lines

Creating,
lines
where there are none.
Drawing,
boundaries
to simplify
what the mind
cannot comprehend.
Forms and shapes
from the confines
of the horizon,
paint
an illusion
of a mind
that fears
the boundless.
And the mindless
chains
dissuade
the mind of
a free fall.

In the heat of the afternoons
gone by thinking of you,
I take solace.
In that air
that at least brought your voice
to my ears, parched for caressing words
gone unheard
and the caring hand gone unseen
by the mind that knows not
what it means to give up
on love.

For love’s sake

Don’t sleep,
don’t wake.
Lie there somewhere in the middle
Don’t use the word ‘make love’
For love’s sake.

Don’t ruin
the fun
of not going all the way.
Don’t give it a name
What’s undone is done.

Don’t think
of us as lovers.
For love can get all fake
So make me yours for this night.
Be my friend for love’s sake.

Everything's not alright

Everything is alright
And everything that’s not will be
And you and I will live
in hope forever.
Yawn…go to hell eternity!

Bumpy roads, patchy lanes,
shooting dogs
And dying rats.
It’s all the same.
Another day of hope
Another day of attacks.
Born and gone in a whiff,
thrown in a shit hole at the door-step
Of a minister’s house.
Then where is it that you live hope?
In the government?
Or a poor boy’s grouse?

It takes ten to prove,
ten years to convict,
Ten days to escape.
Ten seconds for you and I
to kill but we die,
and justice is raped.

Everything’s not alright
Neither outside nor inside.
For we live by the same old thought
And fall prey to same old casteist plot,
smelling of the same old inaction,
mistrusting the power of dot.

Desperate

Desperate, foolish, distraught.
I lean on someone who leans on me.
I have seen you across that line before,
at the point where light sends back a reflection.

Utopia

From the space between two wishes of my mind comes the dire need to make ends meet.
The ends- one of the real and one from the realm of the extraordinary.
The space sucks me into my own desperate world of Utopia.

27

I fear not joining the 27s
There's this thing
about approaching the line
between a groupie
and a rock star.

I wish I was more
Of the tattered spirit
hanging on the tattered jeans
of Cobain,
eligible to join the 27 club.

If only I was wasted
on dope,
and rose high
on the thin white lines
running in the air.

If only I got low
on booze,
woke up every morning
to the sweet smell
of beer.

If only I got laid
more than I bargained for
and woke up every morning
to the breath of
new skin.

If only the spotlight
was so bright
that I'd be blinded
And the noise
of the crowds so shrill
I'd break.

If only I lived so fast
that I'd cover the ground
even before reaching
the finishing line.
If only there'd be so much
to live for
that I'd die grabbing it.

If only I'd be caught
napping on the border
If only I'd be caught
in the crossfire-
of darkness and light.

Then I'd be a Morisson
Or a Hendrix or a Joplin.
For
real rockers don't die early
They only cross the line.

On the road again

It's a crowded space.

Single out my mind.

Give me a few more seconds

to get myself out of the grind.

Get me some good old-fashioned cash

to load my cannons

and take off

to the dream I'm dying to live.

But the time's running out

and the road's long and winding.

And the destination I need

is the road I take.

For thats where I belong

- on the road;

waiting to be back home

on the road again.

music funda

There is always something to learn and a lot to live for. I met the legendary Pandit Jasraj today. It was a humbling experience really. He asked me not to interview him if I haven't listened to his latest album. He asked me come back later, whenever I am free but only after I have experienced the music. "Don't treat it just like an assignment. Experience it. Experience and knowledge will always make you richer," he said.

As journos sometimes you become so mechanical. You just keep doing stories after stories. I do try to enjoy the music and the musicians I interview. But it's great to have some soul in what I write.

Fire! Fire!

I had always thought of what would happen if I burn my hair! (it's all a part of my paranoia for my hair) The other day I did.
I had a candle in one hand and tried to take a call on my cell phone. My front hair was up in flames. I dropped the phone. Tried to put it off with my hand and then rushed to the basin to splash some water.
I was almost in tears. I thought my almost damaged hair will finally see its end. I kept pulling out burnt strands of hair for the next 5 mins. Thankfully not much damage was done! It's something else to live your fears. It's a small example of how by facing your fears you can overcome them.
Anyway...but the bottom line is that now I'm like dying for a haircut!

WE WANT FREEDOM!

Today I felt like I was back in school. Farhana got yummy food for lunch. My colleague Ravi got a guitar to office. He played the good old college anthem- Hotel California. To top it all our "Head Mistress" left early. It felt like we were back in junior college or something. Actually, it's like a jail on other days, with the jailor to watch over. So we put up a notice on the soft board. A sign of protest (yes it does remind me of the rebellious college days!) which read "Give us back our freedom". And we all signed it. It's a great day!

For him, whoever he is

I sip
from the romance
of the evening,
a far cry
from the moment where I found you.
I know I dug into your arms
feeling your heart beat.
And you held me close
making me your own.
It's then that the aroma
from your breath
seeped into me.
And that is when I looked up
searching for me
in your earl grey eyes.
I still sip.
I sip from you.

Where do you go?

Don't know when it all started. I have been craving for a trip to Europe. It's quite wierd for someone who's never set foot outside the country to claim to love travelling. You meet so many people who say they love travelling but when you ask them which places they have been to, they don't really have a list. Sadly, I'm one of them.

I day dream about various places across the country and the world. Read about them, imagine myself in those places and feel good thinking about all the good things I could experience when I travel there.

But the way I have been hung up on Europe is not funny. I have already half-travelled to several cities there. Through books, maps, online articles, couchsurfing.com, info on rail passes, flight tickets etc. I have even started to prepare a budget. When I look at my bank account, there's nothing there to fund this huge ambitious PROJECT EUROPE. But somehow I know I'll go- 'when where and how' are not relevant here.

Love handles

“Love handles are hot,” a friend told me. Why? “They cause pain when you squeeze them. There’s pleasure in that. So the whole idea is quite sexy as bitter sweet pain is sexy. And so love handles are hot.”

“You mean they are sexy when making sex…oops making love,” I tried to say.
She laughed.

I was like, “I don’t think men find love handles hot!” So she quickly replied, “No they do.”

A guy friend was quickly called on to testify. And he said. “Yes love handles do look hot on some women.” I was zonked. I thought to myself. “I have a chance with all my bulging fat!”

But when she gave him the pain theory even he was zonked and wondered why he even became a part of this strange conversation.

Layers

There were thin,
very thin,
layers,
beneath the skin.

Layers of hues
that were shut out
by a colourblind love.

Layers invisible
to the naked eye
that wants to see
only what it believes.

Srcape them,
one by one.
They are nothing but a veil.

I know with each layer
of your skin
more blood will ooze
from within me.

But now take off that veil
and let me see the face of truth.
For each uncovering layer
reveals the real you.

Hottest Olympians of all time

Here's something I put together...

Nadia Comaneci
Age: 47 years

The Soap opera ‘the young and the restless’ became associated with her after a TV program— ABC's Wide World Of Sports— used it as background music for montages of her routines. Composer, Barry De Vorzon, renamed it to ‘Nadia's Theme’ after her.

She wrote a book called ‘letters to a young gymnast’ and launched an album.

She launched her own music album in Bucharest.

Nadia Turner, singer and actress, and American Idol Season 4 Finalist was named after Nadia Comaneci.

Lance Armstrong
Age: 37 years

He dated singer-songwriter Sheryl Crow and the couple even got engaged before a sudden split.

He also later dated fashion designer Tory Burch, Ashley Olsen and most recently Kate Hudson.

Armstrong owns a house in Austin and a ranch in the Texas Hill Country. Neighbours of his ranch property claim that Armstrong polluted a local swimming hole when he was creating a dam on his ranch.

Since retirement, Armstrong has focused his efforts on the Lance Armstrong Foundation, which provides support for people affected by cancer, and on other interests

Sebastian Coe
Age: 52 years

Coe was featured in the Brass Eye (UK television show) spoof documentary on pedophilia unwittingly accusing American blue-eyed soul singers Hall & Oates of not only being the same person but also of being child abusers.
Post-divorce a handful of glamorous women have been seen on his arm.
He is a multimillionaire, a worldwide ambassador for Nike, owns a string of health clubs with a membership of 20,000 and is a member of the East India Club in London.
He has a very large collection of jazz records.

Steffi Graff
Age: 39 years

With her father dominating her personal life until the Graf tax scandal in 1995, Graf often declined social invitations and made few friends on tour.

Graff spent much of the 1990s in a relationship with race car driver Michael Bartels.

She eventually found that she had more in common with tennis superstar Andre Agassi, whom she married in 2001.

The couple have many homes, but prefer to spend much of their time in Las Vegas.

Mark Spitz
Age: 58 years

Spitz is a motivational speaker and travels to Japan, China, Hong Kong and most of Europe since he began in 1973. “My middle name is Mileage Plus,” he says.

His iconic moustache was his hottest feature and was seen as a sign of notoriety as most competitors opt to swim without facial hair, often shaving their bodies completely.

In 1991, he appeared for a sports event sans moustache. When quizzed about the absence on TV show he simply said, “it had become too grey.”

Chemist EH Bronner maintained that Spitz was a prophet. He is mentioned in Bronner's fifth MORAL ABC which appears on each bottle of Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap. Spitz sued Dr Bronner's over this reference.

Dara Torres
Age: 41

At 41, she’s the oldest woman to participate at the Olympics.

During her retirement from swimming she has worked as a reporter and announcer for television networks, NBC, ESPN, TNT, OLN and Fox News.

She also hosts a golf show called the Clubhouse on the Resort Sports Network.

She has been a model and in 1994 she was in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

JAYNE TORVILL & CHRISTOPHER DEAN
Age: 50 years & 51 years

Dean's first ice partner was Sandra Elson. They began skating together when he was 14 and competed as ice dancers for a few years. However, despite becoming British Junior Dance champions, the team parted, as Dean and Elson did not get along well.

Dean was in the police force till 1974, when he decided to quit his job completely to concentrate on ice-skating, and so did Torvill.

Even after retiring the pair continued acted as coaches, choreographers and performers in ITV's Dancing on Ice.

They returned for a second series and third series after the 2007 & 2008 UK series of Dancing on Ice Torvill and Dean took the show on the road for a British tour.

Summer Sanders
Age: 35 years

Summer married Mark Henderson in 2001 and then World Cup skier Erik Schlopy in 2005.

Summer admitted to having a teenage crush on Kirk Cameron.

Summer published the book Champions Are Raised, Not Born: How My Parents Made Me A Success in 1999, which is a tribute to her parents.

A mother of a girl now, Summer launched the Similac Moms Alliance, an online community for moms which gives tips regarding important mothering issues.

Anger

When I get angry I get so dramatic. Dramatic is an understatement. Probably, melodramatic suits better. Rather, scary is more befitting. So loud, unbearably ugly and stupidly weepy! I would cringe if I saw an angry me from a distance. Recently, I got so angry I yelled. I'm sure our neighbouring building shook. But my opponent was strong. He didn't budge. I hit my cheek, hit the wall and yelled at the top of my voice. And even then when my opponent didn't give in, I walked off slamming the door behind me. I lost. I was weeping. I wept for a long time. Then the anger subsided and my breathing got back to normal.

But the point is, no matter how I expressed my anger I lost. I wish I had just let things be. I get scared of myself when I'm angry. That's why I hate anger. What overtook next morning was a calm I hadn't felt in ages. I was numb. My hand was hurting so was my cheek. And I'm sure even that wall felt some amount of pain.

I now wish I'd rather have kept calm before. Blowing off the handle doesn't help except add drama. It's all so funny to me now. I can now see myself moving in slow motion. My hand rising slowly and then coming down on the wall. Once, and again. Tidhish tidhish...in slow motion...Indian television style. I would have garnered the highest TRPs.

Accept it dear, you could have handled things better.

I smell you

Yes, I love perfumes and deodorants. I’m not faffing. I bet you can come within one metre of my radius without cringing!

Another proof is my cupboard. You open the door and at any given point there will be at least 4-5 different deodorants in there (thats how much I can affored). I feel bad when I don’t have the money because that means that I can’t have a better variety of deos in there. My room mates think that I have become a fashionista just because I have a couple more deos than them! Ask me which brands I use, and all I’ll manage is my most famous blank expression. So immediately I don't qualify. But I still maintain I love variety as far perfumes go.

While I can’t get too close to people with body odour for obvious reasons, what intrigues me more is the millions of fragrances around us. While people who stink have different stinks! People with fragrances have different fragrances too. Very often when you pass by someone in office, you get a hint of fragrance from them. I often begin to guess the fragrance. She smells like peach, he smells like lemon, while this girl smells like berries!

I love axe ads. You use axe and women will cling on to you. You use the new chocolate fragrance and all the women will want a bite of you! That’s a great concept and innovative thought process. I do feel sexy when a man asks me what perfume I’m wearing even if he doesn’t immediately want to cling on to me or bite me. Imagine walking down the street and attracting people with your smell.

Someone had once told me that when you get attracted to someone or feel positive vibrations it also means that you have caught on to that persons smell. Like dogs I guess. I don’t know if that’s true but it sounds interesting. I wish I went out and men came looking for me. Do you think I attract too many men because I often mix my deos (two deos at the same time) or use different deos every other day? I’m not complaining. Heehee…

Happy?

Watch two ladies sleeping under a shed of a high rise building. Hiding from the rains. Trying to protect themselves from the cold breeze with an old piece of bedsheet. Selling water to make a living. When you come back in the evening. They smile. Greet you. Ask you how your day went. You say just about fine and enter the building. The women share a sweet joke behind you and break into a laugh. They seem happy. As I walk up the stairs I remember my day. There is too much pressure at work. I have to deliver. I can see my boss get impatient with me. I have a lot to prove. An extra story to file. Many ideas to generate. God, I wish I was paid better for all this shit I have to go through. Even as I enter my home I think of how much money the two women earn. How they manage to smile through so many problems. Their laughter still rings in my ears. Shouldn't I be happier?

Kung Fu Panda

I loved Kung Fu Panda. But I guess more than anything else I was relieved. Panda couldn't see his toes because his huge tummy obstructed his view. At least, I can see my toes! And if Panda can be so confident about his kung fu why can't I be so confident about myself? Remember Oogway said, "You need to believe!" because "there is no secret recipe!"

Time to go home?

A traveller had travelled miles away from home. He had taken the bus, the train and even a flight to get where he was. He had acquired some wealth on his way up to this country up north. He had grown a lot, seen a lot and was really happy about all his accomplishments. He had made lovely loyal friends in this new country. One evening as he sat in his balcony staring at the sunset, he remembered the promise he had made to his parents. "I will be back soon," he had said.

But he didn't feel like going back anymore. Though he loved the country of his birth and still had a few friends there, he was very comfortable where he was now. He didn't know whether it was the right time to leave all this behind and go back to his roots. Where are a traveller's roots really? When does a travaller know or feel that its time to go back? Does a traveller never return home? Or is it his each new experience that makes him feel more at home?

Is it time to go home?

R Balki (Cheeni Kum director) on spirituality...

I don't know what spirituality is, except that when I accumulate a lot of garbage in my head, I need to shed it and be at peace with myself. I retreat to a quiet corner and am alone with myself for half an hour. Today, any job is stressful. At times, despite doing our best, bad things happen to us. I could get stressed due to my work, my wife...though she also unwinds me! I could get stressed if someone bombs my ad campaign or when nice things aren't said about a movie i have made. I learn from all of it. How you cope with stress is what matters.

I have less tolerance than most people and therefore need to introspect more often. And that's when you realise that in the end, nothing matters. Being a movie buff, I destress myself faster when I watch films or cricket. In fact, it's important to unlearn things. I believe in a supreme power which guides our destiny and who is above our control. I remember I once met a friend of mine in Delhi and she told me that on a particular day, a particular thing would happen to me. And believe me, it did. That's when i experienced God.

I am not a ritualistic person and don't go to temples or wear amulets. I remember the last time I went to Tirupati was some four-five years back and I still remember it was the special vada there that drew me. I don't believe in rituals or praying endlessly for good things to happen.

I believe that if you do good, good things should happen to you and things will work out. The truth will always prevail. For example, I believe if i have been paid for a campaign, I should do the work to the best of my ability and if I haven't, I explain to my clients that this hasn't been up to my satisfaction. And they appreciate it. Truth is the biggest con job. The solutions to most things lie within yourself.

PS: I AGREE...

The Noir

Many of Bollywood’s recent releases - and forthcoming ones - are inspired by the “noir” or “black films” genre popular in Hollywood in 1940-50. Gargi Gupta talks to some of the young directors on what is driving such cinema.

Thriller” is a much-abused term in Bollywood — a blanket genre used to describe films as varying in texture, mood and quality as Bhoot and Bhool Bhullaiya. But there’s something about recent thrillers like Johnny Gaddar and Manorama Six Feet Under that’s different.
Gritty, fast-paced, morally ambivalent and with strong characters rather than stars driving the plot, these aren’t simply thrillers but local versions of “film noir” (literally black film), a genre of “stylish crime dramas… that emphasise moral ambiguity and sexual motivation” (Wikipedia definition) that refers to the Hollywood films of the 1940s-’50s like Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice.

And it isn’t just the critics who’re making the connection; most of the directors working in this genre are very consciously placing themselves within it. Director Navdeep Singh spoke to the media about Manorama being a “homage” to noir; and depicted protagonist Satyaveer watching Polanski’s classic Chinatown (incidentally, a film he was supposed to be “inspired” by). “I don’t think Johnny Gaddaar can be called a pure noir film,” says director Shriram Raghavan, adding, however, that, “It’s a term that helps us during the shoot. ‘Let’s do this scene in a noir fashion…’ Which means odd angles, contrast lighting, shadows, et cetera.”

You can see traces of the noir tone in many recent films — Ek Haseena Thi, Anthony Kaun Hai?, Being Cyrus, Ek Chalis Ki Last Local. In fact, Anurag Kashyap’s existential drama No Smoking too has traces of noir. It’s a trend that Hansal Mehta, whose Dil Pe Mat Le Yaar (2000) was an early sample of the genre in Bollywood, traces back to Sudhir Mishra’s 1996 film, Is Raat Ki Subah Nahin, and even further back to Vijay Anand.

“But if it’s film noir, it does not follow the conventions developed by the Americans or the French. The femme fatale figure, found in much of film noir, is absent; rather, our
Indian films explore the morality, political, social, economic, within our society and what happens when, out of greed or lust or any other motivation, the protagonist falls foul of it. In that sense, it’s a reflection of social reality rather than an aestheticised response.”

There are more coming up: Strangers, directed by debutant Anand L Rai, due for release next month, has two strangers meeting on a train and deciding to kill each other’s wives. Then, there’s Amir by another debutant director, Raj Kumar Gupta, which is the story of a young Muslim professional who flies into Mumbai and is caught up in an inexplicable plot, with only a cell phone, through which a faceless, nameless voice gives instructions, to help him through the maze.

Woodstock Villa, Hansal Mehta’s next, coming up for release early next year, is another of these neo noir films about the disappearance of a beautiful young women, the wife of a businessman, and what follows. Kashyap, who made Panch in 2003, on five angst-ridden urban youngsters who fall into crime (unreleased, since the censor made strident objections to it), says he’s working on another script called Bombay Velvet on the Bombay of the 1960s and “how it turned into a metro”.

Ashwini Malik, who won much acclaim with his 2002 film, Clever and Lonely, is working on Kill Chhabra, another of these dark thrillers with Onir and Sanjay Suri producing the film. And then, there’s Raghavan’s second in the Johnny series, of which all he’ll reveal now is the title, Johny Tokyo.

This is quite inexplicable since Manorama, JG or any of the other films that came before it did not exactly set the box office on fire. Far from it. Hiren Gada of Shemaroo Films, which produced Manorama, says that the film had a short two-week run at the multiplexes but he hopes to make up for it with the television and video rights. “It’s an intelligent film and it works on many levels.”

Mehta has an insight: “Today, a producer doesn’t really have to rely on the theatrical response to a film. He can make his money from all the other avenues for projection that new technologies are throwing up almost every day.

But the one important thing here, and this is something young filmmakers have to learn, is how to budget it right. I made Chhal (2002) on only Rs 1 crore. If you keep costs down, the producer has more of a chance to get back a part of the money, and then he will be more receptive to experimental ideas that you may have.”

Clearly, it is a reasoning that has found takers with many production companies— Spotboy, the UTV production house that concentrates on small-budget experimental films: Sanjay and Onir’s Fore Front Films, White Feather Films and many others. And note how they’re all putting their money on first-time directors. Clearly, it is the greenhorns today in the industry who’ve the right ideas.

Courtesy: www. nachgaana.com

Procession

It's a procession of clouds
led by the furious winds.
Carrying the blazing torch of the setting sun rays,
the march is orchestrated by the evening.
And watched on by a simple soul
from the stadium on the mountain edge,
waiting for this revolution
to lead into a silent night.

Interesting

Here's an excerpt from Ram Gopal Verma's blog

Question to Ram Gopal Varma: In one shot in Bhoot after the car leaves the basement the shot changes with the sound of a dolby click.

RGV's Answer: That was not a dolby click. It is the igniter sound which Urmila uses on the gas stove. Anyway as long as you felt the impact it does not matter. The psychology of that shot is that the audience would be used to the fact that the shot will be cut after the car left the frame. But the fact that it lingers on automatically puts them into a heightened tension thereby making them anticipate something terrible will happen and that’s why even an ordinary click sound will scare them. Similarly one more example of this is when Urmila comes down into the hall to go into the kitchen for a glass of water. In a wide-angle shot I show the audience that there is no one in the living room. If the camera follows behind her they will be half expecting something to jump on her from of the frame. But the fact they can see the whole room their eyes will be darting all over to see if anyone is hiding somewhere. Meanwhile Urmila takes her time to drink water and comes back. As she goes up the stairs I cut to top angle where the audience can see behind her.

Now as the audience can’t see anything in the back and from Urmila’s expression they can see that there is nothing in the front, they slowly relax as she comes close to the camera into out focus distance thereby expecting the shot to be cut. But as she crosses the camera we reveal Manjeet under the stairs making them jump out of the seat.

Strange

How does it feel to be haunted by the constant memory of something you really felt amazing when you were experiencing it?

Some people don't understand the importance of a circumstance. My state of mind. There's a bigger plan. It's all happening for a reason. I need to take my lessons and move on to teh next one. But why do I have to explain? I don't want to do what is right. I want to do what I want to do.

Reckless? Yes. Careless? Yes. Carefree. Yes? I am all these but so what? Could be dangerous, risky and even harmful. But why should I tread the safe path all the time?

Change

We yearn for it when we don't get it. And when we finally get it, we wish things were more settled. Life's full of contradictions. But isn't that what makes it more challenging?

I'm enjoying this though- not having time or the way I see it- not having the time to waste. I have never pre-planned so much. For the last one month, I have been extremely busy; work appointments, pending commitments, excerising, meeting friends, organising parties, spending time with family, extended family and family friends, going out of town and planning each weekend in advance and also getting the time to sit at the edge of the moutain looking at the clouds with chilled beer in my hand. I'm happy I don't have to think 'damn what do I do with so much free time'. At least for now I'm enjoying this.

Last days are always a little difficult though. You got to think you are moving on to better things and not about the people you are leaving behind. They will move on too. You got to take the whole picture in- let it sink in. My drawer, my PC, my display board, my calender, my chair etc. It happened the last time and it happened again. It's a sweet feeling. I know I will smile when I look back.

Yes, I am excited about tommorow but I'm more excited about today. For today is always a moment of transition. If you live in today, you will always be in transit. At least it's better than living in a frozen image or a farfetched fantasy. At least what I have now is real; something I can feel for real. And yet it's surreal. Everything. Everything that has ever happened to me seems surreal when I come to think of it. Probably because there were some things I always knew will happen to me, that I had seen in my mind even before they transformed into the real world. And when they did, they were almost like a dream. And then there were parts that were formed out of eventuality.

All I know is, I am uncomfortable around comfort. And restless around complacency. When unchallenged I can wither away.

Probably

She sat there cross-legged, dropping her head on his shoulder from time to time. Then gathering herself. She could smell him and she tried guessing what he smelled like. 'Wet wood? Mint? Berries?' she thought. Probably it was all in her mind.

He put his arm around her, trying to steady her. She was high. She felt his breath on her forehead. He was too close. She wanted to move away. If she didn't, she might regret it for the rest of her life. He sensed her hesitancy and moved back. He suddenly stood up and walked away. She could finally breath normally. Suddenly all the loud music was back in focus. The DJ was playing 'I just died in your arms tonight.' She mulled over the words, over what she was feeling. It had felt nice to have his arm around her. He had been there for her. But the thought of feeling him so close to her, hadn't occured to her before. They had their share of moments though. Like the night when he came over to her apartment for the party. He sat across the room and sent her an sms saying she was looking kind of cute. And when they cooked the Sunday lunch together, he had held her hand to pull the knife out of her hand. There had been an elongated pause. Also, she had held him close the last time they went dancing together.

Her chain of thoughts broke and she got up to look for him. He was standing in the lobby, talking to someone on the phone. She thought of pretending to call someone too but he turned. A tiny tear rolled down her cheek. He saw it and hugged her.

The hug was longer than it should have been. "I know you are still hurting. But I want to tell you, you are an amazing girl and deserve much better," he whispered in her ear. Someone entered the lobby and she pushed him away and said, "Thanks. Let's go." He took a step forward and kissed her. She gave in. She didn't know if that was the right thing to do, but she felt something she couldn't explain. Probably, it was just good for her ego. The next few times she went out with her friends it was difficult to resist him but she would try. Sometimes she gave in...perhaps whenever she needed to feel better about herself.

Technicolor

I guess life becomes easier if you look at it in black and white. Confusions reduce, emotions become more defined and we can make a judgement. Probably that's exactly what I can't do! that's why I end up getting confused, find myself not judging people or end up feeling mixed emotions. I would not say that this happens because I can see the grey areas. I think I can see various colours!

Life is made of so many colours and I feel like exploring them, understanding them and recognising them through people and relationships. What is life without an odd relationship? A wrong decision? An act to regret? A conversation on the tabooed subjects? These are things that add so much hue to our life and make it so colourful. There are more colours in this world, in our life and people than we probably have imagined.

There are some things that are wrong at the surface but there is a certain challenge and a certain amount of empathy involved when you try to understand what went beyond the very act that seems or probably just is wrong. It's an education in itself. I am not saying that one can justify their acts by saying 'hey I went through so much and so I decided to do the wrong thing'. I just feel that we should look at life with different colours and make it rich with experience. And I believe that with experience we do begin to discover more and more colours. Look at life the technicolor way! I love my Rangeela philosophy!

Zahir

Something that once touched or seen, can never be forgotten, and something that gradually so fills our thoughts that we are driven to madness.
What is that something in my life? There must be something or someone that stays with me, within me. Probably, I need to know that.
Zahir has several meanings. But what is my Zahir? Someone I'm looking for. Am I seraching because I feel it will complete me. But then, am I not complete in myself? But apart from that, there's so much I'm searching. What am I looking for? Must be something that I'm secretly working towards. Unknowingly. Something that's leading me into this specific journey. I want more every day. More of all that can make me happy. I'm asking from the universe becasue I deserve it. Love.

The blinds are down

In the dim yellow light
with a sunshine drink in your glass,
you search my face.
The blinds are down.
And a burning intensity
floats in this tiny place.

I spot the shadows on your forehead,
trying to find the missing piece in the puzzle.
But you just don’t give away.
You almost forget your words
in an air of awkwardness.
And you smile all the way.

You half-hear things,
half-say things.
And your eyes turn all shy.
I can sense you don’t want to leave.
But you do.
Almost forgetting to say good bye.

Aashayein

Just got a glimpse of Nagesh Kukunoor's Aashayein and it at once reminded me of Iqbal and its hit song Aashayein. Yes, this film is reminiscent of Iqbal but there is certain freshness about it. A certain sincerity and warmth. John's looking refreshingly cute and sincere. It could turn out to be his best performance to date. I agree he is not the best actor we have but he definitely has become the commercial face for the not-so-commercial directors and their off-beat themes.

Promo: http://youtube.com/watch?v=UCq9h4QC1wA

random thoughts

Come slow
come steady
come only when you think you're ready;
ready for love, ready to give,
ready to lose yourself to me.


It's more hurtful when the other person moves on, is happy and genuinely in love! Once you stop deluding yourself that the person still loves you, or that your love was the purest thing in the world or that life has been unfair, you'll get over it.
Love, pain and life always endure but there's always something more to experience. Something more to explore with the renewed enthusiasm and with that experience you have gained from your hurts and your past.


Complicated or simple? Eccentric or just curious? Steady or uncertain? Love or hate? I want to figure you out. Really, how difficult can it be?

Yes. I like the idea of endless possibilities. When something turns reality, something else becomes a possibility.

What’s the curiousity about the world? About things unseen and unknown? Does it come from knowing too much or thinking too much? From insatiable thirst for newer horizons? When I explore places, do I learn more about myself? And what do I want to learn about myself that I don’t already know? Guess, I need to travel.

Conversations

He: I'm drunk but may I fall in love with you?
She: Only if you are going to remember being in love with me when you are sober!

'Incident' by Norman MacCaig

I look across the table and think
(fiery with love)
Ask me, go on, ask me
to do something impossible,
something freakishly useless,
something unimaginable and inimitable

Like making a finger break into blossom
or walking for half an hour in twenty minutes
or remembering tomorrow.

I will you to ask it.
But all you say is
Will you give me a cigarette?
And I smile and,
returning to the marvelous world
of possibility
I give you one
with a hand that trembles
with a human trembling.

kashmir

I have always dreamt of you. And the dream was always so real that I almost believed I had extended my hand and held you in between my fingers, that I had sunk my feet in you and that I filled my eyes with your image. You who look like you have just been awakened by a morning sprinkle of virgin white, you soft crisp milky flakes. And with the sun deflecting from you and piercing the gusts of cold, I have no doubt why they call you paradise on earth.

shir chai
kawah
dum-aloo
chaman
Sheermal & Bakherkhani
shikharas
Doongas
Amira Kadal
Jhelum
Old brick buildings
pagoda-like mosques and shrines
Jama Masjid
Hazratbal
Khanqah of Shah Hamadan
rows of poplar trees
fir-covered hillsides
snow-covered mountains
Sindh valley
rice fields,
pine forests.
Here I come!

Current status

state of mind...energitic, positive and rearing to go
my body...is happy that i am giving it some respect. i just checked my weight and was horrified!
hooked to...Fifa '08
now reading...Khalid Hosseini's The Kite Runner
learning...to exercise self control
yearning to learn...the guitar (i'm still dying to lay my hands on one)
missing...going to totos
on a humming spree…with Rehab by Amy Winehouse
hate humming...O Jane Jaan by Aatif from Race (because I keep repeating the same lines)
latest favourite...movie- Lives Of the Others
high on...swimming
hung over...my conversation with Kajol yesterday
Hung over again...with the 10 movie DVDS i bought. Yay! And it includes Makhmalbaf's The Cyclist which I have been dying to watch. Yay!
I'm off...booze
favourite food right now...Veggie delite sub
enjoying drinking...orange juice & coffee sans sugar
accessory for the week...my cell phone for its new song list
thinking...how good I can make my life.
dreaming of...my trip to europe
waiting...for April 11 when I take off for the Himalayas
drooling...over the yummy chat I'm going to eat in Solapur at my favourite chatwala
excited about...my kashmir trip
waiting to meet...my cousins in Solapur (going to see them tomorow!)
tired of...the loud music our neighbouring chawl has been playing.
proud of...myself for maintaining strict health discipline for the past 5 days.
enlightenment quotient..."Ask and you shall recieve." "Knock and the door shall be opened."

The ride

I was taking in the cool waves flowing from the desert cooler on a hot summer afternoon. Aaji had retired into her room. Everyone else was taking a short nap. My mind though was wandering. There was a grey bicycle parked under the tin roof of the garage. I had been dying to ride it and I knew this was my chance. I hurried out, grabbing the key from the keyholder on the wall. I softly closed the door behind me. Even as I unlocked the cycle, there was one thought going on in my head. How will I shut this noisy main gate without making a sound? I had to try. I had to ride. I had just learned how to ride a bicycle and there was a whole new world waiting to be explored in this tiny town.
Every summer I was just cacooned in this place. I knew there was more to this town apart from Vidyanagar. Apart from the garden outside the house, the big ground located in the centre of the colony, maushai's house which was two blocks away, the sugarcane shop where we often went to cool ourselves in the killing heat and Baloo's shop. I never ever asked who Baloo really was? Or why his shop had no other name? But I had to ride beyond his shop now. And there were a lot more things I would love to find out, I thought. I somehow managed to keep the sound of the creeking gate down. Locked it behind me and before anyone could spot me sneeking out I rode out. The breeze was hot and I wished I hadn't got out in such heat. Nani always stopped us from playing outdoors in the afternoon. I used find it very annoying. If I didn't mind the heat, why did she? But now I wished I had listened to her. But soon the thought disappered from my head. I was riding the bike. The very same bike I had first learnt cycling on.
With all those thoughts in my head, I didn't even realise I was crossing Baloo's shop. I had ventured out of the familiar area now. I was free. The feeling was so good that I urged myself to paddle faster. Soon I approached the main road. I could see big vehicles driving down the road which was exactly at a right angle with the small road I was riding on. I was slightly apprehensive about whether I would be able to handle the traffic and the big highway. But somehow there was no fear. I was free after all- an explorer. Riding, feeling the breeze on my face. I took the highway and continued riding with zest. The sun was going down now and the breeze was stronger and cooler. I was smiling and going on and on. I don't remember how long I was riding, when suddenly it struck me that I had come too far. How will I get back home? I braked immediately. I took a right turn thinking that if I had taken a right turn earlier, taking another right could become a full circle and I could reach where I had started. But as I began riding, I became more and more scared as the place felt completly alien to me. Almost like a new town. And before I knew I had tears in my eyes. For the first time I had felt the fear of being lost. Something that was absent when I started my exploration. I had forgotten that explorers too need go back home at some point. The realisation has stayed with me. But that was exactly the point where I realised I knew the name of Nani's colony and I could easily ask around and find my way back. But my sense of direction was good and my instincts were taking me in the right direction. I realised that an explorer apart from a love from adventure, also needs to be careful and rely on his instincts. Before I could think further I was back in familiar territory. I was relieved to be back home. I thanked god a hundred times for being there with me when I needed him. I softly parked the bike in its place and entered the house.
But everything is transitory they say. I had been so glad when Nani had gifted me that very bicycle once I went in my seventh grade. Since the day I had set my eyes on it, I had this strange feeling that it belonged to me. It was the first bike I sat on and the one that taught me how it feels to be a rider. When I grew up a bit we had gone around the city promoting cycling too! But there was someone out there who needed it more than me- so much so that they could steal it from me. Last I had seen it leaning against the pillar in the parking of my building. A little rusted, a little less grey but still the same bike I first sat on.

Times

You wrap your hands around the steering wheel. Those thick short fingers with those bulging veins running down your sturdy hands. They take me to the black and white time. Your hands often shivered. As the light creeped in from the tall glass windows of your room, you picked up that audio cassette and shivered it into the music system. It's your favourite Yanni. I didn't know him then. But I always thought I knew you. You were so gentle, so shy and so scared of hurting me. The moments were so full yet empty. They are heavier to me now as I travel back from that black and white time. Young and restless were we. Now you drive and your hands don't shiver. Something's changed. But I talk and I listen. You remember so much. There was so much you didn't see and so much I didn't see. I know circumstances can blind us. The air is tender again but nowhere close to the time when you showed me your tiny pet turtle. You placed him on your palm and asked me to touch it. Today you send me a messages. Then there was just the old-fashioned phone but you picked it up too late. Saxophone was romance and you gave Kenny G to me. All actions run smoothly through my head but it's the conversations that are muted. Through all the years there were letters, rides in the rain, there was touch, music and play. But just tiny thin threads of muted conversations. As I caress your hands with my eyes, you ask me if you can hold my hand. I allow. I guess I am just making up for the broken conversations.

Me

At 15,
God: Always was and always has been, never can be created or destroyed, all that ever was, always will be, always moving into form, through form and out of form.

At 25,
Energy: Always was and always has been, never can be created or destroyed, all that ever was, always will be, always moving into form, through form and out of form.

I am an energy field just like this universe.

Lives of the Others

How much can a nation's political scenario affect anyone's personal life? if you think it hardly does, you need to catch this one.

and all one requires is one good man to be able to fight an interfering and almost dictatorial establishment. how much can creativity be curbed? How much can a painter or a writer or anyone else be stopped from making a political statement or doing his or her own thing? How much can an individual be stopped from voicing his opinion? If we don't stand up for what we believe in, on a public platform, our government can even monitor us in your own house! It's scary, but it drives you to think how important it is to do what you believe in. Who is the government to decide what you are supposed to believe in, stand for or talk about?

Most touching thing about Lives of the Others is the goodness of a disillusioned man. How far can you go to support what you think is right? Think. Thats what the film makes you do.

"It's for me."- is the last sentence. It deserves an applause.

One of the best films of our times, it is as relevant in our times as it was in the 1980s East Germany.

enigma

There is something about mystery. The knowledge that there is something out there undiscovered and unexplored, can lead you to unexpected places. The beauty of somethings is best when unexplained and unknown. Enigma is sensuous.

Each time she went to the station to bid him goodbye, she thought it could be the last time for a long long time to come. It could very well be the last time. But she hoped, against all odds that they would meet again, and that she would never have to say goodbye at the Railway station. She cried each time she saw him waving out to her from the window. This time too, there were tears in her eyes. She sent him a message but he didn't reply. Did he feel the way she did? Everything ended. And her worst fears came true. She knew, this time was the strongest she felt. She would never have to see him off again, because he would never come to meet her again. In that moment of pain she thought- he never did feel for me the way I did. And wiped a tear flowing down her cheek. There is no love anymore.

Am I two?

Do I know something more than I consciously know? Is there a doppelganger of sorts, from whose mistakes I learn? Are my decisions mine or are they formulated by someone else—a possible destiny or higher power? There is more than what meets the eye. Am I two?

The Double Life of Veronica or La double vie de Véronique is intriguing. It’s supernatural and mysterious. Music and cinematography, in fact, are the two strongest characters of the film apart from the two Veronicas.

It’s strange.

Your words caress the threads of my imagination in a way that almost everything that has touched it before seems to have dissolved into that one caress.
And it’s so overwhelming that you make me breathless.

Smooth as my breath.

Winter's meeting summer

Winter’s meeting summer now.
Cold winds cross the blazing sun.
An impending storm or an approaching calm?
You come like the coming of an unknown season.
Is this what they call fantasy?
Or is this the real love I’ve been waiting for?

Why is it so difficult?

I asked myself last night why it was so difficult to move on in life.

Why was it difficult to kill a moment...a date...a time...a letter....a photograph...a conversation...a video...a feeling...the touch...the pain...the joy...Yes, it is difficult to kill a memory.

Yes, it is difficult to kill something you gave birth to, nurtured for years, gave so much of yourself to- including a huge chunk of your thoughts, feelings and emotions and something that had become a part of you.

It is difficult to kill something inside you.

It is difficult but it has to be done because if you don't kill it, it will kill you- slowly but surely.

Girls of Riyadh

Sometimes ancient traditional values are hidden so deep under the liberal exterior of some men that it's scary. They like to be with so-called modern women, they like to behave like men who believe in man-woman equality but when it comes to the real situation where they need to put into execution the so-called liberal outlook, the truth- the real underlying conservative attitudes come to the fore. I can talk from experience and it scares me to no end.

Well, this and several thoughts started juggling around in my head after I began reading Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea. It is the first book I have come across which deals with the personal lives of women in a conservative middle-east country like Saudi Arabia. But the issues that are spoken about are, I guess, only the exagerated versions of what we see in our own country.

After smoking, drinking and sleeping with his girl friend a guy dumps her because he thinks his parents wouldn't be able to deal with a girl as liberal as her. So what were you doing all along....contemplating how to break the news? Didn't you know this for all the years that you were with her, that she was a 21st century girl with modern values? Shouldn't you have peeped into your conservative roots before hurting the girl? A liberal girl too has a heart, you know?

Well, that is my story. But in Girls of Riyadh this man gets legally married to the girl, and the formal wedding ceremony is a few months away. While he wants to go all out into the physical relationship, each time the girl stops him and tells him to draw the line. Since their wedding date gets postponed, the girl decides to placate him by not stopping him this time around. He goes all the way, then. And after that just stops calling her up. And after three weeks sends a divorce notice without a single dailogue with the girl he had sex with. Wasn't it he who wanted to have sex. How can he judge her on this? It's crazy!

I had recently heard of the story of this guy who was the hypocrite of the first order. He was seeing this girl for a long time. But when asked when he was planning to get married to her, he replied that he wouldn't want to get married to a girl as easy as his girl friend was! This guy lives in one of the most liberal city in India- Mumbai, he is educated and stays in suburb like Bandra. Who will be able to figure out or believe that someone like him could be such a hypocrite?

Someone please tell me how to recognise a conservative hypocrite man who disguises as the modern, educated and liberal man of the 21st century! It is one of the most intruiging issues of today's youth.

A little death

Come take over.
Come make me die.
Bring death upon life.

From every broken heart,
every aching soul,
every failed relationship,
and every lost friend,
comes death, and with it
A little life.

From each destruction
rises a new formation.

So go
deep, deep, deeper.
Reach the deepest spot.
A place from where
I can rise.

Yes, make me come,
make me glow.
For each part of me
I give to you.
Come take me away from myself.
For an orgasm is death—
a zenith.
An exalted state of communion
where we leave ourselves behind.
And die a small death.

So die,
Rise, regenerate, be born.
What’s life without a little death?

Simply put

We all have seen loads of mushy love stories in Hindi films as well as in Hollywood. So what could possibly make yet another light hearted simple romantic film work some magic with the audience? Some of the most-loved movies in the world are films with simple themes and universal expressions. The strongest point of Jab We Met is the simplicity and emotions.

Imtiaz is an intelligent director who knows that, what connects with today's audience are emotions they can identify with. So he keeps it as real as possible. Yes, he puts in bhangra numbers and stretches the second half a little, but what he manages to do is, is to make people fall in love with the film by the time the story approaches it's weak moments. He keeps his characters real in extra-ordinary circumstances and does not go for a dramatic climax. The same elements he used in the not so successful but sweet love story Socha Na Tha.

The strongest point of the film though is the lead pair. Kareena and Shahid look like a dream when they are in the same frame. Their chemistry is amazing- a mix of hot and sweet- and their characters are very strongly etched.

Kareena delivers one of the most memorable performances of her career. She may have big films like the K3Gs and Asoka's to her name, but it is the character of Geet that people will remember her for, in the years to come. At first you think that she's too loud but in a minute or two you begin liking her. She could have easily ended up hamming but her maturity shows as she stops short of it. With dialogues like 'teri maa ki' and 'bachpanse hi mujhe shaadi karne ka bada shauk hai by God', she keeps you in splits. The best thing that Imtiaz did with her is to have her use minimum make-up.

The surprise element of the film though is Shahid Kapoor. There is a whiff of some talent here. A restrained and mature performance keeps you glued even as Kareena takes away all the acolades for her tagda portrayal of a carefree, optimistic Sikh girl.

Imtiaz has done a great job in bringing out the best in these two actors. He has also brought on screen the chemistry that has been missing in their earlier films together. Hopefully we'll get to see them together again. Shahid and Kareena play two believable characters, and do a good job at it. Music is feel good and the use of lesser known actors for other characters actually works in favour of the film.

It's romantic yet not mushy. The story is regular but the exectution is innovative. It's dramatic but not filmi. The situations are extra-ordinary yet believable. Go watch it and feel good about yourself, life, love and everything.

Enough fire in NO SMOKING

It's amazing that except Sarita Tanwar from Mid Day and Indu Mirani from DNA to an extent, none of the critics could criticise the film for what it is. I don't think I should review it then. But I want to share my experiences and impressions as a member of the audience.

Why can't a regular movie goer enjoy Dawid Dhawan's Partner in the same breath as the radical No Smoking? Like my friend said, probably because the audience is not ready to open themselves up to different techniques of cinema. Yes, I understand a large mumber of the audience did not understand the film because they are so used to straight narratives, concrete endings and all answers been given on a platter. But what about the so-called critics?

Have they learnt film appreciation, literary criticism, or even watched and studied World Cinema? I agree that everyone has their own views, but when personal bias, a close minded attitude and arrogance of being a critic creep into your review, I'm sorry that's the end of you as a critic. You CANNOT let your personal bias come in, when you are writing a review. You got to review the film for what it is, not what your opinion about a particular film maker is. Playing politics through your review is sly!

Anyway, I think Anurag has said enough about the reviews on Passionforcinema.com for me to go on and on abou it. Now the film- it is one experience each one of us should go through. The story is open to interpretation because Anurag has refrained from explaining the events. He leaves you to draw your own conclusions. When was the last time a film maker gave that kind of freedom to the member of the audience. Whether it's John waking up in Siberia, or coming out of the tub- what is reality and what is fantasy? The line is blur. Was it a dream? What could have the part about Ayesha Takia going missing mean? Was Paresh Rawal a doc or a con man? Who is on who's side? Think! That's what the film makes you do. It's challening, and you feel mentally stimulated as you witness the going ons.

The influences from graphic novels and the Chaplin-style flashback could have looked gimmicky, but Anurag carries them off with so much style that they end up impressing you. It's great to come out of a movie hall thinking about the movie you just watched. Yes, you come back with more questions than answers but it is one movie that will stay with you for a long long time to come.

Isn't it a fantastic experience to delve into the realms of the subconscious? To cross the boundaries between realism and fantasy? Who said that's not entertaining? Yes, the film is not perfect. But which one is? I know that being a completely out of the box film, it is subject to more harsh criticism than others. Who has been accepted instantly for being different? Anyone who is different is considered abnormal in this society.

The point is that I'm not praising the film only because it is different, but because it is a great attempt at introducing the public to a different way of making a film, telling them that there are different ways a story can be told and that any creative work is what the perceptions and individual impressions it draws from its audience.

It definitely could be a path-breaking film, an example of new age cinema. Something that, years down the line, people might realise was a superior film- a movie well ahead of its time. Though the film has been panned by the critics and has got mixed reactions from the public, I hope that film finds its audience and gets its due in the days to come. Because you can love it or hate it but you cannot ignore it.

Yes, Anurag has critised others work, but in all fairness he has spoken freely of his opinion. He has praised Rang De Basanti as openly as he has criticised Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag. The man is arrogant but you cannot dismiss his movies- because he is a genius- someone who thinks and makes others thinks. He is self-indulgent in places, and probably tries to prove a point or two about mainstream cinema but I hope he knows that he will have to change the system only by being a part of it.

Also, two people who deserve praise for being a part of this brave movie are producer Vishal Bharadwaj who is a classic director and lyricist filmself. And leading man John Abraham who has added to the film not only with his star value and hotness but also a memorable portrayal of a arrogant man who loses his soul.

In all, a valiant effort brilliantly executed.

A little fish called Riya

I made a new friend at the swimming sessions at the club yesterday- only that she called me aunty! Well, Riya is the youngest friend I've made. The first thing is wanted to do once we became friends was race. I knew I would loose since the 11-year-old had been swimming at the club for the last three years while I have just begun swimming after probably 3 years or more.
Anyway, I'm a sport. So I agreed to race. We had two races and obviously I lost both.

After that I asked her to be my coach and teach me how to do free style. She was a smart girl and a smart coach. She gave me some important lessons in swimming.

Here are some tips she gave:

• Don't cough or sneeze under water. It can be dangerous.
• When you swim sideways, you can breathe and then go down again while doing free style.
• If you learn free style, you can easily learn butterfly stroke.
• Do breathing exercises under water. It helps improve your stamina.
• Leave your body to the water. Just relax and swim, you'll feel better.
• That it wasn't important to win a race as tiny as the one at Wellingdon. It was more important to swim well and enjoy it!

Within half an hour I had got a hang of the stroke. I complimented her saying she was a great coach. But when she saw me do quite well for a starter she said, "I don't think I'm that good a coach. I think you are a fast learner."

Now look at that. Kids these days are really smart. They can put us adults to shame!

And apart from these tips. She told me her whole kahaani. About her school, her house, who has the best memory in her house and that her memory sucks, that she is Jain, an accident she had when she was really young, how she became fat when she was young, how she fell sick when she fell into the water at 2, what her mum scolds her for etc etc. One talkative little girl.

Anyway I'm looking forward to bumping into her at the pool this evening. I hope we do more swimming and less talking now.

Another cute thing she said- "I think I'm a fish. When I'm in the pool I can't spend too much time outside water!"

Some structure's back

I don't remember the last time I had to wake up so early every day. I think not after school. I used always bunk my morning lectures at college because I didn't want to wake up early. Now, for the first time in my working experience I have to keep to reporting timings! I have to reach office at sharp 9.30 every day.
Frankly it isn't as tough as I thought it would be. After 3-4 days I started reaching on time. So my life has become more structured. I get the evening to do fruits and vegetable shopping, go swimming and watching movies. I am eating healthier since there are no places really to order in food around here. Also I can't take too many food breaks when I'm in office anyway. I'm also partying lesser since I have to wake up at 7.30 next morning. I don't know how long its going to last but I'm enjoying it while it lasts!
And then I get two days off on the weekend which is a blessing. I had never imagined that I'll have a five-day week though always hoped for it. I can go to Pune more often now and my parents are thrilled about it. After trying for years to pursuade me to go down to Pune more often, they have succeeded. Surprisingly, I'm not complaining too much. I'm enjoying the fact that I'm getting to spend more time with myself and with my family.
So we are people who don't really like an organised routine life. But somehow, now that my life has become more organised, I feel this is what I needed. I didn't want it but I needed it. It has come as a blessing in disguise.

News for the day: There surely is a surprise element in Jodhaa Akbar. Like cricket was a part of hidden plot in Lagaan, expect something else this time from director Ashutosh Gowarikar. Whether its as exciting as Lagaan's cricket factor was, is for all of us to find out. Let's wait and watch!

Moving on to B-Town

I haven't written anything for a long time now. I mean nothing apart from my stories at work. Life has completely changed since the day I quit DNA. And after a 12-day long break in Pune I feel like DNA was ages ago.
So now I eat, sleep and drink movies. Didn't I do that before? It's anybody's guess.
I'm learning the ropes of writing Bollywood gossip, juicy hot stories, celeb interviews and some other filmi kahaniyan. It reminds me of my Filmfare reading days (I still have loads of them stacked away in the cupboard my tiny old desk). Yes, Sowmya rightfully teases me saying that 'mere bachpan ka sapna poora ho gaya'. I don't remember if I ever dreamt of writing about movies and movie stars, but I do remember that I loved reading about them. (Yes, I was attracted by the glimmer and often dreamt of meeting the movie stars. And even contemplated becoming a journalist so that I could meet my favourite actors. Well, as you grow up, you get over it) Just like the rest in my family. They all love the movies. They couldn't be gladder that I'm interacting with film stars. Yes, you could say the kurkure dailogue here- "kya family hai!"
But I guess most families in India love the movies. Despite the fact that I have to write about movies day-in and day-out, I would admit that it's the reading about films and watching a film that excites me more than writing. But since reading and watching inspires me so much, I manage to write decently and enjoy that process as well.
Most of my friends though are really happy that I have changed gears since now they can bank on me to give them some new gossip every day. I get a low down on a lot of what is happening in tinsel town though from my mom. She always adds one or two things to my already vast knowledge of the who's doing what in the industry. After all she's now a film journalist's mother!
Anyway, I hope to now add a filmi touch to my blog. No..no...don't decide to stop reading my blog (not that too many ppl read it anyway!) . I will only add a filmi touch. Will obviously continue to write about whatever comes to my mind.

So news for the day: Aamir has written the last post on his blog last week. He will shut the blog for lack of time and bandwidth. Bad news for Aamir Khan lovers!

Food War

I really can't get into the skin of non-vegetarian and experience the agonies of watching a wonderful apartment slip out of my hand because of my food preference (I'm veg!). But this has become so common in Mumbai that people have simply shut out their options or found their way around it. I spoke to some who for the love of the flat, faked to be vegetarians!

Notes from the diary of an under-cover non-vegetarian (living in a vegetarian society):

July 9
8.00 pm: I get separation pangs. It’s been 10 days and I haven’t cooked non-vegetarian food. I stay in Goregaon west but the fear of being caught red-handed makes me drive all the way to Goregaon east to pick up some good old sea-food.

9.00 pm: I want to eat prawns but I can’t. Prawns stink and the whole neighbourhood will know I’m non-vegetarian. So I settle for some crabs. They are a safer proposition.

9.15 pm: I also pick up a packet of incense sticks.

9.45pm: I put the crabs in a black bag. Put the black bag inside another bag and put that bag into another one. I enter my society, a little nervous, like I was committing some crime. But I tried to smile at my neighbours as I passed them. I said to one of them, “Just went vegetable shopping”, even when they hadn’t asked me a thing.

July 10
9.00 am: Before I begin to cook, I open my main door and light the bunch of incense sticks outside the door. My neighbours feel proud that I energise my house with these agarbattis. Obviously, I do it to mislead the folks who pass through the staircase.

10.30am: Phew! I’m done with the cooking but damn, I forgot to keep my big windows open. The smell can’t stay in the house! But it’s not too late to mend the damage. I quickly open the windows.

10.45 am: I’m just laying the table when the door bell rings. But I don’t need to panic. I have trained my maid not to open the door without first checking out through the key-hole. That key-hole is my saviour. She does just that and not to worry, it’s just a courier boy. I collect the package and begin to enjoy my meal.

11.15 am: Ok, there’s some left-over food. I can’t possibly throw that into the dustbin. The CIA agents in my society will smell it and catch hold of me. So I ask my maid to send the food across to my secret non-vegetarian friend in the society.

11.30 am: My super-intelligent maid takes the plate of food covered only with a thin tissue paper. In five minutes I get a call from my friend who yells at me. “We both would have been thrown out of the society if that piece of tissue paper had flown on its way to my home.” I swear never to send the food like that again. I take a spare tiffin from the cabinet and make it my new secret non-vegetarian tiffin.

12pm: A fish-seller passes from outside my gate. I’m almost about to yell to him asking him to deliver some fresh fish. Just then I realise, for him to walk into our society gates would be like crossing the Pakistan border.

July 11
7am: I hear some voices arguing from the ground floor. My next door neighbour had checked the bin and he found some egg shells. They were from the omlette I made last night. The garbage boy knew which house he had got that from but pretended he didn’t. Phew, I survived again.

8pm: We meet in the society hall for a senior citizens birthday. Women start talking about how people should not kill somebody for their food. I object saying it’s a personal choice. The women disagree and stick to their point. I secretly smile to myself. “Ladies, I have been fooling you for the past 10 years!”

Here's what the food politics has done to the people of the city, and made them think if the cosmopiltan Mumbai is just a myth?

Sudha Deshpande, Goregaon
Sudha Deshpande has to sneak in meat through her society gates each time she craves for some non-vegetarian food. She has been living the life of an under-cover non-vegetarian for the past 10 years. “I loved the society and the locality was good. The broker was a vegetarian himself and he refused to sell the flat to me because I was non-vegetarian. So I had to lie and get the apartment directly from the builder,” says Deshpande.

Deshpande is not the only one. Several non-vegetarians have gone through hell finding a flat in certain vegetarian dominated pockets and societies with unwritten rules on vegetarianism even when they had cash in their pockets. Food preference is one of the first things a broker will ask you and will not show you flats that fall into the strictly vegetarian category. “There are owners who have strict instructions not to get any vegetarian clients so I cut off non-vegetarian clients at my level,” says a broker who refuses to be named.

Amar Khamkar, Lalbaug
In 2003, Amar Khamkar, who lived in Parel put up a fight against a housing society which refused to sell a flat to him because he was a non-vegetarian Maharashtrian. “I had the money. I had been living in that area for donkey’s years. They would just lie to me saying the bookings were full or would quote a price three times higher than the original one, making it impossible for me to buy the flat,” he says.

Aditya Pandya, Kandivali
Aditya Pandya, who writes on real estate says that a personal experience while trying to sell his flat in a Kandivali society made him realise how divided the city is over food preference. “Jains and Gujaratis are a majority in the area in Yoginagar where I had my flat. There was a Jain temple attached to the building. When we decided to sell the flat we were sure that we would get a good premium because of the presence of the temple. But there was a non-vegetarian family living on the ground floor, and no one would buy the flat. Non-vegetarians refused to buy it since the majority living there were vegetarians and vegetarians wouldn’t buy it because there was a non-vegetarian living in the building.”

Pandya further explains that several clusters of buildings in Kandivali and many other areas of the city become vegetarian dominated over some time and then a boundary gets drawn automatically. “You cannot define that a particular area or suburb is a vegetarian zone but the number of these vegetarian clusters has definitely increased.”

Marwari Ekta Parishad defends
Food in the city can easily become a political issue, as illustrated by the growing phenomenon of organisations, societies and pockets of the city where vegetarians try to prevent meat from being eaten or sold. Recently the Marwari Ekta Parishad had protested against meat being sold at the new retail chain of the Aditya Birla group. “A Marwari family can’t support slaughter. Should commercial interests get ahead of our culture and tradition,” says Narendrabhai Parmar of Marwari Ekta Parishad.

There have been several instances in the past where majority vegetarian communities have turned food chains and outlets in their area of interest vegetarian. The entire stretch of Marine Drive caters only to herbivores now. Dominoes, Pizza Hut and many other small time restaurants too had to go veggie. Some shut down as they could not run a vegetarian place.

Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City
The question is whether the vegetarianism has taken over public spaces from being a private choice of food? Paromita Vora’s film Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City explores just that. It talks about the politics of food, and divisions over class, caste and food, and whether cosmopolitan Mumbai is a myth. “These unsaid differences based on food always existed. But the trouble begins when people begin to control public space. It also turns into land politics,” says Vora. “Like-minded people can definitely come together to build their own society based on their preferences, but by doing this they are being intolerant upon others. You need to be tolerant if you are living in a city like Mumbai. You can’t go around telling people how to run a business or how to mould public spaces.”

Box

The quaint little dark wooden box had been lying in her closet for years. It had begun to smell like the bark of an old tree preparing for a dry winter, still damp from the spell of the first rains. But Shivani often took it out, wiped it with a clean cloth and placed it amidst her pile of clothes. After her mother’s death, Shivani had sorted out all her belongings. She gave away everything except for her wedding sari, and the little box.

Her mom spoke fondly about how her father, a small time mechanic back then, had gifted this sari from his first salary. And when they eloped and got married, she had nothing else to wear but this brown sari with golden zari work. It was a small Brahmin wedding, conducted in a temple on the outskirts of Pune. They began their wedded life in a friend’s house and her father did odd mechanical jobs to keep the kitchen fires burning.

Her mother often spoke about how the sari was a symbol of the courage that her father’s love had given her. Her father had soon managed to build his own garage. And after Shivani was born, they shifted into a small one-bedroom apartment. Money came but in small spurts. When Shivani had to go to school, her father sold his Bajaj scooter to provide for her fees. But by the time Shivani was 6 years old, he had managed to own a car show room, and slowly but surely the show rooms multiplied in number, making life easier.

Shivani thought of the days when she watched her mother count the money her father gave her. But her most vivid memory of her mother was of her hiding away the wooden box in one of the cabinets atop the ledge, above the cupboard in her bedroom. Shivani often wondered what her mother put in that box. She wondered if the box contains the money that she often counted. But Shivani never got to see what was in it. Somehow her mom always managed to put her things in it when Shivani was away or sleeping. She kept it locked and Shivani could never find the key. Even after her mother’s death, Shivani searched every possible place in the house but the key wasn’t there.

She did not want to break it open. She thought that it would not to be fair to break open this beautiful box of secrets. Then she decided not to open it at all. She was scared that she would find something very disturbing in it. She also thought that her mother never wanted anyone to see what’s in it, so it would not be the right thing to do. She knew that her father never got to see what’s in it either. He died when Shivani was 16. His was a silent death much like her mother’s. Both of them died in their sleep. Her father was asleep when his car crashed into a truck on the Pune-Nasik Highway. And her mother, at the age 37, never woke up after a lovely dinner with Shivani at home.

She smiled whenever she thought about the fact that her parents didn’t have to suffer to death. Now, 24-years-old, Shivani lived alone, worked with a corporate house as a public relations officer.

Tonight, she stared at the beautiful patterns on the box. There were curved lines around the edge and flowers at the centre. There was a golden line running around the end of the lid. It was rectangular in shape and had a tiny little brass lock hanging from it. She suddenly began to feel the urge to burst it open. “I want to know what secrets it holds within,” she thought to herself. Shivani was disturbed. Siddharth had refused to go against his parents. He didn’t have the courage to fight for their relationship. She hadn’t slept the whole night and ended up not going to work in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was dry. The five-year-old fairy tale was over. She felt like she had come crashing down to the ground after she tried to fly with broken wings. Today she needed to open this box. She felt that all her questions will be answered once this box is opened.

She brought a knife from the kitchen, and prepared to go for it. Then stopped again, took a deep breath and slowly began to dig into the lock. She struggled for five minutes before the lock split open. “Will I find my answers in this box? Does this box contain a secret that I need to know at this point in life?” she thought in the fleeting second before she slowly raised the lid.

And her eyes gleamed in the low light of her bedroom as she glared at what was inside this little wooden box. Her tensed look was replaced by a grin as a mirror shone back at her from inside. And she saw herself more clearly than ever before.

Sometimes the darkest secrets are the simple truths of life.

Age of Innocence

"What are Mp3 players?" she asks. "Don't mind but I'm pretty ignorant about all this things. I want it to gift it to my mother."

I wasn't surprised that she didn't know. She was over 50 years of age and her mother over 80.
I explained how Mp3 players work. Then came questions about how you can put music on the player, on Mp3 speakers, difference between Ipods and Mp3 players etc etc. Then more followed- computers, WorldSpace and so on. I answered them all.

The development in technology leaves the seniors more helpless than you can ever imagine. Instead of making their life easy, it becomes difficult. It is easier for them to operate their old landline phones, cassette players and refrigerators but makes it difficult to even switch on and switch off CD players, microwave ovens, ipods, laptops and things which have become so common in today's homes. I'm sure they feel like they are reborn into a different time suddenly, or have been transported into a new space. Kids operate gadgets more easily than most. They are born into a gadgetty environment unlike the seniors in today's time.

Anyway, the point is that there is a strange innocence that some people possess. They are not afraid to ask questions. They don't care or even give a thought to the fact that people might make fun of them. These people usually find out about life's realities the hard away, yet that does not discourage them. Derineh, my office colleague fits the description. She is growing old, but her experience hasn't made her cynical. She still has dreams, wants to learn things and asks innocent questions. You feel good about life when you see people like her. You feel everything is not lost and that the age of innocence can never pass.

A memory is born

Sand slips.
The hourglass stands.

Granules fall—bit by bit,
passing through the alleys
of my mind.

I stare with unblinking eyes
at the ray of sunshine
sketching vertical lines on the wall.

Moving images turn into
a single sepia still.
A memory is born.

Of winds and fog

They were alive yesterday.
Gone now, but haven’t left.
Invisible in their presence,
perhaps clouded by fog,
making figures
you once identified.

Of ghosts at war
Or self image,
Rising to kiss the earth.
In tear-shaped remnants of love.

Or is that cloud
The dead thing
We had alive between us?

Or are they fluffy pillows
My head had rested on?
Now, gliding away
In the vague winds.

And the wind still blows
And its caress haunts.
The tide is yet to turn.
The fog is yet to lift.
The mist is yet to dry.
The cloud is yet to pass.
There is a lot of rain left inside.

Searching

Why is there always a fear that if you stop for a while, the world will race ahead of you? If you are not fit enough, you'll not be required. If you are not talented enough, you will not be accepted. If you are not enterprising enough, you won't be popular. If you are not quick
enough, you will lag behind.In this rat race, it has become difficult to do things as and when you want to- on your own terms. If you are down, you got to be able to take your own time to stand upright again and begin to walk. But the mind is restless. It does not want to drag itself on the floor because the of the stiff....unfit body.

There begins a constant battle between the mind and the body then. The body needs time and the mind doesn't want to give it any. The body doesn't know when it will be able to walk back again, hand-in-hand with the mind and the mind is too restless to live in this kind of uncertainty.Then the mind loosing it's patience becomes cold. Cold to it's surroundings. Disillusioned. It begins to look for resons to move on...to live on and the only reason could be life itslef.I have begun to look for motivation to be back in good form. I want to keep my positivity alive. Things will always be fine and situations will always get better. And you live on through moments of dispair, pain and hurt only because you believe that life will be better and with time the pain will subside.

I can see the clouds hovering around the skyline. Peeping from behind the skyscrappers. Bringing hope of a new life. Evoking a sense of refreshment, renewal and rejuvination. Passing on the messege that a new phase of life is about to begin. The hope of rains. Rains that will wash me clean, and make me new again.Rains, whenever they come, evoke nostalgia. I think of the happy times, of my loved ones and of love, of the romantic moments, and fun things. They always take me back in time and remind me that life is beautiful. I fell happy- plain, simple state of joy.

Pain will soon be replaced by joy. It's the hope we live on.

Pain

Pain...slow poison.
Pain...a slow medicine.
Pain...slow destruction.
Pain...a slow lesson.

Pain...you make me so numb that I can't feel myself anymore.

Raindrops

Thick black smoke
from tear-filled clouds.
Warm breath on water.
Vapours spring from the tea-cup
And raindrops jump on the saucer.

The smiling moon

“Who took Mamma away?” Reena asked her father. It was the hundredth time she had asked the question. “When Mama was a baby she often saw the crescent moon from her crèche. Her crèche was kept right in front of the window. At night time the moon appeared outside the window and made mamma smile,” said her father.

Reena smiled as she tossed in her bed. It was 10pm and she was sleepy but she wouldn’t sleep without listening to the whole story. “Whenever the moon would get full and disappear mamma wouldn’t sleep. She would keep waiting for the moon to smile. Her parents would then take her out of the crèche and put her to sleep.”

“And then what happened Pappa?” asked Reena. She knew the whole story by heart but she had got used to asking this question exactly at this point of the story. “Then mamma grew up. But she never forgot the smiling moon. Each time she saw the crescent moon she smiled. She wanted to sit on the smile and ride the sky. It had been her childhood dream,” continued her father.

“And then one day the moon came by the window and asked mamma. ‘You want to sit on my back? I’ll take you into the sky’,” said Reena excitedly. “Yes, and mamma couldn't believe her eyes. She touched the moon repeatedly to make sure it was real. The moon said, ‘Come ride me’ and mamma went into the sky with the moon,” said her father.

“And now there she stays on the moon. And I smile everytime I see her on the crescent moon. Am I right dad?”

“Right!” said her father. “Now go off to sleep. You have to go to school tomorrow.”

“Good night papa,” said Reena and covered her face with her favourite quilt. Her father looked at her adoringly and smiled. “Good night dear,” he said and left the room. Reena often heard the story at bed time. She had been hearing the story since she was two, and she continued asking her dad to narrate the story till she was 12.

Now, Reena was a teenager. She still believed that her mamma lived on the moon. She would smile each time she saw the crescent moon because she knew that her mamma was happy wherever she was.