Monday, 30 December 2019

2019: The Game Played Well?

When 2020 meets 2019...
'20: How's the josh?
'19 (heart pounding against ribs): All is well... All is well.
'20: Chal jhootta.
'19: Bade bade deshon mein chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hai Se...
'20: Khaaaaaamosh!!!!!
'19: Apna time aayega.
'20: Abb mai aa gaya. LOL

DISCLAIMER: The above conversation is made available solely for the entertainment purpose. It doesn't intend to allude to any political or economic or X events in the country. I have nowhere mentioned Triple Talaq ban, Article 370 or Ayodhya verdict. I play neutral here but am cerainly happy for India's Anti-Satellite Missile earlier this year and RISAT-2BR1 this month, even if Chandrayan-2 dampens the excitement a bit. But, it's not the Endgame anyway. If Boris Johnson can rise from ashes, then even our ISRO team can as well. I take "full responsibility" of the poor comparison though.
The material above is provided in good faith, however, I make no representation regarding the non-availability of any information about Howdy Modi, China- US trade war or India's sinking economy. Cyclone or Floods, Elections or Protests, Economy is still hopeful, "apna time aayega!" I feel sorry for Gully Boy's lost Oscar race. Special mention to Kabir Singh. Rebels without...shhh. I am not a bhakt but Indian citizen and Amit Shah is not my uncle. 
***
2019 has been a game played well. 

For more fun, stay tuned  with T20 innings. 
HAPPY NEW YEAR T20 TO ALL!

Friday, 15 November 2019

DRAMA IN DELHI METRO

He: Aaj mere paas gaari hai, bangla hai, bank balance hai. Kya hai tumhare paas?!
Me:  Mere paas Common Sense hai!
I doubt if Bollywood has yet come up with anything like this. Anyway, common sense wasn't rationed out well on Earth. Don't blame God for tempering with PDS right up there.  From diet to fiscal, India has this deficit or that and our Delhi Metro particularly, talks highly of the horse sense deficit. Horse! That's what you are when you put your blinkers on and shoot past a tide of people like son of a gun for a seat. I admit that currently, Metro has become my hobby horse. Also, notwithstanding the repetitions, I am not obsessed with horses. Well,  as soon as the door opens, you go at the seats hammer and tongs like a dog grabbing on a scrap of bread. Get your legs amputated or turn 60-years old and blah blah are some shameless suggestions Quora would offer you. And what for? A damn seat! This  reminds me of the local phrase I heard from my Nani, "Log chaand pe chadh ge, par in khachrya tae kurdi pe nhi chaddhya jatta" [People have climbed the Moon (big achievements) but these mules haven't achieved basic things even].

Emerging as an obvious  victor, you would ascend the throne, after having all squashed up and put on your blinkers while digging eyes in your phone. The ceremony gets over with the unforgettable ear plugs.  Kids cry and sway by inertia. Oldies cough while holding the bar. But YOUR blinkers are on. (Anyway, a smart move, huh? Fie!). If the shooting past technique doesn't work out, you spread the carpet of your butt and root on the floor with the paraphernalia around attending to Your Majesty! And again the blinkers are out. You get up ...to de-board (obviously). If an elbow touches you or a push undoes your wisps from this side to that in an apparently jam-packed compartment, you behave like agitators on Jantar Mantar. But your ego gets good competition from the Gate Guards.  Earthquake, stampede, flood... come what may but they would not budge from their place. Even the company on the platforms is ready to go all militaristic, barging in as if boarding the last metro rail of their life. It's then when I smirk. Karma strikes back, horses!


Delhi Metro commute is not a journey in Noddy's Toyland. Toyland didn't have 'fully fledged social subjects of urban life' talking, texting, video-calling while sharing their unwanted and irritated personal life details. Not everyone is interested and not nobody peeks searchingly in your phone. However, PDA interests me a lot. Oyo has definitely failed its exam. The other PDA is even more interesting. Someone dares to fart in the metro and with a snotty face, you say, "Bhaisahab, tameez nhi hai aapko!" and this initiates an eye treat i.e.  full Public Display of Aggression. I do enjoy the scene without popcorn. Anger, frustration and Twitter are too handy these days. You can *beep*,  bleat & tweet anywhere and everywhere. In a crowded coach, how dare someone even fart when people are standing not even within an elbow length and also when Delhi pollution is already beyond severe limit! 
You avow that Odd-Even Policy is a horseplay. Anyhow, it's better to pick up an air mask than a fight.* Two birds in one shot for sure. Thank me later.
*[DISCLAIMER: Fart machines, there is a difference between excusing yourself and carelessly farting around assaulting others' senses. Unless you have a medical condition, or are sick, please excuse].
***
So, Hello Citizens.
Cyber Citizens!
Cast off the Blinkers m. Till it is worked upon, let's read books & people, and laugh, because the world is too funny to laugh at.

Btw, what is your next station?  

Thursday, 13 June 2019

HOME ALONE #Part2

Again, the sink is piling up with utensils. Thanks to  my erratic  hunger. But hey, you got to eat to pass time, no?  We'll talk about overeating some other day when it's about my favourite snacks. Between writing and washing, the former is the obvious choice right now. Mom will come tomorrow. The responsibility of the 100 yards 2BHK with the un-mopped floor, crumpled bed sheets and obviously the unwashed utensils is on my tiny tender shoulders which would probably collapse under the #liability of being home alone.

Courier wala came, herbal products wali aunty, garage wala Nandu for water bottle and the random neighbour I mentioned in the previous blog. Had I been preparing for UPSC CSE, by now, Consistency would have departed to her final abode! Kitchen is a mess. If it's not cleaned, the ant invasions would invite Mom's wrath.

Head is messed up too, with approaching boredom now. 'I' say to 'Me' that a good sleep would help. I love sleep. Hemmingway said it right- "My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" Only if I had Richie Rich's Irona or Aladdin's Genie or some Doraemon's gadget, I won't have thought of Hemmingway. Aha! Dad is five hours away. Hope to wake up with the will to cook dal and rotis for dinner. Also, Mom is expected to compensate her absence with wafers tomorrow!
"Sleep now, O sleep now.../ A voice crying "Sleep now"/ Is heard in my heart." Joyce. James Joyce! Ha.
Relax. I'm not a connoisseur of poetry. i googled it.

***
zzz...

Wednesday, 12 June 2019

HOME ALONE

"Once upon a time" is a good way to start, I guess. But "once in a while" fits here better.
Never mind.
Being home alone, once in a while, comes with indescribable happiness.

You own the house!
You can sing in your best cacophony when Bruh won't be complaining to Mom.
You can jump on bed without Dad admonishing you for those perennially dirty feet.
You can keep the fridge open till you drink chilled water whilst remembering the date you had your last periods on... Being home alone is when fridge's beeping sound blinks you out of reverie.

'Home alone' gives you this freedom without Mom's IDW after you. By the way, a super TMI. Belan is the most sought after Indian Domestic Weapon. Ladle follows the league. To know how it feels when it hits your shoulder blade, contact me. Hold on. You become vulnerable only when you tickle Mom while she is rolling chapattis in 48 degree heat or wipe your sweat off her favourite yellow duppatta. It's just then when the belan hits you with wireless speed. Also, cheers to the timely digressions!

Another perks of  being home alone trail along. You can rummage into secret places Mom hid the cookies in and snacks that Dr. denied you. YouTubing the latest hots and other 'hots' isn't a hoax at all. Tell me if u catch me winking here. Amen.

Stuff your Tummy. Shake it like Shammi... Being home alone is like Parliamentary Privilege. Anyhow. Life is not a smooth mountain skiing. Breach of this privilege happens when some random neighbour rings the door bell. However, justice delayed is justice denied. The revenge is sought when she is duly reciprocated with a robotic monotone, a poker face and rolling eyes, and finally, a thudding door behind her.

Being home alone is good. You realise that you don't want anyone  but your phone in one hand, few eateries in the other and some cynical plans up your sleeves. I am not winking this time. I swear, not.

Hi to all happy Home Alone-s.
If what I said (with the much unneeded digressions) is not enough, hail Kevin, the ultimate inspiration.
Tata.

PS: Got to wash utensils.
#Flipside
#householdResponsibilty

To be continued...

Part 2 in the offing.

Thursday, 7 March 2019

YOUR RECIPE OF EMOTIONS


Her first wedding night.
Passed.
Second night.
Passed too.
Then third.
Fourth.
And now, a week.

Somehow!

Anyhow, she skulked in the shadows into the kitchen, her mind lingering in the nights to come. A sudden chill would run down her spine. The burden on her breasts, every night, only accentuated the wound that etched her dreams. The intrusion. Or humiliation? Perhaps, both. Her mind often wandered to the sweet nothings before this bondage and now, fate grimaces at her face. Tying the helm of the sari to her waist, she poured rice in a bowl kept in the wall cabinet. "What good are daughter-in-laws for if not cooking?!" Sabirah heard this from her mother-in-law on her first day and was, therefore, familiarised with her 'abode' like the palm of her hands. From the spices to the ladle, the locations fixed in her head as nicely as a glove in hand. She handled the kitchen as if she belonged to it since ages.

On the chopping board, she slayed few tomatoes - ripe, unlike her marital relationship and squashed, like her body. She moved to the basin, held the china bowl of rice. 
Her core quivered.
He was coming.

Disquiet rang through the bowl.

Her intuition was never wrong.  Her palm froze on the bowl, as if giving it some protection.
It was nauseous. His hand coiled on her naked waist. Squeezing, rubbing and moving. She twitched  his grip and mutely, began chopping garlic and onion and carrots and potatoes and, she could chop all veggies in the kitchen if that could drive him away. But for her, gone were the days when wishes were low hanging fruits. He digged his rough chin in her shoulder, tightening the hold, while cold shiver bolted her body. "It's not fair," she thought angrily. It's indecent.

"Feels good, no?" He smirked her unease away. She stood silent. Crestfallen. Her hands trying to betray her passive mind. The hot oil was bubbling. As she poured the ingredients in the pan, he bit her neck. Her scream escaped through the spattering, sputtering noise. Precisely, her life in capsule when her voice buried in the cacophony of discomfiture. She jerked herself away from his repulsive grip with a huff. Turning her face away, Sabirah tried to escape. The veggies had caramelised by then.
Her thoughts leapt to the day when Sabirah was trying a family recipe in her flat.  Waves of pleasure had run through  her body when those succulent lips licked off the sauce off her lips. The charred smell halted her stream of thoughts. He had gone. Perhaps in rage. Only the coming night could  tell. The recipe was ruined. Her recipe. A nasty odor thickened the air.

How brisk and spicy that day was! The steam of the food blended with that of their bodies. Sabirah had looked in  her eyes with a heavy breath.

She smiled.

TAMASHA - Movie Review

"Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai ki mai kaun hoon?"  The movie begins with the Robot fixing the trope of the movie i.e. the question of identity. The director creates a dichotomy between the heart and the world, and from there on begins the Tamasha of angst and passion, wonderfully sketched out by Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone and of course, the director, Imtiaz Ali. The joker on the stage replicates the true self of the Robot which buries in the rubble of the mechanised system where conventions dictate our behaviour through normalisation and discipline. On metaphorical level, the 'janam janam ka taka' between the Joker and Robot is jinxed and later manifests in form of bipolar personality of Ved (Kapoor). In the movie, to applaud the sheer intelligence behind the dialogues , adjectives will fall short!

VED

Ved loves to parachute in the world of fantasy but his transitions in the movie is what Tamasha captures on celluloid. From an extremely inquisitive child who feeds on stories to an adult caught in a ho-hum existence, Tamasha is an intelligently portrayed story with a timely placement of songs and lyrics. The presentation of the story in the form of musical narrative and non linear screenplay surely betray the grapevine influence of the crap feeding Indian audiences which fail to digest quality cinema. The music carries the story forward and intensifies its rich tapestry. Starting from the actual tamasha on stage to the figurative tamasha of life and emotions, the metaphor of Robot stands high for the mechanical existence of conformist people which prey on the dreams and inner self of individuals. Imtiaz Ali, once again, weaves a character with potential rebellion, and from  Jordan to Veera to Ved, his journey hasn't ended yet!

Ved's character is a round one in the movie. The movie begins with his childhood when his heart leapt to behold the rainbow which never let reality get in way of captivating yarns spun in equally mesmerising way by Piyush mishra. "Mai toh chala hiran ke shikar pe" - these lines and the "Chali kahani" song, thereafter, sum up the first part of the movie establishing the incredible network of stories which keeps us compact and interconnected. For instance, the story of Soni-Mahiwal echoes with that of Ved and Tara in the second part of the movie, hence the director rightly throws his dilemma that no one knows where a kahani begins and ends. It just travels!

In the second part of the movie, the beauty and warmth of Corsico lie parallel to the mood of the characters. Happy Ved, happy Corsico and happy music- Imtiaz's use of pathetic fallacy is as fitting as a shoe. The role play again reinforces the dominant trope of identity and can be seen as a way of escape from a socially conditioned self of Ved which stifles him like his tie in the later part of the movie. This is also his unconscious attempt to leap up to that same rainbow of childhood. "Dil ka bhanwar kahe sun sathiya, chup na duppatte mein tu o chhliya" - this precisely capsules what Imtiaz ali wants to portray through his film. This "Matargashti" song and then "Heer toh badi sad hai" songs carry the story forward and set the ambience of the story.

The dexterous use of shadows on stage, mirrors, and other important symbols like clock, his cubicle in office...display inner conflicts and also the gloominess of monotony of a low spirited survival. In part three, even on his date with Tara, Ved's keeps a check of time which shows his complete thrust into the hole of the robotic existence. Moreover, this part also sees his consequent rebound and redemption.  The interval at the break up scene pins its importance as it is a turning point when Ved's life will take a new route. The rickshaw wala of the "Wat Wat" song, emerges as the double of Ved who is "andar se kuchh aur (hi hai hum) aur bahar se majboor" which further trigger's his memory of his engineering days. His final redemption comes from the kahaniwala who, enraged, says-  "dil mein heer liye aur heer khojey viraane mein. farebi, dhokebaaz'' and  indirectly urges him -  Bol De Tu Koi Aur Hai, Chehre Jo Odhe Tune Woh, Tere Kahaan Hain.

TARA
The idea of 'waiting' seems peripheral in the movie, but it actually binds the whole narrative in a nuanced way. Amongst all the 'wait', Tara's is most obvious and also underrated in terms of due acknowledgement.

Laila-Majnu, Heer-Ranjha, Romeo-Juliet, Soni-Mahival, Ram-Sita, and even Helen of Troy who wished to be reunited with Menelaus...all these legends end with the characters waiting, for their lovers, to meet, no matter in death! Ved apparently waits to be Don again and Tara, for her Don...and regardless, she is twice removed from Ved's actual, real self. Tara's period of waiting becomes lesser important , perhaps because of the pact before the 'pack of lies' life in Corsico. However, she is Ved's heroine, his soul's voice which literally and metaphorically gets established in the very beginning of the movie- the joker who juxtapose the robot and is actually the rainbow the latter buried for him. In true sense, Tara is the actual hero who becomes instrumental in varied ways. Moreover, Tara's wait is more corporeal whereas,Ved's wait for the rebound is more psychological. the both stay, because of faith that they will be together. and here, Ved's wait becomes important because he is on verge of mental illness whereas Tara is psychologically healthy and she only is emotionally distraught and nonetheless, both are all by themselves to tackle their own selves. This makes Tamasha much more than just a love story as human emotions have a much larger canvas which can't be exhausted in popcorn worth storylines.

Tara is a very strong character and it becomes important when we view it in context of modern relationships and hook-up culture where physical proximity brushes faith and emotional intimacy aside.


TAMASHA IS A MOVIE WHICH LEAVES A FANTASTIC AFTER TASTE; IN A KIND OF ZONE YOU WANT TO BE IN SOMETIME, ALONE BY YOURSELF!!