope that forever is not just a concept. But at the same time forever does pain at times. I do not remember right now how is it said or who said it but if it does not pain enough,there was never enough passion or dedication.And as per Silent emotions bond with me for the last twelve years,Anjan Dutt's priyo bondhu describes it the best......'Bhalo lage sopner mayajaal bunte,bhalo lage oi akasher tara gunte',(Love weaving the magic mesh of dreams, Love counting stars far away in the sky) that's how we started and we are still travelling through our paths,often converging,often getting lost in smoky December nights.Dear Silent Emotion,may you have all the strength to overcome when things are getting tough, I know this too shall pass.

The Dark Knight has left an indelible impression,it is difficult to believe that till date actors like Heath Ledger lives on. For a lot of people his overdose was a sign of weakness. I do not know what it was,I just know he defined dedication for me in a different gamut altogether.



As Joker says 'The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules', I go back to my chemistry test and realize the mystical line between reality and illusion.
To live through this conflict is a way of life.

Untilted Framed

Field Musings 2
















A few moments captured,and stories unearthed.
The journey continues

Untitled as Untilted ---the wasted sequel

Swecha is a youth movement, or lets say it started as one and then they decided to take shape and become this registered organization that primarily works on Environment and building responsible citizen movement around it.
Wasted was the first film the organization produced.
It is more of a personal voice of the organization and the creators of the film who tracked the journey of waste from homes of a neighborhood in Vasant Vihar in New Delhi to the landfill where the waste is segregated,sold and recycled. It is a peek into the existence of hundreds of waste pickers who live a faceless live but contribute almost rupees 20 crore per annum to the Indian economy. But that is also wasted.
What follows is anecdotes of the field visits in the form of a field diary

Field Musings

My shift to Delhi found a space to walk when I decided to work for the next film Swecha was conceptualizing to make.
This is going to trace the lives of the waste-pickers and the life analysis of the waste that fills the Lands in the space called Jahangirpuri,8 kms from Delhi University. The area is a resettlement colony for the waste pickers who migrated to this space since they seem to not remember.

With almost no concept of waste management except for books and articles,and the glimpse of landfills in Mumbai, I had to go to the field if I wanted to feel connected to the film and thus began my journey to Jahangirpuri. A non-Delhiite's first travelogue with all good intentions of not intruding into the community with a camera was dampened by the random rains right in the morning of 8th August.
The rain washed Delhi streets would make one feel like it exchanged roads with Mumbai. It was monotonous and heavy drizzles.
The trip to Central Secretariat was like any other metro traffic laden roads.
From there to Delhi University in the underground train which often seems like a replica of the subway trains of Europe. I was to take a bus to the Azadpur New Subzi Mandi. Unable to create space amongst the hard core aggressive bus commuters and feeling like a wet crow the next option was the auto. The auto drops me there and refuses to move an inch ahead.
Dismissed by the auto, I tried the cycle rickshaws. I explained resettlement colonies of kabariwalas (ragpickers) and the destination was explained to me as Bangali Bastis (settlements of Bengalis,Bengalis synonymous to Bangladeshis) and finally I was there.

Jahangirpuri, about three kilometres from Azadpur in North West Delhi looks at Delhi through different lenses. It seems to be a world by itself. One one side of the road there were apartments and shops like any urban-semi/urban spaces. On the other hand there were stacks of waste in polythene bags organized as if they were the guardians of the space I was about to enter.
The first walk through the alley was uneventful. The concentration was more on the shots that could have been captured, and trying to find the story within it, till I realized the two kids were following me curiously. Befriending Saajan and Deepak I walked back to where I began. Here I met Khalid, a scorpio driver whose live has begun in this space. In almost no time did the conversation had many people joining in and with all kinds of question, who what,where,why,and most importantly what is our benefit from the film. As a development professional it is perhaps easy to answer the question but as a film maker when the medium is being used to explain, to take ahead an issue (here more as an organization mandate than the subject) it is difficult. But the creative journey is probably the responsibility towards the subject, the issue and the film, hopefully, would do justice to the same.

From one Khalid,came one Sheikh Mumtaz, a fifteen year old ragpicker who is a professional. He knows the tricks of the trade and speaks his mind. While I was surrounded by curious onlookers and interviewers I noticed one teenager dressed rather in the Bollywood gear of a well fitted shirt and denim and a bandana which is made of net material in red and has a golden border. From the conversation of what I was there for,it divulged to how it is a bane to live in Jahangirpuri. Irrespective of enough education,just the reference that one comes from this place is a reason for the person to be treated with no respect and almost like a criminal.
My first item number character, the same bandana boy is called Azizul reflects on why the people of the area are criminalized.
He almost replies like a politician whose byte one would not want to miss.
“ Hum kachra utthate hai apne haathon se, aur haath gande hai, aur policewalon ke hissab se har gande kaam ke peeche,gande haathon ka dhanda hai. Woh yeh bhool jate hai ke yehi gande haath estamal hota hai to khana banta hai,aur hum khana khate hai” (We pick waste and get our hands dirty and behind every crime there are dirty hands. Therefore the law keepers say that we are the law breakers. What they forget is these very hands make food,and these dirty hands feed moths).
Shaken by the idea, I got driven into a conversation with the Maulana. According to him,the media has always exploited the community. But he is sure we have noble intentions (and I wondered what made him feel so!). He promised cooperation from all ends.
Hijacked to Sadam ki chai ki dukaan (Sadam's chai shop) we talked about old memories of the place. The neighbourhood is a concern for all the young adults,more so for their offspring. The greed to earn money by waste picking and segregation and selling it cannot be substituted. Secondly the presence of the alcohol den near the school which irrespective of age and students adorning uniform would sell them alcohol is a menace forever. So the students would rather bunk school,pick waste,sell it,earn money,drink and go to nearby video stalls and watch blue films. Education is of least importance and quick money is all that everyone is interested in. The elders are worried and amazed how the several other business run thats detrimental to the society there. The law-keepers turn a deaf ear at this, on the other hand according to their records criminals inhabit the wasted land.

The quest continues in search of the story teller or maybe story tellers, the heroes of real life who are getting wasted amongst the waste.


....to be continued

After Dark

I wondered why I would write about Murakami’s After Dark when I did not write about either Norwegian Wood or Kafka by the shore but the 12th work of fiction of this novelist-Haruki Murakami.
The answer is the real time of the book was living through it over a night, from a little before midnight, this dark novel was spread over eight hours in Tokyo. The intercuts in the novel were sublime yet profound and as some reviewer said it had the Murakami's signature magical-realist absurd coincidences. And most importantly I felt the immediate urge to pen down thoughts.

After Dark concentrates on themes of loneliness and alienation through characters crafted beautifully, the tit bits of moving away from East Asia and having western references (all-night Deny's where Hall & Oates plays in the background kept the worldly appeal at bay.) The Murakami specialty of story telling as if it is a film did reach a level where I felt like a captive audience looking into the rough cut of an institute film. The chapters where Eri was sleeping and an invisible eye was watching, the way it was framed to the reader who felt guilty in the void of claustrophobia was an aspect that made the chill run down the spine. My google secondary research says that the Los Angeles Times felt that Eri's dreamlike scenes were…"For the unfamiliar, it's the perfect appetizer. For the established fan, it's a quick work that is over far too soon" and that is something I agree to completely, it was like a buffet that was over even before it began.


Now for the story - Mari Asai, 19, in an plain attire,hardly noticable was sitting by herself when trombonist and soon-to-be law student Tetsuya Takahashi walks into a late-night Denny's,and proceeds to talk himself back into her acquaintance. Tetsuya was once interested in plain Mari's gorgeous older sister, Eri, whom he courted,once upon a time. Murakami then cuts to Eri in the next chapter, Eri is asleep in what turns out to be some sort of menacing netherworld. Tetsuya leaves for his practice when soon a large, 30ish woman, Kaoru, comes into Denny's asking for Mari; Mari speaks Chinese, and Kaoru needs to speak to the Chinese prostitute who has just been badly beaten up in the nearby "love hotel-Alphaville" Kaoru manages. Then one after the other the author looks at the lives of the sleeping Eri and the prostitute's assailant, a salaryman named Shirakawa, who has a wife waiting back home.Mari is sketched as a vague yet a character with lots of depth and that is reflected in her interaction with has with Tetsuya, Kaoru and a hotel worker named Korogi. Later when she almost assimilates with Eri in the bed the ambiguity takes a new dimension and the book ends.
The immediate feeling when the book ended was that of a hushed ensemble piece built on the notion that very late at night, after the logic lights have been snuffed and rationality has been blinded, life on earth becomes blurred. Individuals who have separate identities during the day lose uniqueness and melt into an uniquely common psychic collective.

The book does live upto Murakami's creation of not just geographical space uniqueness but the wavering space of realism,surrealism and often hyper-realism.
In this context the simplicity with which Mari is introduced implies the deatiled dissection of characterization Murakami believes in.... “On her table is a coffee cup. And an ashtray. Next to the ashtray, a navy blue baseball cap with a Boston Red Sox ‘B.’ It might be a little too large for her head. A brown leather shoulder bag rests on the seat next to her. It bulges as if its contents had been thrown in on the spur of the moment. She reaches out at regular intervals and brings the coffee cup to her mouth, but she doesn’t appear to be enjoying the flavor. She drinks because she has a coffee cup in front of her: that is her role as a customer.” or when it cuts to Eri the smoothness of the transition. The 19-year-old female coffee drinker, Mari, whose attachment to the Red Sox goes unexplained and probably doesn’t bear explaining — no more than do the lyrics of the pop songs that sprinkle down out of the ceiling of the diner — is killing time with an unnamed book. It’s a bit of a mystery why she’s up so late but it may have to do with her lovely sister, Eri, who’s at home in the suburbs, mired in a slumber that has been going on, unbroken, for months. Mari is awake because Eri is asleep — some sort of twinned homeostasis is at work, perhaps.

The book’s short chapters swaps back and forth between Mari’s ramblings with her new acquaintances and a prolonged, poetic yet thrilling setting of a bedroom (and that is caught between frames) her sleeping-beauty sister, who lies in bed in a bare room next to a wormhole of a TV screen on which her image occasionally appears and into which her soul is being absorbed. One wonders what shall be the mood but then the onset of a passive collection of interesting identities after dark sets one at peace. However I am still wondering how did Murakami design the book so novice,seeming almost caught up in the glocal politics,and struggling to find ones identity. Maybe thats why it was safer to title it after dark.

Though I cannot deny that inconspicuous is Murakami's widening perimeters of a nocturnal urban habitat. In the hours when colours vanish,women fall prey for the most part particularly the poor and the unmarried.(even if it is by choice the rights of a human being are violated. Men venture forth more boldly.
The interesting bit that remains irrespective of the sense of un-fulfillment is how Murakami detects the light without the appreciable heat everywhere in the urban space of Tokya and withing the soul of the characters,even if they are asleep. The light,he infers, glow brightest at night,and once light embarks on the face of earth,this phosphoric light fades, when we go our separate way in search of our own niche.

Awaiting

I landed in the land of seven cities....
I walk by architectures....
I walk in and out of History.....
And I miss somethings,that is not my history but somethings...
There is no end to memories,but it is not memories
I walk with you all the time
I sit beside you in Breathe
I shiver at the sheer touch of ur hand
I talk with you in my mind
I hear your voice in my head
I see you with eyes wide shut
I sleep with you in my soul.

And sometimes you should be broken
So that you can be whole again....

The raindrops did not talk to me

The raindrops did not talk to me.....
The rain drenched shimmering road did not look at me
The asymmetrical array of the yellow cabs did not wait for me
They all stood together and I stood in my frame.....alone

From the seventh floor the cityscape was different today,
very different than what it used to be in the last twenty five years
From the seventh floor the sky was different
very different than what it was a few minutes back
As I pan the vision is blurred
But still the vision does not talk to me

I have lost love midst a soul
I have gained love midst nothingness souls
I have been choked but I refuse to breathe,I refuse to set my liberation free
I have been hanged down the reverence shelf,I am shamelessly waiting for none at all

The puzzle is not a puzzle anymore
Its an ocean of confusion
Where my emotions do not converse
My feelings have lost articulation

I am longing for a past I do not remember
The expansion of grief is gnawing the heart
There is a tightness in the throat
I am wondering if I am lost in the loneliness of memories

I am living in a paradise whose owner is dead
I am not sure if this is the right address
Every night is a lonely musing
I do not know from where the mild tears come and where do they go....

And then suddenly I lose all my thought and....
start thinking again....what if?
But my leprechaun is sleeping
I can't wake him up
I will fight with them tomorrow
The raindrops did not talk to me.....

If I....

Would you still love me if insanity takes over me?
Would you still believe in me if I walked thru my convictions like I was a beggar?
Would you want to look into my eyes if I defied vision?
Would you recognize me if I disappeared in the mist of nothing?

If I walked through reality as if I was invisible…
If I turned neon into grey
Would you still love me if the naïve was dead and I was naked?
Would you still want to catch hold of me if I would float, and leave no trace behind?

Would you still recognize me if I am not black, white or grey?
Would you remember me if I was would never ever say
If I lost my voice, or my mind and my soul was only alive
Would you ever embrace me if my wings want to take a lusty flight?

If I spiraled through my hole into a fools paradise
If I crumbled under the red light on the high-rise
Would you still want to walk with me in the rains if the sky does not promise moonlight?
Would you still believe I can create if my negatives are bleached by the shimmer of the sky?

I am getting ready for the big funeral,
If I drill a tunnel in my heart, would you collect pieces of my mind?
Would you love me for all the incoherence and infinite pain I have caused
Would you take me to my grave if the blood freezes before time?

Hmmm

Bc to Dementia....cud barely sleep till the clock struck six and then the Mayhem over man's fatal attraction to woman and repercussions of the law guardians.
The excitement seems to be very bleak
Not hearing from someone even more bleak
Something that I fear is desertion....not to be has ceased to be a choice.

Wonder how life is gonna change,if at all
Mumbai,cant wait to meet you,my solace of the soul,my irrelevant logic,my cuppa beside
salt water reservoir,and the aimless walk perspectiva.

To say it all together,kinda anxious,dunno if that is called the fear,the fear of denying fear but isnt denial reality?

09.09 hrs
17th May,Kolkata

Random Thoughts of a Demented Mind

Why Demented?

1. The Knight Riders had the most dismal loss of the IPL series! Damn how on earth could they lose....so badly?????
2. I thought it would be a no pretentious trip over the weekend,where I could just be,but thts not happening,I dunno where the fifth element is coming from!
3. While speaking to a friend I realized there are so many of moments that I wish I could live again.
4. Lilight would not handle the going away too well,but I dont think I can nuture the distance even being virtual. I just do not have roots,as much as I still do not know if I ever had them,I also know I cannot handle them too well. The whole time and distance phenomenon and nuances of wired communication
5. After I am done with the course @ Pune I am going to have to look for another Job!

But random stuff is the one which emerges the winner for the day....out of the blue I decided to call this junior from college who as I figured is an Investment Banker now!!!!(I still cant believe such a soft sweetheart guy can be in such a tough career!)
Its been three god damn years but as it is said and I have been blessed with a lot of friends with whom I can get back as if we never parted this story took a similar turn.From drizzles in the lovers lane over complicated relationship issues to getting back in touch over Anjan Datta and Clint Eastwood. It is a happiness thats like the surprise rain on a scorching mayhem of May.
To add to the happy state of being Dumbhead and Myself ended our curfew of two months last evening. And as astonishing as it might be it was just yesterday I wrote to him saying I kinda now beginning to not handle his absence too well.

So as I can conclude and move over to research over the Hongkong Riots in 1966-67 (intrigued by Wai's rather phenomenal mindf***king creation 2046)I guess the dementia has been put to rest.
I guess I had to stop expecting what it will look like and and look at it to find out what it exactly looks like.
Cheers to being random.
Cheers to Gay couples in California being given the right to marriage and the promise that sexual preferences can be as personal and as obvious as ones right in a democratic country (here I mean the ideal democracy)and on second thoughts I presume if its California,India cannot be far behind.....

And how exactly dangerous can be an open heart? :)

01.56 hrs
May 17th 2008,Kolkata

And is not afraid to Ask!

Yes this post is very reactionary in nature,like a pressure cooker being pressurized to the point that its almost bursting. What I see myself writing is directly proportional to three seasons of watching Sex and the city for two nights and one day;like I was starving for approval about emotional, sexual and intellectual confusions. And by the end of it I feel a lot better about myself and the idiosyncrasies that I have. And yes, I am not a dying species. There are people out there who struggle with the same questions as I do and maybe they are way forward than I am because the show started somewhere in the 90s.
The show deals with lives of four independent women living in New York and their relationship tales. And trust me, I am not the only sucker for deconstructing every relationship at every possible opportunity. Also to add, I have come in terms with the fact that all that’s beautiful is not supposed to stay forever, and one does not have to forget to forgive! It is absolutely normal not wanting to get married and at the same time craving for it when the whole world is heading to the isle. It is ok to be judgmental but it is important to know when to let go of ones boundaries.
I guess over the past few days it was quite marvelous to have come in face to face to my secrets and getting all the skeletons out of the closet. As it is important for me to have the good professional impression, I have never cared about what the world thought of me and that’s ok. Most importantly I am/have been cheap and shallow at times. So what….I am human.

Every other moment I find grappling with my logical self, intellectual self, sexual self and emotional self and that is ok. The fact that they are raging against one another is ok. It is not important to know when it is right and when is it not right in a relationship all the time. Its ok to make mistakes, and maybe repeat them but I am glad I am not denying it to myself anymore.
I must confess with most of the friends around getting married and having babies it is quite difficult to not be a part of and ask myself what’s wrong with them but at the same time loving every minute of the wedding bells and pregnant buddies! Of course the question also is pointed at me and mostly people think I would be the late marriage kinds (btw if one is getting married post 30-for a woman it is late as per Indian Junta standards!!!) but the fact that I am still trying to accept marriage as an institution I better start telling the world that it is a mammoth task!
As much as life is what happens to you when you are 15 and trying to learn watching stars and this perfect guy tells you that your eyes speak even when its dark and you never acknowledging the relationship coz you are never supposed to have an affair (that’s coz it’s a girly thing to do) and life happens when you ransack a rockstar’s folder to find obscure lyrics and plunge into a passionate romance and then life also happens to you when you are trying to find space in a pub and a sweet guy tells you his wine secrets and you discover that maybe a lifetime together is not such a bad idea, maybe you could live together with someone and not feel claustrophobic 90% of the time…..but all of this need not be constants. As seasons keep changing, so do people and emotions.
Maybe there are no right guys, right answers, right moments and all you have to do is to speak your heart and have no fear even if it is echoing the most illogical thing.

The 25th year of my life has been rather very interesting considering I have learnt so much about myself and have finally kinda made up my mind. I am ok with the fact now that I cannot do a routine 9-5 job and consider that to be settled, I am not the kind who understands money, I am not the kind who can stop desperately hoping that there is something interesting happening in everyones life and they need to realize it, I am not the kind who has the speech prepared for the red carpet. But as of now I am happy to have taken this break where I did nothing but read, write and watch films. I was happy to be home, doing patchwork on the quilt. I am trying to overcome the fear of being alone, I mean not having activity to do all the time! I am getting comfortable with the fact that I can be very unpredictable to myself that I can also survive without a support system (But that I need to know my support system is there!). And that all of us have secrets to ourselves and even if they are bloody painful it is an experience of a lifetime.
I am happy to have decided to study a little more and comfortable to have come to terms with the fact that I am not financially independent yet.

I was quite disturbed with illicit affair between friends and they cheating on other things in life but then over a coupla months I realized that there are too many roads, too many detours and a lot of people may not have had the opportunity to not do it coz it was not right. Now when they are faced with so many choices it is perfectly normal to have made mistakes, or maybe they are not mistakes at all. It is an expression of liberation, of letting go of the Right! There are perhaps no shoulds, woulds, coulds. In real life when you fall down, you get up, buckle the shoes and walk again.

In my little world, the few people I live with, I have had a transformation in relationships with them because of priorities, family, marriage, relationships…blahblahblah. But now I am not scared to lose them. Though around me I obviously could not think of more than two guy friends who would remain single when I would be 35, and it could lead to serious crisis then but that’s too far away. I am just twenty-five. I falter between wearing the heart on my sleeves and letting the same heart beat to the rhythm of this one special guy, I often get a funny feeling about being with someone for like 2 years and at the same time enjoying the seemingly single status. Not to mention the few tears shed over how pathetic it can feel if someone x,y,z tries to push me through the wall coz I sometimes also enjoy being seemingly single! But one has to realize that there are walls one can push and some you just cannot.
Just yesterday me and this special friend were discussing as to how well we have done this time in the long distance mode, we have had tiffs but no serious fights! But I know that those end of the deal kinda fights with everyone has brought me very close to people. As of what I have experienced there is lotz to cherish even if in some love-hate relationships you end up expressing your adulation to that slightly special and yet not special person through these passionate fights.
But unlike an IPL (Indian Premier League) series where you fight against your own mate, fighting in relationships does not have the umpire and that often leads to fouls and hitting below the belt. Consequently one of the two is usually hurt much more. But as I look back just to my fights with x,y,xy I cant help but wonder what were we fighting for?
As of now I want to bask in the path traveled towards self actualization.
At the end of the day I am glad that I can still come back to my family after months of raging war and not even tell them how special it feels to have them in my life.
It brings a smile on my face to think of a few friends who just make me feel secure in my world just by giving me the warmth that they know me.
I can’t expect to get everything from one man as much as I cannot give it all myself but be comfortable with getting different things from different people because that’s what is called being Alive!

8th May 2008, Kolkata
12:07 hrs

Italiano

I am back to Kolkata for reasons known to devils in paradise but I am.
Was outmost been bored, when out of the blue the Italian Consul decided to save my afternoons and evenings. I guess the angels of hell where being nice to their future companion.

A basket of six films in an interesting variation was screened in Nandan from the 1st to the 3rd of April.
The first in the basket was Roberto Benigni’s Pinocchio.

The experimental theatre director and actor’s work had a Benigni’s signature to the film. This 2002 film is apparently one of the expensive of Italian films and bombed badly midst his audience and critics. That kept me wondering why must the festival start with a film like that?
Based on the original story developed by Collidi there was nothing much to look for in the film. It was more of a Sunday afternoon DVD viewing type of a film. And at several points Benigni overplayed the character, his remorse did not even feel or make believe as comedy. Thank god for the story has a nice memory of kindergarten for most of us.
Back home on google I was not too surprised to discover on Rotten Tomatoes it had a 0% collection!
The next film was Fellini’s La Sceicco Bianco -The White Sheikh. The 1952 flick was played by Alberto Sordi in the title role. And to me is one of the funniest works of Fellini that I have been witness to on the silver screen.

It is a comedy dramatized on a true Fellini style. And it was sheer delight since I was watching Fellini’s directorial debut!
The story starts when Ivan Cavalli, a punctilious clerk comes to Rome with his virgin pretty wife Wanda for their honeymoon. He has set appointments wit the Pope and meetings of the couple with Ivan’s uncle and aunt. While Ivan is set to take a nap, Wanda takes off to meet The White Sheikh, the hero of a soap opera comic strip of a romantic magazine that Wanda lives on. In the process she lands up 26 kms away from Rome at the shoot of the opera and is thrilled to meet her White Sheikh, here Ivan cannot believe that Wanda has vanished and lies to his relatives saying Wanda is ill. Wanda discovers the web of deception that the Sheikh has portrayed to her and loses track of her path back to Rome. That night she wanders in the streets attempting to suicide while Ivan is tempted by whores. However the next day at 11 the couple is to meet the Pope and the aroma of Fellini is spread in the film when the starstruck Wanda and sordidly cautious Ivan are led to the Pope as the ‘innocent and Pure’ newly weds.
The comic timing of the film and the typical English mannerisms along with portrayal of the ‘will be by you till death do us apart’ kinda feel to both Ivan and Wanda at several points of time. A typical of its time Albert Sordi perfectly slipped into the role of a white sheikh. And what makes it interesting is throughout the pandemonium one knows that all will be well but the curiosity of how is what kept me glued.
The camera work is indeed good, the vision of the director and experimenting with such angles was a delight as an audience.
And everytime I am thinking about the film I am just getting humble about the vision the man had back in 1950s. The entire shoot on the beach saw him using very interesting angles. The light through shaft is a Fellini trademark, and now I know the White Sheikh is where it was born. Overall I would rate the film 3.75 out of 5 and definitely recommend one to watch it for the 50s comic drama is definitely not a miss!

The second day we saw Callas Forever and Once upon a time in the West.
Callas Forever is a biographical film on the legendary Maria Callas.

Directed by Franco Zeffirelli the film released in 2002. The story is that of the legendary opera diva Maria Callas whose friends (and her former manager) Larry and confidante Sarah convince her to revive her career by lip syncing to her old recording and creating a musical around it. Callas’s passion for music and trust in her friends and herself helps the unit to finish Carmen. However she insisted that she would sing for Tosca on her own voice. When Larry presented this to the investors they backed out. Callas then asks Larry to destroy Carmen for it would be dishonesty to her profession and passion, and to her fans who would find this dispassionate and would feel cheated. She felt the lip sync and recreating Carmen is no price to pay to revive her ending career. One who is an opera literate would be able to comment more on the content but as a musical drama one expected more of colors and dramatization. But one would definitely have to find Fanny Ardant carrying off the role with as much might as the production allowed her. Larry played by Jeremy Irons ….also played his part to the skin. Overall as one learns it is a tribute to the friend Maria Callas, I would agree the Zeffirelli successfully portrayed the sacred thread of the artist integrity with the art and the audience, and that’s what Callas stood for as experts tell me.

The last sequence can definitely boast of a good set of dialogues, true to the diva’s spirit.
Once upon a time in the West is a typical western cowboy film by the legendary Sergio Leone that released in Italy way back in the1968 and then in United States in 1969.

For me it was Sergio Leone and a complete delight and definitely lucky to have caught on to the undeniable classic of our times. The fun was to watch Henry Fonda play Frank and the irresistible Claudia Cardinale’s sensuality as Mrs.Mcbain. The woman on the screen was hot. Pardon my PDA in words but I enjoyed the almost three hour flick to my hearts content!
All set this out and out action flick was cinema that had its own charm. Considering Leone came into my life much later, it gave me the same thrill that a Sholay did!
The story goes like the McBain family is killed by Frank and Mrs.McBain comes home for the first time to nothing. Harmonica is introduced in style time and again till one realizes that avenging Frank is his objective. After several twists and turns he avenges Frank with help from Cheyyene (played by …..) the most vibrant character in the film and helps Jill alias Mrs.McBain have her fortune of Sweet water.
The location (Italy and Spain) was captured with its spirit intact. Though Charles Bronson did the best but the true hero was the cinematography of the film. It was like remembrance of the cowboy fairy tales. The scene of waiting at the train station with credits rolling accompanied by the perfect synthesis of natural sounds of water, windmill, fly, footsteps and Directed by Sergio Leone as the train pulls into the station was just sensational.
The use of minimum dialogue adds the spice to the film. The flow of beautiful images looked like it was being effortlessly weaving itself into a story with several others embedded in them but they linked perfectly with one another. It was brutal and bloody but was picturesque and poetic and sensual. And I felt I watched a flawless film with an original soundtrack still ringing in my ears.
Leone celebrates West and from that a Classic was born!
The final film was I am not scared directed by Gabriele Salvatores.

The film is based in Southern Italy 1978 and is set in an Italian countryside. It opens with children playing games in a deserted fort and the protagonist Michelle goes back to find his sisters glasses only to discover a mysterious creature in a hole in the ground.
The character of Michele was interesting.Played by Giuseppe Cristiano,the boy was a inquisitive youngster who lived with his parents and kid sister in a rural rundown village. his daily life was simple;roaming around the gorgeous arid fields with his friends, and then rushing home to eat dinner and arm-wrestle with his father.As Michele discovers the mystery was a pale creature kept captive.He makes a bond with this ghost, who turns out to be a boy his own age named Fillipino, feeding him and taking him out for air. At the same time, Michele tries to understand the mysterious ongoings at his house, where men including the violent and rude characters his father brings home, quarrel viciously.The fact that Cristiano develops the insight to deal with his parents as characters is quite commendable,his maturity to understand that the film pretty much is on his shoulders makes it as delightful.
I am not quite sure if Salvatores was trying to also hint at the developing north and economically downridden Italy when Fillipino's parents make announcements on news channels but looked like a pretty vague attempt if at all the socio-economic and political aspects were supposed to play an undertone.
The pace of the film was smooth but the use of sephia and several filtered lenses to get the perfect ambiance in the fields and the sky was overdone. The dreamy bit definitely undermined the struggle of the child.
Overall a pleasant experience where to begin with one gets caught in the crime and the suspense of the plot but what the filmmaker succeeds in achieving is the portrayal of an innocent child's struggle to face the real world and eventually emerging as an individual.

8th April, 11.36 hrs
Kolkata

The Kingfisher Man

I am on the flight back to Calcutta, bidding adieu to Bombay has never been easy but all said and done I just have to go, I realized the pain is severe but not taking over me because of the conscious effort that roots is something I am never allowed to grow.
Almost all the good friends had come to bid farewell and I did not let that tingy teardrop fall….well the post isn’t about the love for Mumbai for the umpteenth time but it is about this Kingfisher guy who helped me with the entire luggage. He did me a great favor (considering the huge amount of luggage that I was traveling with)
from the beginning till the end. And when finally I offered him a tip, he just refused….said ‘mam, its not allowed’. Wished me a happy journey and went away.
I was humbled and at the same time taken aback. There are still people who refuse a tip! It reminded me of all the nice people I met in this regard. The old uncle at Max Mueller and one only feels revered about him; I had to coax him for such a long time to accept a token of appreciation.
The Travel agent, man u have to believe it to say yes there are people in the service industry at large who make your life easyyyyy.
In this regard, I have to mention Sharad from Vibha Offset. However much one says about him, it is not enough.
One could not imagine the kind of generosity Sharad had shown us over time, he has gone out of his way to inculcate a print run of merely 1000 postcards in no time. And I guess it is only in Mumbai that I have seen entrepreneurs with a heart! Or maybe one designer of quite a stature like Manoj who just delivered the product no sooner than one asked him to. Or maybe a Parmar who out of nowhere just decided to be a life savior!
Or maybe one Geeta who remained a constant support through the mania @ Prithvi. As for these people they are quite stalwarts in their own areas of operation. I would treat them as the honchos but trust them to behave like true spirited companions on the roads of life. I cannot remember meeting one single person in the city, be it work or otherwise who has not given me a positive vibe.
The ones that went sour or did not work definitely had the Cal connection to them, I surely have nothing against the city where I have grown up but the people, there is something in the air, something that tells me to keep away. Mostly people in the circle are also ones I would jus not be comfortable with. Its not that there is an overdose of petty gossip, and not that we did not enjoy it and therefore Bombay we never gossiped but theres fairness. I mean there is a fair deal in the process.
And I am jus wondering how miserable will life be in a couple of hours! Sad!!!
Anyways before I tend to my broken heart I cannot finish this tale without mentioning the cigarette guy near 20A Gopal Mansion! A complete delight. During those really long hours of edits and madness when I would go to his shop to get the pack of Classic Milds, the welcoming smile would make my day. Or at times when I would resolve to reduce he would just see me and hand one smoke. The chit-chats and general whats happening to world kinda anecdotes, it was refreshing and delightful. And now it is only these memories that will remain.
To all the nice memories and the strong believe that the city always will be home…..

29th March 2008
18:00 hrs, somewhere in the sky!

P.S I Love You

Ya, this post is about the film and like the way I personalized the film….

Nice film, awesome locations, and mushy, cute dialogues.
One would not know until one sees it to believe that the writer thinks like that, one definitely has to feel it to some extent to be able to produce something like this….
The story is very simple, a married young couple Holly (Hillary Swank) and Gerry (Gerard Butler) dealing with the mundane, more money, bigger apartment, children-no children kinda debate until one winter this guy in the story Gerry dies of brain tumour.
Gawd one has to be creative to plan ones funeral party like that and its happy and fun though for Holly it was not so. She was miserable, like really miserable because her lifeline was gone. Holly refused to let go of her sadness and spent her life drowned in misery because she could not come in terms with the fact that someone who knew her the best, better than herself, that person no more existed. Her depression took better of her and she decided to lock herself in the apartment where Holly imagined Gerry was around, still around in their apartment and nobody else seemed to believe that.
Holly and Gerry had some good friends and Holly’s mother who never liked Gerry. However a miracle happened on Holly’s 30th Birthday, Gerry came back :) in the most amazing way, like he never died. And another life started for Holly. Every season he would write to her and guide her through life. Until in the last letter he writes to her that inspite of their love she must move on and fall in love again.

For any sucker for mushy romantic delicacy it is a perfect delight. The chemistry between the two could however been sparked a lil more. A tear jerker was the attempt but did not go ahead all that well. The character of William who is the male interest to Holly could have been avoided. At times the film seemed to be filling up gaps till the next letter but some small details have been taken care of very subtly. The letter at Ireland and the perfect match of the location was a visual delight and then the letter, my my, cant get more touchy! For the other characters, Lisa Kudrow being herself, did a great job, a complete star with the Phoebe flavor, she did stand out. The background score of the film was also the sweet romantic kinds. At the certain point when Billy comes into the picture the scene of the intimacy seemed a little forced and so did Holly vanishing from everyone’s life for the nth time!The success of the designer shoe label was typical Hollywood masala, and its time we start believing there are these formulas for the west too.
All said and done as beautiful as the letters and as desirable a man as Gerry the end of the film didn’t see Holly in someone else’s arm and her first and last letter to Gerry did allow a feel good factor to seep in.

It wasn’t an Erin Brokovich or a Horse Whisperer kinda creation from Richard LeGravenese but a film overall would be a nice cuddly afternoon film to watch with your loved ones or maybe a solace when one is lovesick.....

March 22nd 2008; 01:12 hrs
Mumbai

Grey

Not feeling too good....I know the reasons and I am nowhere remotely involved, I also know for sure that it doesn't really affect my life but....
Why is it that people actually are the way they are.....Neha's and mine favorite joke-save the endangered species! That I am sure I am.
For the first time the series of incidents that has unfolded is something I cannot talk to,but there is a heavy feeling,pretty much like a stone that you have been walking with for a while now.....

I am quite stunned by behavioral changes or maybe programmatic changes for people have stopped existing just out of flesh and blood.
I want to talk,but I cant and so I am writing.
The best part of the day was Jassi and Kashmir,spoke to someone about the whole experience and the warmth filled in,this person is going there to do some research for his story.....

Feels weird but I am still feeling good,away from self doubt I guess life takes a different meaning.
I am not let down for I chose to find my own way to attain whatever they call Nirvana!

Miss you P and Miss you TB!

Us and We....Who are They?

I have been quite disturbed since the Raj declared the hate for North Indians a few days ago. Filled with speculation I kept wondering about these lines of us and them and how as if religion and caste evils were not big enough for the regionalism monster had to soar its ugly head out.
Back in November last year I remember calling for chai on the phone from the guy near by and he was furious when I addressed him as 'bhaiyya',to me it is still very respectable an address like one calls for an elder brother. He refused to deliver tea and I refused to give up till he confessed that it is derogatory for him to be called a bhaiyya because thats what one calls a man from Uttar Pradesh.I gave him my logic of brother who he did not accept but we did mend the bridge.

I am surprised how we have not made any progress in the last 40 years. As far as my knowledge goes Bal Thackeray had launched a Anti South Indian inhabitants movement in Mumbai, that by 1993 till date have changed gears and have become Anti Muslim. Raj formed MNS on the basis of idealogical differences but what transpires today is no better. The new target is North Indians and to say it in so many words....any non-Maharashtrian is becoming intolerant for them.
Over the last two decades the Sena have graduated for its fangs to reach beyond local Marathi-speaking population but the unchangeable element is the Sena's constant
search for an enemy and a commitment to the politics of violence as a means to an end. Riots,mass killings,damage of property, the Sena today has blood on its hand that is a clear evidence of it being the murderer.
Raj Thackeray carries on the legacy in a rather spooky,uncannily similar manner,keeping one about the family's audacity to propagate violence openly in the world's largest democracy. But many of you must be just smirking to say, but thats politics my dear,but at the same time its a free country too.

The Maharashtra 40 years ago is something I mean the place that I have not seen.But today Mumbai is supposedly the most cosmopolitan city where every individual who is the whos who of the city/country has commendable contribution to give the city the identity of being progressive in all directions.It has politically also changed the city's fate.The UP bhaiyya and the Bihari babu are not isolated. They mingle with the flow comprising of about 15%of the population and that cannot be just ignored as migrants.The average Maharashtrian today,is probably not as insecure as the political gimmicks would make them look like. Alls peaceful,people just want to do their own bit.
The issues of urbanization,soaring price of real estate or the economic growth of the city have darker and lighter shades that cannot have one single point of reference. It needs to be looked at like mature people who would want progress of a nation state.
If the Raj Thackerays of the world are genuinely interested for a good future of the city of Mumbai lets not waste time-inclusive of air-time,energy and create panic through these kind of high-profile agitations against chat pujas.Blaming Mumbai's problems on the economic migrant to me is just not taking responsibility, for not acknowledging that the serious crisis is the crisis of governance.

The drama that unfolded last evening of an arrest and then granting of bail...it was just a loss or resources and all mediums giving into the drama.
For sanity's sake,its the 21st century,we have good things to look forward to and fight a lot of evils,lets not create several Kashmirs all over the country where one is greeted as guest from another land.
Its my country and I bloody well have the right to be wherever I want to be, as long as I am civil.
Another day where democracy put me down, as if the communists looking for their ground by conceptualizing a Third Row was not enough to deal with, as if identity politics does not have too many dimensions,as if I do not have enough issues.