When the Heart Speaks.....

Lines that come to mind:

Power struggles and heartbreak can be a potent mix
for the emotional soul
which cries out
live and let live
For life is but a journey,
short and sweet,
why leave it with a taste of bitter
why leave it with tons of baggage,
which the world would anyways sweep under the carpet
after you leave...

Casual Sex, Flings et al

Flipping through film glossies not only makes me nostalgic, but also ecstatic. A part of a lot of reading that formed my growing years, Stardust, Filmfare and other film magazines were the only source of information and juicy gossip for cine buffs in the pre-internet era, and I quite unabashedly admit to enjoying every bit of this reading.

A few months ago, however, my joy seemed a little short-lived, while I was reading through... An interview with a wannabe pin-up boy, an ex boyfriend of a former Miss universe, revealed a promiscuous past. The young man reveled in saying, "Casual sex and murder are much the same. You do not know what to do with the body once the deed is done". Wow! Was I appalled. was I hallucinating?! And was this an aberration I wondered, till I bumped into another issue of the same magazine a couple of months later, where another dishy young hunk from a politico family says, "See, I may be aware that I might be leaving the country in the next six months, but that doesn't stop me from entering into the relationship and having fun...blah..blah..wall-to-wall sex and stay connected". Great! Now, what exactly is the point here? We read malicious gossip about stars even in our growing years, and yes, stars themselves were supposed to have called journos and dished out quotable quotes, even those days, but this was like stretching things a bit too far. why would a glossy stoop this low, banking on the quotes of starlet-type young actors? tch, tch....wall-to-wall sex? Which clearly means, film glossies are now using casual sex and one night stand quotes from these desperados as a clear ticket to selling copies. Bollywood movies too seems increasingly open to the idea of showing flings...a la desi boyz (remember, Akshay Kumar with that white woman in an unhappy marriage?)and justifying the whole thing!And again, there are double standards. We still do not see the young girls in the profession accorded with the same 'privilege' of bragging about their sexual escapades. Woe betide, ladies, you would be branded the next hot slut in town if you so much as dared breathe about your colorful trysts.

Coming back to the point, it is indeed none of anybody's moral right to step in; all I am suggesting is some restraint in public forums while advocating licentiousness, (I am sorry, but this does amount to advocacy)which are clearly lapped up by impressionable minds, especially if it comes from celebrities. it would do well to remember that Bollywood is religion in a country like ours. It is no rocket science or new revelation that the lives and lifestyles of stars, and yes, their quotes do have an impact on the lives of the man on the street. Lives which are led based on informed decisions are well, nobody's bloody business, but can freedom of speech actually run wild, amok, and extend to debauchery in speech? I rest my case with this.

The Anti Hero Comes of Age

When we saw Irfan Khan (or Irrfan as he calls himself now) in a DD soap, Humraahi in the early 90s, it was quite evident, a superlative artist had arrived. The unconventional looking character artiste had a unique way of mouthing his dialogues that had not hitherto been seen on television, cinema neither. Many small time and international ventures later, Irrfan's career seems to be peaking now with Paan Singh Tomar (PST).

PST is tailor made for an actor of his calibre, and vindicates director Tigmanshu Dhulia's faith in his lead actor. He slips into the character so effortlessly that for a good two odd hours, cinegoers live in the suspended disbelief of seeing Tomar in Irrfan. Dhulia has hit bulls eye, as always, with hard hitting, engaging fare.

Set in the terrains and villages of infamous Chambal, PST traces the life of naive, earnest Subedar Tomar, a national athletic champion turned outlaw. Dhulia's Tomar is hard as nails, as he is soft and vulnerable. A character fleshed into so many complex parts, just as he is simple. PST adeptly steers clear of the "why I took to arms" cliche and moves on to tell a touching tale of the bemused Subedar who gets no succor from the "system", with freshness. Tomar's bewilderment turns to anger once he realizes that he lives in a world that cares two hoots for his past glories as a national 'steeple chase' champion. His steadfast refusal to be labeled an outlaw, opting for "rebel"(baaghi) instead, makes for an interesting commentary on rules and laws that exist in the so-called civilized urban world juxtaposed with the rules that are implicit in another feudal world not too far from us. Now, you might ask, why would anyone run to the multiplexes to watch a middle aged, not- at- all hot commercial proposition going by the name Irrfan? Well,the answer is anyone's guess. You watch a movie where the story is the hero or the anti-hero, not particularly, marquee names. If Shekhar Kapoor's Bandit Queen attempted to demystify the other Chambal honcho, Phoolan Devi, Dhulia's biopic makes a similar attempt. The camera is a voyeur in both cases, caressing its muse with love from all angles. It is not always the female who arouses interest; PST makes you forget a few stereotypes for a while, and just surrender to the narrative.

Among the various characters who flit in and out with Irrfan, Mahie Gill as Indra, in a brief role, is the lady to watch for as she plays the dutiful, but vocal wife to hilt. A movie replete with ironies, strong moments, commentaries (without overtly preachy soliloquies)and a strong script, PST scores despite a few sluggish moments, and the inevitable end. What other fate can a "dacoit" meet with? PST also subtly laments the fact we are a cricket driven nation that pays little or no attention to achievers in other sport. These sports persons die unsung, in penury, or in extreme cases, hit the gun, like PST did. Tomar's outburst, "When I ran for the country, no one cared, but now it seems everyone is chasing me", underlines the fact for you.

Overall, an interesting fortnight, with author-backed female character-led movie, Kahani also doing the rounds to rave reviews. PST has sold itself through sheer story, while Kahani has banked upon story, yes, and also the lady of the moment, Vidya Balan. Nevertheless, Bollywood, give us more of these. We are always game.

Read On......

It’s just sometimes that the colour of your face goes
from a lovely pink to a pale sanguine,
Bright eyes angry and livid,
happy laughter meeting the sound of silence.

Familiar faces which become strangers,
They cry foul, break trust, stretch their cynical smiles.
It’s when you became the rebel,
decided to go against the stride.

You learnt a lot,
Those experiences, some fancy, some not so.
You absorbed it all, but not an ounce of that
nefarious aura seeping out.

Where does it all go?
You let it all go.
When you decide to get on with life,
Swimming with the course,
The stream is extreme,
The temperament a little cold,
It might swallow. This shallow life.


But you will be alright.
Bring the vivid colours back.
Let the sun shine outside your looking window.
And the zephyr breeze past you.
Bring the pink back on that face.
Let it shine.

-Shubhra Rishi

Rockstar, not so rocking

Rockstar leaves one perplexed and disappointed. Another Bollywood offering that has failed to come good. Imtiaz Ali had a promising story on hand and he has frittered away the whole potential with wasteful gimmickry. Disparate flashbacks, poor characterization of the lead characters mar the proceedings completely, making the viewer wonder what the director was actually getting at. After the hype and expectation that Rockstar generated, one would have expected better from Ali.

Janardhan Jakhar (Ranbir Kapoor), scion of a lower middle class business family, and an aspiring singer, pursues pain in order to make his music more 'meaningful'. Nice thought. But what does he do? Chases the most sought after girl in Stephen's, Heer Kaul(Nargis Fakhri)and follows her through the lush locales of Prague, where she lives post marriage. An affair of sorts, that blossoms into love, followed by the inevitable separation for two years (stilted scenes depicting the time)...during which time our protagonist rises to 'in'fame and stardom as Jordan, the rockstar...pain has indeed worked its magic on the music he makes:). Success is followed by destructive, erratic behavior, cancelled shoots, all dutifully reported by the media.

Reunion happens when an ailing Heer is back in India to live with her parents. A visibly dying Heer -so ineptly played by pretty Fakhri- recovers a little too fast when Jordan sails back into her life.....the movie was tailor made to become a Love Story, or some version of Guzarish...but Rockstar doesnt manage to touch the surface of our minds, leave alone our hearts.

Okay, to give Ali his due, the first half seems like the movie is heading towards poignance, and maybe even towards a small, modern classic. But, the second half just peters into nothing, nothing at all.Fakhri, will at best, remain a pretty face, a country cousin of Katrina Kaif, unless she s bitten by lady luck, oh yeah, the same one that bit Ms Kaif:. There was this expectation of seeing the making of the star, exploring his psyche, the deconstruction of stardom and the man behind it, and sadly, Ali did not do justice to any of these. A more realistic period setting would have helped too; Ali sadly missed the point that the movie should have been more about rock and the rock star (so much for vague references to Jim Morrison). A R Rehman s score is good, but not superlative and does nothing to elevate the movie to a true-blue rock musical extravaganza. So, what are we left with? Just two and half hours of grandeur, more in the Bhansali-eque mode. What s gotten into you, Ali? After Jab We Met, we really thought we saw a great maestro in you. You really need to buck up to make us forget this unimpressive fare, all other fixed rave reviews, and yes, young Kapoor's brave performance, notwithstanding.

Shine On, Lady!

Well, I cant help post this. This is a beautiful, spontaneous verse penned by a friend, and she has very kindly dedicated it to a kindred soul :)

Here you go...


Shine On Lady!!

Remember...
You can look behind and wonder
what you lost!
But look ahead and see
what you gained.

Shine on, lady!
The time is right.
You got the glow,
the twinkle in your eye,
the everlasting smile,
and the constant giggle.

Remember..
What the future holds,
is how to live the present.
Forgo the past
you loved once,
you will be loved now.


Shine on, lady!
You got the passion,
you got talent,
what is missing is the poise.


Remember...
Tomorrow will be a new beginning,
till you reach the end.

In between,
there's a world which awaits you,
A life that's waiting to breathe.


You will see the light,
in the morning sunshine,
and in the night,
with the sparkling beauty of
the fireflies.

Love's Labor Lost?

How many of us would have known more than one mother? Well, I have. She did not give birth to me, but nurtured me just as a mother would. I was her cradle child right from the moment I came into this world. We loved, fought, hated too - it was a vicious cycle we thoroughly reveled in. While my parents were busy at work, it was she who kept a hawk's eye on brother and me, while we did our best to give her the slip! There were many nights when she whisked sleepy eyed us to her modest house a few kilometers away - to her world, her people, for the much awaited 'Shanimatma' plays staged on the streets...there was magic in the air when the leelas of Shani and Krishna came alive for us at the crack of dawn. I would wake up with a start, having fallen asleep on her lap, seeing strange people around me, but one look at her and the reassurance was enough.  

I still feel her touch when she used to wash my thick hair with love, and painstakingly removed the tangles keeping impatient me regaled with stories of 'Neelima - a reincarnation', and Dalimba Devi, the princess who emerged from Dalimbe hannu or the pomegranate fruit.. 

If mom and dad were responsible for the book bug, then she was an equal partner in crime with her storytelling skills, transporting me to a world of fairies, princes-princesses, haunted houses, evil spirits of unfulfilled souls, mostly women (yes, semi-lettered that she was, she was a feminist with a passion for the unknown, dark forces too.  

I still remember the walks to and fro from home to school and back with her..Well, she was a gutsy, fiery woman who did not brook nonsense beyond a point. The story goes that she walked right into my brother's classroom one day and demanded justice for him from his class teacher, when she was convinced that he had done no wrong. Now, that was some feat considering she was dealing with snooty ladies in one of the city's elitist schools in the early '80's:) 

I still recall the eagerness with which she awaited all the early DD soaps and shows we loved to watch. The little imp that I was, I insisted my dinner was done and my bed ready, I would want to snuggle in, just in time for Yeh Jo Hain Zindagi, so that the minute it got over, I could drop off to sleep then and there - she used to watch every episode with wide eyes and began to understand a fair amount of Hindi, over a period of time, much to our amusement..Bully me, I used to tease and rag her relentlessly with "so what did that mean, and what did this mean?."  Unfazed, she would give quick, sharp, witty answers, that resulted in loud endless peals of laughter, as I clapped my hands in sheer glee at having met my first victim and match! If mom was an early childhood hero, so was she; there were strong undercurrents of female power in the household, dad's powerful, authoritarian presence notwithstanding. 

Sailing into middle and high school and adolescence after moving into the city's peaceful suburbs, there was a clear cut power struggle between the two of us since rebellious teen me could not tolerate her dominating ways; she got ticked off almost everyday. Not to take things lying down, she made sure matters invariably went to Mom's 'fast track courts' for justice. Poor, hapless mom had to intervene in these juvenile power fights despite a hectic day at work and the other demands of life she grappled with, just so that peace was restored between her mutinous teen and an equally bull headed nanny who thought she knew best for her ward. One day, post such an altercation, I was in a rage and went right up to my mom and bellowed, "Could you just ask this 'Idiot' to mind her own business? She s getting too big for her boots". Mortified, Mom was all set to scold me for the profanities I was using when pat came the retort from behind.."Why are you 'tussing' and 'pussing'in English? Why can't we have a dialogue in Kannada or even in Tamil, I could beat you hands down! And by the way, you cant call me 'Idli' to my face!" 

Despite all these behind-the- scenes drama, we were thick friends - she continued to wait on me from head to toe - yes, she did, amidst Mom's mild admonition that I was slowly and surely turning into an overweight, lazy brat. An inseparable part of our household, she was the 'know-it-all'; relatives and friends alike knew her as an extension of ourselves - my closest pals knew her just as she knew them, the affection was mutual and they too got a taste of the lady's bossy ways! The yummy meals she served us till we threw up and had to loosen our trouser belts and plead for mercy with the 'Dragon'. Well, the simpleton that she was, she believed young girls ought to eat well - they needed the strength to deal with the men, you see! Now, could I beat the logic? 

Even as I moved on to other stations in life, I always made sure I spent time with her whenever I visited my folks. She was always concerned about my well-being and happiness in my new home, her only refrain being, "Are you happy, child?" with a searching look on my face. When my parents relocated, she felt it was protocol for her to move in with her people. Well, how wrong she was. Abandoned by her 'people' - selfish relatives, who extracted all that they could from her both in money and kind, before dumping her, she had to fall back on my family for support. In an old age home since early last year, she used to eagerly await my brother's and my visits every other weekend. 

Years later, now, I realize the depth of her struggles - a single woman, who boldly walked out on her womanizing husband. Life was not easy. It is never so, to be alone and lonely in a man's world. She braved it all - desertion, rejection, denial of motherhood - her harshness perhaps stemmed from the insecurity of a gentle, vulnerable, woman who was afraid of being taken for a ride; after all, isn't offense the best form of defense? Someone who held her emotions on her sleeve. "They are always emotional, the good ones", said Hank Moody, the groovy lead of Zee Cafe's once popular late night series "Californication".  I cant help, but agree.

 After over a year in the old age home, she took ill and was diagnosed of acute renal failure and emergency dialysis was recommended. Distraught, my brother and I prayed hard for her to pull through, but, fate willed otherwise. She passed onto the ages after 15 days at hospital and 3 painful days in Intensive Care. I froze on seeing her lifeless body and as I went about informing 'her' 'people' and settling her affairs. I realized, in a flash, what I had and what I lost.

My brother and I were no less her children, but ironically, we had no right over her in death. She didn't belong to us - our family, our caste, our community. We had to give in to the diktat of custom and decorum.

Love always comes in our lives - in different shapes and forms. We have to cherish it and know what is genuine and what is not. Tell me, how many of us would have known and been loved by more than one mother? Well, I had. RIP Papamma.