Homeless

I am a man without a home, no, not the philosophical sort which you rich sorts search for all your life, the one without four walls and a roof above.Every day or rather every night I search for a place where I can lie down without being disturbed by cops, dogs, rats and any other such creatures. Every morning I wake with the knowledge that my day would end somewhere else. All my belongings are in a big polythene bag which I carry with myself at all point of time. I found it with great difficulty while rummaging through the garbage of a posh housing society, or maybe it was my lucky day.

Dark corners, isolated places are the best to take care of my the bodily necessities, especially the ones you have in the morning. The smaller urgencies are taken care much easily. I can vaguely remember the regularity of brushing my teeth and the feeling associated with it, now a gargle with water (which sometime is clean and sometime is not) is more than enough to last me through the day.Like love, taking a bath happens when it happens, there is not much I can do about it.

Oh, in case you were wondering, I wasn't born on the road, I had a family once. Not so loving though, but nonetheless I had it.In fact, I am almost as educated as most of you are, give or take a few degree / diploma. So how the fuck I ended up here. Let's admit it, you don't give a fuck.There are million ways to go up in life, and there are a billion to go down. Mine was one of them, so there is that.

I tend to get philosophical at times and talk to no one in particular (usually the stray dogs are the best listeners). I would wonder how worrying about my next meal or next bath has made me free of all the other superficial worries in my earlier life, like finding the meaning of life or my calling. Mostly, i call my bluff myself and say out loud, "my life sucks.

Once in a while, I feel oddly buzzed to change my life for better. This feeling lasts for sometime (usually for around five minutes or so) and then it fizzles out on its own. Being on the other side, my motivation gets hampered largely by the fact that your life is not necessarily better. You are equally unhappy, stressed and insecure about your own future like I am. The effort to reach your state doesn't seem to be worth it, hence I wait and continue with my 'sucky' life.

Wait

Bruised and wounded,
Heart torn to pieces,
With shattered hope and faith,

Bodies behind me,
of people I loved, cared for,
of people I hated,
of people I loved and loathed,
of people who got hurt 'cause they were there

with no light in my soul,
and clouds in my eyes

in the world without colour,
with tastes long forgotten,
remembering a touch from a distant past,
seeing a sight, too magnificent to be real, too vivid to be imaginary,
those momentary raptures of the heart, I once felt

with time without any meaning
I wait for death to come to me 

Meditation on Ruin

It’s not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,
or the con game gone bad, or the beating Taken in the alleyway. 

But the lost car keys, The broken shoelace, The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — 

these are the things that eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.

The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! 

But the broken pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,


These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it’s this ache to which we will ourselves Oblivious. 

We are oblivious. 

Then, one morning—there’s a crack in the water glass —
we wake to find ourselves undone.

- Jay Hopler

I have changed the arrangement of the words to make this poem more readable.  In case you are wondering, this poem is about how little things (rather than the big things) wears a person down as he ages. 

Movie Review: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

Very rarely we come across a movie which leaves us wondering what that movie was really about. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and I mean it in a good way. Is it about a man going through a mid-life crisis, is it a romantic comedy, is it about the quintessential search for meaning of life ? I just saw the movie and I couldn't be sure of anything. What I am sure of that after a long time I had a feeling that I watched a good movie.

Don't worry at all, it is not those Oscar type movies which usually bore us (the normal people I mean) to death. It is interesting, comic, tragic and exhilarating
in the ways that only a good little movie could be. It is written beautifully, shot brilliantly and anchored competently by the director and actor Ben Stiller.

He takes you from US of A to Greenland, Iceland, upper Himalayas in Afganistan before he coming home literally and metaphorically. Walter Mitty travels the world only to rediscover the past he left behind and what a fascinating journey it is for all of us to watch.

Ben Stiller is in top form, comic and tragic at the same time in the ways only he can be. Kristen Wiig is perfect in her role and there isn't a cooler actor to play the photographer than Sean Penn. He is absolutely riveting in the single scene when he meets Mr. Mitty in Himalayas trying to shoot a snow leopard.

Highly Recommended. !!!

No Strings Attached

Before we humans became too many, we were born with things that we don't get to see today. Everyone was born with strings attached to few other humans. These strings attached people whose destinies were inextricably tangled with each other. Some of them from the same families, some the best of friends and few the true soulmates. As one would guess, it definitely was a tangled mess. Living with strings attached with other people. There was not a single move you can make without affecting the other and therefore people learnt to live, move and act in harmony. They all just knew how to live together like one big connected group, like a flock of birds flying in the sky. They learnt just to be, there every move in sync, doing what everyone needed to do to survive as a group. Strings told them everything, a small vibration, a little tug, a jerk, a whip...it all meant something to them. As if the words were spoken through the strings. Not unnaturally, the world was a quiet place.Then we became too many. Strings got tangled, choked a few and to stay alive some have to be cut.

No wonder the language of the strings was soon lost and forgotten. We started talking, at times shouting because of the distance between us. At times, we weren't sure if we got heard, not sure if we listened as much we should have. The world without strings was a convenient place, not necessarily a happy one. We realized soon enough.

Stil we persisted to at least know the people who would have been attached to us through strings.

Some were easy, our mother, father and siblings. Mostly we found the strings were there, invisible yet undeniably present. For some, strings were conspicuous by their virtual absence. Like a phantom leg, which should have been there but wasn't. How does one know the absence of something which wasn't anyways supposed to be there ? Funnily enough, one always does.

Some strings were difficult to find because of so many false alarms one would find along the way. A thread less conversation, the tacit understanding and maybe similar views. These were the easiest to be mistaken for the strings that should have been there, but time most of the time told otherwise. As time would go, the false ones would breaks and affirm their true absence.Those remained through all the turmoil and roller coasterly ride of life were the strings that defined us. Our happiness, our greatest joys, our sadness and our deepest melancholy, these strings held through it all. These strings connected us to people who were connected with us not by blood, but through destiny, through kismet and most importantly through their own love and faith in us. Some were friends, some were lovers, some were just people who gave a damn about our existence.

Those who understood the play of these strings, realized soon enough that there is not much else to fuss about.Through these strings, they made sense of this world and life, as it was always meant to be. After all, life was meant to be tangled mess, since the day it started.

Stay Beautiful,
Amitabh

Movie Review: Besharam

One of the million dollar question while watching an intelligent actor in bad movie is, why in the God's name he did this movie ? Here is my theory about why Ranbir Kapoor did Besharam. He has now done a Rajneeti, Wake up Sid, Rockstar and YZHD, which means he is now a established actor in bollywood. For him, the next logical step is to become a bollywood superstar. What better way to do it than do a non-sense pot boiler without a semblance of sense or a script. If Besharam makes money, he becomes the 4th KHAN ,THE superstar and will finally grow out of the tag of the "next" superstar. Unfortunately, even for someone like me who enjoys his Dabang and Rowdy Rathore, Besharam hardly has any redeeming quality about it. It seems like a string of poor jokes and sequences where easy laughs are difficult to come by and any emotional connect is a distant dream with lousy characters, below average music and "mis"direction. It is hard to believe that this is the same director who made Dabangg. Maybe the claim that most khans ghost direct (yes even someone like Salman) is true.

Abhinav kashyap tries to be funny, slapstick and crowd entertainer through inane joke (mostly originating or referring to lower parts of the body) and forced situations. Ranbir tries his best to pull it off, but eventually fail to save this lazy piece of work from what we thought was a good director. There was a time when few directors used to believe that foreign locations guarantees their success and script or dialogues can be dispensed with. Besharam suffers from the same problems except that it captures the exotica of our times: "The small town". Anurag kashyap may disown his brother, only for the random songs which comes so often out of  nowhere, that their pointlessness seems some kind of secret joke that no one gets in the audience.

Neetu Singh looks like a million buck and plays the cutest corrupt cop ever with a great panache. Rishi Kapoor and Ranbir Kapoor deliver as good a performance as a shoddy script and direction permit them to. Special mention is required for the actor who plays titu (Ranbir's sidekick in the movie) he is actually funny. Pallavi sharda is not bad for a first timer, and her character is written with distinguished lethargy.

For Ranbir Kapoor fans this is obviously a dampner. He has dazzled everyone with his choice of movies and roles so far, maybe we were expecting a little too much from him too early. Besharam seems to be for RK what Ram Jaane was for SRK.

Watch Besharam strictly only if you have nothing better to do.

 

Why I love Karen ?

Writing about why I love a TV Character is a dangerous thing. Considering the stage of my life, even more so ( I am a 30 year old male who is single and unmarried). So, if you can see past the weirdness of it all, I have something to say which you just might like.

Like a lot of single people, I watch a lot of movies and TV. One of the few TV series which I particularly relish is Californication. People who watch a lot of movies and TV have a tendency to fall in love with the on-screen characters, I am no different. It is nothing like Guddi in that old Hindi Movie, but I guess you get the gist. 

So moving on, there are women and there is Karen. For the uninitiated, she is the female lead of the TV series Californication. The show is superficial but insanely irreverent, reason enough for me to watch all of its six seasons. Here are very few of the reasons why I love her:

1. She loves a writer, an inconsistent, chronic under performer with little flashes of brilliance once in a while. I am not saying anything more.

2. No matter, who she is married to , who she is living with, there is no doubt who she truly loves.

3. She knows that the writer loves her too, but together they can't function and have no future. She takes it all in her stride and moves on with her life.

4. She looks old and mature, wise beyond her years. Her eyes speak of the pain she has endured and the world she has seen. In her smile, I see the world which sparkle and fade out, like a firefly, isn't that something ?

5. She gets mad at the writer but always forgives him, no matter what he does, because that is how it is meant to be.  

and I keep loving her.

The Letters

The girl was sick and she has been for a long time. People around her knew it, the ones who loved her knew it and she knew it as well. They all understood the imminent future, the unavoidable. Nonetheless, no one talked about it in open. The girl, however was little different from others, she was fond of joking about it. "I really need to fast forward my life, I don't have all day, you know" She used to say very often and that too with a weak smile, because that is all which her sickness permitted.
 
She wasn't always sick, but her sickness has had her for so long, hardly anyone remembered what it was like before. Once in a while, in her smile or the sparkle in her eye, one would get to see the girl that she once was, nothing more.

She used to sing, they said. She had the loveliest of the voice, nothing like the raspy voice which she has now because of coughing for so long.

She used to read, all the love poems. They were her favorites; she liked the melody that she could create by humming those poems in her voice.

She used to write, stories of times long gone by. She liked the charm of the old world. Things were simpler then, she'd say. You fall sick, you die.

She liked listening to stories of the magical world. The stories with angels, demons, gods, goddesses, fairies, witches, she loved them. She believed that fairies do exist. She wasn't so old, you know.

She had the weird habit of making friends with really old people. She had many friends who had seen a decade for her every year. More so, they all treated her like an equal rather than like a grandchild. Though she wasn't old, she wasn't a child, you know.

She believed in all the unbelievable things. Gods, destiny, karma and reincarnation because maybe she needed to. She never had the luxury to start with non-believing and take a U-turn after a few years. She hadn't got all day, you know.

Once she had met a boy at the places where sick people typically meet, a hospital. On one of her not so infrequent trips there. He was on the bed beside her bed. He was sick too and used to come there once in a while. They started talking; actually, she made him talk to her about things she liked to hear about. He was the shy kind, you know.

They were together for a week, and like it happens for sick people, they fell in love too quickly. She liked to hold his hand while talking to him, he liked that too. Their loved ones felt a little awkward, but they pretended that they didn’t notice it and nothing was unusual. Secretly they were happy for them and a little scared too.

The boy was discharged after a week and he had to go back to his home town which was some distance away from her place. They promised each other to write a letter every day.

They wrote letters to each other, every single day. They wrote about their childhood, of the days when they were not sick, of the days when they will get better, about what they could do if they were not sick, of the views from their windows, of the loved ones who were now tired taking care of them and their failed attempts to hide their sadness, of the funny relatives who would come to visit them and ask them silly questions, of the medicine they fake swallowed and spat out later, of the need to be near each other and  of the dreams of holding each other’s hands. They were sure that they couldn’t live without each other.

The letters kept coming and she kept replying. In the morning she will wait for the postman to deliver the letter, and then she will read it a few times. In the afternoon she will think about what to write and in the evening she will write the reply. The postman was one of her old friend, she would hand over her reply to him and take the new letter from him. Her whole life was no longer about her sickness; there was something more important in her life now, the letters.

Though, she was happier and a tad healthier (maybe because of letters, maybe because of love, who knows), she knew that she was getting attached to these letters too much. Her belief in unbelievable things made her believe that days of her life were tied to these letters now. She was going to live till these letters kept coming. She didn’t tell anyone but she hoped that they boy would know and to be sure, she wrote it in one of her letters too.

The letters kept coming and she kept getting better. One day she felt good enough to go on a trip to meet the boy and she went to his town. She reached his house and found his mother. She told her that the boy passed away a month ago, but he has made her promise to keep writing letters. So she kept writing. She told her that he wanted her to get better and live a long life.

The girl was heartbroken and she cried for days.One day, when she woke up in the morning, she smiled and told her loved one that she is going to get better. Later in her life she became a teacher and taught in a university. She wrote a letter to the boy every day, she never posted those letters and kept them in her diary.

 

The End

 

Inspired by:

"The Last Leaf" by O'Henry and Lootera (Movie) by Vikramaditya Motwane

My Sister's Keeper (Movie) based on the Book of the same name by Jodie Picoult

Fairy Tales for the Modern Man

In line with the latest fad of "fairly tales for XYZ". Here is my attempt at writing the set for writing fairy tales for the modern man.

In case you are not aware of this fad, please go through the following links:

Fairy tales for the introverts: http://introvertfairytales.com/

Fairy tales for the modern woman: http://thehairpin.com/2013/06/six-fairy-tales-for-the-modern-woman/

Here goes nothing:

# 1:

Once upon a time a guy was in a relationship where he doesn't have to be the understanding or sensitive kind. He could speak his mind without worrying about hurting her feelings. He doesn't have to notice insignificant things about her to make her feel appreciated. He had once told her that he loved her and she knew that he still does and that was enough.

The End

# 2:

Once upon a time, a guy found what he loved to do. He started doing it, the more he did it, the happier he got, so he did it some more. People around him didn't really understand why he liked doing what he was doing, but they were supportive anyways. Over the course of time, he started making a little money on the side because of what he loved doing. Eventually he realized he could
take the plunge, leave his job and still manage to stay afloat. He took the plunge, kept at it and now only does what he loves to do.

# 3:

Once upon a time, a guy had a good job.He kinda loved it. He had enough money to pay his rent, go out when he wanted to and he was fit enough to  drink and eat to his heart's content. He had friends, men and women, they liked his quirky sense of humour and never nagged him about getting married. He met them regularly. He met a few women who respected his independence both in action and
in thoughts, as much as their own.They talked about interesting things, laughed together and did a few other things too. Later, he found someone for whom commitment was not equal to marriage.
They decided to live together. They realized they can't manage to have kids, so they decided not to have them and instead increased contribution to their retirement funds. They lived together till they died.

# 4:

Once upon a time, a guy realized he doesn't like the city so much. There were too many people, too much noise and the colour of the sky was all funny. He decided to go back to his hometown in mountains. He still lives there and loves it.

The End.

# 5:

Once upon a time, a guy realized that he doesn't like his home town so much. There weren't enough fun people, the evenings were eerily silent, the sky was too blue for his taste and to top it all everybody knew him and his parents. He studied hard and got into a good college. He landed a job from the college itself. Now he lives in a small room near the multiplex with his college mates.
He goes to movies every weekend, parties once in a while, holds the hand of the girl he likes in public because no one knows him or care and likes the fuzzy pale blue of the sky.

His parents are still at his hometown and don't give him any grief.

The End

Confessions of a Jeevansaathi Finder

I am writing this because these days marriage is on my mind, there, I said it,so move on already :)

->These days, I understand why people choose to get married. Surprisingly, I can see a point when everyone around me expresses their concerns about my impending matrimonial plans. My best buddies who are married now have ready tips to give to find just the right girl. I listen to their advice carefully and sometimes implement it as well.

->The FB updates on marriage, honeymoon pics do affect me. Deeply. Period.

->I am more active on Jeevansathi.com than on facebook or twitter.

->I think a little less of myself for registering on a website to find a soulmate.


->I am confused about how to write my profile details, should I present myself as the nice, stable, well educated guy that the parents will like or should I go for the cool guy write up that the girls will like. My current profile write up is the first kind in case you were wondering.


->My height on my profile page is more than my actual height (but then so is my weight :P)

->I am keeping a french goatee only so that I look old (or maybe better) enough for marriage.

->Though by this time one should get wiser, I am still looking for love as a reason to get married. I dread marrying someone for "practical" reasons.

->I still have no clue about the kind of person I would want to marry. To act my age, I do rattle off few "politically correct" criteria to others when they ask .Deep down I am completely sold on that marrying your soulmate bullshit :)

->I can now relate to the quote "No woman likes to be loved only for her beauty and no man likes to be loved only for his salary".

->I think less of people who send me horoscope request even before talking to me.

->I find it uncomfortable talking to 3-4 girls at a time about a marriage, it seems unethical, but then this maybe nothing but my MBA talking.

->I find it difficult to tell a girl that I don't like her enough to continue talking so I simply stop calling and hope that she gets the hint. Manning up and telling the truth is difficult, I have tried it once but it really doesn't help anyone.I make up for this chicken act by getting the hint myself soon enough.

->I think the truly regressive nature of our society reveals itself during marriage discussions.

->I have a feeling that eventually I will have to take this decision through a leap of faith and not through my inner voice as I would like to.

->I think that spending lavishly on marriage ceremony is a criminal waste. However, I doubt that I will be able to convince all the "stakeholders" (including the girl) to have a simple and most importantly happy wedding, which Indian marriages seldom are. I have a feeling that I will be judged as rigid, radical and someone with no respect for traditions. Those who disagree with my unhappy marriage comment, please don't judge a wedding by its facebook pics.

->Most of girls I meet are modern enough to raise their voice against dowry, however I am yet to see someone who is modern enough to understand that a dream wedding ceremony (and accompanying expenses) is not our parents' duty or obligation.

All being said, I appreciate everyone on these websites on their own, for taking the chance to find the one they want to spend the rest of their lives with.It is a total chaos with so many people having so many whims and fancies of their own. It takes some courage to put your heart out knowing that it may be kicked around. I know it is not easy being judged for your looks, height, weight, caste, age, educational qualification, salary by some random person.So kudos to these soldiers of fortune for marching on to build a future of their own. You incorrigible bastards, your persistence in this messed up world of online matrimony tells me that there is still enough hope in this world.

Stay Beautiful
Amitabh

I am Secular

I know, the moment I say that I am secular, i will be judged. Infact a lot more than a nobody like me needs to be, but nonetheless it will happen. A few would think what is the need to state something so trivial about yourself, someone would think here comes another (pseudo)secular, bloody arm chair intellectual as if we didn't have many of them already.Few will be downright hostile and question my allegiance to the 'family' and the 'party', ain't all those secular types suppose to be congress wallahs after all ?


But I do stick my neck out and say that I am only secular when it comes to my beliefs about my own religion and other religion. Isn't this what being secular meant to be in the first place ? I believe that all the religions and people who practice should co-exist peacefully in our society. I also think it is important for our future and the only sustainable strategy for human survival.


To clarify a few things, I was born a Hindu, because of the simple reason that my parents were Hindu. When I grew up and started making sense of things, I learnt all the chants (gayatri mantra, hanuman chaalisa, morning chants or praatah smaran and even meal chants or bhojan mantras). I learnt about my gods partly from my parents and mostly from magazines like Nandan, ChandaMama and Amar Chitra Katha. I had faith in the divine power as well (at least I think so ) till a point of time. Then somewhere along the line, I lost that faith and I stopped being particularly religious. I would like to quote some earth shattering event/ incidence for my loss of faith, but I can't. It was a gradual thing and to be honest with you I really can't pin point the moment when I crossed the line from being a believer to a non-believer. As I grew older, I realized that I am lucky to be born in a religion where there is place for even non-believers like me. My parents never forced me to be religious, all my relatives know that I don't believe in religious practices and apart from the mild and playful scolding, it has not been a major issue. "Aaap jo prasaad samajh ke doge woh main mithaai samajh ke kha loonga" (What you gave me as the Prasadam, I will eat it as sweet). So far it has been a peaceful co-existence and I am grateful for that.


Collective identities (i.e. religion or caste) takes precedence in our mind when there are too many people to know individually. Hence, in any city / town with significant size, these identities become important and most people (or kids) brought up in such places tend to put inordinate amount of emphasis on such identities.In that sense I guess I was fortunate enough to be born in a rather small town.I had muslim neigbhours as well as hindu neighbours. As it happens, I had many friends and used to go to everyone house. When you are a child and live in a neighbhourhood where walls are shared between houses, you don't differentiate people based on their religion. We would play around, fight with each other and will know each other parents. I used to call my neighbourhood friend's mother "Ammy" because that is what he used to call her, and I wasn't alone in doing that. She would scold us and give sweets to us as well. If I fell sick she would come over and give my mother some advice about home medicine.My mother would do the same if my friend got sick. Mind you, all the families were acutely aware of our religious differences, the elderly would hardly come and eat something at each other places.Nevertheless it was just individual choice and people who chose otherwise never got anything other than a mild scolding.I feel that people in those days didn't use to fuss so much about inane things.These things were important to them but not so much that they would create a ruckus or kill people for it. I guess what you see in childhood stays with you. I was no different. Hence for me, relgious identity of people have always been insignificant. Hence I call myself a secular person. This is also one of the very few things I feel very passionately about, because it seems so right to me. It seems to me the only sensible way.


I am one of the billion indians who can believe in anything he wants to. By definition, I chose to believe in the equality of all religions hence I am secular. It is not a show of allegiance to a political outfit, or ignorance / arrogance about my national history. It is simply a personal choice, don't read too much into it.I hate it when people equate being secular with being another kind of communal and term it as pseudo-secularism.No matter now improbable they believe it is, there ARE people in the world who do not take theirs or anyone's religion so seriously. For them religious belief are not much different from the kind of food one like to eat. It is simply not fair to judge anyone based on their preference for chicken curry and rice or their religion.


I can understand why people would not believe the proclaimed secular stance of a political party. The politics of ideals and values is long gone and today every single thing being done/proclaimed by a political party to gain/retain votes. However, people like me have nothing to gain by being secular except that it is part of our belief system. It doesn't cost us anything neither it gives us anything, but we still choose to be secular. So next time if I say I am secular, my only hope is that you would believe me without any apprehensions. You would know that I am a simple citizen of my country trying to live the life I want and believing in the things which I consider important. I have no ulterior agenda, sympathies or allegiance to any political outfit.


I am secular because I don't judge people based on their religion. Period.
 

ख़ानाबदोश जिंदगी

ख़ानाबदोश सी जिंदगी मेरी यूँ ही चलती रहती है,
रात में रख के दिल सिरहाने पे,
सुबह उठती है और फिर चलने लगती है,

कभी किसी के हाथ में, कभी किसी के साथ में,
कभी मेरे लफ़्ज़ों में, कभी तेरे मायनो में,
रुकती है, तहेरती है, दो घूँट पानी पीके,
मुँह पे छिटें मार के, फिर से चलने लगती है,

कोशिश करती है कभी कुछ पकड़ने की,
एक दोस्त, एक याद, थोड़ी खुशी, कुछ लम्हे,
रखती है अपने झोले में, पैबंदी झोले से हार मान के,
तो थोड़ा झुंझला के, झोला खाली करके,
ख़ानाबदोश सी जिंदगी मेरी यूँ ही चलती रहती है

घर का कोई पता नहीं, सड़कों पे मारी मारी सी,
एक घरोंदा ढूँढती, कभी इधर, कभी उधर,
खाली झोला लिए हुए,
ख़ानाबदोश सी जिंदगी मेरी यूँ ही चलती रहती है

सड़क पे चलने वाले, पलट के देखा करतें है,
यह भी कभी देख के उन्हें मुस्कुरा देती है,
इन भरी सड़कों को देख के, थोड़ा घबरा के
यह भी इन ज़िंदगियों की भीड़ में शामिल हो जाती है,
ख़ानाबदोश सी जिंदगी मेरी यूँ ही चलती रहती है

एक जुनून की तलाश

साँस को रोके हुए
दिन में सोते हुए

रात में जगते हुए
सड़क पे चलते हुए

लतीफों पे हंसते हुए
गमों पे रोते हुए

मसर्रतो* पे चलते हुए
कभी औंधे मुँह गिरते हुए

कभी पास आते हुए,
कभी दूर जाते हुए,

बेमतलब सोचते हुए
बेवजह बोलते हुए

गजब का कुछ पढ़ते हुए
अजब सा कुछ लिखते हुए

बस इक जुनूँ की तलाश में,
जिंदा हूँ मैं

ऐसा इश्क़

सही ग़लत से परे,
नफे नुकसान से बेमतलब,
जिंदगी और मौत से थोड़ा आगे,
रस्मो रिवॉज़ो से बेपरवाह,

सहूलियत और परेशानी से अलग,
समझ और नासमझ से अजनबी,
आसमान से बुलंद, गर्त से गहरा,
गैरत से नीचे, गुरूर से उपर,

दिल का ही नहीं, नसों में दौड़ता,
आखों और जिस्म का नहीं, रूह में लिपटा,

इश्क़ हो जनाब, तो बस यूँ हो |


In case you suspected, the opening line is inspired by the last dialogue of the movie "Rockstar".

Another Translation : Couplet by Vikram Seth

This is a couplet originally written by Vikram Seth which I have translated on a whim. Here is the link to original couplet my Mr. Seth:  Night Watch:

इस रुकी हुई बेचैन रात में,
घंटो जगते हुए, छत को तक्ते हुए,
एक ख्याल मेरे दिल को खाए जाता है,
के शायद सुबह आई आज बिना रोशनी के |

- Vikram Seth
 

If You Forget Me (Poem Translation)

Since I am trying a few things these days,  I came across this beautiful poem " If you forget me" by Pablo Neruda and decided to translate it in Hindi. Since it is my first attempt at translating a poem, in case you care, be gentle :)

Here is the link for the poem translated in English If you forget me - by Pablo Neruda. English translation is not by me so you should enjoy it a lot more :)

So, here goes nothing

एक बात जान लो

तुम्हें पता है ये,
मेरी खिड़की से दिखता हुआ चाँद
वो पतझड़ की लाल सी टहनी
को गर मैं देखूं

उन सर्दियों की रातों में
उस भुर्भुरी सी राख को
या उस झुर्रीदार जलती लकड़ी को
को गर मैं छू लूँ

हर चीज़ खींचती है मुझे तेरी ओर
के जैसे जो भी है,
खुश्बू, रोशनी, पथ्हर,
सब वो कश्तीयाँ  हैं
जो चलती हैं
मेरा इंतजार करते, तेरे किनारों की ओर

मगर अब,
गर तू मुझसे दूर जाएगा ज़रा ज़रा
ज़रा ज़रा मैं भी तुझसे फ़ासले बना लूँगा

गर अचानक
तू मुझे भूलेगा
तो मुझे तलाश ना करना
के मैं तो तुझे पहले ही भुला दूँगा

जो तू सोच के मेरी
उस हालात की आँधी
जो गुज़रेगी मेरी जिंदगी से
छोड़ देगा मुझे दिल के उस किनारे पे
जहाँ जड़ें हैं मेरी
याद रख
उसी दिन और उसी वक़्त
अपनी जड़ों को निकाल के
मैं भी किसी और किनारे की तलाश में चला जाऊँगा

मगर
गर तू रोज
हर वक़्त
अपनी किस्मत में मुझे देखे
गर एक गुलाब तेरे लबों पे मेरी तलाश करे
ए यार मेरे,
दिल का जुनून फिर से हरा हो जाएगा
मेरे अंदर, ना कुछ बुझा, ना कुछ भूला
तेरे इश्क़ से जिंदा है मेरा इश्क़
तू जब तक जिए तेरे पास रहे
मेरे भी ये साथ रहे

- Pablo Neruda

I can't feel anything

The girl has died and I can't feel anything. I say that with a lot of guilt and shame in my heart. I should feel something, like million others who are expressing their grief in the ways they can. Some are posting status messages, some are discussing it with their friends, and some are just feeling sad and trying to overcome the despair.

But I don't feel anything, not even an iota of sadness or regret. I will go ahead and confess that I felt sadder by hearing about the death of Tony Greig than the death of the girl. I wish I knew precisely why I feel that way, but I doubt I do. Make no mistake, my unreasonable feelings have again put me in an embarrassing situation and I am acutely aware of my shame in admitting my guilt.  I know that I should feel something; in fact I should feel a lot more than something, considering the sheer gruesomeness of the incident which led to the death of the girl. She fought hard but eventually she succumbed to the ultimate eventuality. Somewhere deep within we all knew that this would happen, some were aware of it, some weren't. Some had accepted it and were asking for bigger changes, some were denying it and were baying for the blood of criminals who did this to her. Some like me (and I am sure there would not be so many) didn't really care and wondered what the fuss was about.

I am sure I wasn't born this way, it was easy for me to get disturbed by seeing or hearing about someone's pain. In fact, as a child, I would have cried if my brother or sister got hurt. But then I was asked to grow up by my friends, relatives and parents. Since I was a boy, I was told not to cry when I got hurt because that's what guys do, they don't cry, simple enough. Now I shout or yell when I get hurt, I don't cry. Then I grew up a little more and started caring about the world around me, I saw so many dreadful things happening in our country and around the world. I got to know about it from the newspaper, TV and now through internet. My world had truly expanded and so my exposure to unfortunate events of unimaginable cruelty and size. Initially I read about the Ayodhya riots, I felt disturbed and felt like murdering every politician who made people kill each other. Then when I got interested about history, I read about partition riots and riots in 1984. When I read the details of the heinous acts committed by people in those riots, when I met someone who has lost his father and brother in 1984 and moving on, my faith in humanity was lost to a great extent. Those days, I used to feel bad about such things and I did. But then I looked around and I saw people rather unaffected by such things. I was at a loss to understand how they could do that, know about something like this and still not feel anything. Then I heard and read about things which happen in Jammu & Kashmir and the Eastern states. I met someone who was sent away from his home by his father so that he will not be kidnapped, killed by militants or worse by the military. I again felt something, but now that I know that worse may happen, the intensity of my feelings were rather subdued but I did felt something.

After that I got to know about terrorism and naxalism in our country and worldwide. Since I have seen poverty and destitution, I was able to understand to some extent why people take up arms and become ready to die.Bomb blasts were not new but then they became a regular feature of our country news items. One was never sure where would the next bomb explode, I felt terrible when I heard about those, felt lucky to be alive and about not losing any loved one of mine and moved on like many others. By then, I was working; feeling something and being upset was a luxury which I didn't had. More so, it wasn't “professional” and hence I have to put away my already not so intense feelings.

6000 people have died in Mumbai local in last 3 years while travelling between their home and workplace. Now I don't feel much about them. Around 22000 women are raped every year in India (As per National Crime Records Bureau) and 40 thousands women are molested every year. I do not feel much for them as well. I can feel once, I can feel twice but how do I feel 22000 times a year and remain sane.

Ours is not a country for people with feelings. Feelings are a luxury that only privileged people can afford to have. The common people should not feel too much, it will only drive them crazy. My feelings have been reserved exclusively for people who either are my friends or are related by blood to me. This is not something that I have done willingly. It has happened to me over a period of time and I wonder if that is not the case with a lot of people around me. This rather callous attitude towards things that happen around you is a necessity to live in today's world.

I envy people who can still feel so strongly about these incidents, they vent out their feelings through FB, twitter or by talking to their friends and sometimes even writing or talking to a government officials. Some would go to the extent that feelings are important for the change we want and I would like to desperately believe them but considering all that has happened in the past, it’s only a leap of faith and till then I doubt I will feel anything for the girl.

 

#Talaash, #Aamir

Let me clarify from the word go, though this article talks about the movie Talaash, it is not a review. Simply because to review a movie one needs to be fair unbiased and being an Aamir Khan fan I am definitely biased towards most of what he does.

I watched Talaash this friday, at the unearthly show timing of 8:10 AM (First Day, First Show :)).I found Talaash everything that I expected it to be or more precisely everything that I expect from Aamir.

I became an Aamir fan when I saw Sarfarosh and have never been disappointed since. He keeps on surprising me with this consistently outlandish choices and equally consistent great quality work he does with everything he takes up.

The thing that I like with him, is that he can see beyond bollywood formulas, sample these one line summaries of his previous body of work:

Sarfarosh: Young IPS officer working to curb cross-border terrorism

Dil Chahta Hai: Stories of 3 friends discovering themselves

Lagaan: Village plays a cricket match with English rulers to get a tax (lagaan) waiver

Mangal Pandey: Story of the first indian freedom fighter

Taare Zameen Par: Story of a dyslexic chid

Rang De Basanti: 5 people fighting against corrupt politicians

Ghazni: Revenge story

3 Idiots: Life and times of 3 engineering students in India

I guess you would realize that except Ghazni, none of Aamir's movie would fit a prevalent bollywood formula. He did it because someone wrote a beautiful script and he liked it. With the onslaught of inane movies that I see so often, I guess a movie where a script has been written before going on floor, is promising from the word go.Talaash is no different, it is nothing like what would supposedly work at box office, but it is definitely well written. Apart from that you can clearly see that this movie is a labour of love, where people have taken great pains to deliver what they believed in. The sheer visual appeal of mumbai's dark underbelly, the finely etched characters, the brilliant acting, it's all there.I don't expect Aamir to do what I think would entertain me, I expect Aamir to do what he believes in. It is for the simple reason that there are many "entertainers", but there is only one Aamir.

His singleminded focus means that every time we go to see his movie, we are assured of one thing: Quality. You can safely assume that everything that could have been done to make a movie better would be done. You would know that Aamir would do the best job he could do.He doesn't care that much about "typical" audience, which every director/producer claim to know so much about (case in point: the Golmaal franchise, Son of Sardaar, Ra.One, Don2 and last but not the least Jab Tak Hain Jaan). These people know that lots of cars should be blown up and it should be painted in gaudy colours, item numbers are a must, the angle of SRK head tilt which is just enough to make ladies swoon, the dance step which will just click and the funny gags which will make people laugh. Whether you admit it or not, you would agree that in the above list of movies,except Golmaal part 1, it needed someone to write a script before starting to film them.

I agree that movies are for entertainment and hence these movies have their takers, they may not be discerning viewers but are enough in numbers to make the cash registers ringing. However, movies are also about telling a tale, a tale you would not listen to otherwise, of people who you will never come across, of locations you will never go to and of emotions you may never feel on your own. In this mayhem of entertainment focused movies, Talaash is a movie with a story to tell. Is this story particularly entertaining ? No. Is this story makes financial sense for mainstream cinema ? No. However, it is an interesting tale which have been told competently by the Director. It is about grief and mourning, it is about regret and remorse, it is about people without identity hoping for dignity, it is about two people in love who are too burdened by their own pain to help the other, it is about their catharsis and eventually coming back together.

Talaash is brilliantly written and despite of its somewhat outlandish ending, works for me. More importantly, it brings the real star of a movie into focus, the script. Remaining true to its core, it spends plenty of time in building up the characters so that you understand them and hence feel their emotions.

There is no other mainstream star who would dare to star as a cop in a movie who cries more than he fights. Surjan Sekhawat is another addition to Aamir already impressive repertoire of memorable characters.

In an interview Aamir had said that for him to do a Taare Zameen Pe, he has to do a Ghazni once in a while. I guess now we know why he is doing a Dhoom 3 :).

Overrated Reality : A writer's take

I am a writer at heart, I may not be great at it, but as someone has put it, "hearts knows reasons what reason knows nothing of". So that being settled, here is an excerpt from the movie " Atonement" (based on the book of the same name by Ian McEwan). To cut a long story rather short, this movie is about an little girl whose action damages the lives of many people and she harbors a strong guilt in her heart for her action till the day she dies. She becomes a famous author and her last novel (which is she reckons as her first) is autobiographical in nature where she actually attempts to tell the truth.

What I like about this particular dialogue is how deftly the biggest of a writer's dilemma is captured. To decide between telling the whole truth or add embellishments to the reality. It is a temptation / problem we all face (even those of us who don't write). Even when we are narrating a story / event / incident  we unknowingly add or modify the truth to suit ourselves. That temptation is a great one and I guess one of the reasons, writers become what they are, is to have a world which they can control.

Briony (the little girl who is a big time author now) is talking to a tv show anchor. Here is the beautiful piece of writing:

BRIONY : "I had, for a very long time, decided to tell the absolute truth.
No rhymes, no embellishments.
And I think, You've read the book, you'll understand why.

I got first-hand accounts of all the events. I didn't personally witness, the conditions in prison, the evacuation to Dunkirk, everything. But the effect of all this honesty was rather pitiless.

You see, I couIdn't any Ionger imagine what purpose would be served by it."

TV Show Anchor : "By what? Sorry. Served by honesty?"

BRIONY: "By honesty. Or reaIity."

I know this one is a peculiar post (and rather indulgent), but watch the movie atonement and you will come to understand this post much better.

-Stay Beautiful
Amitabh

No Title

Roughly Four Years. It was and not it is or it will be. Period.