Leap Into Some Love

I had been researching for an article on Leap Years and Leap Days, when the beauty of the concept struck me. Leap Days are days which exist lesser than the other days. These are days which go unnaccounted for. If you're working today, you're working without pay. If you were born today, you'll have to bank on either 28th February or 1st March as the official day you came into existence. Facebook will have nothing to show you today, unless from a really far off past.

And best of all, if you're forming memories today, you cannot mark an annual anniversary for them. Which makes the nostalgia invisible, or eternal.

Think about it. Today is a day you must obviously try and live more than the others, because, like I said, it will exist lesser than all the other days on the calendar. The scientific reason, of course, is to take care of the anomaly which arises between the calendar year and the solar year, but that reason makes no difference to my life. Despite this adjustment, there is still an error of timing left, which is adjusted by not counting multiples of 100 as Leap Years, unless they are multiples of 400 also. Too many numbers in there, and they still do not guarantee precision. Again, precision makes no difference to my existence, but reasons for forming formless memories do.

If you've seen the (quite disastrous) movie Leap Year, you would be aware of the Irish tradition where women could propose to men on a Leap Day, and fear no refusal. Some say, it is a day when no man is safe, because his denial may cost him a kiss, a silk dress, or a pair of gloves to be given to the lady who popped the question. This latter tradition, arguably, started in 13th century Scotland, when Queen Margaret decreed that on 29th February, a lady may unabashedly propose to any man she fancied. Rest assured, she won't go home empty handed.

It is quite apt, then, that the extra day be added to the month of love. No one really knows for sure why February was left with only 28 days in a calendar where all the other months boast of far more. There are legends, none with a strong grounding though. Leap Day gives this pretty month a chance at equality, just short of it though. And the more I think about this day of fleeting importance, the more its importance becomes apparent to me.

Even though modern existence robs most of us off the luxury of time, I'll still have a plan to utilise this extra day for moments, tasks and conversations which are too important to be archived. February 29th, in the modern idiom, should become the day where we all say out loud those things we've held onto for too long, without the fear of listener's judgement, or retaliation, or condescension. All those three are contemporary malaises, which deserve at least a day's bravery to cure. And if your brave admissions of love or longing (or desire, or any curbed feeling) are met with unpleasant reactions, there is always a kiss, a silk garment, or pile of books to ask for (because gloves really make no sense to our times).

There are times we push hard to make a moment happen, and then we wish it away because it turned out to be too unpleasant for our heart to digest. Congrats, here you have a day which you won't have to wish away, because it will not hit your calendar till it becomes a long lost memory, which, a leap of years later, you would only smile back with fondness over. At least I would. I like prolonging intense moments, by forming calendar memories of them. Today, I won't get to do that. It's my day to be brave, and yours too. If you've withheld a sentiment from me - inbox it right in! I have my most nonchalant self waiting to hear.

I really hope we make a tradition out of it. I would. In the personal utopia I have constructed with some kind people and kinder words. May Queen Margaret's decree be followed - a moment of love, or a bar of Silk, find your happiness either way, and then, if needed, forget the day ever existed :)

Live and let go, I believe, is a lovely motto for our age.

Chutzpah in Tragedy

And then, while you were lying low, engulfed with the inertia of penlessness, comes a piece of artistic grandeur which cajoles you into putting words together and shooting them out in the world. I witnessed today the sublimity of darkness, and the pure art that emanates from there. Never have I been impacted with the dark as I was today. Thrill hid inside each minute which unfolded to reveal a darker shade of human emotions, and all this, before I had arrived at a complete understanding of the plotline.

I have not read Hamlet, and I knew little about it before watching Haider. Dragging my reluctant body for the first day, first show of the film seemed like a torture - also because I am not one of those who loads her head with tragic tales shown in screechingly over-blown proportions on the screen. And Haider was supposed to be that. It was an adaptation of the darkest and the most tragic of Shakespearean dramas, promising depressiveness; but it turned out to be a perfectly chiselled product of extremely high class cinematic thought, a courageous combination of beauty and annihilation.

The plotline of Hamlet is famous - let us fit some Kashmiri names into it. Haider returns to his Kashmiri homeland to avenge the death of his father, Dr. Hilal Meer. Upon his return, he finds his widowed mother, Ghazala sharing some banter with his father brother, Khurram Meer. Khurram, who also harbours political ambitions is also Hilal's murderer - as is revealed to Haider by Roohdaar - a ghost, or spirit identity in the story. The ghost urges Haider to avenge his father's murder, and thereafter events unfold to grow towards the greatest tragic end that Bollywood has ever seen.

The characterisations are pitch-perfect, and I was bowled over by performances by Tabu and Shahid. For me, probably, they served as the lead pair, with clear sexual tension marking their relationship. Tabu played Haider's mother, and the existence of Oedipal undertones was pointed out to me by Neha - a core thread of the story which became all too apparent by the end. Shahid has outdone himself, especially in his portrayal of obsessive behaviour bordering on delusion and dementia. There is a scene in which Shahid delivers a mono-act speech on a Chowk  - and I am still in disbelief about the superlative theatre skills he put on display. This man managed to match up to Tabu in each scene - no mean feet there!

How Vishal Bhardwaj wove the geographical and cultural topography of Kashmir into the literary stream of a Victorian play is something I am still at odds to understand. Needlessly said, it appears, as thought the central narrative of the tragedy was crafted for a Kashmiri setting exclusively. The songs, background, depiction, attires, art, characters - all give you a very authentic taste of the land, which encases not just natural beauty, but a very distinctive culture of its own. Culture, and devastation - Vishal Bhardwaj is the genius who probably knows how to find beautiful ways of depicting the same. The whole movie, itself, could be called devastatingly beautiful. When you hear the word 'Chutzpah' being used to explain AFSPA, you know you are being exposed to subtle, dark humour.

There is so much from the film which refuses to leave my mind! The white attire of Irrfan Khan, alluding to his ghost-like interjection in the plot. The dilemmas faces by each character, and how tragic fate overtakes their minds. The many shades of Tabu's countenance - her struggle to be the woman who could control situations, but fails upon trying too hard. The hauntingly beautiful music! The theatrical performance put together by Shahid to recreate the tail of his father's death in the song Bismil.

And, to top it all, there was Faiz's poetry. So much about the story, the human condition, and the human conflict can be understood by listening to and absorbing Gulon Mein Rang Bhare and Hum Dekhenge. If Shakespeare lived in Kashmir, probably he would not have been able to put together this intense, dark melody, painfully beautiful to the eyes and soul. I have never reviewed a movie earlier, but if I were to review this one, 5 on 5 stars for me, and standing ovation to go with it.

PS - If you have not, listen to 'Aaj Ke Naam' sung by Rakha Bhardwaj on priority. Like, now. 

Kitnay Aadmi Thay? by Diptakirti Chaudhuri - A Review

Bollywood, as much as cricket, and perhaps more in recent times, is a national passion. It is the one industry that unites us, inspires us and often incites us. Bollywood is a conversation-starter for people who have just met; and it is a part of the historical accounts of lives of many of us, who remember incidents in their life by the movies which released contemporaneously. Film-stars in our country are often demi-gods, and often like mortal members of our own families. They give us a taste of reality sometimes, and drive us into fantasy land at others. Bollywood is an institution which is impossible to sum-up in a few words. Volumes of books might be insufficient to capture in totality the stories of Mumbai Filmdom, both, which occur on-screen and off the screen. However, a worthy effort has been undertaken by Diptakirti Chaudhuri in a book of trivia to document some 'useless' (as stated on the cover), but immensely interesting facts about Bollywood in a neatly packaged book called - Kitnay Aadmi Thay?

This book is a joyride through and through, beginning with its very title. The eyes of my friends glittered with a perverted connotation the moment I told them I am reading a book called "Kitnay Aadmi Thay?" For others, this legendary dialogue from an iconic movie refreshed memories, and immediately led to imitation of the dialogues of Thakur, Gabbar, Basanti, Jai, Veeru, Soorma Bhopali, the Jailor - each in himself a distinct fabled character. A perfect companion during my metro journies for about a week, this book took me deep into the part magical, part controversial world of Hindi films, and revealed some facts which I hope I remember to share with authority during filmi social conversations.

Are you one of those who thinks beyond what a movie depicts on screen? Are you interested in remembering all the records made on the filmfare award stage? Do you wish to know what lies behind the perfectionist image Aamir Khan has arrived at today? Does your mind often think of the movies which got their names from past melodies? Do you have your own list of who is the best 'ma', 'beta', 'bhai-behen' etc. among the characters essayed in Indian film industry? Are you fond of humble anecdotes of bollywood veterans which are recounted as fables by industry experts? I can unleash a fairly long chain of such questions, and if one or more of them are answered in a 'yes' by you, trust my word, Kitnay Aadmi Thay? is the book for you.

The author warns you on the very cover- 'Completely Useless Bollywood Trivia'. Well, ask me, and I won't tell you the information contained in this book is useless by any standards. For us, who take pride in the grandeur and madness of bollywood, having before us a collection of its many less known facts and facets is a boon. Presented in a manner so intriguing that by reading the very headings which give a peek into forthcoming pages you start forming your own content in your head, this book does its best to interact with the reader. Bollywood, after all, can't be special only to one. The author, in fact, invites the readers to sit with a pencil, and add notes of his own at places where his memory reveals more than the author's research.

I think this book should be a recommended reading for those with academic interest in Indian Film Studies. Okay. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but this book is what I would strongly recommend to all Hindi film enthusiasts. Bollywood is an indispensable part of our lives, one that has also found its way into our popular culture. Folk songs during traditional rituals have been replaced by prominent bollywood melodies. Dialogues are quoted during routine conversations for an added emphasis and to find resonance. Ingrained so deep in the sociological fabric, Indian film industry does deserve its own literature- the kind which is in reach of the ordinary reader/viewer. Kitnay Aadmi Thay is a humble, but laudable effort in the same direction by author Diptakirti Chaudhuri. Kudos to him! And from me, a rating of 3 stars on 5.

PS- I have been dying to find an opportunity to post here some of my favorite moments from Bollywood. This post, perhaps, has the perfect space for them. There are infinite, but I have culled them down to five iconic scenes. Are any of these your favorite too? 

The love of an austere Sunil Dutt for an untouchable girl - Sujata. The subtle, yet poignant romance of this film touches your heart, and pours out through your eyes.

No scene can come close to competing with this one when we remember epic climaxes. Tears amid  roars of recorded laughter, Hrishikesh Mukherjee sure knew how to regale and involve his viewers.

Who has not danced to this song in weddings of near and dear ones? A song, which is a story in itself. This film - the best from the Barjatya house.

The great coming together of Aamir and Salman - this movie is rightly called a cult comedy. And this song - one that  I invariably look forward to when I begin watching this film.

The best of this man. SRK's talent and charm regained their former, glorious spot in my heart the moment I heard his 'Sattar Minute' speech in this epic movie.

(Reviewed on request from Westland Publications)

My Tree In A Fern

The Christmas tree is said to have its roots in the mysterious concept of the "tree of paradise". Of the more credible stories I have heard about it, one relates to Saint Boniface. Saint Boniface was the patron saint of Germany, a missionary who preached Christianity during the 8th century in the Frankish Empire. A legend of the Christmas tree, perhaps the earliest, relates to the time St. Boniface (Apostle of Germany) was sermonizing against idolatry to a tribe of Germanic Druids. To prove that oak tree was not sacred and inviolable, he fell one on the spot. As the tree toppled over, it crushed everything which came in its way, except for a small fir sapling. Saint Boniface conjectured the survival of the fir as a miracle, and proclaimed it as "Tree of Christ". It thence became a tradition to celebrate Yule Tide by planting and nurturing fir saplings.

As a child, I did insist on buying a glitzy little replica of a Christmas tree which I would decorate with shiny bells and stars humming away "Star of wonder, star of light." I knew many carols in my innocent days, which are now fading away from my memory. One which I remember distinctly still is

Long Time Ago In Bethlehem
So The Holy Bible Says
Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ
Was born on Christmas-day
Hark now hear the angels sing
A new king born today
And man will live forever more
Because of Christmas-day.

This carol has a nice chime to it, which recreates all the memories from my school days, where our teachers genuinely endeavoured to inculcate in us the spirit with which the festival should be celebrated. Whether it was those innocent 'Merry X-Mas' cards we made, or the repeated story telling sessions of 'A Christmas Carol'- there is much I miss as I type out this post with my fingers freezing over the key board. Yes, a nice family dinner, complete with a ritualistic plum cake will form a part of my celebrations. What I do not have this year, though, is a nice Christmas Tree- which I really wanted to decorate and which would have added a glow to the otherwise blanketed by winter, lazy atmosphere of my home.

However, not having the tree is not really making me morose for now. In fact, thanks to the plethora of wonderfully positive statuses I have read since oooo hours on facebook, conveying wishes from virtual unknowns to more unknowns, I have this feeling which has begun to grow on me with surprising intensity. I'm being lulled into believing that occasions like Christmas are to step back and invest time on counting one's blessings and making efforts to preserve and cherish them. The wonderful charisma of the Yule festival does, for some signify the impending close of a year- for others, it brings with itself the optimism of preparing and planning for an altogether, yet untouched new year with promises and opportunities we neither know nor can guess about. More often than not, life becomes pretty or ugly simply by what we choose to see in it. Said a very smart man once- 'Twixt the optimist and pessimist/ the difference is droll/ the optimist sees the doughnut/ the pessimist the hole.

Alright, so now I am happy, and looking forward to not just a day, but a whole week of fun, optimism and celebrations, till I settle down into a new year with some new responsibilities and some old dreams firmly planted in my heart and mind. What is the most beautiful thing about Christmas for me? It is the description defying aura which this festival builds around itself. So powerful is the spirit surrounding the festival, that it ensnares all- who own this festival and those who simply choose to flow along with its bliss. I began my Christmas by making a wish- a secret and seemingly impossible, but a wish nonetheless. Baking a cake is next on my agenda. Calling friends, catching up on missed details will form a sure part of my day today. And when I am done laughing and sharing this festive mirth, a Christmas movie, tucked away in front of the tv in a warm quilt on my couch, would just be great to end my day with. Should it be Its A Wonderful Life? Or, no. Since romance is the flavor of the season, may be Serendipity, with all its lucky coincidences, and faith igniting madness would be a better prescription for my romantic health.

And for all the lovely people I know, and who know me- I wish you a very happy holiday season! I hope you all have the best time of year today, and still better times as more days and years go by. May you create the happiest memories for yourself and others, and learn to value everything of value in your life. Count your blessings, if you are to celebrate the day as I will. May be, share with me what are the things that make you feel blessed, or simply happy for existing. The love and blessings of our parents, the warmth and comfort of near and distant family and the infinite care/concern/love showered on us by a few close friends are the common blessings we all should be happy about. I know I can witness life's largesse in the small blessings it bestows on me. I can imagine my whole  elusive tree in a little fern which serves me more than that tree as a favorite bookmark surviving all the seasons of a year. I'm sure with a little effort you all can see God's infinite  grace too.

Psst...for all my special ones, and you all well know I am talking about you, I do remember you all in my prayers. No kidding. I actually do. 

To end, the SERENITY PRAYER

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."

Unlikely Hero: Om Puri- A Review

The book cover- quite inviting

When the subject of a piece of writing is as rich and extraordinary as the much hailed actor Om Puri, a reader's expectations from it shoot right through the sky. Not only the reader, but the writer too should feel blessed for getting a chance to take an intimate peek into his life, and winning an opportunity for leaving  a permanent mark in the literature of Indian Cinema.

Alas! This biography does nothing to enthrall the reader, or increase the esteem of the biographer, or of the subject of the biography itself. Om Puri has been one of the most admired Indian actors now since an era. His acting skills boast of an almost preternatural glow, which accord to him an immutable hallowed status in the history of not just Indian, but world cinema. He has been one of my firm personal favorites. I had, for long, been watching his movies without any specific admiration for this glorious character actor he is, but it was a chance viewing of Govind Nihalani's Droh Kaal which left me completely enamoured of both, Om Puri, and his equally talented co-star, Mita Vashisht. There after, his cameo in Gandhi, his riveting performance in East Is East and My Son The Fanatic, his brilliant cop-act in Ardh Satya and his powerful baritone- all drew me towards discovering with awe one of the finest and most consistent of character actors ever.

Naturally, I was expecting a lot from this book. Visually, it fulfilled all my expectation. Interspersed in to the biography are a large number of photos, both from Om's personal and cinematic life. Though not placed in any logical order, they still aid the reader to help translate perspectives into lucid images in his mind. As far as the story of Om told in the book is concerned, it tells you that he was a child born and brought up in extremely adverse and perverse environments. He was the last born, and one of the very few surviving children of his parents. He grew up earning his own bread from a very early age, and diligence and sobriety were permanent traits of his character, especially as far as his devotion to his art is concerned. He studied at NSD, and subsequently at IIFT- Pune, in the august company of some of India's best known parallel cinema actor and directors like Rohini Hattangadi, Naseeruddin Shah, Saeed Mirza, et al. His looks did not fit the the conventional criterion for an 'actor, villain or a comedian', thus he had to work extra hard to prove his mettle, and establish himself as an extremely bankable character actor. Today, he is well recognized face in India and abroad. In fact, the finesse he brings in each act of his got him more fame abroad, specifically in the UK, than in India. This is ironical given the fact that Om could barely speak Englisjh as a student and carried a heavy Punjabi accent when he could. He is settled at present in Bombay with his wife Nandita and son Ishaan.

With Smita Patil-the queen of art cinema, in Sadgati. His portrayal of an untouchable , Dukhi, won his instant acclaim from film aficionados far and wide.

I am late in mentioning it, but Nandita C. Puri, his wife, is the author of this book. Unlikely Hero- the title was coined by Shyam Benegal, and Nandita was the one trusted with telling Om's story to the world. I must've forgotten mentioning her, because she does an extremely disappointing job of giving words to Om's tale. The tone of the biography is patronizing, to say the least. While I wanted to read a biography, I ended up reading a critique of Om's life, which spent more time delineating on the amorous escapades of a young Om (highly interesting, if I may confess) rather than providing perspectives on Om's nuanced growth as an actor and expounding on his relationship with his art, and fellow artists. Professional relationships I mean.

Om Puri as a rickshaw puller in the City of Joy.

Nandita is 16 years younger to Om, whom she met as a reporter in Calcutta. Their love took flight there and then, as Om battled a crumbling marriage back home with Seema Kapoor. She might have been a good reporter, and this I say because even the honeymoon phase of their relationship she has 'reported', with a glaring lack of any emotional appeal to it. What she does well in the book, the only salable  attribute perhaps, is the job of peppering the narrative with inconsequential minutiae which titillate the gossip friendly nerves in the reader's system and help him keep turning pages. Two pages in the book are penned by Om's son Ishaan- but like the rest of the book, they too are disappointing, for they talk not of much else but Om's addiction to smoke.

Saving grace- the sections in the book penned down by Om himself. He reflects, albeit concisely, on each of his film projects; something which as an Om Puri fan you look forward to. Also, tidbits of a lecture he gave at Whistling Woods make for a worthwhile read. The prologue by late Patrick Swayze is perhaps the highest point in the whole biography; its appropriate placement at least helps a reader to start on a good note.

Concluding gossip- Om Puri's married life, ever since the release of this biography has been on the rocks. It has been reported, rather recently, that Om wants to divorce Nandita and return to his ex-wife, Seema Kapoor. Speculations are rife that the sleazy revelations of Om's life, which include his 'curious caressing of his maternal aunt's exposed tummy', his teenage 'deflowering' at the hands of an old 'toothless' maid, inter alia , made by Nandita in the Unlikely Hero are the cause behind Om's decision. For me, more important than this gossip is the hope that Om gets another biography to his name, which does justice to his persona as it is remembered on the pages of cinematic history.

Ishaan, Nandita and Om at the book launch. The happy family in the picture is not going through tough phase, and this very biography is rumoured to be the cause.

A Blind Wish

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. 

(- Lord Tennyson, 

The Charge of the Light Brigade)

In this blog post, I have nothing original to write, but a personal inspiration to present. The Blind Side, starring Sandra Bullock, is one of the best movies I have ever seen. I caught the first show of this movie with my little sweetheart, Aavika, and I can only thank her for endorsing this movie when I had a dozen others to choose from. The plot runs around the relationship shared by a white mother and an adopted black son, who has not so pleasant a history to cherish as on his memory-scape. A keen essence of the movie is how in the most unlikely of relationships can one locate an identity for oneself. Personally, the valuable lesson I learnt was that when we extend our hand to someone, we when offer help, or support to those in need, it is not them we should expect to feeling grateful. It is us, who should feel grateful, for having been capable and privileged enough to help. In the pragmatic world, often a lot of us forget this thing.

Another very, very dear thing this movie left with me is an essay. Little, but worthy. The protagonist of this movie writes this essay, extremely critical for his grades, the base of which he chooses as the poem an excerpt from which is quoted at the beginning of this post. The Charge Of The Light Brigade is an oft quoted, classic poem written by Lord Tennyson themed on the Battle of Balaclava, which took place during the Crimean War of around the 1850s. The extrapolation of the poem is a thought invoking one, and made me think and think deep. Even those who claim to be genius at pansophy could not have extracted and applied the meaning of a poem on a theme as anachronistic and difficult as a war to the common life of an ordinary youngster who has battles to fight everyday and a world beyond his reach to understand. And yes, an extrapolation glazed in the beauty of simple words of a below average, struggling student. I made use of the pause button to note it whole down; that is how twisted I can be at times. But with due selfishness, I am glad I did. Here it is.

"Courage is a hard thing to figure. You can have courage based on a dumb idea or a mistake, but you are not supposed to question adults or your coach or your teachers, because they make the rules. May be they know best, but may be they don't. It all depends on who you are and where you come from. Didn't at least one of the 600 guys think of giving up and joining with the other side? I mean, Valley of Death, that's pretty salty stuff. Thats why courage is tricky. Should you always do what others tell you to do? Sometimes, you might not even know why you are doing something. I mean, any fool can have courage. But honor, that's the real reason you either do something or you don't. Its who you are and may be who you want to be. If you die trying for something important then you have both honor and courage and that's pretty good. I think that's what the poet was saying, that you should hope for courage and try for honor. And may be even pray that the people telling you what to do have some too. "

In the most basic of ways, this piece elevates my spirits when I am on the verge of giving up on dreams and wishes the realization of which seems to be an arduous uphill task. If the dream seems difficult, its realization will be worth it. It is easy to take the easy path, isn't it? I mean, I did many times settle down on the easy course and allowed the comfort of that route to shape my future. My problem is with uncertainty. It is a condition I can't handle. Often I feel pressured when the conduct I observe and the decision I follow come imposed from above and are not a product of my thoughts and discernment. But my dreams have flowered in that very framework. And now, they are my dreams. They seem difficult, but that just about makes them worth it. I am still not comfortable with uncertainty, (which now for me with last a mammoth 3 months) but then, who is? We just develop strength and faith to deal with it, and diligence to overcome it.

So while the passage above me teaches about courage, an interesting caveat it adds is about honor. Dreams, goals, aims, are a universal phenomenon. But at times they are relentlessly pursued. Foolishly pursued. I mean, any fool can have courage. We can aim for the stars, but may be sometimes its important to bear in mind that humanly, it possible to go only as far as the moon.

I appeared for my last Civil Services (Mains) Exam on Wednesday, and now I have simply no idea what to do with life. About that I will ponder later. For now I could do with thanking a few close ones

1. Dad, for the cups prompt cups of lemon tea served night and day.

2. Ma, for being the best Sanskrit teacher in the world. 

3. Maitreyi and RLA college libraries, for supplying books which have vanished from everywhere else.

4. Vijaya Ma'am and Dr. Sales, for showing the first streaks of confidence in me.

5. Twishmay Shankar and Anup Bishnoi- for telling stories that helped me draft perfect essays.

6.Pallak Jagga and Mayank Saroha for staying connected and sending ceaseless confidence boosting wishes.

and,

7. Cheistha Kochhar, for not just answering random, esoteric, perplexing questions all along, but for also being an inspiration for perfection.

I do not know the news I will hear in February, but all you people, are enormously special. Thank you!