The alarming irregularity that I‘ve displayed in filling this blog space is probably succinct to prove that I’m lapsing into languor…. but that’s not the case. My computer breaks down regularly and my drowning in work…and all my experiences that I long to record only explode in my heart and fail to find their way to this blog…
Im starving..i haven’t managed to catch up on any of the movies that have been released lately..Black Friday, Music and lyrics, blood diamond, eklavya, honeymoon travels…none….
Fortunately after having scoured Radhi’s cupboard…I got my hands on ‘Chokher Bali’…was dying to see the movie…. The story is set in Bengal of the early 20th century against the backdrop of the freedom struggle.I have always been fascinated by Calcutta.I've never been there.I’ve longed to see the Calcutta that I have seen in period films…and this movie depicts Bengal replete with the barge and ghats of Varanasi…Even the use of the opera glass and the courtyards was visually appealing in creating a sense of the time…the idea of leisure…
Though im not sure as to how true to the book the movie is…I was sure after watching the movie that only Tagore’s novel could achieve this…a period setting making a universal statement.The movie effectively portrays the dissonance brewing within the family and the society at large. There was a reshuffling of the human society beckoning a new social order…and binodini (Aishwary rai) stands for this resistance to claustrophobic practices…and the enforced bland celibate state on women. She is the spirited, singular woman, a widow who chafes against constraints and is struggling to free herself from the oppression of widowhood.She is articulate…defined and constrained by her identity of a widow…shes sensuous…but this sensuality is repressed…and this repression breeds a destructive edge…Ash is generally believed to be a plastic femme who merely lets a few tears roll down her pretty face to give a semblance of emotion..but i think is brilliant in chokher bali and raincoat...
Tagore apparently regrets the end of his novel..but i somehow feel it depicts a dignity and a trimph of the human spirit...Binodini struggles to be on her own throughout...but somewhere shes desperately seeking a man to hang on to...and i believe that towards the end she rids herself of this dependence...though its melancholic its dignified....
Anyway...
in my house one of the must haves is a huge space for screening films...
wish i cud make a movie...the kind of movie thats the expression of the explosion in ur heart....
that taps into who you are...
hmm im a dreamer....
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
Rain
She wondered why when she grew up she never let the rain seep through her existence. She remembered herself as a child…. just a whiff of the rain and she would delightfully rush out …and hesitantly put her hand out of the window. She loved the shiver of the wet drops.
She remembered her early teens, which saw her perched by the window…all complete with her pen and diary just to capture the dreams that the rains stirred in her. There was nothing as sensuous as the first raindrops. The beauty of the experience lied in the anticipation that the rain awakened. She waited… She waited for someone who could discover the vast continent within her…who could unclose her…. The hurt inside she could not justify. She just shied away from human affection…but she waited for someone to come along who would grow that loving space within her. She believed that love was like the rains that opened up purple jacarandas along the highway…. She knew when it rained…. love would feel like this…Love would be like the moist earth that weaved chiffon of dew after the rain.
But many passions burnt and died. The raindrops started burning her skin …Gradually the rain stopped being beautiful to her. It didn’t comfort her any more…something went dead in her. She stopped tracing patterns in the evening clouds. A surprise shower was uncomfortable for her.
He did come along then…he soothed the past creases in her soul with just his glance and his smile. He spread like the sky. She gazed up in his blueness…. the clouds wept her tears and she was drenched by the rain. She was seeking warmth in his passion. She reconnected with the rains. Earlier she was a passive observer. Now she learnt to dance in the rains. With him she was like the roots of a tree buried in the cold heart of the earth…with familiar soil enclosing her and the wet caress of the rain.
He vanished like the dust of a storm…. she wondered if it was a mirage that disappeared. The monsoons had ceased. She waited….
It is strange that all memories have one quality…they are completely calm .It was the alarm of their silence that forced her to lay hold of her sleeve and close her eyes and let the tears flow. This stillness is the reason why the memories don’t awaken desire so much as a vast sorrow. Once she had such desires but they are past and they belong to another world…that is gone from her now. They are powerful remembrances that come from within her and also mysterious unattainable reflections that haunt her. If these scenes were given back to her she wondered if she would be able to regain the old intimacy with them. She could pass these scenes like a traveler…
But he had really traveled far into her …had crossed boundaries that enclosed her.
She waited …smelt the scent of the rain in the air…she looked back..he wasn’t there. But it did rain again.
There was no way he could leave her now…he would be here in the rain, in the thinking, in the longing, in the suffering, merging in the million drops which would know no bodies., only this mystic mutuality.
She didn’t need his presence to let the rains fill her senses.
She remembered her early teens, which saw her perched by the window…all complete with her pen and diary just to capture the dreams that the rains stirred in her. There was nothing as sensuous as the first raindrops. The beauty of the experience lied in the anticipation that the rain awakened. She waited… She waited for someone who could discover the vast continent within her…who could unclose her…. The hurt inside she could not justify. She just shied away from human affection…but she waited for someone to come along who would grow that loving space within her. She believed that love was like the rains that opened up purple jacarandas along the highway…. She knew when it rained…. love would feel like this…Love would be like the moist earth that weaved chiffon of dew after the rain.
But many passions burnt and died. The raindrops started burning her skin …Gradually the rain stopped being beautiful to her. It didn’t comfort her any more…something went dead in her. She stopped tracing patterns in the evening clouds. A surprise shower was uncomfortable for her.
He did come along then…he soothed the past creases in her soul with just his glance and his smile. He spread like the sky. She gazed up in his blueness…. the clouds wept her tears and she was drenched by the rain. She was seeking warmth in his passion. She reconnected with the rains. Earlier she was a passive observer. Now she learnt to dance in the rains. With him she was like the roots of a tree buried in the cold heart of the earth…with familiar soil enclosing her and the wet caress of the rain.
He vanished like the dust of a storm…. she wondered if it was a mirage that disappeared. The monsoons had ceased. She waited….
It is strange that all memories have one quality…they are completely calm .It was the alarm of their silence that forced her to lay hold of her sleeve and close her eyes and let the tears flow. This stillness is the reason why the memories don’t awaken desire so much as a vast sorrow. Once she had such desires but they are past and they belong to another world…that is gone from her now. They are powerful remembrances that come from within her and also mysterious unattainable reflections that haunt her. If these scenes were given back to her she wondered if she would be able to regain the old intimacy with them. She could pass these scenes like a traveler…
But he had really traveled far into her …had crossed boundaries that enclosed her.
She waited …smelt the scent of the rain in the air…she looked back..he wasn’t there. But it did rain again.
There was no way he could leave her now…he would be here in the rain, in the thinking, in the longing, in the suffering, merging in the million drops which would know no bodies., only this mystic mutuality.
She didn’t need his presence to let the rains fill her senses.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Perhaps...
Juvenile poem ..i wrote in my juvenile years..when i was madly in love...hehe!!!
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the feeling i get when the soft corners of
your mouth turn into a beautiful smile.
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the twinkle in his eyes that drags me into a
Whole new world of wonders
I don’t know....
Perhaps its the time I hate the moonlight b’coz its
Beautiful and he’s not with me to see it.
I don’t know what love is
But I know that u are the best thing that has ever
Happened to me.
I don’t know what love is….
Perhaps it’s the time that I feel that want to memorize every feature of your face, the color of your eyes, the feel of my name on your lip but I laugh away the thought cos try as I may, I can never forget you ….
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the feeling i get when the soft corners of
your mouth turn into a beautiful smile.
I don’t know what love is.
Perhaps its the twinkle in his eyes that drags me into a
Whole new world of wonders
I don’t know....
Perhaps its the time I hate the moonlight b’coz its
Beautiful and he’s not with me to see it.
I don’t know what love is
But I know that u are the best thing that has ever
Happened to me.
I don’t know what love is….
Perhaps it’s the time that I feel that want to memorize every feature of your face, the color of your eyes, the feel of my name on your lip but I laugh away the thought cos try as I may, I can never forget you ….
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Timsy Ki shaadi
My readers better have missed me...mere yaar ki shaadi thi...there was jus no time for anything.Finally something we were ranting and raving for the past one year happened..Timsy got married....everytime i looked at Rahul and Timsy it was overwhelming.It seems like it was only yesterday when she was telling us how she likes this boy called Rahul.Our loud..high energy high drama high voltage friend was trying to act coy. She couldnt retain that mask for long though....when our quintessential ghati music began playing...she was the same timsuuu...our ghati dance partner...actually nobody does it better than her.Honestly nobody does a quite a few things better than her.She probably must have been one of the few brides who danced more than anybody else at her own wedding...
Timsy is one girl i know who has lived out her fairytale...there she was in her pink outfit.She had planned on wearing that outfit since she was a kid....shes still a kid.When she does the pardesi pardesi train song , sticks out her pan stained tongue, or screams in the background saying 'give my clothes back ' when our guy friends are talking to their girlfriends on the phone....its alomst feels like her wedding was an unlawful child marriage... actually if it was not for Timsy we would never have discovered the child within us....
Its almost like one phase of our lives is over....this building was like our safe haven...its like a landmine littered with memories....you step on one square and there would be an explosion of a myriad memories....
Rahul is the prototype of those Princes on white horses (as much as i know that its a chauvinist idea ..we all do thrive on candyfloss notions....without expecting every one of them to materiliase)...hes like those attentive calm guys who dont lose it when u lose it..who actually allow you to lose it without talking you out of it....and he perpetually has that look on his face when Timsy does mad things where hes almost saying to her...I STILL LOVE YOU...or rather..thats all i love about you....Couldnt have invoked a brighter star to shine for her...
They say ...we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.Those were really the best days of our lives....We are like those tiny kids standing at the crossing askin each other to hold onto to each other tight while crossing....cos its a big wild world out there and we have to stick together to stick it out....i feel a part of our human chain is missing now.Gradually none of us will be within yelling distance . I feel content knowing though that those were the best days of our lives..and i am what i am..cos my gang was a part of 'growing up' years.Growing up is almost synonymous to mari TIMSY RADHI ane Balkha.
LOOOVE U GUYS....
Timsy is one girl i know who has lived out her fairytale...there she was in her pink outfit.She had planned on wearing that outfit since she was a kid....shes still a kid.When she does the pardesi pardesi train song , sticks out her pan stained tongue, or screams in the background saying 'give my clothes back ' when our guy friends are talking to their girlfriends on the phone....its alomst feels like her wedding was an unlawful child marriage... actually if it was not for Timsy we would never have discovered the child within us....
Its almost like one phase of our lives is over....this building was like our safe haven...its like a landmine littered with memories....you step on one square and there would be an explosion of a myriad memories....
Rahul is the prototype of those Princes on white horses (as much as i know that its a chauvinist idea ..we all do thrive on candyfloss notions....without expecting every one of them to materiliase)...hes like those attentive calm guys who dont lose it when u lose it..who actually allow you to lose it without talking you out of it....and he perpetually has that look on his face when Timsy does mad things where hes almost saying to her...I STILL LOVE YOU...or rather..thats all i love about you....Couldnt have invoked a brighter star to shine for her...
They say ...we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.Those were really the best days of our lives....We are like those tiny kids standing at the crossing askin each other to hold onto to each other tight while crossing....cos its a big wild world out there and we have to stick together to stick it out....i feel a part of our human chain is missing now.Gradually none of us will be within yelling distance . I feel content knowing though that those were the best days of our lives..and i am what i am..cos my gang was a part of 'growing up' years.Growing up is almost synonymous to mari TIMSY RADHI ane Balkha.
LOOOVE U GUYS....
Friends vs Real friends
Friends help you move. Real friends help you move mountains.
Friends laugh with you and have fun with you, real friends help you clean up after the party.
When you cry friends hand u a tissue paper, you can drench a real friend’s shirt with tears.
Friends are out of sight out of mind, real friends drop you post cards from their holiday locales Friends want to talk talk talk, real friends listen patiently when u blabber endlessly.
Friends report the latest malicious gossip about you, real friends zap the crap out of gossip mongers.
Friends are now and then here and there, real friends are forever.
Friends laugh with you and have fun with you, real friends help you clean up after the party.
When you cry friends hand u a tissue paper, you can drench a real friend’s shirt with tears.
Friends are out of sight out of mind, real friends drop you post cards from their holiday locales Friends want to talk talk talk, real friends listen patiently when u blabber endlessly.
Friends report the latest malicious gossip about you, real friends zap the crap out of gossip mongers.
Friends are now and then here and there, real friends are forever.
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