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Gulabi. . .

@ Sifar :)

Bheek. . .

@Sifar.

Nadi Kinaaray . . .

Sifar.

Maadin aur kabootar . . .

@Sifar ... Shukriya!

Kala Pradarshan. . .

Shukriya Sifar :)

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Her wonder took a gigantic leap when she saw sea for the first time. And she instantly knew that she’d never escape from his capture. Waves of admiration had hit a new shore in her heart, a shore of inexplicable felicity, in a heart, which had long turned prosaic with dry glances of the world. That’s how sea was reborn as a poem within her; his sublime verses in rhythm with one another. The sensation was divine.

But wait, we must come back to this later. There were more beginnings waiting for her just then.

“We must leave now, else we’d be late...” he shouted from the where he stood,fixated; far from the shore facing her back, aiming to recoup some of her parted attention. When she didn’t look back, he advanced towards her, letting the sand slide into his chappals and sea breeze to dishevel his hair.

He added softly “everybody’s waiting there, Mamma...” upon realizing how blissfully she watched the sea, oblivious of everything else around her.

“I will bring you back here tomorrow, I promise.”

It played the trick.

So reassured of another visit to this delightful place, she nodded immediately, and jumped on a motor-bike with him. That was a beauty of another order though short, with the dusking sky quietly watching her, as they together rode up and down the windy hilly roads, breezing through the quiet streets, heading towards the place she longed to be. Moon too, seemed to rush in to watch them through the late evening sky as she moved closer to the forthcoming wonders on her way.

She had imagined this day a million times in her head. And today she had to surrender her imagination to the real.

“How far away are we from there?” she asked, her voice brimming with excitement, even the strong gushes of wind couldn't muffle it, not even a bit.

“Just a minute away” came back the reply post which she pictured the place in her head one last time.

And then she saw the house, which like a diwali diya shone bright from its earthen cast. It was easy to spot it from quite a distance, in a colony of white candle-like houses, which seemed to quicken into a mound of wax around it. Sea all powerful, which she had just seen could wash away all of them but this. The beautiful palace had numerous small, multicolored lights hanging down its yellow walls, reflecting the mood of celebration it was in; and the green banana leaves at the entrance swayed in the breeze while the coconuts struggled to drag them down.

It became the fountainhead of her new dream.

A home.

But before the night could crawl in she had to sing away eulogies to everything that surrounded her, all these things that long waited for her presence with bated breath. As she did that, another question came running along.

“Where is your bindi?”

“I told you to wear it... How can you forget such an important thing Maa?” he asked, teasing her fringes over forehead back to the crown of the head, trying to pin them down with his fingers. Just when it looked fine to him and he removed his hand off her head, they popped out again taking back their places, as if all laughing at his little struggle.

He smiled.

But the question was so sweet to be answered back. It was put in such a pleasant tone had you heard it, you’d have easily known that he was in love.

“We can buy there.. look.. from there..” she pointed to a small shop just around the corner. So it was easy to grab a packet of small red bindis, and he hurried one of them onto her forehead and they were ready to rush through the dancing banana leaves, to become a part of prodigious celebration.

He maneuvered her comfortably up the staircase which swirled up to the roof, her hand in his tight grip promising togetherness to each other. They could hear happy voices, songs by relatives and neighbors’ locally formed choir group, and all the pleasant chattering of women and men together.

“Namaste Uncle” is all she could say with a quick face-bow while her hands were preoccupied elsewhere, to his father, hoping to not get rejected for a newfangled greeting style, quite popular in north India. But she managed to risk this, as there was no alternative for over-posing in the first greet.

A humble smile appeared on his father’s face, relieving her of the feeling that she was a stranger. She noticed the same lines running through both of their faces, curving their eyes, nose and lips. What a wonderful resemblance! That single glace at him spoke of how well he had lived his life; his eyes reflecting all clarity and purity. Comfortably dressed in a blue checkered loongi with a gray shirt on top, he had left care for world behind him. I could tell the entire bright house belonged to him and he belonged to it right back.

She felt at ease. Things were simple here. People were good. Smiles were real.

To be continued . . .

our make..

Possibility bound; safely I,
on my lacking visage place,
your worthier face,
mounding on my mound,
straight pulling you.

All find me and should,
an unparalleled parallel
of another you,
yet I desire another,
desirous circle of desire.

Parts of parts of you all,
little or more becomes me.
I turn to your power,
and away too I go,
should I stay unoccupied.

Your riches I then spin into,
but always forsaken poor,
as it is never enough;
I run to win this instance,
your attention yes.

Why look away,
when you make me me?
why you portray me,
and then
leave me in sketches?

You stand on the circle,
but I find you far,
and just then I realize,
I keep turning all the time;
and the time runs out.

Inkar

Yeah, only a handful of people didn't frown after watching Inkar. Logic-lovers bad-mouthed the movie, reviews were negative, critics blamed Mishra for poor direction, and it couldn’t score well in box-office.

For common folk the movie was too ordinary. Their expectations fizzled out and disappointment spurted in contemplation of a blasting super duper ending. Agreed that the movie couldn’t close the subject of sexual harassment at workplace at all..Should we stop there to ignore the rest it has/had to offer?

Tagore once said that "a mind all logic is like a knife all blade; it makes the hand bleed that uses it” A difficult decision can keep dangling about our heads forever, but films should be prim. They can’t enjoy the luxury to confuse or muddle-up the common men. Should be a crime! Why won’t’ we always want justice done to people within three hours of allocated entertainment time?

Melodrama is a panacea for the boring and the usual. It should be handled without love, care or thought. Such a blissful thing it is! Movie characters needn’t be always strong. Let them be real if one chooses to put them as such, and yes respect the decision please.

The performances are well played. Either of talent or luck could be credited for characters coming out so real.

Songs..aah! Wonderful, clear and magnificent. With lyrics from Kirkire, they gives life to sporadic spurts of passion and romance throughout the movie. One should do justice to them at least.

"Yeh zindagi ka karobar
Yeh hasratein bhi beshumar
Khud hi khade hain khud ke khilaaf
Khud kashti hain khud hi sailaab
Khud hain sawaal khud hi jawaab
Tufaano mein banke chiraag
Kyun jalte jaaye hain"

What we do when we are not thinking

"Abb hum gum huay gum huay..
Sare raah gum huey, gum huey
Hum bekhabar besabar benazar kho gaye"

When we lose and find ourselves before loosing ourselves forever.