First homecomings

The summer of 2001 is a period in my life I will never forget. Having woven together tediously elaborate fantasies of life overseas, I had, after a rather lucky sequence of events, finally managed to spend my first year abroad. It had been a weird experience for me after I had landed in Bangalore after a 20 hour journey all the way from South America. My parents, red with pride and affection, my close buddies (and the then girlfriend of one of them) and a relative – all of them had descended at the good old HAL airport to greet my blessed self back into the house. A giant bouquet was presented to me as my brother excitedly offered to pull my luggage trolley for me. I remember feeling so weird shaking hands with my friends in such a formal manner after so many years of friendship but it just seemed like the right thing to do somehow! They stretched out their hand with a grin; I accepted it with a smile and shook it. It was all so surreal. The scent of the trees, the hint of rain in the breeze, the din of the morning traffic and the cacophony of voices and faces. Ah – it was as if I had landed in a place I had left eons ago.

The weeks that followed had been equally interesting. After a couple of days of pampering, everyone had gotten busy with their lives. My friends went back to their planets of girlfriends and bosses. My brother went back to his world of books and boredom. My mother went back to her kitchen and maid-related issues while dad – well, he just returned to his newspaper. All that was left was me – walking around the garden and looking at life hazily puff by on the street. A random banana wallah here, a carefree newspaper wallah there. It seemed like life had returned to normalcy after the slight disruption of a couple of days. I – as I then painfully realized – had been that disruption. A momentary distraction. A passerby with a bag of tricks. Now that the brief period of curiosity was done with, they could move on.

It has been almost a decade since that summer. Over time, I have learnt several things the easy way and most things the hard way. One among those various tracks of experiences is the fact that when one chooses to be an NRI, one chooses to be an eternal guest in his/her home thereafter. All connections that are generic – of friendship, of love, of affection and such – remain intact but the vein that connects a person to the daily grind of things, inadvertently, is lost. My folks had gotten used to living without me so if anything my opinion on the daily transactions would always be seen as an invalid one. And it was true too! I didn’t live there, so I didn’t know it. Simple. Every whine, crib and complaint I’d have would be seen with ridicule since it was obvious that this ‘ordeal’ of mine was temporary. Hence, I had no right to talk about the bad roads unless I was going to do travel on it each day of the year. My take on the water supply issue was ignored since I now lived in a country with round the clock drinking water. My frustration on the infinitely grueling power cuts was irrelevant since I had to put up with it only for a few weeks unlike before. It was almost like a woman forbidding a man from having a take about child birth. No uterus, no opinion.

As the years flew by each one of my homecomings thereafter were transformed into Herculean life lessons. With time (and a lot of reminders) I stopped trying to compare the West and my home and began accepting her as she was – full of issues but brazenly original. It was after such realizations that I wanted to erase all memories of my first homecoming when I had made such a fool of myself by trying to connect dots that didn’t exist. Complex lessons learnt in such simple journeys.

I was reminded of this first homecoming since my wife is now set to embark on hers in a couple of weeks. Armed with a million ambitions and an infinite supply of genuine goals, she excitedly awaits her return to her roots – her beloved Mumbai. She just cannot wait to re-indulge into 'khidki vada paos' and 'poli bhaaji'. She eagerly looks forward to her local trains and evenings with friends in Dombivali. She is constantly reminded about the priceless joy she is bound to experience when she spends invaluable time with her two year old niece. Yes – she just cannot wait to re-discover herself back in her nest.

All I plan to do now is sit back and watch her go through the experiences that came to me a decade ago. This time, fortunately, I hope she is less surprised given my feedback about the same. But nevertheless, I am excited for her since I know it will be a journey she will never forget. A hundred more journeys back home might happen but it’s the first one that always stays.

First homecomings – an experience we never forget but ironically, become spots we’d most like to move on from sometimes.

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Harischandrachi Factory : The manufacturing of a legend

'Harischandrachi Factory' (HF) is my second Marathi movie (the first one being 'Shwaas' – another beautiful feature) thanks to my now freshly seeded Maratha associations. And, considering what I have witnessed thus far, I must say Marathi cinema makes some very refreshing and sensitively relevant movies. By sensitive I do not mean overly sentimental or high on drama – no. We get enough of that from Bollywood, thank you! I mean in the sense that there are certain humane subtleties that very few film makers can successfully capture on celluloid. Those infinite number of imperfections that are almost impossible to record in the confines of raging mediocrity that are only possible when features like HF come by. For this, I am eternally grateful to Mr. Paresh Mokashi – the director of HF, his debut feature.

Now, about HF. The story tracks the trials and tribulations of Dadasaheb Phalke as he prepared to make the first Indian movie in 1913 – 'Raja Harischandra'. What makes this movie unique is how humor is consistently used to portray a journey which I am certain was, in reality, strewn with a million challenges. Everything from prostitutes refusing to be on camera, to men reluctant to shave their mustaches since their fathers were still alive, brings a unique essence of authenticity to the times we lived in. There are men (dressed as women) working for Phalke who are unsure what to tell people about their dubious sounding profession of making 'moving photographs'. We even have mentions of how Phalke's previously owned photography business went bankrupt when rumors spread that the camera 'steals a person's soul' and was a machine made to perform black magic. As hilarious as all this might seem today, there is no denying that Dadasaheb must have undergone so much more in this Herculean dream of achieving the impossible specially at a time when theater and drama were the only forms of entertainment.

What makes HF a must see movie is not just the fact that it underlines India's first major milestone in the business of movie making, but also the subtle and lighthearted approach it takes to such an immensely important event in our history. A feat, I am sure, would have suffered with a 'Schindler's List'-like formula of movie making had it been given to film makers who do not believe that a serious story can be told in a joyful tone. For this singular achievement, I salute Mr. Mokashi.

Performances belong to everyone. Even though I did not know any of the actors, their conviction in what they were trying to convey went beyond the need for a familiar face. The film maker's vision is crystal clear, as he focuses entirely on those pivotal years when Phalke, realizing his purpose in life, embarks on such a risky, albeit exciting, venture with full fledged support from his wife Saraswati Bai and two young sons. It is in this essential vein of eternal optimism, that HF scores high points in my book. In a day and age where we see movie success constantly attached to vulgar language, deliberate sexual innuendos and violence of the extreme nature, HF exemplifies the word 'quality' just by following one mantra – keep it simple.

My verdict : Do yourself a favor and go watch HF. If not for anything else, then at least to acknowledge the efforts of the father of Indian cinema – Dadasaheb (Dhundiraj) Govind Phalke. A legendary name now only synonymous with debatable award recipients like Amrita Rao for mediocre performances to justify their achievement. Unfortunate.

Rating : 5/5

An unabridged emotion

It finally happened. After what seemed like a nervous wait for the unknown eventuality, it finally did. Actually it began quite fervently yesterday but took on the gorgeous form of a relentless wave last night as it showered generous flakes of soft feather-weight white snow all over Copenhagen. What made it particularly special for me was that it was Jaya's first real chance at indulging in some serious snow fights. As she threatened to swing a big fist full at me last night, we stood in our cargo shorts clicking warm photographs under a cold blanket and became children for a few brief moments.

I couldn't help but relate to her unabridged enthusiasm at the whole affair. I remember being absolutely ecstatic back in 1992, when I had first encountered snow at the foothills of Kedarnath in North India. As a lad in the prime of his teenage years, I recall being absolutely fascinated with the cold and hard chunks of natural ice that seemed to give me so much joy just by being themselves. I then met snow again in the Xmas of 2000, during my first visit to the United States. I remember being equally fascinated by it even the second time but I also remember being subtle about the whole thing in the presence of my American-born cousins. Had it just been me I'd have probably danced in euphoria once again.

As I watched Jaya show me the photographs she had taken of the heavy snowfall around the city, I could feel that familiar pulsating emotion that only folks like us can experience. And by that I mean – people who never grew up around snow. Even though I traveled the country growing up, I never lived in a place where it snowed. Heck, I used to think it would snow everywhere except in India until I realized that snowfall had nothing to do with countries and had more to do with where they were located. That fact was rather unsettling since all geographical aspects aside, I felt suddenly alienated from this wonderful experience. As I'd watch New Year celebrations on the television from New York or Moscow or somewhere else in the foreign lands where snow was a regular feature during this time of the year, I'd always wonder what it was about snow that made us – well, so child-like. We would be tempted to go out there, even in sub zero temperatures, to make snowmen or have intense snowball fights. We'd want to jump, crash, hop and even slide down the terrain as long as we knew that the cool and comforting mattress of pure white snow was there to help us along the way. Maybe it was in that innocent sense of natural care, that my imagination, of snow always being associated with something so joyous and entertaining, found wings. I cant say for sure.

All these thoughts returned to me as I watched Jaya call her family up and share her wonderful first experience with the big bold white. I am sure she will see many such snowfalls in the months, and even years, to come. But I am also certain that no matter how many winters and snowflakes embrace her from this point forward, she will never forget this day when she got up and the entire city's stony silence had been transformed into a giant canvas of pure excitement. Ah...how wondrous would it be if it would snow everywhere in the world at the same time so that all of us – earth citizens – could, for one brief fleeing moment, forget about hating or loving each other and just … just enjoy this unabridged emotion.

Oh well. If what I hear about global warming is true, then this hope of mine could definitely be a reality. Perhaps with tragic consequences...but definitely an undeniable reality. Until then, I am happy that Jaya now has something that is certainly so unique.

A much needed perspective!

There is possibly nothing more realistic than an Indian wedding. Even so because of the vast abundance of perspectives it helps us get. Given the numerous self styled nuances our nation’s male dominant chutzpah has successfully help create over the centuries, it is little wonder then that what I now know is a serious reality check. Every time I would pass by elaborate labyrinths of colorful flower banners outside glittering kalyana mantap’s in Bangalore, I would wonder what the to-be weds might be going through. Considering the amount of rituals involved even in the most minimalistic Hindu fare, there is definitely little room for the ‘fun factor’ as the priest takes the couple through a journey of verses and exercises. As much as I am fascinated by the variety in these activities, I cannot help but reflect on what the travel has been thus far. In a rather interesting turn of events, me and my family found ourselves (despite the much hyped ‘we are from the groom side’ rhetoric) having to take care of everything a bride’s family ideally would. This, of course, was because my fiancée’s family had kindly agreed to have the wedding in Bangalore instead of Mumbai, where she is from. If I knew then what I know now, I want to think that I would have flown into India better prepared. For starters, catering is a million dollar jackpot. Getting the right caterer who understands and acknowledges your traditions is a serious challenge. After our family caterer had quoted an impossible seeming number for our moderate sized marriage’s food requirements, we had to scramble for alternatives. In that phase, I got an up close introduction to the challenges the girl’s family has to face with making such decisions. Everything from ensuring the work is done well and pleases each grinning face who shows up for the event becomes an automatic priority. Everyone from the DVD wallah who is charming you with his ‘high tech’ versions of yourself set amid graphic valleys to the flower decoration wallah who assures you he will recreate paradise at your doorstep, needs your kind ear. Phew! And all this with a budget line in mind! One thing is certain – after this 10 day long experience, I definitely have new found respect for every Indian girl and her family members. The amount of work that goes into making an Indian wedding tick is definitely no joke. And to think that the boy’s side actually has the cheek to demand dowry on top of this! No wonder such fellows need a strong kick in their derrieres. And for this much needed perspective, I cannot thank my in laws enough!

'Firaaq'ing away from coherence

The name Nandita Das immediately brings to mind a dusky beauty with the subtleties of performance and a gentle reminder of the late Smita Patil-like straight forwardness. After her moving portrayal as the new bride caught between an arrogant husband and a caring sister-in-law in Deepa Mehta’s controversial movie ‘Fire’, she has made a variety of interesting choices in her performances. Some of them include well known features like ‘Aks’ with Bachchan Sr. and ‘Rockford’ by Kukunoor. But apart from a few such recognizable titles, Nandita’s choices seem to have been based more on heart than brain. Sure, she always had the choice to ascend the mantle of the much revered Bollywood but she didn’t do that. Instead she relied on her instinct and did what she felt was right for her inner self. An attribute I truly find worth a commendation. Commercial success of a movie doesn’t always mean that it has genuine quality. That said, having seen a few other works of this young woman I can safely say her choices were never influenced by anything more than a script which appealed to her. If not for anything else, it was her understanding of the sensitivity of human emotion that I found most noteworthy.

With this backdrop in mind I watched ‘Firaaq’, her directorial debut. One of the hottest topics that new and experienced film makers have chosen is the Gujarat riots of 2002. Be it Govind Nihalani with ‘Dev’ or Rahul Dholakia with ‘Parzania’. Almost everyone who has ever wanted to make a statement that was humane to the core has chosen that dreadful event as the theme. This is nothing new as communal riots and inter-faith rivalry has been the bread and butter of Bollywood and art house productions alike for almost half a decade. But what makes each attempt stand out is the coherence with which the strands of the story are held together. One has to understand this concept deeply before attempting to stitch together a piece that genuinely makes you feel…well, human. To see what I mean you can see ‘Garam Hawa’ by MS Sathyu any day. This is where ‘Firaaq’ becomes quite abrupt. At a running time of about 100 minutes, ‘Firaaq’ somehow seems like an incomplete fair.

So let us dig in. We have Paresh Rawal, a wife-hitting Gujarati goon with an extremely submissive spouse, Deepti Naval. The horrors of the atrocities meted out against people, especially the Muslims, is a nightmare that continues to haunt Deepti every wake moment. This extends to such lengths that she has to singe herself with oil just to make the hallucinations of riot victims knocking on her door go away. Then we have another couple, Sanjay Suri and Tisca Chopra, who are moving to New Delhi to start a new life after Sanjay’s business was looted in the riots. The fact that Sanjay is a Muslim is a hot potato topic that he is not able to come terms with. Then we have Muneera (Shahana Goswami), a Muslim woman who returns with her husband and child to find that her entire house has been reduced to ashes by the mob. With the aid of her Hindu friend she starts picking up the pieces of her life albeit at the constant risk of brandishing around as a Hindu. Then we have an orphaned kid Mouseen who is told to tell people his name is ‘Mohan’ since being a Hindu apparently is the only way to stay alive. Finally we have an archetype musician Naseeruddin Shah with a realist housekeeper Raghuveer Yadav. Shah lives in his own world of nostalgic stereotypes and is absolutely clueless about what is happening in the world around him. It takes a few minutes of television watching for him to see the depth of hatred that has seeped into the society he seems so proud to be part of.

With such diverse themes running parallel to each other, there was a need for more clarity between the characters about what all this means to them. This is exactly where ‘Firaaq’ runs into incoherent zones. On the one hand Nandita tries very hard to convey the intensity of human emotions by making a bunch of victimized Muslim men plot an absurdly unsuccessful plot to kill a fellow Hindu. On the other hand we have these multiple stories that seem to go nowhere. Yes, we do get it that these people have been affected by the riots one way or the other but then what does it mean for their present and future? Will they ever be able to get redemption for what they did and had to go through? Is there some appropriate closure that can be given to their stories? Should there not be a way to bring about some meaning to the extremely sensitive threads that were strung up to evoke real human emotion? Why start developing a relationship between a character and the audience when a 10 second frame will capture what we should only guess is the ‘closure’? All valid questions but with incomplete answers.

Somehow I have always felt that cinema’s attraction towards human tragedy is quite insatiable. Film makers often choose these themes since the abstraction of portraying something like this seems to come easily. In that mould of abstraction, somewhere the theme starts separating itself from coherence. Ironically, ‘Firaaq’ which means separation, falls into that trap of ending up as another half baked attempt by an unprepared amateur. The slow moving shots and the long pauses without appropriate background scores (which might have been an attempt to capture ‘real human drama’) don’t make it any easier. Performances are quite consistent given that there is no ‘Bollywood’ face involved except for maybe Paresh Rawal and Naseeruddin Shah. Everyone else is a seasoned player in such features and so contributes his/her part quite effectively. The fact that some of the characters mostly speak English, while is real enough, seemed a tad pretentious given the overdose of verbose vocabulary they were fuelled with. I am not entirely sure what demographic audience Nandita had in mind but it seemed to lose points on all scores anyway. Also, the quickly vanishing and hard to read English subtitles when the characters speak very fast Gujrati don’t help the audience either. This is a clear indication that this was a movie made about the masses but for the classes.

I sincerely hope that Nandita’s second venture is much more deeply researched and a lot clearer with its vision and execution than this movie. ‘Firaaq’ ends up being a bizarre concoction of unfinished ideologies and abrupt strands.



..ShaKri..

The Stoneman Murders : A review

First things first – I rarely miss anything that has Kay Kay Menon in it since he is such an accomplished performer. Be it the obsessed brother in ‘Sarkar’ or the relentless cop in ‘Black Friday’ or the revolutionary hippie rebel in ‘Hazaron kwaayishen aisi’, the man sinks his naturally gifted teeth into each of his characters with a chameleon-like finesse. An attribute which is by itself worth an appreciative nod. Hence, when I heard of this rather low-publicized venture called ‘The Stoneman Murders’ I told myself the only reason I would ever be inclined to watch a movie with Arbaaz Khan in it (!) would be if something else – no, let me rephrase it – something a lot else was in it too. In this case, as it turned out, Kay Kay was that much needed boost of ample amplification.

‘The Stoneman Murders’ follows a storyline that was quite infamously making the rounds in the early 80s about mysterious killings of pavement dwellers in the pit of a dark night’s belly by an unknown killer who used large stones – some as heavy as up to 30 kilograms in weight! – to silence off the snoozing unfortunates. Although it is said that this case was never solved – which is what is officially documented in real life – the movie however stitches a plot around this series and decides to pepper it with some Kay Kay magic. Now, while I am not sure why Arbaaz Khan would feature in such a venture, I was eventually not too bothered by it given that the role was ironically tailor-made for the wooden faced performer who still seems to believe that acting is a genetic thing. Be that as it may, his presence as the emotionless police officer Kedaar takes back seat as a hot blooded and kick-happy cop Sanjay (Kay Kay) belts out a no-nonsense portrayal of a man who doesn’t take BS from anyone. This furious attitude of his slips out of hand one day when he accidentally kills a man in judicial custody. Needless to say, Mr. Hot Head is suspended while Mr. Emotionless takes charge. Given his reputation of being an excellent officer, Sanjay’s senior (Vikram Gokhale in a very clichéd character) manages to give the man the assignment of tracking down this mystery killer who seems to strike every Tuesday and Saturday. With the timely aid of a reluctant constable Daawle (Virendra Saxena), Sanjay heads off to seek and hunt down the stoneman.

A few leads take him to a strange taxi driver called Mohammed who becomes the prime suspect initially. But with some jarring domestic altercations with the wife and some disturbing run-ins with the stoneman, Sanjay is convinced that the killer knows he is being tracked and would go to any extent to save himself. This suddenly takes a twist such that Sanjay finds himself becoming the target of everyone’s suspicion given his very convenient appearances every time a fresh murder takes place in the slumbering streets of an ignorant city. In fact, Kedaar and some constables actually catch Sanjay red handed one night as he pulls out a dagger from a dying pavement dweller’s bleeding chest. So what does this mean? Is Sanjay the killer? We do know he is quite the kick-happy goon back in the day, right? So has that obsession finally manifested into a gory stream of mindless killings? All these questions are answered as the movie enters its final 30 minutes.

Things I definitely liked about this feature – many. For starters it is tautly timed. At a tight frame rate of 1 hour 45 minutes its narrative goes quite smoothly from scene to scene and keeps you interested in Sanjay’s investigation. Kay Kay again delivers a very convincing performance as the hassled Sanjay Shelaar who changes skin from being a hot headed cop to a manipulative investigator on the run. Given that this is a thriller, it has all the ingredients that will surprise you at the right times with just the right amount of sound effects and camera movements. A gripping climax completes the circle of the stoneman’s killings and what eventually happens to Sanjay and his investigation.

Things I found a tad hard to digest: the ill placed bar dance sequence with a typical Bollywood ishtyle item number. A random nude shot of Sanjay's wife from behind (above the waist of course. This is Bollywood!) which came out of nowhere and seemed a tad forced to please the 'aam jaanta'. The needless domestic horseplay between husband and wife with the woman going from one roller coaster of an emotion to another with a clear indication that she doesn’t trust her husband at all. This, despite being the wife of an honest and hard working police inspector for so long! Odd, I felt. Also the use of the expression ‘shaaririk sambandh’ ! Something I hadn’t heard in a very very long time! But then again, this was supposed to be set in the 1980s so who knows…maybe couples did talk to each other that way. I can’t be sure about that one but it did catch me by surprise. It reminded me of a badly made Doordarshan commercial for family planning.

All said and done ‘The Stoneman Murders’ is a well executed thriller by debutante director Manish Gupta. Given the derth of good thrillers in Bollywood lately, 'The Stoneman Murders' definitely was a treat to watch. Also, I thought it was a brave move for a first time director to tread down this path given that most of them seem to stick with the stereotypical romantic-comedy genres and other 'safe zones'. We definitely need more risk taking movie makers like Manish. I wish him all the best and definitely look forward to his next feature which I hope has Kay Kay yet again! Kay Kay rocks!

..ShaKri..

14 planned days, 4 planned flights and 1 unplanned love story

The rays of a lazy sun filtered through his silent room. He opened his eyes to the noise of a familiar buzz that radiated from his cellular phone lying next to him. He quickly flipped it open and realized she had sent him a message. ‘Her first message for me in India…’ he thought as an unconscious smile escaped his curious lips. He continued reading the contents before pressing ‘Reply’ and punching in his own matrix of quiet alphabet patterns. This was Day 1 at 5:30AM.

The bizarreness of the affair started becoming obvious quite soon. The fact that the two of them had somehow, given the very restrictive framework of an arranged matrimonial alliance, managed to go beyond formalities into a whole new world of trust and friendship was becoming too apparent. Their conversations took various shapes – SMS messages, text chats, voice chats, web-cam chats and of course, telephone calls. While all this was good enough to keep them waiting for the eventual face to face interaction, there was something else to it too – it didn’t seem to matter. His liking for her was seeded in her shockingly pure shades of genuine earthy innocence while her adulation for him stemmed from the creative attempts of sporadic star spangles he had managed to weave around himself over the years. A pair, one might say, truly unique in relation to one another.

After having exchanged over 200 messages, 100 phone calls and several telepathic signals by the end of day 5, there was little else remaining to be said or done. The meeting of the revered elders now seemed like a ritual that needed to be executed. The truth was he had fallen for her the day she had switched on her webcam for the first time and seen directly into his eyes not realizing she had scooped out his heart in one simple glance. She, on the other hand, had found a new lease of humanity in this stranger who, despite being the quintessential paradigm shifting prodigy-like symbol with an ‘NRI’ label attached, still had his feet firmly stuck to his roots regardless of where his life’s branches extended to. A match that was beginning to compliment each other with every interaction. A pair that was now officially in love but with neither the mental setup nor the physical parameters to confess it yet.

Day 6 brought some hopeful indications to that end as he prepared to take flight # 1 out of his city the following day to the place where he was convinced his soul mate stood waiting for him. Having been a lone wanderer for close to a decade, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect in terms of companionship. One of the consequences of living alone was this – self reliance. An emotion so intense that many people never get married only for fear of ‘losing’ that space of island life. However, what he didn’t know then was that his much appreciated ‘island dwelling’ wasn’t complete without another shadow that could compliment his ragged presence. A fact that would dawn upon him like a thunderbolt on Day 7.

After the initial bugaboos of ‘arranged marriage’ idiosyncrasy, the two finally got some time to be by themselves. They walked around for a couple of hours exchanging pleasantries and trying to connect the dots about each other that had formed in their heads over the weeks. She spent her time narrating stories from her past and showing him the neighborhood, while he reacted with the utmost sense of sincerity and slapped away annoying mosquitoes that had started their rounds at dusk.

The families decided to eat out for the night, so they went to a delicious ethnic joint in the city. Over several steel tumblers of savory curries and endless supplies of interestingly small rotis he never missed an opportunity to look at her. What the 4-5 weeks of nonstop interactions had done was ignited this brazen craving in him to catch her in all her moods – surprised, thoughtful, serious, unattached, sober, mischievous…all of it. And try as he may, given the rather generously joyful occasion that day, he continued to silently etch her face into the interiors of his heart. She continued stealing glances from him and giggling away incessantly at jokes that only the two of them knew about. Over uncertain queries from her confused elders, she continued munching her limited meal as the evening came to a pleasant close.

Day 8 was going to be a big one. Quite possibly the ‘deal maker’ day for the two. Every exchange thus far had basically culminated up to this day that would go on to become one of the biggest milestones in both their lives. Over idle chat and the humdrum of the traffic whizzing by, he suddenly turned to her and asked her if she would marry him. A gasp of genuine surprise escaped her lips as she paused for a second, before continuing with a reasonable ‘Sure!’ and then they sat in silence for a few seconds before breaking into short giggles at how easily they had moved on to the next step. As the day drew to a close, sitting next to the waves that crashed into custom made rocks with subdued fury, they confessed their love for one another. It was a simple affair. No trumpets. No needless exaggerations. No cards. No music. No sonnets. Nothing. Just a quiet look into each other’s eyes and the magical words spilled forth. It was becoming quite apparent that their story wouldn’t be an ordinary one given that the proposal had preceded the confession, when usually it’s the other way around.

He flew out of her city in flight #2 as day 8 ended. It wasn’t easy, as he later realized sipping cold tea on the flight, to walk away from someone who had responded in the affirmative to the two major things in life – love and marriage.

Day 9 and 10 were a blur. More talk. More SMS exchange. More calls and yes, definitely more love. It wasn’t clear to either of them if what they had done was timed properly, but what they definitely knew was this – it was the most beautiful thing they had ever done in all their lives. Hence, the timing aspect of it just didn’t mean much.

Day 11 arrived with another packet of beautiful surprises. She took flight #3 into his city and brought to him the much needed sense of calm he was so desperately seeking. One look into her calm yet sparkly eyes and he knew – he would live out the rest of his days gazing into those pools of everlasting beauty. The elders met at his place under the blistering sun over cups of sugary coffee and equally sweet juice. After a few placid interactions, it was settled. They then shook hands, touched feet and received the blessings of the elders all the while aware that they were already blessed to have each other. She was now officially welcomed to his family.

She flew out of his city in flight #4 at the end of day 11. A capsule in time he so wanted to forget as he helplessly watched her walk away from him. Their eyes met just before she disappeared in an ocean of bags with hands attached to them. It was in those few seconds, that they had a dozen conversations. And that was enough – for now, he thought. As he drove back into his city constantly checking his messages to see if she had sent anything, he was sure that she was doing the same thing. He found himself instinctively letting out a prayer – ‘God…let this be the last time I see her walk away from me…’ and looked away into the dizzyingly maniacal traffic. A unique bond had been created that the event of ‘marriage’ would only solemnize in public since their celebrations of the heart had already begun.

Days 12 and 13 went by with equal temperaments. He would stay up till the wee hours of the morning as she would spend a good 3-4 hours after a 10 hour shift at work talking to him. This love story had to be the shortest and yet the most beautiful in his recollection since what he had known was that he would have to get married some day. But what he didn’t know was that he would fall in love with his future spouse with such intensity even before the families had properly met. A prospect that has him smiling in blissful wonder even today.

Day 14 came. The day when he would leave his city and head back to his second home in the west. He arrived at the airport almost four hours in advance so that he could speak to her contently for as long as he could. Luck, again, was on his side as he found an isolated phone booth and spent 45 minutes speaking to her and wishing her the best on their first Valentine’s Day. After being eyed suspiciously by a waiting co-passenger, he had to hang up, albeit with a very heavy heart.

He flew out at 3:30AM on the 14th day and slept like a baby for five straight hours on the flight. It was only after waking up and heading to the washroom did he realize why it was. He no longer struggled to sleep on long flights since he had now fallen in love with the most beautiful dream.

..ShaKri..

Aamir – the antithesis of a Jihadi

The first thing that came to my mind as the credits rolled on the movie ‘Aamir’ was ‘When? Oh when will my beloved Kannada movie makers make films like these? When will they get their money hungry heads out of their ignorant behinds with meaningless overcooked clichés and start making cinema that people can actually relate with?’

I had heard a lot about this movie. But somehow, never got around to seeing it. And what a time to watch it too! After having seen an interesting version of Mumbai in ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, here was yet another version of watching Mumbai bare itself unashamedly. What got me even more curious was that the whole crew of ‘Aamir’ was practically unknown and given the rave reviews it had been getting, I decided to take a chance. And boy! Am I glad I did!

‘Aamir’ is a story of Dr. Aamir Ali who returns from London to his home in Mumbai only to find that someone has kidnapped his entire family. All he has are clues given by an unknown face and cellular phone cues that take him to a mirage of places that are simmering with lower middle class Muslims. He finds himself face to face with a society he had never seen before yet all the time doing what he is being told in order to save his family. At the end of the day he finds himself sitting on a bus with a suitcase that he has been told contains a bomb. He is then told to get off the bus at the next traffic light leaving the suitcase behind.

This is as far as I want to tell you since the final few minutes of the movie are a revelation. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was completely taken aback by it or wasn’t expecting it to happen, but the conviction with which a normal regular common man steps from those shadows of cowardice and attempts to personify his name ‘Aamir’ – a leader – was what I found most endearing. For a first time director, Raj Kumar Gupta surely treads a risky path as he tackles a burning issue in India head on. He enforces the ideologies that are so often taken for granted and makes the protagonist finally attempt the perfect antithesis of terror and a terrorist.

I must say, it was quite a show. The movie albeit, is slow in parts and could have used some faster reactions from the leading man and some chop offs here and there, but these are trivialities when compared to the message the movie attempts to send across. I recommend everyone to watch ‘Aamir’, as such ‘in the face’ almost surreal seeming plots very rarely make for a good viewing.

Looking forward to Kannada movie makers take a leaf from such cinema and attempt something which finally addresses some real issues.

..ShaKri..

Here is a teaser of the film.

A Wednesday in a lifetime

IT IS TRUE WHAT THEY SAY about greatness. It is always meant to be. No amount of planning or foresight or pundits with beards longer than their hands can ever truly make someone something one is not. If one is destined to be great – one is. Most times one wonders how much more one has to shout and scream so that people can take notice while other times…well, other times silences creep in so beautifully that we hardly recognize them and something breathe taking has already been created.

Before, dear reader, the assumption is made that I am off on a track quite abstract to the common man – ah, that word suddenly sounds so powerful – let me underline the topic I have chosen. I was browsing through my usual collection of review websites when I happened to get a glimpse of one interesting review. It was for a movie I had never heard of. Neither had I ever seen any publicity posters of it nor had I guessed it would feature two of my all time favorites – Naseeruddin Shah and Anupam Kher. The fact that no one else, except maybe the highly underestimated Jimmy Shergill, was even remotely recognizable on the credit list apart from these three did not deter me from giving it a shot. Bollywood these days is being showered with ‘alternate’ cinema that runs a delicate line between commercial masala-fundas and the documentary type approaches. In such a rain it is easy to miss some true refreshingly different rain drops. Having shied away from such features for a while, I decided to give this a look-see since I knew Naseer and Anupam would definitely make it worth my time. With that random assumption, I began watching ‘A Wednesday’.

Two hours later…I was going through a very rare feeling. I did not understand it initially since it had been such a long time but then, I knew. It was the same bunch of emotions I had felt when I had seen the climax of ‘The Sixth Sense’. It was the same ‘Oh wow!’ feeling that had pierced my veins as the final few minutes of ‘The Usual Suspects’ drowned in my eyes. It was the very unique gut sense of genuine enthusiasm I had felt when I finally understood ‘Momento’ in its last frame.

But, this time it was different. I had never felt such a tingle in my heart for a Hindi movie in many years. Sure, I have had my share of laughs and appreciation for some decent Indian cinema over the years, but there was never anything in them that made me say to myself ‘…he is so right…this could happen to me too…today…tomorrow…any day…’ since there was never any context. What ‘A Wednesday’ successfully did was pick me up from my starry eyed slumber and slap a ‘REALITY CHECK’ sticker on my face. It reminded me of the times we are part of. It made me wonder about my own life and how unsure things are in the world we live in. It, if not anything else, made me think.

I am sure people often sigh and yawn about movies that make them ‘think’ since it is exactly the opposite reason of why one would watch a movie. No one wants to see relevant issues these days. There is a huge fan following for the larger than life, escapist features which come and go every week. We Indians, the world’s best consumers, lap it up in all our glee not caring about if it had anything to do with our life. Why? Since it does not matter. It never does, does it?

But then how long can we keep doing this? Once in a while we do need that refreshing slap on the face that makes us realize who we really are. And what a wonderful slap this was! No better way to bring me back to reality than a movie like this one. I was applauding myself for having taken a chance and seen one of the most relevant movies of our times. A silent yet beautiful effort at capturing human emotion on the screen. To summarize in one word – great.

Do yourself a favor – watch ‘A Wednesday’. A must see for every Indian according to me. If not anything else it will definitely catch you by surprise! I strongly recommend this movie to everyone who has ever sat back and said ‘I wish things were different…’


..ShaKri..

For those interested, here is the trailer of this movie –
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI3E1jneWvg