Drops. . .

The rains are here again,

You are not,

The pains are here again,

You are not.

Wait,

Were you ever?

Or just in my imagination?

Those gaiety smiles,

Were, but a picaresque guile.

Yet I,

Took the plunge,

Was I ever shy?

Now,

How do I expunge?

From this hue & cry.

Love in the time of Breakup

image: Go Gonzo Journal

Of Love and Distress,

A boy and Princess,

Of merry-making & heart breaking,

Trying best; sometimes faking;

Hundreds of promises, countless lies,

Look how time flies,

Four years, months two more,

Ostensibly, the love was pure;

You never talk, am I forgotten?

Love is now a banana rotten.

Oh! Wait! Here thickens the plot,

For they say, Bananas don't rot.

(दो मिनट के) मौन से कुछ नहीं होगा ....

image: post-jagran-dotcom

रो लिए बहुत, अब किसका गम रुलाता है ?

छेड़ा था जब 'उसको' -"मेरा क्या जाता है?" 

---कुछ येही सोच धीरे से थे तुम निकल लिए,

"है अनजान, ऐसे लफड़े में कौन पड़े?",

जब कभी नहीं थी नियत 'उसे' बचाने की,

तो अब ऐसे क्यों उमड़ी भावनाएं? 

अब क्यों उमड़ी भावनाएं जब "वो नहीं रही "?

या थी जब अस्पताल में मौत से लड़ रही ...

अब मांग करो तुम नामर्द बनाने की,

जिसने किया 'उसका' ये हाल,

पर देखो अपने गिरेबान में झांककर,

भूमिका तुम्हारी भी इसमें कम नहीं ...

पूछो खुद से- "क्या मैं भी नामर्द तो नहीं?"

जब दिखे कोई लड़का, लड़की को छेड़ रहा,

जाकर करना वो हाल,

कि डरे अगली बार, ना ऐसा कर पाए,

और तुम्हे लगे कि तुम, 'सच-मुच' किसी के काम आए ...

अपनी आत्मा को शांत करना बंद करो, 

उसकी आत्मा को भगवान शान्ति स्वयं ही दे देगा ...

Not Just a Love Song. . .

Not Just a Love Song. . .

Epigraph:

"Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky."

~The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock [T.S. Eliot]

...to look in the eyes is to go blind,

Of the rest of the world;

See from the heart, the divinity which lies,

For it never lies...

...those milky gems, beneath perfect lips,

Behold my thirsty glance,

Ah! your charm and angelic countenance,

Carry me to the trance...

...my heart lies,

And beats for you;

Nothing else, just your charisma,

Makes it skip a few ---(beats)---

...hear it as you lay over me,

Your head on my chest,

Lets be still, and live the moment,

Let time be at rest...

...its disease and only cure,

Lies in thy hands,

Be mine, let us go,

To those distant lands...

...lands where lovers live,

Away from this and that;

Go there with just our souls,

And remove the 'thinking' hat...

...sickens me how the Ego works,

Plays the dirty game;

Money, power, and/or fame,

Sometimes achieved, but mostly shame...

...so why be its slave, when we've a soul,

That which is Divine;

That which we all have the same,

Yours is just as mine...

...let them yell, let them cry,

For they don't understand love;

Let us go, just you and I,

There's a world above...

~Yet Another Inner Conflict

 Perturbing Mentations. . .

sitting in my room, hearing the clock,

each passing moment, tick tock tick tock...

random thoughts come and go,

ohh, the slight frown on my brow...

the room is locked, there is no key,

enjoying the song -kolaveri Di...

for it's rhythm, but more for the sense,

it sure does convey my life's essence... 

the helpless feeling, the loss of meaning,

hardly- working, but lots of dreaming...

close your eyes, and open thy heart,

for once admire, the Majesty's Art...

as He demands, so we should,

cherish our lives in brotherhood...

endless arguments, useless fight,

why a constant struggle for Might ?

let's be friends, let us show,

love is greater than one's Ego...

enjoy the winter, but clear the fog,

don't keep your thoughts in back-log,

pour your heart, don't be shy,

express what you feel, as did I...

On the eve of Independence...

~ ऐ मेरे वतन के लोगों 

It's the 14th of August... tomorrow is our Independence day... unfortunately, and it pains me deeply to say, that it doesn't feel like Independence day, coz it doesn't feel like being independent anymore... The Govt should be ashamed of itself...if we, (yeah, this is not a personal opinion, but a general emotion: of hatred) as the citizens of India, post such write-ups... alas, "It" won't be ashamed, rather furious... ("It", here, is used for the govt: and it is most appropriate that this word is used, for the govt is no more than a non-living piece of ______, fill it up for yourself)...and ohh, if somehow, "It" reads all this, i might be arrested...how much i would like that, for it would be better than being arrested under this mask of freedom...i wonder when were the Rights taken away from Us...coz m sure we don't possess them...

our home minister says, and i quote, "if a person's life is in danger, and please mark my words, if a person's life is in danger, it is not only the responsibility, but also the right of the govt to intervene"... (source: Press Conference, 13-08-2011)... 

i respond, Dear Sir, perhaps i am in a nightmare where i see Police killing people... and its been months...the dream is not ending, and i am almost falling into depression... Sir, please intervene somehow...

first Ramdev and many innocent sleeping people (and i am not using words like Sant, baba, etc to address him, as i know it dejects u)... then farmers in Pune, and many more instances... and now you have put 22 conditions before Anna Hazare... i am sorry, but i studied Civics as a subject, though only till 10th standard, but that was enough to teach me of our rights... and according my understanding of the state of affairs, this is a breach of our rights...

i thought we had freedom of speech and expression; i thought it was our right to live a safe life, and i am sure i heard you correctly when you pretended to be a well-wisher and said the govt has to protect a person's life...but in today's times, it feels "you" people have some kind of special right to killing people at will and lying shamelessly... but, if it were so, why are you not killing Kasab... perhaps, coz he most deserves it...perhaps, coz we most demand it...

considering the present scenario, I would rather call our form of govt a Dictatorship... "by", of course, the ignorant and helpless people,"of" a party/alliance, "for" [the benefit of] the party and corrupt people... 

but, who am i make such a statement?... and how would it matter?... well, if nothing else, I am a citizen of this Great Nation, and if every single citizen, or even if 60 % (not more than 60% vote, on avg) pledge to turn tables, it would matter, won't it?

I am struggling for words to express myself truly, or perhaps, I have the decency to not use the words which would fit the most. I feel strangled...outraged...disappointed...

no...i am sure, its a nightmare... there is still sometime...before its midnight and we officially enter the 65th year of free India... Dear Sir, please intervene...stir me...end this nightmare, if you possibly can...coz i fear, if we wake up at the stroke of midnight, the govt shall have to sleep forever...

P.S. something has to be done...and we are the ones who have the responsibility of doing that something...to all of you who read it, comment if you feel like, but please do "think" even if you don't feel like it.!!! 

Jai Hind.!!!

Summer of '11

Inner Conflict

~ the question has the answer

Returning home after my last exam yesterday, I thought, "writing my blog would be the first thing I would do after reaching home"... walking in the Sun, at exactly noon, and in such time of summer when the temperature is good enough to burn your skin out, I didn't want to think too much about other things... I have been waiting for my exams to end to get back to my favorite work. I had read a lot of classical literature, in true sense of both the words, and it was now time to write. As I walked towards the bus stop, I randomly formed about ten different beginnings for this post. It wasn't the weather, the heat was in my mind. I didn't even care to check my books, to reassure myself that I had done well, nor did I call up my parents to tell about it.

But as it turned out, It wasn't the first thing. In fact, I couldn't start writing until this evening. This is one thing which has been constantly happening to me... I have had a lot of ideas- some good ones, some not so good, and some bad... But, I was busy with exams, and sometimes i lacked energies and other times the will to type them down here... Also, i was, kinda waiting for something "perfect", like the best idea, or a "good" time to start writing... or rather restart. Then a thought crossed my mind... a disturbing one... which is still haunting me, and would do till i publish this one, and continue to write... they were a series of rhetoric questions, more than a mere thought... Can a writer make any excuse for not writing? Can he dare say that his mind (and/or even heart) is devoid of ideas or words? If he doesn't write, how then, is writing his passion and profession?

There may be two conditions when someone is unable to write, either there is a dearth of ideas, or a glut- so many that it is difficult to decide where to begin... I found myself, peculiarly, amidst the two... There is so much going on- in and around my life, that everything seems a good as a topic... But most of it is highly controversial , so the confusion deepens... (yeah, both- the things "in" and "around"  my life have some or other controversial aspects... the degrees of controversy have high disparity, though... now kindly don't burden your mind with things I don't/wouldn't want you to assume).

What and how much to write? which topic first? why not the other? to write as a student, lover, journalist, or an Indian? to write an adventurous tale about taking a bit too many exams? or a love-tragedy or a romantic-comedy? or an article on the state of affairs? or a discourse on the so called "social movement" (or as other say "political drama")...   the last one, of course, is with reference to the bizarrely exasperating social-cum-political agitation going on...

The answer, ironically, was a simple one... it so happens often, doesn't it? the more complicated the questions, the simpler the answers... I thought I would stick to the basics (that's what they recommend mostly "stick to the basics")... the basics, here, being writing a blog (where writing is defined as "The work of a writer", and a blog is "A shared on-line journal where people can post daily entries about their personal experiences and hobbies")... I may not necessarily put efforts to write an extraordinary, every time I sit to write, for the consciousness makes it more difficult a task... 

So, personal experience it shall be... and hopefully, it would encompass all the topics I thought of writing on, as they all are somehow related to me and my personal experiences...

Didn't know that question will not only serve as a hint, but the complete answer.. how to write the blog? ------>just "write" the "blog"...

But every write-up (at least mine) would end up being some kinda story... and a story is a story- you may or may not want to believe everything... ;)

~ ~ ~ thus, I present to you, the Summer of '11. . .

Persistence Resistance: part II (the film critique)

As I promised, I am back with the Film review... The most important thing to be mentioned here is that its completely subjective and my personal view... 

Enjoy Reading...

(for those who haven't read the first part yet: http://writertj.blogspot.com/2011/04/persistence-resistance-published-after.html)

My Mother India

Directed by: Safina Uberoi

English (subtitled), 52min, 2001, Australia

My Mother India is a deeply moving, emotional and passionate movie, set in the backdrop of modern Indian history. The director of the film is a child of a mixed marriage, with Indian Sikh father and Australian modern mother. Apart from her parents, the film also portrays the contrasting characters of her grandparents, and her younger brother and sister, brought up, majorly in Australia. This film is based on the multicultural family, the transition of generations, and the social, political and religious events of the anti-Sikh riots of 1984 which tore the family apart.

The story has been carefully and very skilfully weaved, with the use of first person narrative, and interviews with other family members. The story begins with an introduction to the family members and their lifestyle. It takes us back to the pre-independence and independence era, and the Indo-Pak division, and the coming of their family from Lahore to Punjab (the part of independent India). This highlights the atrocities faced by her grandmother, and thus the reason behind her (grandmother’s) hatred towards her grandfather. A clear picture of the patriarchal society, and the position and condition of a woman in it, is drawn. Interview with the lady herself, her grandmother, shows the deep agony she feels and lives, and the hatred she nurses for her husband. Various instances have been narrated which support her argument and compel us to empathize with her.

The story slowly transits to her parents’ life, how they met and got into this intercontinental bond of marriage. Her mother’s perspective has been shown and given emphasis: What she feels about living in India, and being a part of an Indian family. We find that she is happily settled in her own small Indian world, and seldom wishes to go to Australia, and she is actually so engrossed here that she doesn’t really want to return ever. She refuses to visit one of her family member’s funeral, which shows how deeply she feels associated with India.

But this bond turns out to be one sided and is harshly stirred when the then prime minister of India, Indira Gandhi is assassinated by her Sikh body guards, following the Golden temple “blue star operation” incident. The family, especially the Mother goes through immense mental torture and starts questioning her identity. She feels sad to associate herself with India, and thrives to explore her nationality through self-introspection. This is evoked by her husband trying to find his own identity as a Sikh, or rather an Indian Sikh. The questions raised are: whether Sikhs are really a part of India? Does one incident outcast the whole Sikh community? Do they consider themselves Indians when India doesn’t consider them so?

In the course of events, the grandfather dies a rather emotionally unstable and painful, and ugly death. Her grandmother “triumphs”. She “outlived” him. These are some of the expressions used to show the mental trauma that her grandmother is in, not because of her husband’s death, but since her early ages and due to the mental and physical abuse she faced.

The rest of the story unveils the endeavours of the Mother in surviving, as an Indian, and protecting her children by sending first her son, and then the younger daughter to Australia, and later finally the director also. The rebellious step of sending the son to Australia shows the strength she has. She doesn’t even consult her husband once, before sending her son off to a ‘different’ nation. The film ends with the usual “happy-ending” of Indian cinema, with the director getting married to an Indian Sikh, in a traditional wedding organised by her parents.

The theme and script are strong and compelling. You never really blink eyes once the family enters the turmoil. The narration is composed and effective. It almost transfers all the emotions over the audio, and combined with the extreme close up video shots, it involves you so much that you almost get a lump in your throat. The overall cinematography is excellent. No shot is out of place or without a meaning. The use of audio is also commendable. Sounds of moving train to show the transition, mobs to induce fear, sad musicals tunes to show the mental state of the family, are examples of the effective use of sound effects. Safina Uberoi makes sure that you are her fan after watching the movie, and start liking documentaries if you don’t yet.

Cast and Crew:

Producer: Penny McDonald     

Writer: Safina Uberoi

Director: Safina Uberoi

Editor:   Reva Childs                      

Cinematographer: Himman Dhamija

Production Manager: Jacqui North       

Production Manager (India): Himman Dhamija

Script Editor: Penny McDonald

Sound Recordist: P.M. Satheesh

Sound Designer: Penn Robinson

Sound Mixer: Tony Vaccher

Composer: Miroslav Bukovsky

Musicians: Miroslav Bukovsky, Sandy Evans, Tony Gorman, Sukhbir Singh, Greg Sheehan, Alistair Spence

Awards Won by the film:

• The Rouben Mamoulian Award, Dendy Awards – Sydney Film Festival 2002
• CRC Award, Dendy Awards – Sydney Film Festival 2002
• Script Writing Award, NSW Premier's Literary Awards 2002
• Best Long Form Documentary, Australian Teachers of Media Awards 2002
• Odyssey Award for Best Documentary, Real: Life On Film Festival 2002
• Jury Prize for Best Australian Documentary, Australian Film Critics Circle 2002
• Special Jury Award, Hawaii International Film Festival 2001
• Special Commendation, Mill Valley International Film Festival 2001
• Best Video Production, Melbourne International Film Festival 2001

Persistence Resistance: published after reluctance

From almost a long "inactive" phase (since May 2010 to March 2011), to suddenly hyperactive, my blog now shows an uneven graph of visitors and usage... glad that its at the peak at this moment, but the low lying areas make my heart sink... i remember posting the last post around, um, (oh, i don't exactly remember) a few weeks back... and since then, work (other than "writing") kept me occupied so much that i almost forgot that one needs to post stuff on the blog on a regular basis...

To end the drought, i am choosing an easier way out... publishing one of my drafts (which had been in pipeline for over two months)...

its a small story (yeah, a small "story", of perhaps 700 words, not a small write-up, one would say) about one of the fine days in my journalism and mass communication studies...   

I was asked to write a film critique on any one of the films screened at a film festival that we had attended once upon a time. there was a small irony, though; we were never taught to write one... "once upon a time" has relevance, which would be explained later, if i don't get another fit of short term memory loss...

Name of the film festival: Persistence Resistance 2011

Date, Venue & Timings: February 10, India International Centre, 10am-7.30pm

Films Screened/Seen: My Mother India, Fragments of History, The Other Song, Diamonds in Vegetable Market, Beware-Dogs, The Children of Pyre.

“Persistence Resistance: edge of visual narrative, as it is completely named, is a documentary film festival. In its fourth year, it came up with a new sub-title to draw attention to the independent documentary artists’ deep engagement with the narrative structure and cinema’s aesthetics, its language and form”, reads the second paragraph of preface of the hand book they gave us. Why I used such a discrete element from their two page long preface would be an obvious question. Well, these particular lines accurately define the event and its objective, so I thought, "I can’t begin in a better way".

I still  remember vividly every moment of the day. It was one such day in my journalism course that taught me more than last eighteen months classroom studies. Of course, my teachers would hate me for saying so, but with all due respect to each one of my “gurus”, I would like to justify my statement, by taking you straight to the day.

It was 9.30 in the morning when I, with two other friends, reached the IIC, at Lodhi Road. At the registration desk, we found two ladies, clad in traditional Indian Sarees, but (ironically) speaking fluent English. I was sure that we were going to witness something really special, particularly when one of them lit up a cigarette, and continued her conversation with the other lady. Without much adieu and after gaining all my courage and some good English words that my mind thought sounded stylish enough to be spoken to them, and with the most warm smile I ever gave anyone, I started enquiring about the festival, and the registration procedure. Soon I got a bolt from the blue. They required us to register online first, get a confirmation email, and then feel registered. All we knew was that some guy of our class has started up the “film-festival” conversation very casually and the rest forty of us had just joined in the long discussion that followed, to pass the remaining twenty five minutes of our class.

But we had to attend the festival. With passing time, people started coming, and unlike us, they were all registered. In fact, they didn’t need any registration as they were eminent and elite bunch of men and women, who were Directors, Writers, Photographers, Media personnel, or other intelligentsia. We started to feel out of place, but soon got comforted by seeing a hand full of students arrive. Two of them were from our college, and one of them was this guy, “hero” of yesterday’s class discussion but who seemed no less than a villain at this moment. But contrary to his appearance to us, he actually did some heroic, secret deal with some organisers, and we were allowed in.

Our hearts sank again as we entered the auditorium, the first film had already started. I asked a foreigner who was sitting behind me, about the duration of film we had missed, and she was kind enough to inform me that it had just begun. So, here began my actual expedition as I focused myself, and in my peculiar but unique gesture asked my friends not to disturb me. 

The movie was "My Mother India", by Safina Uberoi... A fantastic film set in the backdrop of modern Indian history, based on multicultural family, and how an event makes their lives a "survival task"...

My next post will give its review, so do visit again... 

(part II: http://writertj.blogspot.com/2011/04/persistence-resistance-part-ii-film.html)

Long Way Ahead

High Time for National Awakening... The Alarm has already rung, and heard by Us All... Now Shun laziness, and Wake Up, for Our Country, Our People, Our Future... Be aware, and Beware Others... Stop Cursing the Political Parties, Stand Against Them... Together WE can Liberate Ourselves...

Starting with Self is the Key, Be the Change You Wish to See...