A Rose for Pooja

How can a young sheath, whose coleoptile is broken, even nurture the dream of blossoming again? What makes it embrace the cold and uncaring Nature; yet making enough room for the dew-drops to create a spectacle for the rustic onlookers? What makes it wait for the Spring? Why this intolerable disinclination to perishing?







I'll rest my poetic faculties for a while, lest the reader might skip it as " poetic junk ". Well, Pooja paaen phoola tiye; A Rose for Pooja; the national award winning Oriya film, is probably the classic example of a kind of transformation, that a film undergoes when, 'a poet enters the studio.' The movie is too ordinary in all aspects, yet manages to strike a visceral note; making us believe that all it takes, is little acts of love to make the world a better place to live in. Its quite paradoxical that kids, often with their quasi-understanding of the world help the adults in understanding the larger truths of life. Maybe thats why people like little children; till they grow up and acquire adult habits of thought and ability to lie, cheat and be dirty.




Pooja, a 13 year old, is compelled to learn a bit early in her life that the world has its dangerous places and barren deserts; and though the world seems to be at a loss to offer her anything substantial, she never ceases to embrace life with all its adversities; deriving all her strength from the unsullied love of her younger friend, Mickey. Though denied of an education ( courtesy the inevitable vamp character ), thoughts and images stole in from other quarters; and Pooja's mind was essentially quick and productive. Nothing lay barren in it; and much of what was planted there, grew, and spread, and became beautiful.




The movie, was a commercial disaster. Who cares to view the world from a child's eyes?


Now Playing:: Saanjh dhale...........................Utsav


p.s:: I wonder if i can ever have a beautiful and innocent daughter as Adyasha ( the girl who played the role of Pooja )?

Woh Chokri!!

Her grief was quiet. She made no show of it; yet suffered more than it could be shown by clamorous sobs or frantic words. The sorrow had subsided; the pain lived on; Life didnt exhaust itself in the usual manner. Everything seemed to be quiet and still around her. She had no defiant air, no affectation, nor too extravagant a display of sadness. She saw the thing in her hand; justified her stance to nobody; her reasoning always rose and streamed through the heart. It is said that a woman rises or falls with the arm on which she leans. The arm on which she had leaned upon, failed to keep its elevation; faithful and firm throughout life. Her thoughts turned backward; head running upon her, in her madness, as much almost as on another person, who was the more immediate cause of her frenzy. Nothing could divert her from him, for the thought of him never left her alone. The thing in her hand shone brightly. She saw her act, as she saw all other things of the past; a touching association of thoughts and feelings. The deed was past recall now, and the time of its commission had been utterly beyond her control. She had no regrets. All she could see now, was her dear old friend, with his outstretched hand, and his grave, sweet smile of welcome. That was substantially, her life. Her actions, thoughts, and sufferings were all concentered on this one important end.


Now Playing:: Aapki aankhon mein........................Lata & Kishore

Tagged!!!

Well, Dave D' Author has tagged me!! Methinks tags are a nice way of sneaking a few extra breaths for your virtual space, and boy, dnt they come quite handy when your creativity gives you a major slip!!

So here are the rules from the Rule Book:

1. Type your answer for each of the questions into Flickr search.


2. Using only the 1st page of the results, choose one random image.
   
3. Copy and paste the URLs of each of the images into Big Huge Lab's Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the chosen pictures.

Well these are not Physics questions, so every pappu is expected to pass:)

What is your first name?
What is your favorite food right now?
Which high school did you attend?
Which is your favorite color?
Who is your celebrity crush?
What is your favorite drink?
What is your dream vacation?
What is your favorite dessert?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What do you love most in life?
What is one word that describes you?
What is your user name?


And here's my answer script: ( quite predictable )

And i'm re-tagging the Id ka chaand of my blog-roll, Anand.

Now Playing:: kahin na jaa............................Lata & Kishore

" Let's make hay, while the women fight." Its a Man's world

A " respectable " fifty-five year old woman kept screaming into the microphone, " prostitution should be banned ", and women engaged in the flesh trade; driven out of the society, considering the number of homes, and relationships that have gone kaput because of these " notorious creatures !! ". The peroration however, seemed to have been rehearsed for over a thousand times, for the sheer intensity with which the words, " a woman is a woman's worst enemy " were mouthed, it ended up giving me a plenty of goose bumps !!


The tiny hall errupted into a riot of applause. A few, " well said madam " and pointless congratulations hung heavily in the air. The women folk transformed her into a kind of totemic mother, and the few men who constituted the clique, were more than happy to inch closer and offer their niceties, and all the while sneaking a look at the cleavage of her over generous bosom, blazing beneath the thin drape of her black saree.


Oh no no, she wasnt a slut!! She certainly belonged to the respectable stratas of human society, who seem to have a pre-concieved notion by which they gauge the degrees of goodness and degrees of evils in the society. She showed men around her enough, to think that she had good stuff coming up, but didnt show things that would make them pounce upon her. She obviously is not a slut!! She cannot be a slut!!


Looking beyond her sartorial decollete, she appeared to be a mere representative of the Conventional Morality, who would stand on roof tops and yell, " you have done wrong, and in the larger interest of the society, we the custodians of culture, must punish you. And if we cannot then God will. "


It almost seems to be an auto-suggestive idea that God will always be there on their side. Why on earth would God risk swapping sides with a woman who sells her body every night, lets men rip off of her insides in exchange of a few spondulicks?? naah.............God isnt foolish enough to do that, after all isnt the image of God concieved to be that of a Man??


No woman is a born prostitute. But a woman who beds different men every night.................is she that bad?? Her ways may offend the unwritten corollary of the society, and the Conventional Morality, but then who the hell are these people to pass opinions and judgements, on how a woman chooses to earn money? who knows what circumstances drove her into this trade, every woman has her own reasons.


But why blame the woman? Why is she able to sell her body? The answer is quite obvious. Because there are plenty of " respectable " men, married men, fathers of families, all ready with cash in hand to buy a night with that body called " woman ". The Man doesnt seem to realise that everytime he penetrates her, he's actually making incisions on her already bruised and withered soul, but these " notorious creatures " ( according to that respectable woman ), are not meant to possess anything similar to that of a soul. She is not supposed to " feel".



Men will continue to enjoy their status of penetrators, as long as the virtuous and " respectable " women around the world make them believe that women indeed are the " notorious creatures " on earth. There's hardly any doubt that a woman is a woman's worst enemy, coz she would rehearse a thousand times to successfully cast aspersions on creatures of her own sex!!


Now Playing:: Jaane woh kaise......................Pyaasa ( 1957 )

Midnight Musings of a Poltroon!!

Its not everyday that you wake up to find folks around you packing off things in a hurry, as if the house is on fire. One of your feet is still in the droopy realms of sleep and you are convincingly playing possum, when the explosion takes place!! Your folks seem to be blabbering about the death of some kinswoman, so distant, that you kinda get lost in your own family branches. And before you even make an attempt to figure out the particular branch the kinswoman once seemed to have perched upon, your folks have already bid adieu. When you are still wondering about the celerity of time, the gravity of the whole situation incarcerates your consciousness and the tension breaks into a cold sweat!!!

...................................................................


All day long, i thought mom and dad were trying to pull my leg, with all that prossy talk about their not returning tonight. I was sure they would be home atleast by 10, till of course, mom confirmed on the phone that there aren't any trains from that god forbidden village once evening sets in. Its five minutes past midnight now, and my Self has become so wearisome, i almost wish i was dead!!


The house is drowned in a spooky silence since the past sixty minutes. Every faint sound seems to be magnified and resonated giving rise to black imagings, but i'm thankful to Edison; not a single light would be doused tonight. The doors and windows have been bolted and double checked. Even at home, i sit as if in a camp, encompassed by a hostile army of doubts, and despising myself for being such a poltroon.


I never knew i was so scared of staying alone, especially in the nights. The day time doesnt pose much of a problem, considering the intercourse that one has with creatures around him, but nights are made of a different fabric! My imagination is on an all time high tonight. Just a little while ago, i fixed myself near the window and tried to think of something cheerful. If ever you are alone, dnt even make an attempt to kill time by looking at the garden, coz the trees have a strange way of coming alive in the night. The eerie sough seemed to whisper something to me, and shadows resembling a poltergeist, was trying to tell about strange things that were on its mind but, could not make itself understood!! And the window remains closed for the rest of the night.



I tried to find some company through g-talk n Y-msngr, but none seemed to be a part of the green revolution. The cell phone ceases to be much of a company especially when you are single and books tend to become somnolents. So all you have with yourself on these strange nights, is music and your own thoughts to help you navigate through. I'm not sure if i can atleast grab a forty winks, but i trust caffeine and chocolate to keep me awake all night. I just hope i dnt succumb to some cardiac arrest, coz i'm dead scared!!

Phir milenge agar zinda rahi toh!!

Now Playing:: Broken glass............................Likin park

p.s:: wow guys this is my 50th post!!

My First Movie Review

Ok, Aamir Khan produces the movie, Rahman composes the music and the movie wins half the battle even before it hits the screens. Now enter, Imran Khan who almost looks like an angrez and makes the gals all over the country moon and swoon for him. And then there's perfect figure, perfect smile; Genelia, who every other guy wants to get naughty with!! And that is what Jaane tu ya jaane na is all about; one wonders whatever happened to the story!! For Heaven's sake give me a story, guys!! The director/writer offers a mere muddled construction of his imagination, and the poor viewer is left to discern his own conclusion, whether the movie was supposed to be a romantic one, a comic one, or a poor combination of both!!

The movie is doing good business courtesy its self-proclaimed "freshness ", but apart from that it looks as if it was made in a hurry, almost at gun-point!! The humor at most of the places looks forced, not the kind, that would induce a savage laugh but people still continued to laugh for reasons unknown to me!! Maybe i am the one who really has some problem, but i cant compel myself to laugh at an inferior humorist or wit!! The only places where i managed to laugh was when Naseer dictates the criteria, fulfilling which, a man of his family would be conferred with the status of a true mard!! Ratna Pathak Shah was superbly convincing in the role of Jai's ( Imran ) mother, but i was concentrating too much on Anuradha Patel, who plays Aditi's mother. Anybody who has seen Ijaazat and identified with the character of Maya, cant help but develop a massive all time crush on her.

Now, Jaane tu, is the story of a friendship which metamorphosizes into love. But, there's hardly a scene in the movie where the protagonists are actually found to be conversing. They seem to realise that they love each other, through interaction with other characters. One doesnt realise that he/she is in love with his/her friend all of a sudden. I waited through out the movie for Jai and Aditi to actually talk, instead Aditi ends up talking with her bro and Jai with Meghana.

A very thin line of demarcation exists between love and friendship, not complementing each other, but being relative to each other. Unfortunately the movie fails to explore this one, riveting its focus and attention to cater to the needs of the audience. The ending is hokey and way too irrational and illogical to even concieve. Imran is good but Genelia is found over acting in some of the scenes, Manjari fairs much better though.

But then, movies are meant to be watched and forgotten. All art at some point of time does divorce the logical, and its all a matter of individual tastes and preferences!!

Now Playing:: Tere bina zindagi se shikwa...............Aandhi

Midnight Confabulation

Sagar continued to play and sing ' tumse juda ho kar ', on the guitar. I was in a waking dream, thousand miles away from my surroundings. It was some ten minutes past midnight. When the rest of the world was busy dreaming dreams, me and my cousin were trying to kill time, courtesy the service provider's 'free' scheme. It was probably designed for nocturnal insomniacs like us!!


I was looking at a spot in the darkness. I was thinking something else. He was talking of everything on earth except what he really wanted to talk about. Communication between us was soon reduced to zero, like one of those odd silences which sometimes fall amidst conversations. Something seemed to disturb him, but he was making all efforts to restrain himself from opening up. As a good, ideal sister, i was supposed to sense his discomfiture, and broach the tenor of his uneasiness!! But i was too pre-occupied with my own thoughts to pay any attention to what he was trying to say at 12 in the night!! But, then there was this sudden ejaculation on his part which kinda brought me back to my senses!!


" Are you actually listening, or are you simply trying to show that you are listening?? I very well know that you arent, but atleast stop pouring your good for nothing, "yes & no's "!! Why is it so difficult for people to just "listen"?? " The call gets disconnected!!


I obviously didnt know how to react, and abreactions are better than no reactions at all. They hardly serve the purpose. Now what happened was this. During the course of our conversation ( or rather his talking ), there were moments where i was supposed to say a 'yes', but offered an indifferent 'no', and vice versa, with out fully understanding his question. It was more than enough to fan those flames of annoyance in him, and helped me review my fluid intelligence quotient, which remains an eternal negative.


Now most of us, given the hint of even a mildly sympathetic audience, will hardly leave a stone unturned, to talk about ourselves, take them into our confidence, and make all efforts to disclose our wisdom, sorrows, our follies, and never getting tired of breathing our fudge into their minds. But we seldom remain the same when we play the role of an audience!!


Of course one absent minded night, does not necessarily dis-credit me as a bad listener, but my complete ineptitude at offering words of consolation, when they are needed the most, does bring in those feelings of contrition which can hardly be fought with cold logic. Listening is an art in itself. Isnt life all about listening?? We listen to people, people listen to us. But, love grows when we listen without opinions, without judgements. Correcting them when they are wrong. Not with an intention to assert our superiority, but just coz we want them to be right. Listening helps resolve conflicts of all kind, coz all people want is somebody who could listen to them!!


Things are now settled between us, but picking up that unwritten/ unspoken corollary in conversations isnt my cup of tea. Maybe thats the reason, why i keep messing up relationships only to regret later in life!!


Now Playing:: Jaane tu ya jaane na.................title track

Signature of Time

Days were slowly beginning to gain an above average status. The Self was engaged in making itself known to strangers, whose correspondence made me rouse a little from my lethargy. But, somewhere down the road the Self got so Self-centered that, older relationships began receeding into that mist of oblivion, bearing the signature of Time as one's "past".


But does moving on in life means complete erasure of a person's memories, who seemed to be the proof and touchstone of all your cogitations?? One keeps waiting for that sporadic seance, and when it comes, we get too busy to tend to it, only to regain consciousness in those final moments, when everything looks like another vision, elusive as a gust of passing wind!!


But, then, the truest perceptions of life, have always been elusive and short lived in my case. Maybe thats becoz of my own ineptitude to deal with his absence from the world coz i still believe, " death ends a life, not a relationship ". But, acceptance is a feat in itself and to drive away from the Ego, to pay respect to the dead is a big ask. Does forgetting his birthday ensure that i've moved on in life or does remembering it a day later brings me back to the initial point??



And as opposed to the popular notion, time doesnt heal anything. It just categorises our life in to past, present, and future. Life would have been more beautiful, if Time could leave its signature only as one's "present".

Maybe i need to ask for forgiveness of the Universe for forgetting him just so soon!!

Now Playing:: Roz roz aankhon tale..............Asha & Amit Kumar