Shershaah

What is an Independence Day if you don’t watch one patriotic movie? Now I have grown up watching Roja, Gandhi, Gadar- Ek Prem katha, LOC, Border et al. Except for Gandhi all are Bollywood products and hence have their fair share of jingoism, songs, inspiring speeches, heroic feats and not to forget some kind of a prem katha. So when I started watching Shershaah, I had similar expectation if not more. After all it was coming from the production house known for it’s hyperbole. Karan Johar cannot make realistic films, that’s what I started out with. 

Happy to say I was proved wrong on many accounts. The writers have not taken much liberty in trying to make the story of this hero into something larger than life. The dialogs are realistic, the merging of the true heroes and their casting at the end is a very nice and professional touch - almost gave a feel of global cinema. also, the casting was really awesome, everyone stood out in the roles they played. Really happy to  see Bollywood come of age, trying to keep up with the standards of OTT production qualities. 

NB: This is not a film review, this is what I expected and what I found.

Navarasa

Since we are confined just to our home, we watch a lot of TV. Recently came across this Tamil Netflix original Navarasa. I have not completed watching it yet, but the first few. I am watching something in a regional language after a really long time honestly, so following the language only by the subtitles took a little more effort from me than the mindless sitcom watching I generally indulge in. Following subtitles while feeding a child is even more difficult, but I accomplished it, so yay me. Spoilers ahead.

Sometimes you watch some things in cinema and you laugh at it. The episode, or volume as they call it, on “Hasya” (laughter) was just that. A very cute little story involving a dog which falls into a shit hole, and then the shit hits the fan, literally. Then I was ambling through the rest of the episodes. The episode on wonder, was a brave attempt at sci if, but mostly was me reconciling with the fact that Arvind Swamy has become old AF. Then I found myself applauding the fact that they first pick up lines from Nolan unabashedly and then actually talk about how Nolanesque the idea is, I mean, the gall!

But what really hit home, and perhaps I can’t go on watching now is the episode on “Shanthih” (Peace), where the episode ends with a question mark at the end of the word. A man goes over beyond enemy lines in a war zone to rescue a puppy but gets killed. I mean, as if the premise was not gut wrenching enough, they had to keep a baby, a puppy, a dead brother story line and a guy who believed true compassion exists in every human - made the audience hope for a moment there and BAM! I knew all along it was coming, but pretty cruel, that ending. 

So I made a humdrum about so many chores to complete because that’s how I channel my frustration and went to sleep. I don’t think I can watch the rest. Though I hear the next one on anger is great. Let’s see, may be I will watch it today (but I have to sneak some time away from the kid).

The Return of the Prodigal

 Oh my God! It is not like I had forgotten that I had a befittingly named blog existing somewhere on the web, but just life happened - grey hairs happened, marriage, moving cities, horrible bosses and a child later I returned to a time when I used to actually write down the random thoughts that I keep having. At any given time, my head is like a browser on my computer with at least fifty open tabs - what to cook for dinner, what to order in groceries, I must remember to get tooth paste and soap for the guest bathroom, did the maid say she needs dish washing liquid - wait what to cook for dinner? Tonight, sitting in the mellow light of my iPad while the husband and child gently snore away in the background I discovered/unearthed/chanced upon a bygone time. This was literally a blast from the past!

As I went through the posts (a veritable rabbit hole that) written till date, I cringed at some, laughed at others, could not recall having such emotions at a movie the last time, was overwhelmed to find that some friends just stick and some just don’t, judged myself for some sentiments expressed, but largely understood that I have not changed much. Well, yes, expect for the grey hairs and motherhood apart. The dream of becoming a novelist is still dormant somewhere I guess. For now let me write here? I still get kind of antsy around my birthday. I am still undecided about my hairstyle. I literally discussed getting a new haircut with my husband this evening! I still have major FOMO about work. 

But I think (and may be I will laugh at this one night thirty years from now) I have become a little more compassionate, a little more ready to let go and a little more forgiving. Also, I don’t have a terrible boss anymore. More importantly, you could get a haircut for sixty bucks in 2010.

Rant after a bad day on the road

No really, I am up to my nose with these pestering gits who pass off as drivers in this city. Every day they pile on the roads like abysmal shadows of death in their cars of every shape, size and color and infest the roads and the peace of my mind. They do not have any sense of discipline or decorum.


On top of that the traffic police in their ridiculous white hats are THE most clueless people that ever walked the planet. They casually wave their arms on both directions of the road for cars to come forward, and, horror of horrors, they do! And when, as general logic and a bit of common sense would suggest, when cars from both ends of the road come forward there inevitably follows a snarl which takes a long long time to unwind. What I do not understand is what these guys are thinking giving rise to this insensible clutter each morning, only to be jumping around a crossing with inimitable enthusiasm beating their baton on bonnets and flailing their arms. Is this some kind of morning sport that they particularly enjoy?

And do not even get me started on those darn bikes. With young ones in tow, the youngsters wearing helmets which are decidedly their father’s (who is not wearing one and letting the breeze do the magic on the hair), or the mother’s who is not on the bike. I wonder what the effectiveness of the helmet is after all, I feel it is in averting the fine which the police might levy for each head on the bike without a helmet. So these bikes pour into cracks like water. They do. They reach the stop sign near the signal as if pied piper was luring them, it’s bizarre.

Pedestrians: They seem to be a resilient specie, jumping fearlessly in front of Volvo buses. Why don’t we send a few of these daredevils to the army?

Soul/Shell

Just another morning

Drowning in tea
Sleep’s languor
Perched on my eyelids
Zombie walking
In the dark room
Fluid motions
A kaleidoscope

Pinks and blues
May play in the sky
This house is empty
A person stays here
Walks. Breathes. Eats.
The clock also ticks

Butterfly’s cocoon
Chicken’s eggshell
This house
My oyster shell

Another time

This fool of a head
It thinks too much of everything
It dreams of things that’ll never be

It was not fairy dust
It was the neon lights all over the town
They were not stars
Only prying eyes curiously peering down

Spread eagled on a busy road
Dreams busted
As were the bones

Every one saw the tears
Hands came ahead to wipe
No one saw how my
Broken heart did cry

Smog eating at the lungs
Whips cutting rivers on the skin
Sun was ash that day

Clouds were cigarette induced
They made patterns on the arm

Dogs are not pets in this world
They are there to chase

Godless
Loveless
Lightless

Heartbroken
This fool of a head
Still dreams
Dreams of another day

Of yellow sun
And mellow rains

In your face..

Mortality is a concept you think of more by the passing year.


Just as those greys start appearing out of nowhere you think what is the point of this relentless running. Where is this voyage supposed to take us? Is it supposed to take us anywhere at all? Or is it just the journey. I am not hunting metaphors, but meaning. I am searching, I have stumbled on a few pebbles till now, I am waiting to hit the rock. But do I have to go around the world or do I have to look at all the chambers of my soul? I know not.

The journey is worthwhile, I will give it that much: unpredictable, often mercurial, it is everything you want and not want all rolled into one.

And we are the zombies walking from one weekend to the next, the worst in us shines forth. Fairytales are a distant dream and the truth with it’s icy hands hold our slender necks stronger and stronger still, till none of the mess people generally resort to in a bid to forget pain or stall cheer, can hold to ransom the fated day when we are wiped off the face of the earth like muddy water from the floor.

Is that our destination the? A brooding and long wait for that day? It is a dismal journey then I must say.

If on the way we are not alone, if on the way someone holds your hand, lovingly and longingly, that itself is the journey’s greatest truth. Not riding the ladder and being alone on top, not being on a pedestal and condescending on the mediocre lot, but being among the many, mingling and spreading happiness is the key to combat this mortality. Not being overtly famous or rich but touching lives so that even if you are not there, you are remembered, and your memory brings a smile.

In your face, Death.