Of Momo’s, chapattis, chats, and life in a metro…

“Mother, I am done with the breakfast. Got to rush now.”

“Kid! Just hold on for a second. The curd cheese is almost done. Have a couple of spoons and go.”

“Kid!!! Huh Maa! I’m 13 now, will be taking boards this year. Anyway, stuff this in to the younger kid today. He is quite skinny. If left over, I’ll gulp all on returning back from the game.”

“Ruko…suno to beta…”

“What now mom! Relax. Take a chill pill.” Chill Pill!!!!!! Did I say that?

O really, I said that.

Bollywood teaches a number of witty locutions but we are probably not up to cast them sagaciously.

Ever seen a six years old kid doing BOTTOMS UP?

Now don’t sell me that how so ever grisly, it looks cute coz the kid has a puerile sweetness.

You ain’t a Rocket Singh for Christ sake, are you?

Even if you are, I’ve recently run bankrupt and can’t afford a penny for any of your antics.

Days and years passed and for all those Jesse Ryder – Umar Gul days, I took my mother for granted. Every one of us does.

We take earth, water, sun, rivers, parents and to a Herculean extent our anger and youth for granted, as if they would never fall, never show down, never question back.

By the way, for NON-NON INDIAN CRICKET FOLLOWERS, Jesse Ryder and Umar Gul are two very talented but extremely injury prone cricket players belonging to New Zealand and Pakistan respectively.

Still, during my college days I never felt that people may come so far, that distant from their roots.

It’s been recently that I discovered; A banyan leaf may well fall in an utterly different land. Ironically, today I see most of them falling away. The bucolic wind has surely if not suddenly changed to a tornado.

I landed (?) over this rusty brainwasher planet on July 11^th, 2008 for reasons as obvious as breathing.

Pardon my usage of words in the above statement. No personal offence to any of Kunti’s sons despite whatever happened during Mahabharat, I feel sorry for coming and staying here.

This has been the only city/place/village/jungle (Damn!!! include Under Ground mines) which has given nothing but a peevish taste to every gland/sense of mine.

I therefore happen to visit the place I like but living in a place where you would last favor to, is called LANDING there.

Trapped in my own cob web of life.

People here do not gather, do not talk. Why?

A sullen excuse (like you have just discovered that 3 rats died in the best cookie box of yours) is that they (We) do not get time.

TIME!!

Time has swollen for Gtalk chats.

Time has up surged for Her/His FB visits.

Time has aggrandized in CCDs and Baristas sipping goddamn Cold coffee and ice teas over that garlic bread.

Time has found a new friend in whatever profuse over PVR every sick Friday.

Ask Bharti Airtel, Vodafone and Ambanis who are creaming money like anything, and they will tell you what is the average number of hours (You read it right, it’s hours) the so called ambitious and multi-talented youth of this GOING-TO-BE-SUPERPOWER country smoke over the phone.

And be assured that except one (hail one of my dear friends) no one use even ten percent of it for complete family combined.

Some fools still say and believe that in India we have large families. Misers, losers like me.

Still, it is not the fault of our cool studs and newbie divas. Someone must have made the day a little longer for them and lo and behold, they would have made a Rockies out of every mole.

Waking up just a blink before sunset and flickering the loathsomely dressed body to the beats of “Porcupine Tree” till moon says “Hasta la vista baby” is the new art of living.

They however do not understand that moon still is their “mama(uncle)” and laugh at them calling them baby.

No bad blood with the famous music band, I still feel that human race is a social animal and hence can not gulp a sudden Argon like behavior. And that too just towards…… (I need not fill this.)

Living on the edge as does our “Tyler Durden” in FIGHT CLUB, is the COOL FUNDA for the Mountain Dew soaked emotional and wiz generation.

But to be extremely truthful and sorry, I do not see any hope in this young brigade. They simply looks like a filthy bunch of talented geese that shows off, fights among them and dies no where.

And I am not talking about the physical world anyways.

It is not the making and caring for new relationships that hurt, it is the blight it brings to the existing ones that discomforts.

It is not the late night talking to the opposite sex peers that aches; it is the switching off of the phone when mother calls up in the morning after completing a hard fought fast just to hear your voice that pains.

It is not the scooping of momo’s and burger that discomforts, it is the memory of the days when you quitted the same cabbage your mother cooked that persecutes.

It is not the sum of money you spent on your father that matters, it is the share which was always more than cent percent from him that pains.

Love is not what we find in “Keith”. Love is not what we find in Oliver’s “Love Story”. It is not even in “DDLJ”.

Love is in your mom’s heart which never gets to learn when you have become YOU from “A PART OF HER”.

Someone once said, “It is easy to find love. It is even easier to learn how to love. But it is almost impossible to keep the love.”

This city alleviate this reaction as if it is a catalyst………..burning us inside us.

Or probably, I do not fit here. May be I have a small town, one old mentality.

In any case, I love to be this way, near to my current relationships. I do not find solace it growing ten new twigs at the cost of my oldest and most precious branch and root.

I will hold pride in being known as a small town backward buffoon than being a parasitic flower.

One of the famous poets (I do not remember the name) once said:

“Jitne roj ghar ko nahi lautaa main,

Maa dua se uthi nahi log kahte hain.”

Translation:

People say that mother was continuously in prayers for the period I did not returned home. 

At 6:30 AM in the morning eating bread slices…..Mom, I really miss your chapattis….

Having said that, if this is it………….Hail Small Townmanship!!!!!!

Aphonic gushes of Matla and Tsurumi….

“Hello! Helloooo! Hello, Miyage! Miyage, can you hear my voice?” Rahul Bose tries to scream at the top of his voice inside a public telephone booth. Thunderstorm shadows it down.

Music plays…Hiroshima-Nagasaki, Sumo, Robots, Ninja, electronic Gadgets keep rolling inside. My mind is a merry-go-round. Thoughts out of no where keep whirling and whooping every now and then.

Most of my kind friends do not agree but yes, I proudly keep spinning on my wheels.

………….Based on the Story of Kunal Basu………

Who is this Kunal Basu?

Later!!!!!

A gift (Miyage is a gift in Japanese… at least her voice really is) from Japan gets a letter from an Aifecsanate (pronounce as it reads) Bengali and accept to be his pen friend. In Bangla (unlike learned people, I’d love to step down from Bengali to Bangla) Snehamoy means affectionate. Now read that bangle way…Aifecsanate.

 “I’ve been rolling my tongue like you say to pronounce your name, but it’s not easy.” Beautiful, winsome, absolutely like white orchids was her childish voice.

Snehamoy or Senamoy (as called by Miyage) is a young Bengali student staying in a village with her Mashi (mother’s sister), after his parents were killed by the flood in river Matla.

Both of them, Miyage and Snehamoy are forlorn and are aifecsanate towards each other.

A big colorful box is being undocked and get to see all colors of life from the elephantine Kolkata port to the small village of Snehamoy. Everyone is festive in the village about the box. Not for knowing what it contains but only because they got something to discuss. Aren’t we blithe in our life for no reason? Heaven save this festive and divine mood for ever and ever.

This is an innocent art of living no classes can teach. It can only be inculcated when you grow bare legged in the paddy fields, when you eat 1/3 pickle, from that too, giving the spicy mix to your younger sister.

Ganges and love, while can be easily contaminated, can never be impure.

I go back to my childhood when the delivery person cheerfully sings on the village lane:

Sa re ga ma pa dha ni,

Bom fele saa japani.

Bomer bheetere keute saap,

Birtis boile baap re baap.

(Japanese dropped bomb which has snakes in it. Englishmen were terrified by its sight.)

I am suddenly on cloud nine, the simplicity kills. Who said “KILLS” is a copyright for Lashkar or PC.

PC, you don’t know? Priyanka Chopra… it is not very important though, at least here.

     

These small prose aren’t intended to offend anyone, they are just to chuckle and giggle for some time. And Bengal has poetry in its air. Bangla is itself poetry, a sweet one.

Not only DOI (Curd) is MISHTI (sweet), Bengal’s aurora is sweet as well.

They write letters using dictionary as they cannot THINK in English. Thinking in Bangla and Giggling in Japanese is to be felt on papers in English.

Thank you English for bringing cultures together!

It is interesting to see how ‘Your’s sincerely’ turns in to Dear M and Dear S over a period of time describing about haiku, malaria and stomach diseases from the monsoon Matla.

Both being shy and less spoken have only one PEN friend.

Sometimes, not being in sight is a boon. I repeat, only SOMETIMES.

Seems a little unrealistic in this age of FaceBook hunks and All-in-One 3 SIM mobile Divas but I can feel it, it is still true for the old, backward, Sharat Chandra’s India.

Cute girl could not find a Bengali manual in any Japanese store to send along with the Polaroid camera. How sweet!!

May be foolish, but it does not takes many of your bucks to be foolish for a couple of minutes.

Mashi calls it a jontro (Bengali version of Yantra). Are not we still that pure, that ignorant, that calm and that plain? I hope I was one of them. I am missing home and granny’s village like anything.

One day, I may be able to pay anything just to see completely wrapped ladies making cow dung cakes but someone very wise once said, “Money can buy ALMOST everything, but NOT everything.”

Now tell me people what is correct…philim or flim??

Huh, I won’t take your learned FILM.

 Let it be philim…it sounds ambrosial.

“Mashir songe tomar jotor teri beri na, bahir log ke shaamne to kenchui”  (How fast your tongue moves when you talk to your aunt, and you are a meek lamb in front of others.)

So motherly! Every mom sweetly scolds her child for being shy to others and talkative inside home.

 Sandhya (Raima Sen) is Mashi’s friend’s only daughter. And hence Mashi wants Snehamoy to marry Sandhya.

Unable to see her face, Snehamoy writes about this “Funny” thing to Miyage to which she propose herself to be Snehamoy’s wife.

In “fact of the matter” Snehamoy considered the “idea in principle” and calculated his salary on present rate of exchange which was quite less to go to arrange a ticket to/from Japan.

Indian men! They have a chart prepared for everything. Actually this was the only thing I liked in the bollywood flick ‘Kaminey’.

Excuse me!! I have every right to not like ‘sa’ & ‘fa’ thing.

And having only one Indian style lavatory was a big additional problem.

But girls are girl…are not they?

She sends a silver ring and gets Shankha (conch shell) bangles along with vermillion powder in return as they marry after 3 good years of letter writing.

On the same lines of Spiderman’s video game, I would say “You grammer teacher and I are very proud of you, Snehamoy.”

Snehamoy hides from Snadhya and the way he reveals to her Mashi about getting married calls for a Mexican wave.

And the narration between him and his Mashi, about “Who the bride is?” is simply lovable…Sweetness of Bengali only adds to it.

It’s been 15 years of their marriage, but none of them could manage to travel and see each other. Miyage has sent this big box with lots of kites her father was expert making in.

She keeps sending gifts time to time for her family in India.

And believe me…you get to be on to your nerves when Snehamoy walks on the swampy and glazed road wearing Miyage’s made woolen half-socks.

Of course you may argue that you were not on your nerves. Do you then really have them?

The music there has to be felt by the soul, feeling you are knee dip in Matla on a full moon mid night. No wind chime has that magic.

I really pray, I could move to my college for one more rainy day. I am missing that place like hell. The grass, the soil, the kids playing, jhalmudhi (A Bengal special snack) and people wearing square glasses and dhotis.

How cute it is to wear Saree and vermillion powder, to try smelling the fragrance of champak flowers that are 20 days old and still calling your husband’s name as cinema/Senomoy over the phone.

Awesomely awesome!!!

Wishing on Marriage University (anniversary) is a good thing to do. You might not agree as of now but would certainly do after watching this philim.

But not everything happens as good as you wish. Not in life. Not in films. Not even in poems.

Sandhya, who is a widow now, has come to love with Mashi along with Poltu, his 7 years old kid. Living in his husbands’ house is still not easy in our villages once they are no more.

She’s however not shaved his hair. Is it really mandatory to shave hairs to show the coefficient of love towards your no more husband?

I am not able to buy this idea. Differing opinions are however welcomes.

Miyage is not well and she wants to come to Snehamoy but not everything is possible.

“I understand Miyage, I did feel the same loneliness…Come to me when you are well, I will be waiting for you’re here…or may be one day in the end, I’ll come to you..floating down this river, like that sailing boat…” When said by Snehamoy in a bangla accent, sitting on the bank of Matla…I call this poetry. Sheer poetry. Painful poetry..hopeful poetry… poem which don’t let you sleep, but keep you in peace.

POETRY AT ITS ACME.

Kite festival is a delight to watch. Though it has nothing to do with the movie but it takes you to the core delight of Bengal, as I have seen, may be quite very less, I confess.

Making of manjha (the kite thread) is sufficient to take you in your childhood. And using the obvious color, vermillion is again a feel good thing.

The struggle has to be there in every common story. Miyage gets ill and both of them suffer. Suffering from finance, distance, language, contact, ignorance of technology but the feeling keeps them bonded.

Van der Walls’ force is not always that weak.

I usually tend to rate people numerically but here I would choose not to. I still have not developed the quality to choose one ace out a pack of cards. Ignorant fellow, you can fondly call. I have no objections.

It would be very harsh on my part to leave any person behind as they were perfectly placed.

If not, it is not their fault, may be my vision is not good any more.

Chutney and Rasam have there own importance in an Andhra Thali.

This is not a perfect movie, I agree.

This is not a real movie, I agree.

There may be quite some loopholes, taken.

Still it qualifies to be tremendously beautiful, sweet, divine and lovable work.

Is poetry not imagination?

Don’t we see with eyes closed?

At least I feel so, and so I feel this.

“The Japanese Wife” is:

A very good story by Kunal Basu.

A gem of a direction by Aparna Sen.

An enthralling performance by all the frontiers and rare side people of the team.

To add on the personal front, I would like to thank 3 people:

First two are my dear friends, as I again can not categorize friends as dear, dearer, dearest.

One, for motivating me to see this movie. I agree with you, the movie is “Simply Poetry”.

Second, for providing with this movie. I agree with you as well, “It is smooth and very fine.”

The third person has to be SRK, who make us (OK Me) believe that our movies get positive, if not happy, ends.

And the end of the movie is …… I’d leave to you to decide.

This is not a review which I have done for the movie. This is simply the explanation of a very nice poem I happened to see, to feel and to live last week. I may not have done justice with that but then, I am just another student who did his bit to see thing.

Life is not about absolute things, I see things from my pedestal which may appear gloomy or even divine from others.

Differences welcomed and respected.

 To fasten things up:

No fearful sun, no windy gushes.

Not a single starlit agony.

They do not chat like do we.

With so civilized nasty acrimony.

Listen Tsurumi and Matla talk.

Their’s is a different symphony.

Not every word is to be spoken.

Love may well be aphony.

Not every journey ends....

Introduction:

Not everyone is good for belly dancing, neither every men suits in French cuts.

Politically correct people say, “It’s not my cup of tea”

………………………………..

“Hi! What is happening over there?”

“Hello! I am not sure why people have gathered. Shall I confirm?”

“I’ll be obliged if you can.”

“Sure! I’ll be back in a blink. Can you just keep an eye on my belongings?”

Pankaj was soon one of the several thousand persons standing on Indore junction, railway station.

Being demoted is not a good feeling, is it?

“Hey bhaisaab! Why all this Babel? ”

“Don’t know brother. I am just a shadow in front of you trying to enquire the same.”

Some seventy five, OK pardon my rowdy exaggeration, fifty people were standing there. All Men!

 Don’t get ideas, we still have good number of ladies traveling and railway is quite safe (An NGO studies says it is safer than Donkey’s back.)

Pankaj was representing one; there might have been others as well.

A straight line by the minute pointer and Pankaj succeeded to reach the enquiry counter, His Bag…Belongings!!!! Forget it.

Not any of his predecessors had anything to explain him. We Do Not Believe In Sharing…OH!!! DO WE??

“What’s going on? Something fishy?”

 “Nahi Nahi! There has been some small problem in Intercity Express.”

Damn! Repeat that, you filcher.

“What problem? Are you talking about Nizamuddin Intercity Express?”

Heaven, do not say this. It is 10^th of May. I am sweating like a PIG.

American PIG dumbo, our pigs are smarter.

He ignored Pankaj’s clamor, he has to. A tank full of people come daily and create brouhaha over his head. He announced over the microphone, “Train no. %&^*^ , Indore to Hazrat Nizamuddin via….. blah blah blah…”

Pankaj prayed, “Don’t say that, you black tongued.”

The announcer continued “has been delayed and will leave at 9:30 PM, with a 7 hours delay.”

“Your inconvenience is deeply regretted” He added.

“Aaraghghgh! I’ll tear up your belly and cinch your pancreas if you repeat your regret again.” Pankaj was quite poor in abusing.

Some 10 minutes later…..

She was still sitting there, eager but calm. How people from Venus maintain two different shades at a time?

Don’t ask me, I am from Mars. Ladies!! Any help?

“Hi! Are you fine?”

As if she is looking an exhausted Usain Bolt. 

“Hiiii! Ya ya, I am good. Where have you been?”

Wow lady! Were your brown eyes not following me? Do I look a fool? Filth lies.

But then truly, lies wrapped in Azure silk duppatas are beautiful.

“Nothing! I have just been to the enquiry counter. Did you hear the announcement?”

Or are you making me the assassinator?

“No! What announcement?”

“Intercity to Delhi has been delayed; I hope you are not traveling with the same.” I wish you do. I strongly do. How will I pass remaining 8 hours? I can not buy and read novels at railway stations.

“Ohhh! How long? I am traveling with the same.” Girls are cute when they are little worried. Of course, they are cuter when they blossom their smile.

“They announced around 7 hours. You can go back to the place you stay.” You have luggage equal to three hippos. Indore must be your home.

No god, no. Please.

“No no! I am not a native here. I was paying a visit to my friend’s marriage and will have to wait at the station.” OK, this mascara, eye liner, ponytail… Now I got it. Huh! Even I can be stunning after burning 3000 bucks in a parlor.

“Hmm, I see! Then? Staying here for this long? At the station?”

“I wish I could move, but I’ll wait here. I have quite some luggage and then I am unknown to this place” Some? You say it again and authors of Oxford dictionary will hunt you down. Or may be not, for you are so gorgeous. Males are cheated, are not they?

I demand reservation.

“Ok! No worries. I was also about to stay. It is awfully hot outside. Let us move to the waiting room”

“Yes, which way?”

“Come; give me two of your bags.” You got a coolie for nothing.

“Hey thanks! You are a nice guy.” Tell me something else, I know this.

Waiting room had….. Room… WOW, I mean WOW!!!!

Pankaj was breathing heavily. He murmured “Lady, are there cement blocks in your bag, which I’ll have to carry again?”

“You said something?”

“No no! Was just wondering what your good name might be?”

“Hey! You should have asked. You are a bit too humble.” As if you have asked your collie’s name.

“OK, now asking. Here am I, Pankaj.”

“Sneha, from Meerut.”

“Great! I am from Varanasi.”

Two hours passed.

“Pankaj, you are quite quiet. See how much I have spoken, about me, my college et al.”

Because I am not wearing that Apricot stole. Because I am half lost. Because I just want to hear.

“Haan! You said something? No, I usually speak less.”

“OK, tell me what you do?” Currently? Staring you divine lady.

“Well, I am a software professional at an MNC in Gurgaon. I help in IT related issues petroleum industry faces.”

“That must be something very brainy. You look quite intelligent.” That means you are actually not.

5PM……..

“Hey Pankaj! Do you know some place here to roam around?”

“Did I not tell you that I have been here only for 2 days due to my sporting commitments? I do not know a thing.”

“Can we explore, if you do not mind?” My purse would, though I won’t.

“Let us go then.”

“Hey, but I pay for myself. You should not have any reservation for that.”

“Though I do not like anyone paying if I am there, but if it is a thumb rule for you, I’d rather respect that.”

“You are truly a kind hearted gentleman. Your wife would be a very happy lady.” Yuck!!

“Bring me down, I am not that good. Let us go.” It is not always very good to hear good words about you. Especially, when you are not good at praising others.

Somewhere on Palasia Road, in the middle of Chappan Chowk, Neeraj was doing his job of the day, staring.

To be very honest, he never did so in his entire life and it was not the SRK or Anil Kapoor’s feeling but still he was staring  Sneha gulping Pani Puris.

“Hey, try some. They are very nice.”

“No, thank you. I’d look for some lassi.”

“Buy me a couple of Gulab Jamuns then.”

“Sure, but won’t you mind if I do so?”

“Eh! Friends. Can have something from your money.” Sneha lend her bare left hand out to shake. Pankaj tumbled, but was good at hand shakes. Thanks to corporate.

“So! Are you saying to buy clothes as well?”

“Hush! You are not that good friend yet.” Sneha giggled.

Why do they giggle, why can’t they laugh?

9 PM…..

“How long Pankaj?”

“Very soon. Do you want me to go and ask?” Am I the driver?

“No leave it, they would announce.” Really? Would they?

“By the way, will you move to Meerut directly or will stay at Delhi for some time?”

“Will catch a bus ASAP. Hey! What is your coach number?”

“S7, yours?”

“Same!! Touchwood. Don’t say you sleep at night?”

“I usually do not.”

“Great! We will chat then.”

How long a girl can chat?

10:30 PM…

“So tell me Pankaj, what are your hobbies?”

“Why? Will you challenge me in cricket field?” Currently, listening you.

“You are too quiet.. Don’t you know how to talk good things to girls?”

“Hmm!”

“How do you define friendship?”

“Hmm!”

“Your take on love?”

“Hmm!”

“Any girlfriend? You must be having.”

“Hmm! Ahem..haan..nahi.. no, none.”

“Do not lie; there must be scores of girls who would fall for you.”

“Wow! How do you know?”

“Girls have 7 senses; I can foresee things you can not.”

“Great Deviji! Spare me. I am a fool.” Agreed, had no other way.

2:45 AM…

“Now sleep, I am sleeping too.”

“I don’t feel like. I’d sit for sometime.”

“Do you smoke? Guys awake till this late usually do.”

“Shut your mouth and eyes and don’t get ideas poor girl.”

“Ok baba! Don’t frown. It is already very hot. Calm down.” Giggle again.

4 AM….

Sneha asleep, Pankaj at the door.

What was this? Certainly not a friendly affection. He has been friends to many many boys and girls. It is something else. May be the thing called a tinge of love. May be..may be not.

Pankaj does not know. It is entirely new experience. He goes back, Sneha is still sleeping, divine..childish.

5 AM…

Pankaj still thinking, jotting down things. The page is full; he has no space for this thing.

He combs his hairs. Whenever he combs, he is confident and had made a decision.

8:30 AM….

“Good morning lady! Had nice sleep? Need some tea?”

“Good morning! No, will have a mouthwash first. You did not sleep? ”

“I did for 5:30 to 7:30. Need no more.”

“Hmm” Beautiful was a word to describe her. No more staring though.

12 noon, Nizamuddin Station….

“OK! Bye Sneha. Go safe. It was nice traveling with you.”

“Huh! Shall I ask for your number? Cheapo!!”

“It is 97%^**^&*, but do you need that?”

“Won’t you ask mine?”

“No, if you require you would find another person again somewhere. And if you really wish to talk, you can call me at my number.”

“Strange! Don’t you feel like calling me?”

“Probably not. I mean you won’t understand. It is some 8^th sense.”

“You are a great philosopher.” Giggles…the same one.

“May be…:aisa hi hun main. OK leave now.”

“OK bye! Have a great day ahead. Will call you sometime.”

Pankaj walks and walks tall staring at sky, as he usually does.

Somewhere, Chitra ji is singing…

“Mere jaise ban jaaoge, tab ishq tumhe ho jayega……Tum bhi ghar der se aaoge
Jab ishq tumhe ho jayega”

Pankaj can not be that… life goes on, a new sojourn, a new platform.

A dew drops on hot road....and vanishes.Music plays.

The importance of being grotesque …

7^th Jan, 2010…

“Ehh, Collingwood sucks. 40 runs off 189 balls. Snails are dying of contempt. Damn!! It is pathetically pathetic.”

 The operator inside my mind starts rolling his film; I am in to my memory lanes.

Someday, March 2001,

“Ehh, this teacher sucks. Three and a half out of hundred. Life is too tough after taking his papers.”

Every day, sometime, somewhere,

“Papa is a bit too strict; he always says NO and never ever bothers about us. He himself is 41 but looks older than 50. How weird?”

BELIEVE me, it is not at all important who said this, when did he/she said this. Even if you won’t, hardly matters.

By the way, for fellas not knowing Collingwood, he is a subtle English batter. In a country where class is not permanent, he stands as a pole.

Anyway, not going in to Styne-Colly war, come back to consciousness.

Just think for a couple of seconds. And you will get to know, yeah, your experience also says the same.

So, there are people who are destitute, average, commonly common, unpleasing and to a large extent UGLY.

But is it not important to have ugly people in life?

I remember…

Ohh, by the way, I have a bad habit. I remember a lot.

Yeah, so what…yes!!!

I remember once someone asked Glen Mcgrath, the only man on the planet who can bowl at the same place for years and decades without failing, “Who is the batsman you find most abrade, difficult and demoralizing to bowl to?”

“Sachin, Inzamam, Lara are quite good and so is our Punter but the person I find most annoying is Dravid.”

 “Why so?” was the next question.

“You come with desire and full strength and you are on target but he is unmoved (mentally), unfazed, as dedicated as a kingfisher, as calm as an Indian yogi and lo and behold… All the laws of momentum get lost in his calm wrist. The leather rocketed with 145 KMPH could not roll 3 meters after kissing his willow.”

“But then he does not score’s at a menacing pace, right?”

---------------------------------

Are you, any of you, of such opinion?

Let me discard the very same thought, as did Glen. I do not remember his words, thanks to power cut in our hostel. So, I’ll put it in my words.

He does and he does that in style.  He is like glue which holds the clay together and allows it to take any shape, mostly meaningful and beautiful.

When a father takes pain day and night, when he burns his age in to the hassle scintilla of life, the children get alluring light.

When people like Collingwoods and Dravids play ugly, beautifuls like Pietersens and Yuvrajs get to open up.

No building is completed without staining hands with dirt and mud. Behind every superhero’s costume there are several weavers spinning and knitting day and night non-stop..

Yes, it is important to be ugly, to be grotesque.

It is more important to respect their being, their importance and their value.

To end, this is for the finest, if not the best cricketer of all time:

With my hands down,
I delved in this cosmos.
It seemed futile and brown,
Then something linger came across.
It were you,
you vindicated my choice.
I yearned you and I earned you.
I had a hue for you,
and why should one not have,
when such a class you possess.
In every ditch,
you made a niche.
You are the only to remain on the pitch.
For your being on the crease I never prayed,
It was useless because you never betrayed.
A true leader, a true man,
You stay quiet, as you can.
May world argue, may they debilitate,
The sun may not rise,
It might not rain.
Despite of every harbinger,
there would be a man.
At least to clap, to stand, to praise,
You and your game.
One more scintillating drive,
DRAVID ONCE MORE

NOTE: This poem was written by me quite some time back. But it is still fresh and has exactly same relevance.                                                                                          
Glen Mcgrath has been one of the most accurate fast-medium bowlers in cricketing history, from Australia.

126 minutes of disappointment...

Things are getting sticky these days. I mean life has slowly metamorphosed to a sandwich. Can not grill it too much, neither can gulp it as such.

It is not even a hunky-dory; it is a stark loose-loose situation.

It was again that after a dozen of bootless hours I went on to put RAAVAN (the movie) on roll. I am not a 75 mm guy and hence have no problem with any number of “Thok de killi” sort of rag and nettles.

Ctrl key you know; I love that.

I have high regards for Mani Ratnam and Gulzar. I was also having lot of hopes from Rensil to repeat another Rang De Basanti after killing us by LUCK. Did anyone see that?

If you ever get a feeling to kill someone brutally please drop a DVD of LUCK in to his/her belongings. Even Samba is not as poisonous as the after affects LUCK will leave.

Anyway, let us keep the past perils aside and come to Raavan, the epic…. Acclaimed.

The film starts with a stone falling from a hilltop which is exactly 4 times the height junior Bachchan has.

Junior AB chased the same but the stone outsmarted him….and did so in the whole movie. Had I known that, I’d have not continued.

Now, with no prejudice and bias I was watching the movie because internally I am OK with Abhishek. He is good if not as good as SRK.

The movie starts from nowhere (most of such storylines starts from same or similar place) but unfortunately end nowhere as well….aaraghghhh

Beera (played by AB) is a messiah or a devil (only Mani knows) in a jungle; A rain forest.

He did absolutely nothing to display that he is a Ravan, I mean the 10 heads and stuff. A very local tribal rouge he looks and plays. Killing a dozen cops bare handed is easier that erasing a pencil written 420 from the collar of your friend’s shirt. Haven’t bollywood movies taught this for years and decades?

What was Ravan like in that? Grover has done this for number of times he has yawned.

Poor stuff Mr. Mani!!!

I am utmost disappointed.

Now coming to the art/acting part.

Why the hell these bollywood people think that acting means making faces, kidnapping girls (for girls it is asking their right to work), living in and saying “bakbakbakbakbak” … ehhh ugly, extremely ugly that is.

AB you were real good, rather wow (as Saif would have said) in Dostana or for that matter in DELHI-6..Masakkali

But this was sheer disappointment… I wont see next two movies of your. That is an intense promise.

(Aish)warya playing Ragini or whatever. I must be pardoned for missing her name as she is the one and only. Ever graceful and gorgeous, she has taken her weak role sort of successfully.

Anyone seen Aparichit/Aparichitadu?

Anyone? Any hands up?

No one…??

Do not watch now.

You will feel sorry about the distance Vikram has come from there.

He was a beauty, a delight, a star, stunning to watch and Mani has done him an Aaditya Pancholi of 90s.

The only good thing is his physique but that too is of no use as he is continuously thrashed by Beera.

Ehhh…. I feel cheated.

Same sister…same loving brother… same police..violence… same revenge but no it was a Mani Ratnam movie, something was to be different.

And that is the end….. Whooooppp

Square, triangle, cone, sphere

Ravan , Ravan everywhere.

And if this was little, here comes ever pathetic Govinda (his new avatar is pathetic for me) to dissipate you.

I am dead.

A very dear friend of mine once said, man Illairaja is a great composer but do not know why idiots get Oscars. I found truth in his words when Rahman got the same for Jai ho.. whatever.

But after this, I am sure. I second you my friend.

Had Rekha Bhardwaj not given her heart and soul to Ranjha Ranjha…….. I would have declared it as the worst album of my life.

But not all was gloomy……

Kudos to Ravi Kishan, you can watch the complete movie for him. So what if he has a very small share on the screen.

And now come the best.

Santosh Sivan, the man who deserve all round of applause. A great work he has done and you will see the Indian Pandora from the eyes of his camera. Stunning cinematography is a thing for which you can really kill your 126 minutes watching Raavan and you will enjoy the locations.

Though I am a very generous at marking, this would be my take (out of 10):

Junior AB- 2

Vikram- 2+2 (for his biceps only)

Aishwarya- 5 (for she is never aging)

Govinda- Can I have negative integers here?

Ravi Kishan- 9 (Excellent dude)

A R Rahman- 4 (Expectations are high from you)

Rensil- 10 (Read it with a minus, you did your worst…. you can not do poor than this,    gurr)

Mani- 2 (Just for his reputation)

Shyam Kaushal- 0 (What action, was there any?)

Sabyasachi Mukherjee- 7 (Created true Raavan, a very nice attempt)

Santosh Sivan- 10 on 10

So, all in all it is one of the perfect examples of poor thinking and even poorer execution.

Watch it if you wish to see Santosh’s hard work.

Watch it if you have no bad blood with Ravi Kishan.

Watch if you too are fed up with India-Sri Lanka cricket matches which are more frequent in offing than you have breakfast (or for the same, I miss).

But yes, that is absolute killing of our 126 minutes… Mrs. Mani, listening?

Are you?

To complete… it is not an epic of good against evil.

The movie is evil, evil and devil.

You may well have a different, even opposite opinion but I can not take such black colored pieces.

Life needs heroes, need Rams and light in life. And even if Raavan, its got to be the brighter side of him.

 On a closing note, Mr. Mani, you almost did a Ramgopal Verma ki Aag (though I’ve only heard about that epic).

Gimme my 126 minutes back, can you?

Thank you Laxman Sylvania

Today I matched Christian Bale.

Ok ok, don’t frown. Drop your eyebrows.

My age matched his waistline in Machinist. Seen the movie?

No!

Don’t see if you are happy with life.

And please help yourself with a DVD/torrent download if you feel otherwise.

It has every plug-ins to detonate your mind.

Anyway, coming back, it’s my birthday today, the day I never laurel. I do not stand antipodal though with any disrespect as well.

It’s just that I do not feel like a star that has done too much. I still have to unhook many knots and the time is running.

Being true to myself, I was never a kid at heart. Let me remember again, naah, nix.

Probably born a bit too ripe, adolescence is a virtue which never palpated me. I was never a fish to be caught.

Still I have some DD memories to share; DD memories mean Memories from DoorDarshan:

Growing through The streets of Malgudi (pardon the usage, Malgudi is not just a place, it is now a way of thinking) from R K Narayanan's novel turn TV serial I dreamt of dhotis and dust. Remember Swami and friends…ta na na nana nanana.

Never ever tasted amul’s milk but was a true amul boy when Siddharth Kak said Amul boy and the background score was “Amul, the taste of Indiaaaaa”

You can enshrine Siddharth Kak, right?

Never seen sanskrutik patrika SURABHI?

Damn, you missed the life, the faith, the divinity of DD and most of all, the beaming smile of ever gorgeous Renuka Shahane. I waited and waited and simply waited to see her say, “Siddharth ji, ab darshakon se vidaa lene ka samay aa gaya hai. To Surabhi ki poori team ki or se NAMASKAAR”.

Opps! That Namaskar! That was simply the best moment of the evening.

Byomkesh babu may not look like Zoro in his attire; he was not a bit too young as well.

His wife wrapped in a traditional Bengali white sari (that too not starched) was not having an engineered body like Aruna Shields. You know Aruna Shields. No? Google for her. PRINCE is of course the Choate movie to miss. No harm if you have not seen it.

But still, Byomkesh babu along with his small handheld torch and background music of crickets chirping was a delight to watch.

I liked my school, and did I Gayatree mantra and Hanuman chalisa but more that that I loved “Mile sur mera tumhara”

Especially Mausami Chaterjee in……….

Toma mora swarer milan srishti kare chalbochatano

I still love this…probably more than Veer loved Zara.

Don’t start blaming me every now and then, I have not read any Romeo-Juliet. I can simply quote bollywood.

And just to watch that, till Jitendra runs in, in white, I always got up early.

Who says TV defaces children?

I loved the kid saying, gaao na didi……….

Ek chidiya, anek chidiya…

For years Duck Tales was an Indian show for me, till I get to know that it is a dubbed product from Disneyland.

Still I hope, if I was Launchpad McQuack, I would have avoided many suffering the Scrooge family had to face.

Though never seen it, I loved counting the never ending number of episodes Swabhimaan aired.

Now there are no more Moglis and Alices. No Shanti at 4 PM, when I returned from school. No one sings Alif lailaa with a couple of extra aaa…….. But you are still there sitting in a corner of my room.

You knew only two colors viz. black and white, still did your best to make me feel green, yellow and pink.

Thanks for being my best friend for longest span. Thank you LAXMAN SYLVANIA.

NOTE: LAXMAN SYLVANIA was the first Black & White TV we owned and it was till then (1988-2009), that I loved TV. No more affection to channels these days. I’ve always been a DD person.

To Her, With Love...........

“Raj! Main tumhare sath nahi aa saktee. Mujhe maaf karna, mujhe Surinder Ji me apna rab dikhta hai” Anushka Sharma from Rab Ne Bana di Jodi was saying this to SRK. I mean Raj.

I’ve seen this movie number of times Jumbo has taken five wickets in an inning. You know Jumbo, right? Anil Kumble.

Leave it; having seen it so many times, I’m almost emotionless at this scene now.

But today, I had nothing to do and this bomb detonated spontaneously in my mind.

I mean Surinder!

It is OK for girls to die for Rajs, Vijays, Rahuls, Aruns, Ajays and Prems but Surinder?

Ehh, how can someone say this?

Hey Tani ji (Anushka), you are too brave to spell this dialogue.

No offence to Surinders and Harvinders but seriously, it is not at all having MACHO.

 There were times when Sulekha/Sulochna and Pyaremohan/Parimal had been the most sought after pairs in the town.

But for the past lifetime (Of course my lifetime) we have never seen such pairs.

Neither on reel nor off it.

I’ve never seen a Raj loosing such combats of love in my entire bollywood/Hollywood/tollywood career. OK, agreed it has been a viewer’s career and that too a pretty small one.

Still I can ingest that but no way from some Surinder.

Till time I loved my name very much and thanked my dad to give me such a manly name.

But looking at this, forget Avinash even Champakbhumia is not a safe word nowadays.

Envisage some pretty voice saying “Champakbhumia, would you please be my fewer half?”

Ehhhhhh…..

By the way, you know what a fewer half mean.

Don’t you?

Any lady over there, please help the poor boy(s).

Can anyone out there please help me in changing my name officially? Don’t worry I’ve decided over it. It’s got to be EUCALYPTUS.

Hopefully that is safe name for a decade.

Thanks Tani ji for opening my eyes, thank you so much for making me cognizant with the latest development in name book at Venus.

With lots of love (of course brotherly) ……. We must clarify this at the earliest these days.

NOTE: If anyone finds any word from this piece as objectionable I’ll pull it off. No hard feelings intended, it is just a bubble of thoughts I moved one of my pages through.