Were that you?

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.

                                                                                                                Georges Duhamel

                                                                                              

                                                       ************

“Heyyyyy!!!!”

“Whaaaa….! Who?”

“Hiii! Is that you?”

“What?”

“Look at you! Yes, it is you.”

“….!!!!!??? Of course, it’s me. Who else?” I mean, it is to be me. I suppose, to say the least.

“Whoaaaa!! I am just meeting Dhawal.” Indeed you are, but what gets you those extra a’s in that?

“Yes! That is my name but how do you know me?” I don’t do TV commercials yet. Do I?

“……!!......!!.....??.....!!” What? Say something!! For Christ sake!

“Hey! Why are you staring at me? How do you know me (repeat)? Have we met earlier?” Staring!!! Are you the last hunk over the earth? A girl ogling at you! You gone nuts?

“Don’t say that.” The voice got real low. Seen a pressure cooker nozzle? DITTO!

“But! Really? Yes.. I mean no..I could not recall. May be I have a poor memory. Could you please help me with this?” Ehh! Not many girls I know, fewer I’ve ever met. How the damn could I miss the name of any of them? And just to add, she is stunningly gorgeous!!!

                                                         ************

Oh! By the way, did I tell you how it all started?

OK, here you go.

Same day, 7 hours back.

“Hi! Puneet.”

“Hey Dhawal, is that you over the line?”

“Yes, you bet.”

“Where? At home? In the town?”

“Answer to both of your questions is yes, affirmative.”

“O dear lord of donkeys! What would it take you to show up?” Shut up you crap.

“At your wish, anytime. I’m game.” I’m not good at meeting-goofing-hanging out. Your call.

“No! You decide boss.”

“Are you sure? I tell you, you’d regret, hugely.”

“Go ahead fella.”

“OK, then. Let’s fix it on your funeral. What say?” Not only you suck mate, not only you.

“Sure dead man! Certainly!”

“OK enough! 6 PM in the evening. Is that alright?”

“Sounds like a plan. Yes, that would do. Anything before 11PM is cool with me.”

“And after that?”

“Stuffs you know…”

“Reliance?”

“You cold hearted can say that.”

“Got ya Romeo. It’s OK.” Both men laugh. Humongous!!

                                                        **********

“Don’t you remember me?” silence. “Smriti!!!” She herself broke in.

Ehh!! That can break the window panes for sure.

“Aanhh, haan…. aan? Smri…ti..? Who..?” Bad, damn bad boy!!

Avantika, Anamika, Priya, Niti, Geetika, Reena, Yogita…Smriti?? What?? No! Not in my database.

“You sure, you are Dhawal.” What? Was that a question? I never expected that. OK, at this point of time, I did.

“To the best of my knowledge, yes. I suppose so.” I got the same word incarnated over my passport to say the least. My PAN agrees too. Yes, Yes, Yes, I am Dhawal. Hence, proved.

I tried to lift the moment by being a bit chirpy and casual. Not to mention, I failed… miserably. Have you seen overloaded carts uprooted from the front, yeah, I looked similar.

“The same one from Bhartee Vidyala school?”

“Yes!!” Woila! How’s that? She knows my history.

“Then I suppose you can recall me. Cannot you?” Think hard you frog eyed fool!!

Her smile was dazzling.

                                                ************

I went over the place Puneet and I had decided to meet at around 6 in the evening.

OK, 5:40 to be precise.

By the way, I over do myself in punctuality and I am quite punctual in doing this.

After waiting for some 10 odd minutes over a place in a lively and crowded market, I was bored and irritated. Bored in 10 minutes, seriously!!

These are social offenses and must not be committed so often.

And I totally agree to it, though unhappily.

Following and agreeing go hand in hand, did anyone say that? I’m glad no one did.

BRAVO!!!

I started to take a little walk. You understand road side window shopping, don’t you?

Happily for you, even if you don’t, it hardly matters. Cheer!

I was somewhere in the front of a ladies suit shop when she screamed from the back.

Yuck!

You are awful man! A LADIES SUIT SHOP!!

And add to it, you cannot recall her. This evening cannot get worse. You swear.

                                                    ************

“CANNOT YOU!!” Get up you lagging behind sleeping fool.

“Umm!! I really wish I could. I may, I mean…I will..hmm..umm…”

“That should help.” And I noticed her beautiful smile for the very first time. That was awesome.

I know, I’m silly and that is now CERTIFIED by MYSELF, Period.

“My deepest regrets but it would really help if you can give me a hint or so.” I give up, to be honest. I never felt begging like this before. And I console myself with this statement every time I beg.

“In that street over the Ganges…. ”

“HI MAN!!!!!, where are you? We decided to meet at the T-point. And then your phone? Why aren’t you answering any of them?” Enter Puneet unnoticing Smriti.

Un-noticing!!

How dare he? But eventually, it makes me happy. Not his coming, his un-noticing her does.

“Hey Puneet! Hi mate! Thanks for turning up. I just got to meet an old friend of mine, Smriti. Meet her. And Smriti, he is Puneet. We have been long time school buddies.” Thanks for turning up, huh! What timing, what a brutal timing. I can surly kill you for this.

“Hi Smriti! How do you do?” Puneet displayed his gentleman behavior.

“Fine, thank you. How are you?” 

How is he? He is fine, flabby, rich and lazy. Uhhh.

“Um going great. Nice dress haan! What do you do?” What? Dumb head!!

I didn’t ask a thing till time and now Puneet knows more than me. I am a complete crap. Oh! I said it twelfth time, I better put it as a permanent tattoo over my forehead.

Not that I had any business with her but then there is something called courtesy. I am in a complete mess, really.

“MCom. about to finish this March.”

“That is cool. I am a doctor, a bad one you know.” Acting smart boy!

“Hahaha! And he must be a bad engineering.” What? She knows that much about me. Hey!! What is my blood group lady?

“By the way, aren’t we gathered here for a job treat due on Dhawal?” Puneet never misses over food.

“Hey! Wow Dhawal! Congratulations!! Where man? Calls for a grand party buddy.”

Buddy!! Hmm.

I can reciprocate at least; my words however would be MYSTERIOUS STRANGER!!

“OK folks! As you order. Decide where to go.” Not that I’m so generous and eat out-spend bucks kind of person but I wanted to know more of her. I was trying really hard to recall her.

And yes, I had to keep my promise to Puneet as well.

But, when you press things too hard, they don’t come your way. Isn’t it right?

They just talked and talked over the dining table and I? I was eating-staring-eating-listening-eating-drinking-eating-staring and then we came off.

We three took a walk and again talked a bit before taking leave. I don’t remember what I said or heard.

 She took my contact number (and of course Puneet’s) and as I more often do, I didn’t took her.

I don’t know her, I barely talked to her, neither had I taken her number. All I know is her name.

Fantastic!!

Bull shit!!

I am totally bullshit!!

                                                          ************

It has been 5 months since then today I read this article about huge Indian bullocks.

Suddenly this spurred in my mind.

There was a similar one, a rather bigger one; or maybe I was so small to sense it’s hugeness. Size do not matter, the incident might do.

It was some 16 years back.

In those congested streets on my way back to school, I grabbed a little girl’s hand by my little palms and ran for our lives.

I doubt over my heroics, neither do I remember the exact proceedings but I got numerous bruises all over and won sympathy/acclaims from her parents.

OK, that was more of sympathy to be honest but come on! I think that much is allowed at an age of say 7-8 years.

I never asked her name, what else do you expect me to do in that pain?

I am not sure if they asked mine.

I never met her again.

I had never known her.

She was not in my school either.

16 years is some time, definitely when you are growing biologically. Appearance changes hugely.

Were that you?

Were that you, Smriti?

Oh! I wish Puneet was a few seconds late that day.

I wish I had your number.

I wish you had called me once.

I wish the paper you had noted my name is still intact.

I wish you read this.

I wish someone who knows you might be reading this.

But anyway, if none of these wishes come true, I wish you stay safe and blessed. May be we can cross each other some other day.

All said and done, I strongly believe in the following said by Friedrich Nietzsche:

The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good thing for the first time.

Someday, I would directly ask…………… Were that you? Smriti?? The world is not that big.

See ya!!

Meaning Lost... The four letter word

 “Hi Baby!”

“Hi Sweetheart!”

“Checked the new pendent, I sent? Liked it? ”

“It is awesome, love! Thanks…”

…………..,………….,…………..?................ &………..:)…, ?....!!!!!!!!

………………….

………………………………………

………………………………………………..

…….Will Rajat and Roshni meet again?

…….Will Roshni’s love bring Rajat back?

…….Will Shreya snatch Rajat from Roshni? (Yuck!!!, Macho kharaab kar ditta ladke kaa!!)

To know more, keep watching……….”%$$%*&^&^%$- The Real Love”… next Monday, same time.

…………………………..TV Closed……………....................

Dear Heaven! 

The catastrophe for the day finished. I am back to life again.

But these things on and off the reel, wheedle me to ponder over this MAGIC word.

MAGIC? Yeah, they say so, may be…even I agree somewhere deep down in my élan vital.

Some years below my chest, I happen to read something by Peter Ustinov.

He says “Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.”

Is it?

Truly?

Though I yearn strongly that this is true, I am left forlorn in this legion where love has been materialized and quantified exact to the third place of decimal.

Third place of decimal!!!!!!!

Did I say that?

Painstakingly, yes, I did so.

May be I was living in the 18^th- -19^th century and one day I woke up to know that love is not the same as Charles Dickens described saying, “A loving heart is the truest wisdom."

Now what wisdom?

Love is now a luxury and everyone wants to afford it, Young blood, an imported watch, nice deodorant , a cool faded pair of jeans, and a love bud…dy…!!!!!!

Whatever!

I am finding it difficult to breathe here.

“Hey Homo sapiens of posterior! What have you done to this air? It is extremely polluted.” Foolish man, it is called the Greenhouse effect…..You are really ignorant.

***************************************** 

“Hey friend! I love you.”

“What? You a gay or something?”

Aaraghghhhhhh!!

Is love only for a Man and Woman? 
In other times (with less learned people like me) this very objective definition of now-a-days love was called sex and not love.

Answer the following question:

Love can be between:

1)      Father and Son

2)      Father and Daughter

3)      Mother and Daughter

4)      Mother and Son

5)      Two siblings

6)      Two friends (any gender)

7)      A person and a pet

8)      All of these

What?? What did you say? No answer matches!!!…………Why?

Oh, Dear lord!

I have been ticking “All of these” for centuries and now they say, “None of these” must replace this.

Love is meant explicitly for two individuals of opposite genders now a days!!!!

Thanks to the kid staying next door. He is 7 and knows more than my 6000 years.

Bible says:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

And that is completely awry now a days………

I mean patient, kind, no proud, not angered, trust, never fails!!!!!!!

Were words been imported from Pluto or the writer did not had a dictionary to check the meaning of all these words?

“Last 4 of my loves have failed in past 7 hours, I am broken.” Someone uttered last night to a Loveguru over some radio channel.

“Ohh, did you? You rotten fella, go get yourself drowned.” I tried to murmur.

“Get yourself and your foolish concept of eternal love out of our fast track world punk! I’ll search a couple of new love over FaceBook in matter of 21 nanoseconds. Out you fool” The sound grew bigger.

I had no other choice but to quit.

Every 7 out of 5 of us is in pain, called love.

Doctors curing mental stress caused by love and its FAILURE (I still cannot withhold it) are making bundles by giving colored tablets which have no medicine value.

Why the hell did Sophocles said " One word frees us from all the weight and pain of life: That word is love."

I really need to ask him. Back in the hell we do meet Sophocles.

Things like Emotional Atyachaar (An Indian TV show) and blah blah… are there to take revenge in love.

And this kills Reinhold Niebuhr every now and then; he was a fool who said "Forgiveness is the final form of love."

Forgiveness!!

Kidding or what?

Who except the Supreme Court of India forgives now? And why should one?

Men have Macho and Women have all the equality right, don’t they?

I think I need to be back to my conch shell. That is the best place to be in.

The place where a man can love other, I can love the calf of my grandpa, I can touch the feet of my father with all the pacific of love inside me.

The abode where my mum kisses my cheeks, where I can imperiously announce that at 24, I love my bother more than anything else in this world, the stead, where no one question me if I need a girl/lady/marriage to be in the same lot, the place where I can feel free to have friends whom I love from the encore without justifying their gender and “what is between us” thing.

May not befitting to this realm, I want to believe every drop of what Philip Larkin said,

What will survive of us is love.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make………… Learn to Love Unconditionally!!

Masculine adrenaline is back to the business…

Without any rubbish brouhaha, let me come to the point. This is it; this is what I was possibly waiting for about 20 odd years.

The dusky and husky, the hot and humid, the man with ultimate macho, the courageous panther, the lone cow boy of Panama is back.

Above lines never mean that I am a blind fan of the THING I am going to describe. This only means that I had cards in a game of poker and I was sitting pretty confident on there value. But here this THING came up and turned me in to Sania Mirza 2009. OK, call it Shoiab Malik 2009; it won’t affect the performance an inch.

This THING is called DABANGG.         

Let me be very honest and tell you that I do not have a taste for real life movies, pertaining to any of the following two reasons you may like to choose;

Those who respect me, they must understand that I do not want to see real life trauma even if they are true and sensible. Earning 50 bucks panting hard like a pig and spending it again to see other pigs sweating is a NONSENSE offense for me.

Yuckkkk!!!! Do you respect me anyway? I am sure you do not.

And if you do not respect, you may wisely call me a fool to write me off the cards. You may well put me in the category of himbo-bimbo of the town. Trust me; I will not mind a penny loosing 700 grams from upstairs if you really feel so. I cannot help anyways, even if I mind. Oh, can I?

Be it any of the two reasons, I simply do not like realistic and sad movies. I do not like Karan-Johar’s New York, Los Angeles movies either. A guy merely 21 getting a Limousine to roam all around Rome with her “here she comes from blue and blushing heaven” girlfriend and still call himself struggler and panauti.

Now, you must not be knowing what a panauti is? It literally means a person who is extremely unlucky and discarded by the lord of fate. Yeah, exactly like you and me. Aren’t we extremely genius at crying and cursing?

The two reasons may sound a little vacillating to each other but where as first category gives an additional bath under the daily problem shower the second kills us by trauma of impossible future disaster.

Mind it; I am not a tissue paper boy whose mother rolls over an ice cube over his face EVEN INSIDE A CENTRALLY AC MALL. No offense to the “whose rags are costlier than my riches” kids but come on; I do not find it of my world.

Come on! Not whole Macau and Malaysia is dying for my six-packs even if I earn then some how. Why would I marry a girl by love at first sight?

Aaragghhhhhh!!!! First sight… huhh. Ugly!

And then why would people get separated just for “who cooks better spinach” kind of reason?

Anyway, I am not criticizing any of the multiplex genres of movies and moviemakers, not the intellect viewers.

Did I say intellect? Did I? I really hate this word to the core of my élan-vital.

Having said that, there mustn’t go any indication that I like any of the filth Chakrabotry and Shetty movies. That is sheer violence and complete BULLSHIT!

Anyway, let me cut this crap and come to the movie.

Based on a probable easily seen plot in a small town of Utter Pradesh (I can smell it) the story has nothing new to offer.

I said it; you read it, absolutely right!! Nothing, exactly nothing.

But tell me honestly, the bread and rice which you consume daily, does it have anything new to offer? Still, that is an essence, a charm and a charisma (if I can please use this term).

The movie has no story, no plot, no huge sets, not more than 4 minutes of outside shooting, no exposing actors, no rain dance, no love triangle, no struggle for existence but the movie has CHULBUL PANDEY!!!!

The very second you start thinking to think that this will now go ashtray, the fearless hunk comes and lo and behold, movie turns to a magic hat.

He fights, he laughs, he dances, he shows off, he loves, he hates, he respects, he accepts bribe and he does all this living on the edge. And this sanguine hero overpowers one and all. And the style is inimitable.

The clean shaved man with sharp moustaches looks great in his perfect tailored formals and walks like a royal lion. Ehh, you do not like it?? Sorry, you are not meant to know what DABANGG means.

This movie gives no false promises as RAAVAN did. It is indeed a story of DABANGG policeman from UP.

This movie does not show false idealism as 3 IDIOTS did. This is a true heroism when HCL only burns bad guys.

The movie is not irritating like HOUSEFULL. Why did Sajid named it HOUSEFULL, wufffffff!!

The movie claims to be a complete entertainment and it offers more, like any advertising product does and we still doubt over them. The end result is bad for us only.

The excellent music is piquant both for songs and for background. Who can deny the sweetness of Rahat Fateh Ali saahab’s “tere mast mast do nain”? My favorite being the title track…”Hud hud dabangg”

Seen the awesome belt dance step? No!!

You surely missed something then.

I am not talking about the most famous track though. I can not help myself being a Malaika hater. Though the music seems nice.

There are other characters but can not be judged as they have nothing to do when ROBINHOOD casts a sensational spell every now and then.

But it is important to mention Sonu Sood who has come ages with Chedi Singh.

Every second Salman appears (or Chulbul, actually Salman is no where in the movie) is a must watch for everyone. I mean everyone, a fan will turn in to a wind mill and a critic will ask for a membership of the fan club.

Anyone who discards the movie or dislikes it (after watching) must be having one or the other preoccupation about something or the other related to the movie.

To sum up, as Arbaaz correctly said, this is the first time he did something for Salman, I would rather say, Salman has done something for himself for the first time all over these years.

The roaring lion is back and we will be spell bound for ages, at least I am and that too with happiness.

HUD HUD DABANGG!!!!!!!!!!!

NOTE: This is no Salman movie, this is strictly ROBINHOOD’s movie… oopss, ROBINHOOD PANDEY’s movie………. Go grab it “becaaz there iz aalwez a phast chance, and there iz aalwez a next chance.”

It is not late yet.

And yes, keep your goggles at the back!!!!!!!!!

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.