The Long Road Blog

Fireflies

2012-01-20T19:08:00.000+05:30

Fireflies in the garden, garden of desire
dancing new routines around the melody
Burn into light, shine it on my desires
Cascading riffs on the kora
Like a city skyline blinking in sync
Guided by the power that moves invisible things
The space of a solo delivers us within ourselves
Into the hands of our better other.

End Of The Line

2012-01-16T09:48:00.002+05:30

Sweet surrender, on the down and low side
You love me like a fever, I'm feeling dizzy all night
Can't keep our hands off each other
You know this time, we're going over
Right up to the end of the line.

We play shadows and light
Between shifting windows of time
Just like them seasons, bang on the rhythm, we rhyme
You crank me up, your new electric guitar
Get me all wired up; rip the riff on Highway Star.

Tonight you're on the spot my wee girl,
At this rundown, has-been corner bar
With your back to the wall my Jenny Slade without the scar
They're going to make you sing for your supper
Leave your insides out; your fingers bleeding the notes.

We've been on the road a little while
I think it's time to go home now
Your back, my strings; both bent and worn
The power between us, the amps are blown
We're standing at the door to light
Staring down the dark end of the line.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

2011-12-15T08:59:00.000+05:30

Afraid, melancholic, nostalgic, shrinking - yet hopeful to change an all-too-familiar course of events that one has been through enough times to be sick and tired of it.

Deeply missing a closeness that only comes with a certain kind of relationship and leaves you feeling isolated in a way that seems to magnify the loneliness within to universal proportions.

No no no, this is the same old streets talk. It's no good. It goes nowhere purposeful. Why does one only have to look at this with a tinge of loss? What other emotions can one channel towards a better use? I have the answers, all of them or at least enough of them in theory. Unable to put them to action. Is this what defines the toughies from the weaklings? There's another hit then; knowing which label one belongs to. Goddamn!

Time, time, time to change. This must stop. The bleeding can't consume me, can't take me down each time.

What are the mechanics of recovering from this unwelcome but inevitable appendage of our personal lives today?

I'm better and I'm worse. I never want to kill the world. But I'm tired of the feeling that I should deserve that denouement myself, it doesn't help in putting one's mind to better attendances.

How are we today? Now let's see...

We're feeling doleful at sea, but with a striving resistance that bears promise to steer clear of old ports, upon which one wishes to make no further calls.

Writing this has been somewhat cathartic, reduced the weight of the pumping organ below the left shoulder. We follow its calls like we do the stars in the night and yet find ourselves lost sometimes. Maybe it has not been cultivated or curated carefully enough to be of fully developed faculties that can demand unflinching trust in its judgment. There's a course correction.

Thank you. How did you know to ask?

Rockstar Blues

2011-11-24T01:05:00.000+05:30

- Kehte hain dard-e-jigar se Rockstar bante hain... yeh hai heartbreak, soul ache...
- Poetry fake
- Ahem ahem - Song...

*Intro - lazy guitar*

Kyun jalti hai meri, uski soch soch
Kyun jalti hai meri, uski soch soch
Chaadaron se bhi toh uski khushbu aati hai
Soun bhi toh kaise, ab na neend aati hai.
Bas jalti hai meri, uski soch soch
Bol, kyun jalti hai meri, uski soch soch
Ukhaad jab hai phenka uska jhanda, uska pehra
Phaadkar jala diya hai uska hasta chehra

- Acid se? Bade aatanki type ke ishqiya hain.
- Arre photograaph ki baat kar rahe hain bhai...
- Acha acha, saary, misunderstand ho gaye.
- Mister aap baith jaaiye, unhe gaane deejiye yaar.
- Humko don't mind keejiye. Please continue.

Bol, kyun jalti hai meri, uski soch soch
Jalti hai meri - kyun uski soch soch

- Arz hai, yeh suniye, abhi on the spot come up kiye hain iske saath...
- Kya baat hai, aap toh ekdum instant writer ban gaye
- Lekin ubalte paani mein nahi daaliyega humko. Suniye, arz hai...
- Irshaad...
- Kabhi dil jalta hai, kabhi cigarette
- Global warming ka asar hai kya... itna sab kuch ek saath jal raha hai?
- Kabhi dil jalta hai, kabhi cigarette; Zippo ki khanak se pehchaan karte hain!
- Humko instantly samajh jaana chahiye tha; yeh haazir kalaam nahi, kaafir kalaam hain.

Pharsh se deewaron se tha peeta apna maatha
Eent eent ro padi jab mujhse yeh kaha tha
Humare kaan hote hain, kya uski yeh sazaa thi?
Toh teri chutyape mein bol meri kya khataa thi?

- Say wha - ?
- Didn't see that coming, did you sobsack? Wall's got WORD on you!

Dang sa bezubaan sa tu pada hamare beech
Hasti hogi aur kisi ki baahon mein woh neech
Aur yahan jalti hai teri, kyun uski soch soch

- Koi headbanging kyun nahi kar raha hai?
- Sar peetne ko keh rahe hain.
- Abhi toh deewar se khud gaali khaaye the, humein bhi khilayenge kya? Chup chaap gaana gaaiye.

- Silent singing...

Rum se leke cough syrup tak try kar liya hai sab
Dho dho ke chaadaron ko cheethde bache hain ab
But still - jalti hai meri kyun uski soch soch.

- Fucking burning man...
- Hey this is like that Seene Mein Jalan song ya...
- Dude, that was serious poetry.
- Ya ya but you know what I'm saying no, same difference... appreciate!

- Please excuje, gaana khatam ho gaya kya?
- Yes
- Fakr se kaho, hum fake hain.

- Ae Rockstar, let's skip man, place is empty.
- LIFE is empty...

- Fuckin, he's gonna write another song on that dude!
- Rockstar is a Dick.

*Guitar outro ends in scramble*

- Haha, now you're talking about the movie no?

One

2011-10-31T17:16:00.003+05:30

When you walk with the ghosts of dark
You devour much, ride waves on thrust
Travel wide, to hidden lands
Yet salvage less than a grain of sand.

I booked my crimes, velvet nights in blue
The force within, an indelible grin
My words afraid; hid in fear of noise
Blinded by fear, they hid from silence too.

But the wheels just kept on turning
And to them I owe my thanks
The music never faded
It wasn't the end of time.
And now I wake - the resurrected man
Put to page, the pen-wielding hand
I'm just a charge they're passing through
For I'm one with light, I'm one with you.

Pick up a page, pray the ink will flow
The feeling's new, with a tinge of deja vu
See the sun on it's own sweet way
The darkest night still ends in day.

Float my prayer with the light of morn,
The road from here, be light of fear
A dream forgot, returns to fore
The noise has died, my sight is clear.

The wheels just keep on turning
And to them I pay my thanks
The music never fades out
It's not the end of time.
And now I wake - the resurrected man
Put to page, the pen-wielding hand
I'm just a charge they're passing through
I'm one with light, I'm one with you.

I know it's true that when we fall
We're meant to learn, hear the inner call
The dues we pay, the games we play
We leave with naught at the end of day.

And now I wake - the resurrected man
Put to page, the pen-wielding hand
I'm just a charge they're passing through
I'm one with light, I'm one with you.

Red Sun

2011-09-14T08:08:00.004+05:30

Red sun beating down upon this patch of muddy ground
There in the square, they play ball between school-bag marked goals
It ain’t fair, what with the riches out there
Climbing barefoot on mountains of snow.

Toss a coin at worst, but pick a side
You don’t wanna be caught on the fence in a fight
Tackle the shackles, whims of those in crowns
Even the public service airs their private gowns.

Yes and there’s justice for all, you should know
Better than to pick, with them a bone
Doesn’t matter which corner, blue or red
You can’t win the bout with iron pounding your head.

A starlet’s on her way to a future bright
Les boys are underground, post an overdrive
But caught in the fray, a plain white soul
Truth in his eyes could be such a scare.
For the story goes; he’s strapped to a chair
Living out his mama’s dream with his face in a hole
They're working angles to hush the murmurs down
Not crooks in alleys but name tags on uniforms.

Sea is where you dump the done
But the tide is riding high; grime gushes onto shoals
The starlet stars in her moonlit dream
The sun comes up, bringing truth to light
The white soul charred; les boys drowned without a scream
The uniforms have shovels but no place to hide
Who’s to blame, each has his own wrong to right.

- For Bijesh Jayarajan and the film

that must see the light of day.

Daily Laugh - Bhai giri

2011-09-06T08:08:00.000+05:30

Y: know anyone coming to India from the US?

X: yes, my sis in jan. wat u want?

Y: ufff too far

X: chahiye kya?

Y: phone. from bhai

X: D bhai or CR bhai?

Y: A bhai

X: A bhai? Ab meri behen kis kis ke bhai ko poochti phiregi ? :P

kam se kam THE bhai hota toh easily mil jaata

Y: Oh bhai, bakwaas bandh kar! Main Vichare se mangva loonga.

X: Dil behlaane ke liye yeh vichaar bhi acha hai Ghalib!

Daily Laugh - Zhe German

2011-09-01T12:44:00.001+05:30

Y: super nice post, Anthem!

X: :) danke schon liebchen

(A few mins later)

Y: Sie sind herzlich eingeladen Liebling

X: hahaha itna der laga google-ne mein?

Y: eh?

X: u googled it up, didnt u?

Y: Ich weib, ein bisschen Deutsch... pfft... meanie

X: oh really? didnt know that. nice

Y: haan, thoda bahut...

X: mereko bahut thoda!

Y: LOL....

X: :)
(as an afterthought)

- btw, what does Ich weib, ein bisschen Deutsch mean?

Y: Lolll... toh pehle kya samjh mein aaya ki 'oh really, very nice' bola?

X: Sirf itna ki tereko Zhe German aata hai!

Y: Hahahahahaha...

Anthem

2011-08-27T00:07:00.003+05:30

It's empty in the valley of your heart
Fury only can drive you so far
Maybe it is time you lay to rest your bleeding past.

The shadows never loomed so large or long
But don't begin to question if you're strong
Just understand it takes a while undoing certain wrongs.

But I won't count you out
Nor be plagued by doubt
They've stolen dreams that were once your life

Dive; head in and trust yourself
Feel the waves rise and swell
And wash the curse that has rung your knell.

Let me share your load, redeem your crime
I partake in your sins, as you do mine
We wade together through the grime; we are the kindred kind.

Hold me like you own me, float your hope
I'll steer us to the world outside this hole
Your tears have turned to salt; it only chars your burning soul.

Breathe, everybody does
Stall, rust and gather dust
Not a dream was borne without a strife.

See, the sun shines again
Breathe, you're the man again
Whose arms held me like the hands of God.

Take this as an anthem to our dawn
Sing it like you sang before you drowned
Resurrect the man you were before you dug your shape in the ground.

And dive; head in and trust yourself
Feel the waves rise and swell
And wash the curse that has rung your knell.

- Thank you, so many of you;

guardian angels, guiding angels, silent angels.

Daily Laugh 2 - Knock Knock

2011-06-13T17:26:00.002+05:30

X: Yo... your Dawg joke wasn't funny dawgg....

Y: People found it funny, there's always an audience for every kind of funny.

X: I'll show you funny. Knock Knock!

Y: Who's there?

X: Cash.

Y: Cash who?

X: Uhh, no thanks. I'd rather have peanuts! Hahahahahahaha

Long silence...

A little longer, silence...

Some more silence later...

Y: Cash tu funny hota!

Daily Laugh - All Dogs Go To Heaven

2011-06-13T16:54:00.000+05:30

On Chat -

X: So I found all dogs go to heaven on flipkart :D

Y: Do they go to dark, burning, hurtful places on other websites???

X: Pch! Go die and find out, Dawg!!!

Daily Laugh - Date

2011-06-11T21:08:00.003+05:30

So here's a short story about dating.

Friday - First date.
Saturday - Dated.

Daily Laugh - Haafix

2011-06-10T18:20:00.004+05:30

'Chal main nikal raha hoon... milte hain thodi der mein.'

'Okay, see you.'

'Bye...
Khuda...
Haafix...'

'Abbe, yeh haafix kya hua...'

'Haafiz kehte hue sneeze aa gaya... abhi paka mat... nikal yahan se - aaja time pe.'

-Goes without saying that no offense whatsoever is meant to people,
emotions and sentiments of any belief, faith, purpose, language, creed, race or planet.

Any offense taken notwithstanding this disclaimer is

purely fictional and does not represent any real purpose.

No offense is meant to practitioners of the profession that usually drafts these intentionally

twisted-worded, comprehensively off-putting disclaimers and all

of its contents and constituents thereof.

Daily Laugh - All Men

2011-06-09T17:25:00.006+05:30

She and he were generally bantering about his latest 'love' at work.

She said, 'so are you seeing her tomorrow? What are you wearing for it?'

He pouted child-like and sulked out a 'noooo...' before adding, 'I'm finished with her. Tomorrow I'm dubbing with someone else.'

She laughed. She'd heard that line before, in another context though. 'Eww, all you men are disgusting...'

He was laughing too when he replied, 'yeah, that's for sure.' Then added an after-thought, 'actually I'm not so sure. I don't know all men.'

She burst out at that.

The Game

2011-05-01T13:09:00.003+05:30

Everything's spinning, my head on the floor
The sky under me
Breaks my fall, am taking a call
I have to hurry

There goes life, right past me
My dog day's falling back on the wheels
Can't stop this clock
Can get on my feet, before ash is all that's left of me.

Dreams rusting, like the spring in my step
Lodged in a freeze, this rootless tree
Remember a time, like birdy I'd fly where I wished
Upon wings of whim, times are now different

Call for alarm, melt down this freeze
Never rains for one, it's one for all; flowing to the sea
I'm diving now, soak all I can
While the waves are still kind for to lap me

But it's stranger than fiction, this time and the range
Nothing's new but I've never been here before
Something like deja vu but in reverse is what I feel
Hands of time, those screaming thieves
They've got their tickers on, I'm due
I run aground but the ground's on me
Must be I was floating on the breeze.

There goes life, right past me
My dog day's falling back on the wheels
Can't stop this clock
Can get on my feet, before ash is all that's left of me.

Wonder what it is, the thing that moves the world
Must be no secret, couldn't be magic
What explains one easing into groove like second skin,
While another is furled through the spokes
We all play the game, for the win we bruise
The game's playing us, it has no rules
Who's the laughing stock, who's got a winning spree
In the end, all we are, is dust scattered in the sea.

Time Of No Reply

2011-03-18T00:45:00.001+05:30

On top of the world I stand, without a view
The sun's going down with a fiery hue
I turn around, I'd like to hear you sigh
The wish of it oh, only wets my eye.

The turn of the wheels, the passage of time
I'm out of sync, my thoughts out of line
I want to stop, I want to turn this around
Cut out the noise from this season of sound.

The time of no reply has now gone on too long
Without a hello or goodbye, call to right the wrongs
Questions unanswered lie askew on my bed
While I toss and turn on the cold floor instead
Trying to cry when the tears have run dry
The wish of you oh, I wish would wet my eye.

For one morn too long, I've woken up with the blues
A bead of sweat per glimpse in the night, of you
Light of white, the colour I'm seeking anew

To shower my soul, wash off traces of you.

You've reached for the skies, you live among the stars
I look up at you from my corner sidewalk
Trying not to think of how we once walked these streets
Caught in the thought of you, I know you don't think of me.

The time of no reply has now gone on too long
Without a hello or goodbye, call to right the wrongs
I plunge into work just to deafen old cues
They're burning me up, hot salt on my rues
Plant my ear on the wall but I hear not a sigh
For this is the time of no reply.

- A Tribute to Nick Drake

Magnolia - my thoughts

2011-02-15T22:09:00.001+05:30

There are some movies that you can have in your collection forever but you only watch it when you most 'need' to, when the time is ripe. It sits there, patiently collecting the proverbial dust until you're ready to experience it for what it is and for what it must deliver to you in your life situation. This film has sat on my shelf for longer than I can remember and was delivered upon me yesterday, bringing me to revisit an old habit albeit an infrequent one, to write my thoughts on a film I've seen.

Magnolia is by Paul Thomas Anderson, the writer/director who has, in the last score years, made films (Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, Punch Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood) as compelling as Scorsese did in the score before him. Magnolia, which he made at the age of 29 has the quality of being told by a man who has at least those many years working behind a camera. It's unabashedly in your face. A lot of the camera work might remind you distinctly of Scorsese from earlier in the same decade - Goodfellas, Cape Fear and Casino - movements that deliver a sense of urgency the filmmaker is doling out in his frenetic pace.

The first hour of Magnolia is set up and going around in circles in a way that a head-spin might not only be warranted but necessary. Necessary for the pause that is to arrive later; quiet before the storm - in reverse. Everything in Magnolia yells for attention - the writer, the director, the cinematographer, the actors, the music, the story, the themes - nothing is subtle about it and yet, not once did it put me off. It is your money and time's worth returned in double.

It's life lived like we live it... rather, as we wish we could live it only to realise, within a couple of hours (in film time) and maybe years in real time that they aren't the most desirable of places to be in. We turn to religion, spirituality, philosophy when things outside don't make sense to us. Catharsis is as painful as pain itself. Watching someone else's catharsis, a performance designed to evoke emotion being cathartic was a first time experience. Jason Robards, Philip Baker Hall, Tom Cruise, Philip Seymour Hoffmann, John C Reilly, William H Macy, Julianne Moore, Melora Walters and a cameo by Alfred Molina - just the acting credit list of this film could jam up award nominations.

Magnolia is about love, pain, guilt, suffering, neglect, care, duty and in its 3 hour running time, it weaves an epic spin on these themes with a set of related characters across LA's geographic, demographic and psychographic lines. Apart from weaving a running thread through a dozen characters, Anderson plays the film in nearly real time with the exception of the last quarter of the running time. Every story has a counter, every story has a past and a future but we're looking at the present of it all while we go through the film. 'We maybe through with the past but the past is never through with us'.

There isn't much more I'd like to share about this film except that while it's running time might be a clear deterrent to many, there's something the movie makes us do. It makes us look at the things that have happened to us and the things that we do in an integrated perspective, not just depth-wise but also breadth-wise. I only suggest that you watch it uninterrupted on a day you can afford to and not until. Maybe that'll be the day this film was meant to be delivered to you.

There is more novelty in the 'how' than the 'what' of it, somewhat akin to life. We breed unhealthy things for so long, not only bringing upon ourselves the impending cancer but to an extent where we render the curative bark of the Magnolia ineffective. The time to correct is now, the time to change is now.

The bark of the Magnolia awaits.

Untitled #3

2011-02-14T10:19:00.008+05:30

It broke my core to hear those three words together

His girl’s name – and the name I said like a prayer

And while the smithereens were yelling why, the part of me I lived for had died.

Like the rain that patters on the windows, washing clean the remains of the seasons gone by until

I was waiting to hear from you, hoping it would turn the rusting blades of my soul’s windmill

Oh God, could you, if you hold in you the power to bring to life creations so wondrous

Change just a little bit of what I heard and felt, to pump the blood again to the veins now cold

Because it broke my core to hear those words together, his girl’s name and the name I used as a prayer

And while the smithereens were yelling why, the part of me I lived for had died.

Who knows where the blame might fall for where we are today and where we started once

I feel so sure we know too well some wrongs still lay in dark awaiting the light of right

But think did you, with a little hope in you, with forgiveness for trespasses in them hazy nights

Why did you or why didn’t you then, spare a thought to what we once said was a lifetime’s dream

Today you feel so good, so sure footed of where you’ve found your bearings after your stormy ride

I know what that might be like; I once woke among the mountains, crashed while I was flying blind

Before you dismiss this as another rant, another cry for help, a helpless one you’d rather give a skip

I assure you I will hold my words, not let half a whimper slip between the cup and lip

Oh take a look around you, you’ve found all that you ever wanted now

Cast a look away, beyond the realm of sunshine in which you now lay, making hay

Because it broke my core to hear those words together, his girl’s name and the name I used as a prayer

And while the smithereens were yelling why, the part of me I lived for had died.

Maybe there may come a day you might see me around a corner, on a train or as the man that I once was

And the same known forces bring us round the same old streets, the same old bricks we passed so oft but never once wrote our names upon

Your tender hand firmly in mine, your gaze upon my shoulder, we nestled in spaces others jostled through

Not a care for the weight of the heavy books we borrowed from the library to read in the coffee shop, nestling in my bag

Just the weight of my own shoulders now seem like a rock so old, its face chiselled by the winds of crime

Hey, do you remember how you held my face and looked at it like even a breeze would have to go through you before it could find a place to return from

Remember how you clung to my shirt like the last piece of ground beneath your feet, like you would fall apart if only it weren't for me

When even blues I saw in yellows, the sun shone through the window in soft white upon your sleeping smile

The same smile that he now wakes to and kisses with heart that fills your day with hope and joy – that I wish for you with all the man I am and will always be

I too cast a thought to where you were and what I did, some things I can’t take back nor change – the things that threw light on how our promise was but a misdeed in the time when it was done

Misdeed it may have been but not a mistake; I know we were good, I know the ground on which we stood, for I know what I felt inside was as pure as the light of sun, as sure as day and as right as the night that comes after it with exceptions none

So it broke my core to hear those words together, his girl’s name and the name I used as a prayer

And while the smithereens were yelling why, the part of me I lived for had died.

Hey I wish you well; I wish you all the things I wish for myself, all the things that left with you

Hey, I know that you are where you want to be and in the company of a man as good as any

And though I may ache until I break, I’m a better man today than on the day the wind left my mills

I so often thought about the pain I caused you and the same that bleeds me now, I know the drills

When those words they forced their way into my channels, froze my veins en route arresting what it is that ticks the clock, I remember it with clarity
I felt the way I did, the first time I dove into the sea, my head in first, plunged in so deep I thought I was gone for good

Call it sinking, call it drowning, call it crashing, call it the spiral, so forceful and so fearful, you wish you’d rather be dead

It broke my core to hear those words together, his girl’s name and the name I used as a prayer

I just sat there, shaking my head in nods on the outside, while in knots churned everything inside that you once filled with love

And while the smithereens were yelling why, the part of me I lived for had died.

I write this not for you nor for me but for he who may find himself where I did on that silent night

Know this my brother, my sister, even in your darkest hour you’re not alone in your fight

And when you feel you want to end it all; as you toss around, crying tearlessly, screaming soundlessly for the noise to die or wish the same upon yourself

And when you try to take the step upon the ledge to take that leap you think will deliver you from every pledge

Or when you hold a blade upon the veins that lie now lifeless inside you carrying nothing but blame

I write this so you know that I was up there at my lowest hour, so you know the truth cut me with fierce bleeding power

I was there then and I’m with you now... hold on to me, you have to for those behind to have you to hold on to, should their trial come

I promise no tomorrows when the day may rise filling you with laughter once again

Just hold on for today, just for a moment... for what if on the way down your fall you see a light
Just hold on for now, just for a moment... for what if while you're bleeding red, you want to make a call
What more have you to lose, so must be you only have to gain

Hey hey, stay a while with us here, won’t you share your pain

Hey hey, maybe together so, we can melt the shame

Hold on to my hand with one of yours; keep the other one due, we’re all just shuffling in the queue.

Safe in Yellow

2011-02-06T15:25:00.000+05:30

Traced a few lines before drawing a blank

Open sheet of white, water caressing the sand

A slight tilt and there it was she knew

The carousel rolled on, he'd missed the frame

The old days were gone, the rules were new.

Bent at the pew, stringing curses and tears

Fiercely shaking in the silent church

Wandered inside, he had, a few hours ago

She turned as if on cue, from her book to the window

Cornflowers danced with the breeze

The chugging sound, faded to a mellow background

In blue tint, played back her memory

The bachelor's button he'd borne, smiling at the door

She'd taken him in, for dinner and love alike

Not remained he a loner, nor she loveless inside

Blue tint emerged in the sun; smiling, safe in yellow.

When she opened her eyes, the music had stopped

The chug at a halt, cornflowers were now shamrock

Fingers attended her hair before erasing the tear

He opened his eyes at the cross bearer, truth staring at fear

She used to smile from every sight, but now not see could he

In bokeh was every frame, could lighter this burden be?

Rubbed his cold heart, seeking warmth in winter

How smile could he when bled his arms,

He who loves, forgives the flock, he'd heard the lore

Turned from the door to look at where he knelt before.

He loved her fingers, marked carelessly with paint

She adored with her eyes, when words would midway stop

On an open white sheet, he'd sketched sands near the sea

She filled color, warm in his tee, one eye at the child asleep

His fingers gruff trembled, the painting and frame untouched

The tee now lay in bed alone, since she inside it, was gone.

For seasons they lived, alike but apart

Words held in quiet, storms stored in rafts

Waging war upon the seas, writing words upon sand

Cornflowers wilted in the sun, touch blurred from hands

In blue tint again, but not in playback they wished

With music in the background mellow, to rise awake, safe in yellow.

Promise

2011-01-15T01:57:00.000+05:30

Colours fading into white - in rhyme
Am taking my time
The earth's spinning on all fours
To the clock it chimes

Running across empty fields, endless skies
Leave the questions to dust
This bird's found its wings; away it soars
Up and above, dreams weren't borne to rust

One step at a time, one step at a time
Meet me at dawn, I'll be turning
My castles in the air
To a nest upon the ground

One breath at a time, one breath at a time
From false starts to a morrow new
Awoke this morning, promised myself
I'd never again wake up feeling blue.

Way To You

2010-12-16T18:46:00.005+05:30

Count it either way, in years or seasons in the sun

Was a time I thought a home was on the run

Take me, where you say I will come

Hold me, on the floor, upon the ground

I wish you’d come and say you’re taking me away

Hanging by a thread here, I’m dreaming you.

I wish you came around stone blue streets of town

I pray you do the rounds, hope to hear my sound

The wall’s thick but hear me through the floor

A ship needs to come home to the shore

Looking for the stars upon the fading sky

Shine for me a light upon the road to you

This feeling in my mouth tastes something like fear

A warm meal maybe all the place that I have here

Tell me, say it isn’t true

Feel me, I’m cut in the shape of you

Tell me I can stay if I won’t leave again

I need to find the way, forever to lay in you.

Look at me, I'm waiting here
For the warmth once in your smile
Have you heard, the breeze at night
Wailing for some light.

Flow Into You

2010-12-08T16:17:00.007+05:30

Colours fading into greys; forms falling out of shape

Doesn’t seem there’s much I can do

From what I remember, if I can trust my mind

I could discern once; was I delusional then or is this one true?

Saturday’s sun shone bright upon my corner room;

Doesn’t seem it lit much, fared the same as I do

I’ve been writing, if you’ll be so kind to play along

I could sing once but this Sunday's rain calls for the blues.

I hear a change of scene can do one good

Doesn’t seem this scene respects brevity

From what I’m feeling, if my mind can squeeze it through

Hard as I’ve tried to escape earth, you’ve been gravity.

Please, help me stop searching your eyes endlessly

Couldn't be harder than the fall from grace

I’ve wished so strong to find you with someone else

If I could wish anything true, it'd be my face in his place

Feet crackling upon autumn leaves, I float a prayer

Let me drift up into the air; the waft she'll know

I remember I could fly once; this for sure I could do

Last autumn, I lived in the house you came home to.

I’d learnt growing up, to love like a man

When came my test, the boy fell through

Paid for his errors, with his youth, ever since

From sin to redemption, the man's river waits to flow into you.

Saawan

2010-08-15T22:02:00.000+05:30

Un saari yaadon ko, gaanth se toote yaaron ko
Falak par baadal banakar chod rakhe hain.
Ilm hai ki barsenge,
Saawan gustakhi toh kare.

Here I Am

2010-07-08T13:04:00.001+05:30

I built this place with bricks and sweat
Like solid rock and that's my bet
For minds to train and skills to hone
With honour as my cornerstone
A farm does need some hired hands
So took them on from my ol' clan
Belling the CAT from one-up my floor
Kicking open, Ivy league doors

Thus we ran; starting with open windows, ceiling fans
Thus we ran; I built this place up with my own hands
Thus we ran; burning at times the midnight oil
Thus we ran; I never took from what wasn't my toil

The numbers slowly grew in good stead
Never let the glory to my head
I promised myself when I laid the base
I'd work around the number race
I never was to be an organ grinder
Whipping monkeys, dishing reminders
My smiles came from the joy of those
I laboured to post through B-school doors

Sure we can; put hard work in, take lady luck's hand
Sure we can; shape today's lads into morrow's men
Thus we ran; burning at times the midnight oil
Thus we ran; I never took from what wasn't my toil

Then kicked in some twists in tale
Pitch forks and knives in the gravy rail
Staking claim to the farm produce
In good faith, I'd set cannons loose

I never cut corners on my way up
I put at stake, my very next grub
Now the crop's come good indeed
Mouths turn to bite the hand that feeds
It's below me to roll in muck
Kick it back, right at the schmucks
They played secret, dirty games
But I've still got my pride and name

And I can; fight it out over my own land
And I can; put back again the work of my hand
And I can; they'll never have me by the you-know-whats
And I can; I'm seeing through every hole in the plot

We'll take some dents and cuts for sure
Brush off the dust and again we go
We still have, at the end of day
A night of honest sleep in wait
Wouldn't trade it in for a bucket of gold
Nor for another's profit in my hold
I always was and I'm still the man
With a backbone and two working hands

Here I am; I'm still the man I always was
Here I am; with a conscience clean that they've now lost
Here I am; standing straight, my head held high
Here I am; my self-respect lives in the sky.

Tough times don't last but tough people do.

Scar on my C

2010-06-14T10:21:00.002+05:30

I saw you right where I imagined

At the pier, by the boats

'Rockstar', it said in blue

Do you remember it so, or

Was it splashed by the sea of my mood?

I'd heard folktales of the like

The sky's what you want it to be

I bet you think of the night, we painted it

Tender, with our fingers

Lying in each other, curved at our knees.

We started on an F sharp

Went quick to the D

You left me in E minor,

With a scar on my C

Now it's long walk to the shore

I never doubted we'd cross paths

One glance was all it took

Your legs, crossed like ever

Do you remember my hands, how

They'd slip into the warmth of your brook.

Come read the years on my face

Heal the crease on my brow

I've spent this time on the seas,

Watching your face in my hands,

Telling me your dreams, soft in the afterglow

I laboured on our past

Swore at the breeze

Flung my heart at the wind

But you were my reprieve

We started on an F sharp

Went quick to the D

You left me in E minor

With a scar on my C

Now it's just me, and a long walk to the shore.

- Written by the boy when he saw her again,
years after she'd left him in the hotel room.

He never got to send her his words.
He still carries hers, unable to let them go.

Unmade Beds

2010-06-12T10:46:00.012+05:30

Wake up to the smell of sheets
Dry in the morning light
Stained with the sweat, we made last night

Unmade beds last a lifetime
Crumpled pictures in my mind
I can't get them to fade
No matter how I try

I wish it were different
Wish we played a bit longer
I wish you hid under the sheets when
I clicked the Polaroid

Coffee crusts dry in my cup
Smoke's twirling within - wet
From your lips on mine, last night

I wish you'd broken my back
Wish you held me some different
I wish you'd hidden my shoes so
I'd have to run barefoot

Go bring back the memories
I flung into the ocean
Then take me to your place
For the first time
I'm scared... I'm running, scared of motion

My hope floats to another day
When upon the chime of twelve
We drift upon us again, in the walkway
Coming back - to this hotel.

- Written by a 21yr old to the boy she left,

sleeping in the hotel room.

Marty

2010-05-25T17:47:00.005+05:30

The night rained like house pets

On the wet, stone cold pavement

He walked alone; he was drenched to the bone

Pulling the heavy, wet-weight along

Street lights dim and fading

The tavern abandoned,

Tonight was alone, even ghosts stayed at home

No horse feet went clacking upon cobblestone

Marty’d been lonely, this was a new kinda ‘lone

Walked over the old bridge

Struck there a light

Warmth not on menu, just hard rain tonight

Held firm in his lips, trembling within

Raised hand to his mouth, burnt space for a doubt

Marty’d been smoking, burning within, blowing out

Forward ho’ footsteps

Slugs them like boulders

His thoughts racing down good ol’ memory lane

Thunder cracks a whiplash; his smile's on the wind and it's gone

Marty’s been lonely, they say t’was the way he was born

- Set to the tune of Mark Knopfler's Monteleone,

from the album Get Lucky

Singing in Meter

2010-04-13T15:57:00.010+05:30

Winding on the hill roads, rising up into the clouds

As Indian Ocean rings earthy, strong and proud

My chin's up to the sun, dark days go blowing with the breeze

I am the driver, what good is a passenger indeed -

In keeping meter

They make them as they wish, they don't care who buys it or not

Local industry, in the mountains here up north

Basketball-sized apples make for cider and young wine

I tried some last night, it's still twirling in my mind -

In slurring meter

Sure makes the running life back home

Seem such a lot of drudgery

They sure make them apple pies

Warm to the point of melting ecstasy

My this here journey, morrow's memory.

Singing about the river where they didn't want the dam

River's our mother, her waters virgin sanct

More power to me; I'd leave it all, the city and its strife

T'was in these valleys, even God chose to reside

Let's fall in meter

Sure time does turn tides

More apt to think the best is yet to be

Sure makes the sunrise

Look like the only reason is, to be -

In the ether. I'm in ether.

Life is but a piece of fabric, woven oh! So fine

Wove it the master, for a month longer than nine

I see now from the hill top, with a view akin to he

I'd put some distance between clarity and me

I'd lost the meter

Sitting on treasure but I'm no Crusoe; with the world, I'd share

By a penny a thought count, I would be a millionaire

The air's so clean up here I wonder, where I was before

Working in mines does, take the light out of the show

Now I'm steering clear

Sure makes them days gone by

Seem like a no-go for eternity

Sure time does turn tides

More apt to think the best is yet to be

Singing in meter, singing in meter

- Set to the tune of Mark Knopfler's Border Reiver,

from the album Get Lucky

Suron mein

2010-01-18T11:51:00.010+05:30

Suron mein lafz bhare

Chaahe toh bahaar saje

Chale bhi aao ke phir safar ka

Faazil maqaam saje

Humne suna tha,

Khwabon ke woh manzar

Sachche dil se maango

Toh mil jaate hain.

Chubhte hain phir kyun

Toote sheeshon ke khanjar

Hoti hai baarish mein kyun khali boondein.

Hum badalon se behes ladayein

Khuda se bhi roothe, chuppi ladayein

Tanhayee bhi hai yahin

Suraj ki chaadar si phaili hui

Chale bhi aao ke phir safar ka

Faazil maqaam saje

Suron mein...

Humne aankhon se

Dhoondhi phir woh galiyan

Likhi thi jahan

Hamari daastan.

Hasi lapata hain,

Kehte hain, raahon mein

Jo reh jaaye peeche, unko bhula dena.

Bune lafzon se khushboo churayein

Baraste dinon mein aansoon chupayein

Tanhayee bhi hai yahin

Aanewale milon si phaili hui

Chale bhi aao ke phir safar ka

Faazil maqaam saje

Suron mein...

Walking Time

2009-12-19T14:40:00.004+05:30

Now and then you think of days

You drifted in the clouds, on wings of grace

When tomorrow never was a time

The stars could wreck your house of nine

You came to it on splintered glass

Wondering why you're going so damn fast

Grieving, you were left unto me

While the wagon passed you without heed

Someone's working your mills

You gotta pay your own bills

So you keep walking time

Isn't hope the perfect crime?

No matter where you're starting from

There'll always be a long road to walk on

No matter what the twists and turns

Count on a day when you may crash and burn

You may be basking out in the sun

When you get shot with a water gun

You may write in perfect rhyme

But you'll lose some ground on steep inclines

You may want the world to be fair

You may ask that it treat you with care

While everyone's racing time

You're standing all alone in a line

There's always more than meets the eye

I never thought you'd walk away, by his side

While I'm trying in my stifled screams

Not to grudge the cat that caught the cream

Someone's working your mills

You gotta pay your own bills

So you keep walking time

Isn't hope the perfect crime?

I remember your frothy laughter

The one I called 'the few drinks after'

While you teased me tastefully

Seems like another life's memory

Keeping my head low and down

Waiting for the tide to turn around

I have an eye out for you still

My hope leads the road coming uphill

Someone's working your mills

You gotta pay your own bills

So you keep walking time

Isn't hope the perfect crime?

The Ghost of Insanity

2009-12-07T12:22:00.014+05:30

If you gave me a sixpence

A kind meal and warm tea

I'll tell you the story, of

The ghost of insanity

We'll sit on your porch chairs

In this magic twilight

A setting so wondrous

As it fades into night.

Now the ghost of insanity; he

Had so much to do

Between the atheists and believers

Left, right and moderates too

But what a ghost he was, insanity

He left no stone unturned

To tell you his story

I'll have to light up and burn

A roll or two, kind Sir

Would you give me the pleasure

Of your company and audience for

An evening; a lifetime's treasure.

So the ghost came down hard upon

The fence sitters and prudes

Took away their daily bread

Plugged every hole in their loop.

For they were captive to their ruts

Clockwork money-bees

Locked away their desires

Threw the key to sanity.

Went through weeks, months and then years

Not a care to live the life

The lord bestowed upon us

Thus Insanity shone the light.

And then the ghost set his eyes upon

Those eyes that had run dry

Them lovers and loners,

With not a tear left to cry

Their coffee and doughnuts

Lost for flavour too

Binging on misery

Stuck in time with no clue

So the ghost of insanity

Gave them music to sing

Some colour to the staid frames

Some whiskey and gin

Turned their lives upside down

Only then, straight it was

For they were walking the miles before

On their hands, like they were paws.

Pick up the pieces little girl, he said

Get the spring back in your step

Straighten out your back son

Fill it with the sunshine ahead

Thus the ghost of insanity, he

Roamed far and wide

Bringing chaos to discipline

Putting life back in strife

Look, there he goes now

Past us as we sit

Spreading the legend

Putting faith in the myth

The ghost of insanity

He leaves none untouched

But beware what you wish for

Don't bite on too much.

Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani - my thoughts

2009-11-09T11:20:00.010+05:30

It's a ghazab beyond my understanding why a houseful audience at Regal cinema, a small sample of the larger audience around the country and probably the globe, would pay money to have themselves derided for 2 and surplus hours and come out saying, 'saaru timepass hatu.' I went with friends, all of whom are well-educated and represent the upper middle class of the socio-economic strata of our economy. They whole-heartedly endorsed the majority opinion. I was, am and will continue to be disturbed by the willful apathy of people towards themselves.

Do we enjoy being made chutyas of? Evidently we do! Why? Apparently because the 'common man' is so riddled with problems and tensions of real life that the only respite he gets from it is a mindless, repugnantly uncrafted and less-inventive-than-bad-plagiarism motion picture. FUCKALL argument. It has always been a fuckall argument and for all of time to come shall remain only as such. It is an argument which cannot be defended by any sizeable majority that entertainment MUST be mind-numbing, cannot include any commonsense or logic and must be a thundering slap in the face to any self-effacing and reasonably intelligent person. Am I being a snob? I don't care if I am, if snobbery is the price to pay for demanding better of people who are paid in the crores to create content which I pay my money to consume. People who can't tell their asses from their mouths with a fuckin' map in their hands.

I made this argument earlier with Om Shanti Om. With the benefit of hindsight, that picture seems like a classic now. Is that the defining standard of our mainstream cinematic entertainment? We are getting progressively worse. So films that are crap today become classics tomorrow. Shouldn't the curve be going upwards? Or is the downward spiral of content a reflection of what the 'consumer wants?' If it is, then we're in trouble.

In a holistic purview, one cannot delineate the correlation between the apathy evident here versus that which percolates through every part of our lives today. We don't care that our politicians squander our hard-earned money and fill up their coffers with it. We don't care that we don't get answers to questions we can rightfully ask. We don't care to 'set right' a failed democratic system that is still ghazab-aly hailed as the greatest in the world. We don't care that Naxals are taking over the administration in a bloody coup and the administration does nothing except dashing out stern words in the media. We don't care that the media is a ridicule stooped to such low levels that it is nearly impossible to tell a lie from a joke. We don't care... that's it!

So among all these important issues, why should we care if some of the highest earning members of our economy squander our money and insult our intelligence inside a dark cinema hall for a couple of hours!?! WHY MUST WE CARE? Very simply because, if we don't, we will die. Look at it holistically. The arts (yes, cinema is an art form and mainstream cinema cannot shrug that responsibility under the pretext of good business) are the catalogue of time. Is this what we want it to tell future generations? Oh we were a bunch of bumbling idiots where grown ups behaved worse than the mentally retarded (and this deserves an apology to the mentally retarded) and we had no stories of significance or reasonable intellectual value to tell of our times?

I'm not rubbishing mainstream cinema to say that all films must be dark, tragic and serious as bloody hell. Jab We Met was mainstream; it did great business while telling an all-out candy floss romantic story but it did not do it at the cost of insulting the intelligence of the man who invested his hard earned two hundred in the film. Johnny Gaddar was a semi-mainstream film which entertained while telling an interesting story. We can go back in time and go wide in picking up examples from other nations to uphold the argument that mainstream cinema does not automatically spell "DUMBFUCK".

Cinema has many facets to it. It has aspects of craft and art. If you're not artistically exploring more stories, wider subject matter, I at least expect you to push your craft of story-telling, of screenplay / dialogue writing in making better cinema. Does not Hollywood make hard core mainstream cinema? Like bleeding hell, they do! But they do not accept numbnut scripts which lack any sort of coherence or logic in doing so. Their writers push the envelope in terms of the written material; let's find a new way to do this scene, let's find news ways of saying these same dialogues because everyone in the world has heard this a million times before. Why is it then that the audience sitting in Regal with me that night still found sitting on a cake the funniest thing in Ajab Prem...? Why do we obstinately not raise our standards?

The onus to improve lies on both sides; the makers and the consumers for either side will immediately point the finger on the other saying, this is all they're giving us / this is what they want. This rut cycle shall never end, not until it guts out the very last flicker of hope. Going purely by numbers, since the supply side is smaller, I suppose it is logical that the change must start there.

Must we wait for Armageddon before we start afresh? History has never been a bloodless process...

Chal Diyay

2009-10-19T11:52:00.005+05:30

Mere humsaazi, mere saaz-e-rooh

Mere kal, woh pal ab rubaru

Aaj yunhi jab hum mude, sochke hum the khade

Khamoshi ne tab kaha, hum kabke chal diyay!

Haan - kabhi neend mein, tera naam lun - choo lun

Barson bhooli ek yaad se sehar karoon

Yaad wohi mere sang liye, teri adhkhuli aankhein choomke

Tera haath thaamke, hum ek din aur jiyay!

Kya yeh hosh hai, humne jo ki - justajoo

Gairon mein ghule, karte rahe guftagu

Teri aankhon mein sanam, na rahe jab woh diye

Haq ka haath thaamke, hum kabke chal diyay!

Haan - humne chuna, haq mein hi lein - aabroo

Pairon tale, jaane woh raah laut aaye kyun

Raaz liye sab ankahe, saaz wohi lab pe liye

Apna haath thaamke, hum phirse chal diyay!

Into The Wild

2009-10-16T21:35:00.009+05:30

Disclaimer - This is not a review of the like-titled film. Just so happened that watching it triggered this essay.

What is it about the unknown that draws us like a moth to the flame? What is it about the known that tears at our peace of mind? One could always be placed right in the middle of this continuum.

'You're wrong if you think happiness comes from human relationships...' edifies a young 21 year old to a septuagenarian only to scribble in his journal a few months later and a few moments from the end, 'Happiness only real when shared.' A 2 year journey through the length and breadth of the American landscape in search of answers to 20 years of existence, but realised entirely within the 9 weeks between those two lines. A moment before the young man delivers his parting line, the septuagenarian asks him if he can adopt him as a grandson since he has no family of his own. 'Can we talk about this when I get back?', he says and leaves the old man with restrained tears and a forced weak smile. Some times, there is no coming back. Most times, life kindly offers a second chance.

We're all looking to be happy but having said that, we are masochists with an enthusiasm that cannot be explained by logic. We put ourselves first, yet we never hesitate to claim our pound of happiness from the world. We want to be self-sufficient but don't mind help when it is forthcoming without much cost. Individualism is unquestionably integral to one's happiness. When it begins to stretch into selfishness which is as untraceable a merge as a moment into the next, is when the purpose itself is defeated.

Then does happiness lie within the thin line of gratifying one's selfish interest while balancing it with the maximisation of others' acceptance? If so, we are left to grapple with an unsustainable model for it. On the other hand if one side outweighs the other, either one isn't left with any 'self' to find happiness for, or is only left by oneself where happiness is as achieved as the sky within one's fingers.

Man wasn't built to be alone. He was built to be lonely at times or maybe all the time, even in the closest of companionships. Into The Wild is a story about a young man who cannot appreciate the distinction between alone and lonely; and thus extends that discrete design of nature to justify the transience of every human relationship based on one deceitful one that he witnessed. He comes to believe that no lasting happiness can be found 'with' other people. Happiness with others can only be ephemeral and must be that way because if stretched, it becomes a lie. His journey down that path lands him in a deserted bus in the Alaskan high-forests, dying alone and scribbling those precious words of wisdom that he earns at the cost of his own life - 'happiness only real when shared.'

That said, how then does one go about evaluating the significance of relationships while the journey is on? As long as the sharing of happiness is equal, a relationship is ideal. It is only when disparity upsets the balance that one questions the relationship; its values, cost-benefits and most critically, its fundamentals.

People change. Should one let go of people for that reason? The same people who once saw beauty, truth and happiness together, could not possibly have changed so much that they cannot see unison in anything anymore. One could deduce that some perspective and ground has been lost, which means that if that is acknowledged on both sides and an effort is made to gain lost ground / vision, order can be restored. It is only a few words in theory but may be years in time-space journeys, apart from needing a great amount of perspective in order to be aware of, acknowledge and accept that order NEEDS to be restored. As a tragic paradox, ours is a generation of instant gratification.

We're fast, we're ambitious, we're fired up and everything that takes time to mature is left for someone else down the line to deal with... let's get a move, can't be held back by these things. 'These things' encapsulate our lives today. Personal lives are mirrors of professional lives; make checklists for who fits the bill. It isn't about moulding oneself with another person into one life; it's about having a ready mould and finding someone who fits in. Instant gratification! We do not have the same socialist beliefs of our previous generations and we certainly do not allow for long gestation periods in any aspect of life. Ironically idealism and capitalism part ways upon that note. Idealism does not fit into the mould of instant gratification.

Tugging at that same thread, if one were to have found the one person with whom one finds oneself most willing to mould into a unified life, should those fundamental emotions be questioned at another point in time because 'things changed'? Change is a constant; nature changes. The sky changes color, the ocean changes ferocity, the winds change direction - all the time! Do we not find them perfect just the same? Does our awe or love for it subject itself to a questioning of the fundamentals because of change? Why then do we resort to it with disconcerting immediacy and consistency with people? What is it about the fabric of relationships today, even the closest and most cherished ones, that comes ripping at the seams at the tug of 'change'?

I was reading the script of a recent film called Gran Torino (2008). Clint Eastwood has a line in it that goes, 'I got the greatest woman who ever lived to marry me. I had to work at it but I got her and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Hands down.' I stopped cold at that line. Somehow I could not imagine anyone younger than Eastwood to be able to ring truth in those lines. In the sea of change that has swept over us since we switched from being a socialist nation to a capitalist one, somewhere we traded our socialist values and beliefs: short-sold it for a quick profit.

Fortis est veritas. Once we find our truth, there would be little meaning in allowing circumstances to cloud it. If it demands strength, courage and persistence, pray that one find it all in the truth itself to endure, in order to parent the happiness that births from it.

There was a good reason togetherness was put above self, back in the day - because at the end of it, sitting in an ivory tower all by oneself may not be as satisfying as being in a reasonably modest home with someone who doesn't have you miss an ivory tower.

Not proposing apathy over ambition; merely perspective over profit.

She Longs To Be By The Sea

2009-10-14T15:02:00.003+05:30

She can't give it up

She's grown up around it

Endless as far as the eye can go

And beyond, her mind floats

Rainy evenings spent on the beach

Watching water fall into water

So close; yet surely out of reach

Dark clouds hung above her head

And she learnt it was time

To give up looking behind; head forth instead

But she can't let go of what she grew up around

She can't undo the things she's done

She knows her way around this town

She's been around, oh yes she's been around.

Looking up from the marks of her feet

Surprised at how far she's walked

Now she longs to be by the sea

She longs to be by the sea.

She can't remember the last ride

She plunged into with hope and cheer

And came unscathed on the other side

She's had it hard but she knows this too

Along her path, she's bent a few rules

She tosses her bags into the stew

Puts her hands back on the wheel

The smile's back in her stride

And she's got the sea by her side.

Tomorrow's another brand new day

She's come this far, she may as well stay

If only she was built that way

Breathing in the rising sun

Filling her up with music and rum

She flings the bottle so far astray

Before she lies down by the sea

Wishing the wave swept her away

Not to submit herself or her pride

Just a wash, to make for a lighter rise

The only way she breathes, is free

So she longs to be by the sea

She longs to be by the sea

There was a time when she paused to rest

Walked ahead and turned around

Shut her eyes, with her head on my chest

We walked together, seemingly

Our paths met, good ol' serendipity

A lilting sonnet, a song and verse

It's time to go; neither mine nor her curse.

Lines fall in and out of rhyme

A matter of time; just a matter of time

Before she finds herself again

On some other bed of sand

She'll drift off in movement all over the place

To come back and rest right where she started from

Names on the beach erase easy

That's why she longs to be by the sea

That's why she longs to be by the sea.

Husn-e-Haqiqi

2009-10-04T09:38:00.005+05:30

This post warrants a prologue. Chao got me hooked onto Coke Studio, a Pakistani TV show which brings together two musicians to jam. The music ranges from ordinary to fabulous. I've been tripping on the fabulous side of the continuum.

One of those trippy songs were by an artist called Arieb Azhar, giving his music and vocals to a poem by Ghulam Baba Farid, a 20th century Punjabi / Seriaki poet. Experience it yourself - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBMXEokq3mI

The title remains the same, the first line remains the same. The first line of the last verse only has a slight change from 'Farid' to 'Gharib' (necessitated by the fact that a lot of those poets used their names in their poems / ghazals / couplets).

The attempt to write poetry in a language that one doesn't know is a suicidal mission. However, the song just refused to leave until I stepped over the cliff. So here it is. I suspect that I have erred unforgivably on the grammar, the phrasing, the weaving and maybe even on word meanings / usage in places.

As 'not done' as it may be, I had to write this and put it out here to be able to honor my emotions for the original. Hence, with due apologies and my most sincere regards to the creators and the readers, here is my humble and possibly fumbling string of words.

Have coupled it with the translation only so my intent of expression is clarified because for all I know, the words as I have strung them together may not mean what I've translated them as. If you find corrections are needed, please comment in.

Ae husn-e-haqiqi noor-e-azal

Tujhe ishq enaayat paakh kahoon

Tujhe ranj se sard tilism kahoon

Tujhe arsh kahoon tujhe asl kahoon

Tujhe khaalish barf ka khaan kahoon

Zar kheyz zameen janaan kahoon

Ashfaq kahoon bedard kahoon

Ya mom ka mitt-ta nishaan kahoon

Tujhe sehar kahoon aur shaam kahoon

Har pehar ka tujhko dhyaan kahoon

Sargosh zikr, elaan kahoon

Tera ilm mera imaan kahoon

Tujhe nusrat raahat saaz kahoon

Aabad umar aaghaz kahoon

Tujhe arziyan, armaan kahoon

Tujhe ghazal kahoon ki azan kahoon

Akhlaaq ba-haan lihaazaa kahoon

Tashbiih majaaz-e-veeran kahoon

Tujhe mustaqbil jamaal kahoon

Tujhe guzre visaal jalaal kahoon

Kar tauba tart gharib sada

Tamaam jahan bemisl raha

Is kaif ko kaisa salaam karoon

Is bashr ko kya paimaan karoon

Pehchaan karoon anjaan rahoon

Dar-dayaam yun gumnaam rahoon

Oh beauty of truth, the eternal light

Do I call you the pure gift of love

Or the enchantment that's colder than pain

Do I call you the seventh heaven or the root.

Do I call you the mine of prickly snow

or the soul of a fertile piece of land

Do I call you sympathetic or heartless

Or the vanishing trace of burning wax

I call you the morning and the evening

I call you my thoughts in all of time

A quiet whisper, a loud announcement

I call the knowledge of you, my integrity

I call you the notes of success and tranquility

The beginning of a lifetime of togetherness

You are the requests and the desires

Do I call you a ghazal or the azan.

Therefore I call your virtues 'iron-like'

A similie to an illusion in a lonely place

The beauty of the future

The sublimity of a past union

Repent now forever poor soul

The whole world remains incomparable

With what salutation shall I address this exhilaration

What can I promise this human being?

Should I make acquaintance or stay a stranger

Should I perpetually stay annonymous?

Little Sparrow

2009-09-23T17:23:00.005+05:30

A little sparrow smeared on the windshield

Reckless driver going at his reckless speed

Who is to blame; the wind or sleight of fate

Why in hell did they ever have to cross ways?

Drafts of wind change your course while in midstream

Like a storm blowing down, a hundred years of trees

What's left on the ground, is all that is left behind

We're crying in pain, at the cruel work of time.

Who's to choose between the now and the after

How does it matter, former or the latter

Who's to say who's the joker and the actor

What does it matter? It's just another chapter.

Little row houses lined up on the street

Makes for a great, soothing home geography

Build a home; nest with your kith and kin

But now you've got stakes, that's original sin.

Frames from the wall; crashed, torn, in smithereens

Pictures of the past, eyes dreaming the unseen

Lying awake in bed, sleep-walking all over time

What once was, is a dream; tomorrow's out of line.

Who's to choose between the now and the after

How does it matter, former or the latter

Who's to say who's the joker and the actor

What does it matter? It's just another chapter.

But there are books to be read, rings to be worn

A bottle of rum awaits an evening to be owned

There's a dinner to be skipped, a raincheck on offer

But I seem to be next at the check-out counter.

There are moods unemployed, words unspoken too

Scribbled on note pads of time, hang scores of things to do

Lampshades and moonlight, candles and wine

Floating out of space, the heart awaits the mind.

If here and now, is all that we can do

Why say sunshine follows rain, why believe in me and you

Seasons change, but not the world they change upon

If the world faded away, what would the sun then shine down on?

Who's to choose between the now and the after

How does it matter, former or the latter

Who's to say who's the joker and the actor

What does it matter? It's just another chapter.

Koi Kya Kahe

2009-09-11T00:29:00.003+05:30

Tumko milke yun yaad aaye jo guzre lamhe saare

Woh raste woh chaubaare, koi kya kahe.

Jo bhi humne the dil mein rakhe woh haste hue nazare,

Anchue bikhre hain saare, koi kya kahe.

Woh sawaal, woh shikwe

Khud se humne kiye the jo saare,

Woh armaanon ke dhaage

Behte paani ke dhaare, koi kya kahe.

Aankhon ko nam karta rooh ka dhuan

Bujhne ko hai in lamhon ki shama.

Ek pal mein hi bhasm ho gaya woh ghumaan

Bas yunhi chalta jaaye caaravan... koi kya kahe!

Aftermath

2009-08-30T10:34:00.009+05:30

O loved dear, thy name forbidden

The world alone consumes what's mine

Never to be given

A pound of flesh bitten and thrown aside callously

Little does it know of the twigs it walks upon, this world nether

Is to break and wither the inevitable fate of star-crossed lovers?

Crushed I lie, under waves deep and heavy

If your name I shout, I shall drown

If your hand I cannot hold, I shall drown

If your face I cannot see, will I have lived?

The little I had, I gave it all to you

Walked miles on hot sands, my strength renewed

When your name I spake, to myself; not a soul heard

She stands there I said, there where the twain become a line

The sky and the sea, even if only in the mind.

For how shall the twain ever meet?

Nature's verdict passed, the sky shall never lie upon the sea

But touch, it will and it can

In forbidden spaces only, beyond the eyes of the land

In ephemeral frames only, stolen from the hands of time

Weather-worn sea farers, we will discover those islands and hills

Upon which bliss bells will ring, only for us; silent and still.

Thy name awakens my every nerve

Every moment you belong to the world

Crawl worms of blinding anger and pain

In every cavern and blood-coursing vein

Why! I yell; in screams that die before making a sound

Poetic justice they say; what goes around comes around.

I sigh, I shed violent tears

I curse my love, inadquate for my fears

A dire misfortune stood on a premise designed for doom

Would not faith suffer questioning of a believer to be?

Does not nature suffer from man's need and greed?

A nest was built on slender shoots

On soft grass, on dewdrop roots

In wait for firmer ground and a stronger built

When ill-timed storms tore it down

Timed by whom? The Gods above?

What God shows no mercy upon a nest of tender love?

Such God I shall denounce, what good could I lose?

Only listless and dead, would I be left

If I were richer by the world, but poorer by you!

Come my liebling, a few more days of strength

Of building back a house, lying in debris and hurt

In the aftermath of that torrential rain

With words and quiet wisdom, some listening and touch

We will find our haven; of boundless love, of fierce lust

Only a few steps away, indeed we stand

Reach out; let us pour into the other's hands

Isn't that where, when always we lay smiling

Serene in sleep in each other's shade

Unstirred by noise, stripped bare of all games,

We lived an eternity between our names?

Once

2009-08-25T16:52:00.002+05:30

Watching from the sidelines

I'm yet to learn how to stay quiet

Should I run in, save this turning

Tide; am losing time.

Thinking how I played my time

Now, watching makes me blind

Should I walk away, leave now or

Swim through times unkind.

Once when we were in each other

The grass was greener, the air lighter

You smiled so brightly

I never missed the sun.

I still want to be the one who

Cares and comforts you at night

Why do broken rules come back to

Haunt those who mean nothing to

The order of the world?

Why does the sun shine on those who

Want nothing to do with its light?

Watching from the sidelines

I learn, I've got nothing to lose

Nor win; I'm a has-been

The game's done playing me

But I'll stay healthy; though hearty

Maybe out of my reach, I'll try.

I watch how she waltzes

Across the ground

Winning praises, smiles and raises

Her eyes to find me down

Cure me, she will, with touch

My angel, she can heal my mind.

Published

2009-08-24T10:54:00.003+05:30

It feels good to be published, whether on screen (whatever format), on paper, on e-media, on a wall... anywhere. It's just a feel-good that cannot be contested. Of course, the very next step after the feel-good are uncomfortable and not-feeling-so-good-anymore questions of, 'was it really good enough?', 'should this draft have been the final one', 'am I ever going to write anything that I'm proud of?' etc... but then, that's the next step.

At the moment, I'm going to avoid taking that step and enjoy the fact that I was published on a site. It's happened before, but on user content sites. This one is slightly special because it is content that has been approved by the publisher.

Here it is - http://www.chillibreeze.com/articles_various/Indian-fiction.asp

Pawns In Their Game

2009-07-22T14:50:00.006+05:30

I was a fiery eyed boy, the horizon in my stride

Running miles ahead, fuelled by cash and pride

Living by the order of the day, I played by the rules they made

My fingers in oily pies, in velvet lounges smoking gas pipes

Draining life out of lands, leaving only dead in the wake.

Born to a man who spent his hours

Burrowed in clean white scientific towers

Consumed with what lay in wait, far ahead of his time and day

Never did he imagine they would bring to dust

Without a thought, reduce decades of sweat to naught.

Water under the bridge, we cannot reverse,

Neither honest failures nor successes perverse,

Cometh the hour, cometh the man

With you in a cell, I will play my hand

To look you in the face, without pride or shame

For when the sun sets, what are we but pawns in their game!

- For Bijesh Jayarajan

and the film we hope will make a mark

Skeletons

2009-05-03T15:42:00.001+05:30

Woke up for the first time, the smiling sun was gone

Was a new one instead, beating down upon

Old white sheets; the ones you insisted on

When we were lovers, let’s go back there

Come on…

Stared out the window, the flowers looked grey

Been such a long time since my room felt out of place

You hanging so dearly to your state of grace

Where does that leave me, telling the truth

For the loss of face

Red eyed, tongue dried

I stare at your brush

You chided me to use more than once

To have you again make my coffee

I’d sing a million and then one more song

I smile back at smiles that flash at me

Time: I fight, but can’t stop

Days turn me inside out and dry

Lie at nights, like a broken cup.

I have my skeletons in my closet, don’t you?

So many questions, the answers all true

Well, all but one you say, the one that cost me you

Look at it anyway, why would I lie

To you?

A million promises, won’t feed the broken dreams

Pictures we painted, adding elements to each scene

Until you come home, little Miff won’t meet my eyes or eat

Takes after you, doesn’t he? Lying stubbornly,

Curled up at my feet

I’ve been wrong before, I will be again

That’s just the way it is

For all those times that I made your day

Can’t you see through your man?

Precipice

2009-04-24T19:03:00.001+05:30

Stay and see – watch me as I play my cards

Against those of fate and I

May be losing, sure, but slowly

Do you think that a man can walk on all his fours?

To get where he wants to – No

Oh the price to pay for bending his back

His ways… is too much

I will go on my way

And I’ll find something to say

I won’t pay heed to he who stands by

And talks of the miles before

Me – as the ghosts of my past catch up with me

I run to thee – and thou

Spake words like poultice

I’m warming

Could it be that you and me, we

Take the plunge before we think it through

Play to break all the rules – they say

Are here to stay, can’t be done away

We got it so far, let’s go by the stars

We can make it to morrow…

Tonight – we’re all by ourselves

On this precipice – and try as we may

We will fall either way

So take my hand, please

I want to waltz with you

To the wind and this view

I can’t let this go, for tomorrow we know

We will be heading our own ways

So what if all that we got, is not enough, we cannot

Let go of what’s here and now

We take what we can

We drink and we dance and

Lie until morning or if time stops to see

The wonder that we may have created

Oh come let’s play in the rain

And drink once again to all

We had here tonight, no pain and no fight

And melt into oblivion

With the first ray of light.

The International - my thoughts

2009-04-01T11:18:00.009+05:30

Tom Tykwer, the director of The International previously made Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. I happened to stumble across that film while wanting to stop pressing the buttons on my remote and it gave me reason. After a while, I forgot to switch out even during the breaks, not wanting to miss even a few seconds of the post-break return. That film had a magnetic charm, much like a good perfume which has a Proustian essence.

The first scene of The International opens on the glass facade railway station in Hamburg, Germany (I may be wrong about the city). I was engaged when the character on whom the film opens collapses on the sidewalk a moment after a knowing nod at his partner, Clive Owen standing across the street, waiting for it, so the games could begin.

To bring you up to speed, Clive Owen is an Interpol agent, working closely with the US NY District Attorney's office on bringing down an International bank, which they believe is involved in non-banking activities far beyond their memorandum charters. Why is the NY DA's office involved? Because we thus are introduced to the only female presence in the film, and quite a pleasant one at that, Naomi Watts, pleasantly outlining her legal character's need in an otherwise boys playground.

It's incidental that I had watched a documentary called Zeitgeist only a day before I happened to watch The International. The premise of the two are rather similar; that a small group of extremely wealthy and deeper-than-you-can-imagine pockets are running the show of the world, pulling the strings by which we live and breathe and someday, if they wish, they can pull the plug and we will have little respite. Sounds like too far fetched a conspiracy theory? Maybe in another day and age, but today it's plausible.

So the Intl. Bank for Business & Credit has its funds locked in to a multi-billion dollar small arms & missile guidance systems deal (talk about range) wherein they buy from China (apparently they don't just make clothes and electronics cheaper than everyone else, this is part of their wares as well) and sell to the third world, fuelling wars, which in turn keeps the respective governments from ever getting on their feet, which in turn necessitates that they keep borrowing from the bank (in this case) to keep an ineffective-and-hopeless economy above water, and thus in turn profit from it. It's not fantastical, there seems to be irrefutable historical evidence of governments and corporations having done this for decades.

Owen and Watts must bring the bank to its knees, but they cannot because the well is poisoned; no one who drinks from it can survive, no one who can do anything about it will clean it because everyone profits from people drinking from it, and thus anyone who wants to do something about it, must be drowned in it. For that purpose, the bank hires a believeably cold blooded professional hitman, called The Consultant, played by Brian O'Byrne.

A lot of questions or explanations that could have been supplied are withheld by the filmmakers, for reasons they best know. How exactly does a bank broker arms deals between buyers / suppliers; why would they do it themselves, instead of only being the financier behind the veil and avoiding implication; why do they never effectively put the hit on Owen when anyone else, right up to the touted next in line President of Italy, is only one sniper shot away; how do dozens of assasins turn up armed with sub-machine guns in an NY art gallery and go trigger happy for a good 10 minutes without police or any of the two dozen special task forces not showing up, are all questions that one might ask and not find answers to.

Let me try and answer that question. It's NOT IMPORTANT. The film is one deeply immersed and soaked in the style and treatment of the spy/ thriller genre, where predecessors would be cult films like Three Days of the Condor, Marathon Man, Chinatown, Enemy of the State etc. It's about the thrill of the genre, accentuated by elements of ambience, lighting, mood, moments that deliver satisfaction more than concrete plot or back story rationales. Not to say a plot could have a hole in the wall, but a few shaky bricks needn't bring it down.

Tykwer wasn't going after a slap-and-dash thriller (the shoot-shoot, bada boom, whoosh dhoom types); the mindless, dead as a duck sorts. This was to be an interesting and engaging film. While there are moments when the narrative seems to slip away into auto-pilot mode, most of the time, Tykwer has your attention and even significant interest in the proceedings.

Clive Owen is one of those actors that I enjoy watching. He brings a certain edgyness to his character, infusing scenes with great nervous energy. However, for most part of the film, he looks like he could push himself to death out of exhaustion, making the job easier for the antagonists. Armin Mueller-Stahl plays the bad guy with such charismatic understated affliction that you want to like him. Ulrich Thomsen as the Chairman of the malevolent Bank has such aritocratic carriage that he is anyday more aspirational than the bourgeois Owen.

Tom Tykwer infuses his film with characteristic elements of the genre, invoking inward smiling moments during the viewing experience. A 10 minute long action sequence (and the only one) in the film, staged at the Guggenheim Museum of NY, reconstructed elaborately in an abandoned railroad house in Germany is not just superlatively choreographed and executed, but is intensely exciting.

I enjoyed The International for what it was, not the promise of all that it could have been.

Stillness

2009-03-24T11:14:00.005+05:30

Stillness around

Breeze hangs in mid air

Suspended… but not drifting away

I walk through it

Walk through time’s passage

Where do I go? Backward or forth

Breathe in deep

Clouds of smoke fill

My heavy heart, churning within

Morning comes, the clock stops ticking

The air drops dead, down on the floor

Mixing with tears; runs along the stairway

Up which you walked the previous day

Hope flies by, passing my window

My wish lies, buried in snow

Hoping against hope, to earn back what I know

Praying, still saying; it’s not worth the cost

Between cest la vie and carpe diem hangs

A creaking door, testing its hinges

It may be true; I’m not what I once was to you

Discern the truth, if you will, in my song

Underneath great waves of sand

Ring words familiar, am I still your man?

My steady hand upon my heart

I’ll pick up the pieces and lay it back from the start

Wanting once more to own the best that I’ve known

Spoon in spoon, our home, my cocoon

Lying with you, in bed until noon

If We Don't Stop The Bullets

2009-03-20T13:12:00.004+05:30

Insomnia clouds the eyes that I see

Crumbling legs drag slowly to the station across the street

Wanting and thinking of the last night of sleep

Its just been tossing and turning since the vicious blood leak

It used to be cowboys in westerns and cops in gangland

Smoking guns, horses, wide deserts, hot sand

In designer tees, sneakers and bag packs; you can read

In eyes only two decades new, the hatred of centuries

If we don’t stop the bullets now who’s going to take them?

If we’re painted in red, how would we bleed?

When they come out of the woodworks, the air and the sea

If we don’t stop the bullets when the time is high

It’s not long until the very last one will die

Walking zombies on a ground wide open we are

With no guns nor a chance to survive

We drive in and drive out, day in and day out

Slowing down to take in the debris from the night

The chalk marks and bullet holes in the edifice they tore

Down as the trail blazed into our own front doors

If we don’t stop the bullets now, who’ll dig the holes?

If we’re born in the grave, where would we go?

You fight fire with fire; souls will burn on the pyre

No flickering desire to live and to breathe

If we don’t stop the bullets when the time is high

Won’t be long until the very last one will die

We need water to drink, cleanse the past; move on higher

Not another child born here to grieve!

- Kartick Sitaraman

20th March, 2009

The Straight Story / Local Hero

2009-03-05T12:39:00.003+05:30

This is not a movie review. This is not even what I usually title as 'My Thoughts' in order to avoid the trappings of a movie review. This is just one of those things that one must do in order to justify, mitigate, fulfill the order that your mind is giving your body. In my handicapped-by-lethargy case, it's only seldom that it translates into action.

Every once in a while I watch a movie which falls into what I'm beginning to call the 'stop and smell the roses' genre. These type of movies are great for the simple reason that they make you stop and smell the roses. They bring to life that much exploited cliche about life itself. The first of two films is The Straight Story (1999), directed by David Lynch; and the second is a 1983 film directed by Bill Forsyth.

Local Hero is a British/Scottish production. The film is about an American company which wants to buy out an entire Scottish island (a small, quiet, serene gift of God island) to drill oil (is there any square inch upon this earth where they do NOT?) Given the serious capitalist corporate greed setup, I had a feeling the film would chart straight into waters that I was aware of, familiar with and largely, bored of. Boy! was I in for a surprise.

The film mellows with it's setting. Once the protagonist drives into the sleepy hollow town on a fine morning, the film becomes about the little no-nothings of everyday life in the port town. As it goes along, it gets a little better as it explores the characters. Further along, it gets even better as it establishes the relationships between the people, their lives and that of the town itself. Even further into the film, it has you smiling with a child's innocence at the same which is on an exhibition-esque display in this film which starts out Global and ends up so minutely local that you can indeed, smell the roses, so to speak.

The Straight Story is a dvd that has been lying with me for over 10 days - that in itself in an unusual occurence. I am quite frantic about holding on to dvds (on my 70mm ac) because that means I'm wasting time on the meter. Blah blah blah... let me just stop and smell the roses before I move on...

So this film is about a 73 old man, who suffers a fall in the first minute of the film and is advised by the doctor to use a walker because he says, 'no surgery' to the doctor's rational plea. The DVD menu screen has the doctor saying, 'this morning you fall and can't get up; that's your hip Alvin. You need to use a walker.' Indomitable as the septagenarian is, he promptly replies, 'no walker.'

A few minutes into the film, we are informed that his brother has suffered a major stroke. The brothers haven't spoken in 10 years due to reasons of anger, vanity and pride (we find out later in a touching monologue by the protagonist). Alvin Straight (the protagonist) decides to 'drive out' to see his brother, across miles that are beyond his human capabilities. Oh and also, he doesn't have a driving license, which implies he doesn't have a car (in some countries that may not be applicable, but we're talking small town US and that too an old school guy at that). So Straight decides to attach a sleep-in trailer to his... and I kid you not, his lawn mower and drive across the long straight (or not so much) road, swallowing his pride, to see the stars with his brother once more - and needless to say, for what could be the last time for both.

It would be an unpardonable sin to say that these films are about the human spirit. The human spirit is increasingly conspicuous by its absence from our lives today. Also, it doesn't allow for the incomparable beauty of the significance of the 'little things'.

The 73 year old converses with strangers in more personal and deep ways that he has not with near and dear ones in a long time is evident as the film progress. His words are subconsciously measured, evocative and endearingly true. But for all that 'eloquence', when he does reach his brother in the last minute or so of the film, the film turns poetically silent. The brothers look at each other sitting on the porch and shed solo trickles of tear as the younger brother realises the magnitude of the personal journey (the 'vehicle') which has brought his brother back to him.

No words of mine can begin to nearly emphasise the depth of simplicity in life and its effective translation on film. These films are few and far between and I suggest you experience the smell of the roses yourself, when you might be ready to take it in of course...

The Wilderness Years

2008-12-12T00:49:00.005+05:30

I'm currently reading a book by that title. The full title goes, Adrian Mole: The Wilderness Years. No, the author isn't Adrian Mole. That's part of the title. The protagonist is Adrian Mole. What's the book about? It's Adrian Mole's private journal. Written by Sue Townsend, the book that is. And since the book is the protagonist's journal, the journal as well. In effect, it is an author writing about an aspiring writer (novellist) who is writing his private journal. That's beside the point though.

To be fair to my conveniently amnesic memory and I say conveniently amnesic because I think this is how the faculty I call 'my memory' works; it decides what it wants to keep and what it doesn't. Hence, I don't REMEMBER anything. I can see visuals / hear audio references of things that it has decided to keep, whether significant or otherwise. The fact that it has decided to retain that memory is probably by itself the significance, as irrelevant as it may seem to me; I, who have no control over my memory. At this point, I am gesticulating wildly to be released from whatever is possessing me and making me write this.

My memory tells me there was a reason I started writing this post before it took a detour through Gibberish land. The point is this - this book feels too close to home to be funny (which it is intended to be) and too distant to become unreal.

Before I deviate again... I feel like the possessed being now has control of the steering (not WHEEL; STEERING... whoever taught the Americans English didn't do a good job of it)... here is an excerpt from the book that hit too close for comfort.

'Sunday, April 14th

Woke at 8.30, had breakfast; cornflakes, toast, brown sauce, two cups of tea. Collected Sunday Times and Observer. Bianca not there (the girl who works at the newsstand. If not for a woman, a man has very little reason to care about the world.) Changed into blazer. Walked around Outer Ring Road (Not New Delhi; apparently even London has one - such lazy creativity on part of the British, couldn't even give our roads original names), came back. Brushed and hung up blazer. Lay on bed. Slept. Woke up, put on blazer, went out, had pizza in Pizza Hut. Came back, lay on bed, slept. Woke, had bath, changed in pyjamas and dressing gown. Cut toenails, trimmed beard, inspected skin. Tidied tapes into alphabetical order, Abba to Warsaw Concerto. Went downstairs. Mrs Hedge (his landlady) in kitchen, in tears at the kitchen table. 'I've got nobody to confide in,' she cried. Made crab paste sandwich (My sincere apologies to the meat eaters, but eeewwww). Went to bed. Wrote up journal.'

If you strike out 'Mrs Hedge...' and 'Wrote up journal' from his Sunday the 14th; you get my every day for the... last couple of months.

But wait, here's the killer line - 'I can't go on like this. I'd have more of a social life in prison.'

I suddenly am not sure if I'd even manage that.

Days go by and still I'm...

I don't know how to complete that sentence. Inertia has become my middle name.

I think I'm letting this go here... that being which possesses me is clicking on the Publish Post button... what was its name? Sloth...

...wait wait... I want to spell check... fucking wait...

Looking back, looking ahead - 6th Dec, 2008

2008-12-06T18:09:00.004+05:30

So much has transpired since I last made an entry in the LB-LA Journal. Still, somehow it seems like I've only taken a half step since.

The season has changed... it was spring, with flowers in bloom, the sky in blue, the hue in high cue and the rhythm in Allegro made for a visually and aurally inspiring moment of heightened passion and the labour of stubborn persistence finally bearing the semblance of a fruit. Much anticipated was the coming of age of the fruit itself... the planter awaited under the tree; watering, checking on it, praying for it... he waited a period in time... until spring changed into autumn.

Then, he stopped waiting hours under the tree. He would water the tree and walk past it; just cursorily glancing up to see if anything was different from what he remembered of it yesterday... or was that last week, or last month, or last season, or last season of last year? It didn't seem to grow. It seemed like a seed in limbo; stuck in a bottle of vaccuum; breathing, yet refusing to show signs of taking life.

In the time that was waiting and anticipating, he would ask of himself and others why it was taking so long. He knew some answers, he got some more. Patience, he told himself was the key. A friendly philosopher quoted oft-repeated lines from scriptures and holy texts enumerating the virtues of patience, persistence and the application of labour without the anticipation of its results. Asked he, chiding the philosopher, 'why Sire would I work without the anticipation of the result? Why must I not lay down under the tree instead and breathe cool air in its shadow, rather than looking up with the hope of seeing that fruit come alive?' 'Because,' said the philosopher, making his argument up as he went along, 'such is the nature of nature, my friend.'

He resolved yet again, telling himself that if the nature of nature was such, there must be a design in the Master's plan. Come winter, he wondered if the Master's plan could well be flawed?

It seemed to him that he had stood still in time. The season around him had changed, the yellow bloom had turned to a grey gloom and with it, his hope had waned into a passive refusal of it's acknowledgement. The spring in his feet had long since gained weight and become a heavy trudging, which he mumblingly despised, but unchangingly continued.

What must, he wondered, be the key to change? The season shall pass, but what if my steps don't? Must I bide my time in patience yet again, or shall I make an attempt, even if against such nature of nature to fight nature?

He bent to pick up his water can... it had become lighter in the day as the sun absorbed the water from within... but the same sun filled him with a sense of light he hadn't felt in a while.

A lighter pail is easier to carry, especially with heavier feet... he fooled himself.

He was nobody else's to fool.

Through My Lens Oblique

2008-10-26T00:59:00.008+05:30

I pull up to the side, on a private patch of night
Smoke out the last of light

I am, unto me

I roll the window down, breathe in and hope to drown

In the wintry air around

That’s flooding into me

Love’s a funny town; in twos you go around

In one you crumble down

Pay heavy; for what is free

I’ve seen these streets before; heard the folk n lore

Been through all the chores – but

My heart is failing me

Thoughts burn in my mind, the discomforting kind

I’m tugging at the blinds;

But it’s staring right at me

I’m trying to collate these strands of memories

Sieving history;

Through my lens oblique

I’m lying on the ground; trying to shut this sound

Deafening my mind

While I fight to breathe.

I’m not from yesterday; tomorrow I can’t see

All I have is now; and

It’s not enough for me

I spite eternity

Blurs race past my eyes; too fast to be perceived

It’s only you I see

Through my lens oblique

Now the sun burns in my face;

In sweat, is no release

I throw open my arms and cry into the sea

And love is not around; it’s burning me inside

As I come to realize

You don’t belong to me

But it’s only you I see, through my lens oblique

Being lost, is being free

Will you find yourself in me?

Through my lens oblique

Will you find yourself in me?

Through my lens oblique

Cos you belong with me

And we; to this sea

25th October, 2008

Written to the rhyme meter of ‘Swallowed in the Sea’

by Coldplay from the album ‘X&Y’

Righteous Kill - my thoughts

2008-09-15T12:04:00.008+05:30

I waited 4 months for this film; I suspect a large number of DeNiro / Pacino fans did as well. I may well be speaking for the entire lot when I say, it was a major let down.

A thriller seemed just right a vehicle, but wouldn't one expect an intelligent /engaging thriller when it's these two Titans coming face to face? The two films they have been credited on together in the past have both been classics - Godfather II (though they never meet on screen), and Heat (with only one scene running into approx 6mins). With that, when they are paired together again, these demi-gods of acting, you expect the sky and there's no reason one shouldn't. Otherwise, what would be the point of going to the movies?

But Righteous Kill, with a threadbare storyline, an irritatingly unimaginative screenplay, turned over to Jon Avnet (who evidently couldn't do much with it) results in a film that one wishes hadn't been made; in the context that it may just be the last one with both these actors together.

They're both career cops and seem to have been partners long enough to know if the other got lucky last night. DeNiro does; he has an 'aggression bordering on fetish' sort of sexual relationship with the Evidence Collection Officer of the department; a sexy Carla Guigino. Both men are essentially loners, with little except their jobs to go back to or forth from. Both men harbor a certain passion for the law and when convicts they believe are guilty beyond doubt, stand the chance of going scot-free, one doesn't hestiate to plant evidence to incriminate him, while the other condones the act. Such is their need to serve justice. But what happens when a serial killer starts slaying on their behalf?

The film opens with a closed circuit camera screen on which DeNiro reads out what sounds like a post-facto confession of crimes. In retrospective, for a film that hasn't outdone itself, this is the first of a few faux pas that mar it's final effect. A serial killer has been on the loose, though he's only been targetting criminals, or those criminals who were acquitted due to the loopholes in the judicial system, or those who were criminals but never quite put to the test. The first 30 minutes of this 101 minute film are heavily underscored by a voiceover (of DeNiro's) - READING out the story or plot of the film, while the visuals are only supporting his voiceover - couldn't someone have been more imaginative on this project? There have been 14 murders that DeNiro reads his confession to; I would think the film would have only last half it's running time if the murders were halved in number. Most of this set up time is tactlessly spent in visually showing these murders and the evidence collection on the crime scene, providing for more repartees between officers on the case, leading to no memorable effect. Contrast this with the incisive and insightful dialogue between DeNiro and Pacino in Heat and you know you've got a cold turkey here.

In a film with either DeNiro or Pacino, audiences are coming in to see a performance. With both together, one would need a very credible director to give them that space to perform, while making that performance serve the narrative (that titilating 6-min scene from Heat is a great testimony to Mann's confidence and control over his subject). In Righteous Kill, these two actors are boxed into tight scenes with so much expository dialogue that instead of elevating the material to an actor's vehicle, they are reduced to caricatures of some memorable characters they have played in the past.

DeNiro's pout looks like it will burst out any moment, giving way to his inability to cope with substandard material and Pacino's uninspired listlessness through the film (until a point when he actually HAS something to do) speaks for an actor unchallenged to bring anything more to the table. Jon Avnet relies heavily on formula tricks that may only thrill a minority of the audience. A majority of those who come looking for 'acting' from these actors will find themselves sitting painfully through the duration of the film, sieving moments that reminisce the greatness of these actors.

The screenplay hosts the same scene about 7 times, in various places, delivering no new data on plot, neither providing any insight on character or story. Everytime DeNiro swears, Pacino restrains him. Everytime Leguizamo gets aggressive, Wahlberg holds him back - and this goes on for the most part of the film, with no acceleration of the plot, or the thrill. What would one call a thriller that doesn't thrill? A chill pill? Nevermind... the film is as banal as my attempt to make some sense of it.

A huge disappointment... Maybe everyone thought DeNiro-Pacino on the posters would bring in the audiences, or maybe they thought a formulaic thriller with a quick pull of the rug under the audience's feet was enough to justify the presence of both these actors. Either way, the film suffers severely.

Could this plot / storyline have been turned into a good film with better writing / direction? - Maybe, maybe not... but -

- Was a better script warranted to cast these veterans together? - Most Certainly!

P.S: An afterthought, if the film was instead titled, 'Name Game' - it could have ended just as soon as it got to it's plot.

Mumbai Meri Jaan - my thoughts

2008-08-24T11:07:00.006+05:30

We live in a dangerous world, teetering on the brink of terrorism, violence, resentment, suspicion and more negativity than we can handle as humans and Nishikant Kamat’s Mumbai Meri Jaan layers all these emotions into the cityscape and tells its story against the backdrop of what has become a commonplace in current day (which the director himself voices in a monologue reminiscing Chaplin in The Great Dictator); the tragic and unfortunate series of bomb blasts that ripped through the heart line of our city, what is now infamously known as 7/11 (depicted rather aptly through a sign post on the railway tracks). Mumbai Meri Jaan is a must watch; whether or not one identifies with the city or the millions of paths that cross each other in this overpopulated metropolis, anyone, anywhere will identify with the emotions that the film studies.

Told through multiple characters (boasting of a brilliant ensemble cast), parallel storylines which are not forced to coincide, the film starts with setting up the various characters affected directly by the bomb blasts and I would believe that is where the core chord of the film lies. The film tenderly portrays how these acts of terrorism against the human race affect us directly. Whether or not we have lost near and dear ones is irrelevant; the fact is, this consuming hatred does affect us all directly and if we haven’t lost loved ones yet, it’s only a matter of time before we do. In the same monologue mentioned earlier, the director also adds that the next generation shall not know the difference between a safe world and one that is riddled with hatred; that is how fast we’re getting there.

Kay Kay plays Suresh, a lower middle class guy, harboring an insurmountable resentment against Muslims, who he believes are the root cause and force behind any form of terrorism (and I doubt if I would be wrong to assume that his character's standpoint sadly isn't a minority one even among the educated today). This suspicion propels him on a journey which crosses paths with Paresh Rawal and Vijay Maurya (in a role that I hope will finally get this wonderful actor the accolades he deserves), two Mumbai Police constables. Kay Kay’s journey climaxes in another scene with Paresh Rawal, where his character finally finds a reason to have faith in humanity once again. Paresh Rawal brilliantly plays out this scene with a great dose of appeal to reason, while subtly underlying it with humour. The cop scenes in the film, especially those between Paresh Rawal and Vijay Maurya are so marvelously alive with opinionated insights and character nuances that I felt each policeman serving us today deserves a Jadoo ki Jhappi – if that is one way to redeem their thankless jobs towards making the city a safer place to live in.

Soha Ali Khan plays a journalist with TV News. Her storyline is one that is loaded with satire and cynicism on the absence of quality and absolute abuse of journalism, that even as her character deals with the loss of a loved one, I heard giggles and laughs from the audience (myself included) at moments that everyone instantaneously identified with. Our mainstream journalism today is at best a mockery and at worst, the nadir of a profession that has the power to at least enlighten a society, if not awaken it. The one thought I had while watching this storyline unfold was whether those insinuations would make at least one journalist change his mind about reporting news that he himself believes is not any worthier than garbage. At least one… which brings me to Madhavan’s character, who voices the same opinion: change always starts with one and if it even sustains as such, it can result in a mass movement. The only character who I found sticking out in this film without a good reason was Irrfan’s (and in my humble and ardent fan opinion, wasted in this role).

This is not a film review, only my thoughts as I sat, smiled, nodded my head in agreement, in appreciation and clapped a few times at the points of view presented in the film. Here is a film with a voice, asking to be heard and I, along with a substantial audience, paid heed to it with all due respect.

At the interval point, I wondered where this film would go in the second half. It could’ve turned into a plot-based thriller, but the direction that it does in fact take, is what I now happily believe is the far better option. Any machination of plot would’ve ruined the humane element and rid us of the hope the film delivers. As a film Mumbai Meri Jaan is filled with pregnant hopes for a better tomorrow and a more tolerant future, which right now seems like the only hook upon which mankind hinges. Watch it just to allow that voice to reach you, for that hope to be infused in you, because without it, we’re dead already. These thoughts are coming from a hopeful cynic who doesn’t want to belong anywhere, because belonging comes at a price.

I say to you Yogesh Joshi (writer), Nishikant Kamat and UTV for bringing us this motion picture, Salaam Meri Jaan…

It all comes down to nothing, or does it?

2008-08-21T16:22:00.006+05:30

It all comes down to nothing
The end, the beginning, the journey
Would you rather sit on a beach with a book in your hand?
The footprints you leave, time will wash away
But walk everywhere I say, walk as far as you can see

Stretched out ahead, lies a future to unfold
So many stories to emerge and be told
See it the way you must and you will find
A reason to get up, make the most of your time
But then it all comes down to nothing, or does it?

His story from yesterday is his walk in his time
Bearing all his passion, his thoughts and his action
Some day he may have felt like letting it all go
Because it all came down to nothing
He couldn’t, he didn't, but did he ever know?
That his walk in his time would be my light today
To walk through the tunnel, find my own voice, to say
Walk everywhere; walk as far as you can see
It’s just the design of time
Everyday is passing, everyday will go
And then a new one for you to hold
Make the most of your time; can you do that for me?
I, who someday, hope to hear your story,
Do it for me…

What if God...

2008-06-25T14:34:00.003+05:30

We’re closer through another day
To the day we will surely burn
Every effort desperate
To divert this collision course
All along the way, wondering
But darling, wandered… we have for sure
So far away now, everything seems obscure

What if God came to us to say, it’s okay
Would you then come home to me?
Celebrate the spirit set free
When the ice in the box melts to water
Could I flow with it into you?
If not for our dreams, where would we be?
The wine trickles down your neck
Smoke mixes with the dripping sweat
Wet; as if timed to the flood outside
The world stranded; a day denied
Time stopped in its tracks
To tell us we were never wrong
Just in a place where you couldn’t breathe
So it took some time, coming home to me.

For all the lessons we’re taught
No wonder we’re told not to question reality
That’s why they call a dream a flight of fancy
But don’t let those words fill your head
Dream, baby dream on - for
If not for our dreams, what would we have?
If life is for real, why must we fear what we feel?
Let us act, take it all the way and say
If life must be real, this is how it must feel

And then if God passed us by and said
I made it so just so you know
It’s only they who live, who dream and dare
It’s what love can do; breathe life into a life that’s dead

To Burn, in Love...

2008-06-18T00:04:00.006+05:30

There are questions to which we don't need answers; just the questions will suffice, for good. If answers were to show us the way, we would all have to stop living and start waiting for someone to shine a light.

I wonder now, as I truly hope I wonder when I'm at the fag end of this magical journey called Life. A school which prescribes nothing; only allows a platform for each. Here you are Person - this stage is yours. You are its only benefactor, its only user. What you create here shall be yours alone. You are the writer, the actor, the story and the only motive for creation. If you wile it away, it shall only be your loss. If you make something of it, you shall have left behind some traces for those who shall set foot on this stage someday to talk about, to think about... to wonder about.

Today, as on many other days, I wonder what love is. Must it have a material connotation; must it be inherent to a personal relationship; must it be integral to a marriage?

Would it suffice to love someone without redemption? Could that be love if it doesn't redeem? How can one redeem oneself in love? Isn't love the redemption itself? The fact that you can feel 'love' for another, even if it be for reasons that are purely selfish, isn't that the redemption that love gives to the lover? Here you are, you are able to love another; that is it - that is all you can get from 'love'. Would that be enough? Is that how it is supposed to be?

I believe I am capable of love, to the extent I understand or want to connote it. When I believe I love someone, I believe I talk of an emotion directed at a person that makes me feel better about myself, for being able to love that person. Is this unnecessarily twisted? Am I indulging in circuitous reasoning to lose myself in the maze of words and emotions so I don't allow myself to find clarity? For, if I did find an answer to these questions I fear I shall be unable to love anyone except myself? Is that how it should be? Love oneself only because you can't truly love another?

But when one does love another, again, in twisted, circuitous and selfish ways, must that love lead to anything? There are some tag words that come to mind when Love is mentioned - a relationship, a marriage, sex, togetherness, happiness etc...

At my stage of life, in my state of mind - the tags that attach to Love are - truth, independence, sex, commitment - and maybe in that order, though I can't swear to it. Hence, marriage, a committed relationship and those tags that are considered conventionally healthy are not anywhere on my priority list. Does that make my love frivolous? Does it taint it with lust and greed? Is that contemptible? Aren't they natural? Who defined the wrongs? Those who couldn't tell how much was right, or those who needed to exempt their own wrongs and were in a position to lay down the rules of those wrongs, so they became above question?

We are a black and white society, the greys are brushed under the carpet. Any society for that matter would have started off as such; its the need to regulate that necessitates protocol. The need to regulate comes from as much a right as it does from a wrong. The right need is to be able to dispense fairness, equality and justice; but the fact that it must be dispensed implies a position of power and power connotes corruption.

When the most primal and basic fabric of emotion cannot be split any futher and Yin must exist with Yang and know that never shall either exist alone, can I be so arrogant as to believe I can beat that design?

I love her. The fact that my love is as much right as it is wrong is the nature of it. I want her, I'd give up nothing to have her, except herself, except us. I have her in every way except the one way I want her in; and I want her in that one last way because its the only way I cannot have her. My love shall destroy my love itself.

I quote words of a poet whose words resonate with a friend, who in turn, unfailingly picks my most vulnerable moments to let these words 'find' me (and I love you for it just as much as I hate you for it)...
'Ek chota sa lamha hai, jo khatm nahi hota,
Main laakh jalata hoon, yeh bhasm nahi hota, yeh bhasm nahi hota' - Gulzar

I try everyday to stub that flicker, but it subsists and grows within me. My love, my sin, my lust and my life is only worth a moment in itself; but if and when that moment flickers out of my fantasy into my reality, I will burn.

I will burn in that same fire.
I will burn and turn into ash, taking with me everything beautiful we had, everything we created - leaving behind only ashes of what once was.

I won't burn because I want to, I will burn because in it shall be the only truth we could never have - 'to have, I must burn.'

And I long... to burn, in love...

I will burn for you, my love... for us.

Going Back

2008-05-26T11:01:00.006+05:30

I think I’ve seen you before
Before; before I went and lost my mind
I feel I know you somehow
I do; I do though I can’t remember how

Break down this wall; I can’t see beyond which you lie
Lie, you lie; and I’m sure I’ll find you there if I try
I do, I will; but I can’t go that far
Would you please take me back there?
Would you? Do you… still care or
Have you moved on, beyond… me!

I lie desolate, on sanitized sheets of white
Under dim white lights, in this grey room
My mind’s playing this game
With me, with you; if you’re still in the room
My room, this room; how it spells desolate
The gloom; so pronounced in your eyes
I see the look I saw in reply to my little lies
To you, when you came through… to me
Like a mother to a child, holds it close to her chest
No matter; no matter what its sin may be
Like you held me; through my years of deceit

Deceit; the seeds of which I sowed in our lives
I; I wish I could do something to take it all back
I wish; I wish I could give up my life
That night, the first night that I came home to you
Lay beside… and saw your eyes…
In reply… to my first lie…

Four Degrees of Separation...

2008-04-28T15:45:00.004+05:30

... from Robert DeNiro! That's right! Read again... I said, Robert DeNiro!

I presume the most obvious question you have is... HOW?

So here goes...

1986 - Robert DeNiro plays Rodrigo Mendonza in a film called The Mission. The film is directed by Roland Joffe.

2001 - Director Roland Joffe works with an Indian writer for an Indo-US co-production. The film has not been made until date, but that doesn't take away from the fact that Joffe did work with the writer on an entire draft. That writer is Bijesh Jayarajan.

2008 - I work, as a Writer with Bijesh Jayarajan.

There you go - Robert DeNiro (actor) - Roland Joffe (director) - Bijesh Jayarajan (writer) - Kartick Sitaraman (to be writer, shortly).

What say? Lame eh? Nevermind, I say. Lame still beats 'absolutely nothing'.

I'm the Fourth degree of separation from the man himself! DeNiro, DeHero!

My day is made. So is another post, mindless hi sahi...

See you soon

I Don't Get Up From Here

2008-03-26T17:36:00.004+05:30

A feather in the wind I was
Drifting through lands, over seas
I’ve seen the sun torch the ocean
I’ve slept under moon lit nights,
With dreams of tomorrow burning bright

A floating piece of wood I was
Traveling on waves, across seas
Soaked wet by the time I was adrift
Waves carried me through seas of time
Scarred and burnt, except for the light inside
To feed hope; my eyes on the horizon

I was wishing for the music to fall on my ears
I was waiting for the rhythm to start my pulse
Inching my way on the bridge across time
A pedestrian’s sole wearing out the heat

Until I came to the sky
Upon which I saw your face
Dressed in white, dignified in grace
Dance with me tonight
To the music of the winds
The look in your eyes
Our only light tonight

We don’t have tomorrow
No home to lay inside
But under the open sky, the blanket of the night
I beg you girl
Hide me in your arms
Hold me with such care that
When the day breaks out, my love
I don’t get up from here to dress

Fast Food Nation - my thoughts

2008-03-06T11:08:00.002+05:30

Richard Linklater's film is about the ‘fast food’ industry, as the title suggests and is based on a book by Eric Schlosser, who also shares credit for writing the film version, along with the filmmaker himself. The film trails the journey of illegal Mexican immigrants who are smuggled into the US of A to work as cheap labour in a major food chain supplier’s meat producing factory, which goes into the American Dream burgers.

The film starts with Greg Kinnear, a top executive Mickey’s, a large fast food chain competing with a dozen others from KFC to Burger Kings to McD’s. He is called in by the CEO and told that there is a strong buzz doing the rounds that the meat patties that are supplied by UMP have a unusually high and potentially threatening levels of fecal coliform (read: they got ‘shit’ in their patties) no pun intended! It is one of those dirty corporate secrets that everyone involved is aware of and no one wants to talk about, lest the word get out and they get sued for a substantial million dollar amount – sound familiar? It is. From thereon, we follow multiple story lines, involving Kinnear’s investigation of what’s actually going on, or going wrong at UMP, to a UMP Hitler-esque supervisor who fucks every moving thing with breasts and an ass, to a Mexican woman who comes into America with her husband and a group of strangers and mainly, Amber, a counter girl at the Cody’s outlet of Mickey’s, who is made for better things in life.

A major feature of Fast Food Nation, besides the potent subject material is the great ensemble cast including Greg Kinnear, Bruce Willis, Ethan Hawke, Luis Guzman, Kris Kristofferson, Wilmer Valderrama (the guy who plays Fez in That 70s Show) and Ashley Johnson among some other very credible performances.

While the multiple story line narrative poses some restrictions on character building, the short lengths in which the stories are told are quite effective. Linklater doesn’t impose his material upon the audience and I think there is a good reason why that call must have been taken. One must also consider that the original literature piece, Schlosser’s 2001 non-fiction bestseller was a direct hit on the industry and its ways, while the film adapts a fiction format, though staying well within the tested docu-drama genre. I would imagine that another good reason for the call could also be to avoid being self-righteous or capitalize on sensationalism. Rationalizing further, that tone wouldn’t appeal to the youth. Linklater tells his story, with each of the characters and their contexts, as parts of the food chain, all of them trying to come to terms with their reality and the ideal. Especially with Ashley Johnson’s (Amber) storyline, taking her character of a bright, small town, teenage girl who finds her ideological passions with an eco-friendly group of fellow-students, Linklater provides very interesting perspectives as he did in one of his very early films, Dazed and Confused into the minds of the American youth, their beliefs, attitudes and resultant or inexplicable behavior.

The one aspect on which I did find the film lacking on control was the emergence and disappearance of sub-plots, the most interesting of which was two student workers who man the kitchen of the Mickey’s outlet as they dabble with the idea of a heist on the cash counter fades in and out as if it never happened in the film.

Bruce Willis who makes a 1-scene appearance as a VP who works a ‘little too closely’ with their suppliers, which may explain his viewpoint on the ‘cow manure in the meat’, Ethan Hawke’s 3-scene appearance as a free-willed and encouraging uncle to Ashley’s character, Kris Kristofferson who also does his 2 scenes and never reappears are good actors that may have served the film well if they had stayed slightly longer and were not mere ‘commentators’ on the story.

All said and done, I would say Fast Food Nation is a film with its heart in the right place, though the tone and execution, with a bit of adrenaline may have made a more impactful film.

Micheal Clayton - my thoughts

2008-02-23T15:19:00.009+05:30

Directed by : Tony Gilroy
Running time : 119 minutes

When you go into a film that’s been heavily nominated in various categories for a prestigious award, you do so with expectations. Clayton rides on those expectations and gives you back enough to come out feeling ‘cinema has some meaning’ – it is not meant solely for entertainment purposes, there is an aspect of meaningfulness and posterity to it and films like Clayton reinforce your faith in the potency of cinema.

My awe right through and after the film was reserved for the veteran writer Tony Gilroy who makes his debut as director with Michael Clayton. When you’re many films old as a writer and are writing your own directorial debut, chances are that you will put more into it than you do for other films. But Gilroy restricts himself beautifully in his own creation, not letting the writer get the better of the director. I’m not aware if he intended to direct the film since its inception or decided upon it later, but either ways, both aspects of the film are so balanced, it is hard to believe that there is only one man behind it.

From all the promos that I saw of the film, I was led to believe that it was a character story, of Clayton, a fixer in high-profile matters, working for a law firm or contracted by them as and when things need to be cleaned up. However, the beauty of the writing and the direction takes you from the start that the film promises and moves you so swiftly into another zone, of a story told time and over again that you hardly realize you have made the transition until much later. Let me explain briefly why that credit must be given to the writer / director – (SPOILER AHEAD) the subject you have is that of a leak which can lead to a multi-billion dollar civil suit (sounds familiar? Ref: A Civil Action, Erin Brokovich, The Insider etc) – now your challenge as a writer / director is to tell the same story in a way that it feels new, exciting and involving. Clayton delivers on all counts and also avoids being homiletic or making it a ‘personal battle against the system’ film (though some of those have also been brilliant ones). (SPOILER ENDS)

When the story begins – Michael Clayton is dispatched to Milwaukee where his colleague and personal friend, Arthur Edens has, in a moment of insanity or divinity, your perspective varying upon which side you belong to, stripped naked in a deposition room, in a multi-billion dollar class A action suit and is now being held by the police. He represents the law firm whose client, uNorth is, as has become a great American tradition now, in the wrong. But money buys most good things on earth, most importantly the best of lawyers, but excluding, as in this case, the insane ones or the ones whom the light of revelation has shone upon. The film begins with a Tom Wilkinson's voiceover (a great performance by him), which, later in the film, becomes significant in this context.

Michael is supposed to control the ‘issue’, which translates into his objective i.e. to get Edens admitted into a facility which reassures their client uNorth that Clayton’s law firm is on top of things and which also ensures that the law firm’s merger with a British partner comes through without hassles. However, Clayton is unable to get through to Edens, he hears him, but doesn’t listen to him. Clayton is the only man who wants to protect Edens, while plugging the hole in the wall that Edens has caused. For other stakeholders, Edens is a thorn that is going to burst an inflated balloon.

Clayton is not in prime form either, with his personal life scattered, his bank balance not adding up enough for him to save a restaurant that he hangs on to as his ‘getaway’ when he wants out and a potential hierarchical problem at work which is imminent with the merger taking shape. For the entire length of the film, until the pre-climax, Clayton, the janitor, is in dithers with the mess he is expected to clean up. No matter which way he goes, he finds himself banging his head against walls, with nothing giving way. In a softer scene, Clayton pleads with an elusive Edens saying, ‘What do I have to do to get through to you Arthur? Because I really need to get through to you.’ But he doesn’t, not to him, not to anyone.

George Clooney is thoroughly convincing as Clayton, and while bringing the hard-headedness that is intrinsic to his character he plays it with such vulnerability which keeps you so close to his character that you never leave his side. Tilda Swinton as Karen Crowder, the chief legal executive of uNorth is as believable when she is playing the hard-boiled top executive as she is in her personal moments of diffidence. Sydney Pollack brings great authority to the part of Marty Bach, one of the partners of the enormous law firm and Clayton's one-time mentor and seeming friend.

The only time in the film when I felt the film walked along with the audience instead of ahead was when it comes back to the first scene and we see things from a different point of view. While I believed this sequence lasted longer than it must have, it did lead up to a rather deserving crescendo in the following scene when Clayton meeds Crowder. (SPOILER HERE) He tells her, ‘I’m the guy you buy, not the guy you kill. Are you so fucking blind that you can’t see that?’ (SPOILER ENDS)

The revelation I had midway through the film was that in films like these, the audience is put in the place of God. While every character only has his or her micro view of the world, it is only the audience who sees everything, like we believe some God of ours must. The saddest part is that we can do nothing with that knowledge; we can’t set anything right; just like our God can’t either. The battles must play themselves out, it seems like the only option, possibly the worst one, but then again, life without reality’s bite would be utopia, wouldn’t it?

Watch Clayton – as soon as you can. Good films don’t last long at theatres. Buy a DVD too if you like, but watch it in the theatre, give it its due. There aren’t many films that command it nowadays, let’s do what we must for the few good ones.

Wicker Park - my thoughts

2008-02-18T13:38:00.003+05:30

Good films are those that leave you asking for more when they end. That is a given and proven theory. Hence, the corollary of it would be: a bad film is one that finds you wanting it to end much sooner than the film gets to it. This corollary is true of Wicker Park. It starts off in an interesting fashion, though a little too silent, at a risk of losing its audience’s interest. For a film that seems like it will get ahead of itself, Wicker Park is a huge let down. With every passing plot point, which start coming in too late into the film (after 50 minutes or so), the film gets dumb and dumber. So around the 75^th minute you’re thinking, ‘oh come on, just do it now’ and the film is saying, ‘hang on, bear with me, I promise I will get better’ – only, it doesn’t. Wicker Park is a credited remake of a 1996 French film called L' Appartement, which I haven’t seen. So no comparisons here.

That said; there are some aspects of the film which I did like while trying to enjoy the movie experience. First and foremost being Diane Kruger for a reason best known as ‘Ohh, so beautiful!’, but even that couldn’t keep my attention through the film. As far as performances go, Hartnett plays a guy he plays in most films, from 40 days and 40 nights to Pearl Harbour, a likeable, somewhat fuzzy headed, restrained everyday guy. While that stereotype pays off in this film, it makes his character seem like lacking in depth at the point where he comes to what should have been the big showdown scene of the film and ends up being midway being a whimper and a soft-hearted tear. This scene leaves you wishing that someone had decided not to make the film. But for a good part of the narrative, Hartnett gets you to empathize with his character, given a ridiculously flimsy plot and contrived coincidences on which it hinges.

Matthew Lillard plays Luke – a wannabe cool dude stereotype who is Hartnett’s closest pal and is quite enjoyable in his scenes. In the same ‘crucial’ scene of the film that I mentioned earlier, I empathized the most with his character, though we stood at opposite ends of the knowledge continuum; he knew nothing, I knew everything – and I felt for him.

The editing style was a visually pleasing effort – though the editing itself cannot be appreciated much, except that the one saving grace of the film is the non-linear narrative which might have impressed some of the audiences for whom the structure may have delivered the ‘wow’ effect. But what I enjoyed about the editing was the style in which the swift split screens are brought in, mostly at the right moments, how the parallel visual split also brings in multiple time lines into the same screen. Nicely done!

Let me tell you as briefly as I can, without letting much out about the story / plot – we open the film with Josh Hartnett, a photographer, engaged to a girl whose brother’s ad agency needs him to leave for China on an assignment that very night. In the first chance encounter at an up-market restaurant, Hartnett seems to have run into an ex-girlfriend of 2 years who, we find out later, had left him high and dry with no note or anything, after which he moved to a different city, found a girl and came back to the city which he left, to have found her today (or is he hallucinating?) when he is supposed to be flying out of the country. One writer’s fancy follows another and after a long/ silent wait, we nosedive into a series of coincidences which get more and more ridiculous as they are thrown at us. Oh, did I mention multiple time-lines? The movie flits back and forth between the backward narrative of how Hartnett and Kruger got together and their backstory to the forward narrative in which he follows a series of clues in trying to find her again, which also leads to the only scene in the film which I found thoroughly interesting, which is also the introduction scene of a pivotal character.

On second thoughts, something in L’ Appartement must have inspired the team to make this Hollywood no-brainer flick. I am intrigued now… if anyone does happen to catch the original, do write in to let me know what you thought of it.

Can We Beat His Design Baby?

2008-01-31T19:33:00.000+05:30

So much has gone by
While I was here thinking
I’ve just started out
She came to me
Must have been by sleight
So kind, she was, so right always
About her, about me

One night – if that’s all we have baby
Would you rather have me?
Live forever with my memory?
Walk away now if you can’t
Can you and I beat his design baby?

I said, if it feels right, let go now
If you drift into me, your mine
If you don’t, maybe you’ll be better off
Don’t ask yourself what may become
If you find the warmth against my chest
Take it for a moment
I will hold your tears on my shirt
Never wash them away
If that is all you leave me with
Could you live through nights of cold?
Feeling the fire of our hold?

But baby, if nothing ever again comes close to this
Be as brave to replace what you will miss
We will have left each other scarred
Never wonder if I will still cry as hard
And you, my love –could you go on?
With your heart bleeding by this knife
Drops forming an ocean
Of all that could have been
But couldn’t, can’t and won’t ever
‘Cos you and I can’t beat his design,
Or can we baby?

- Kartick Sitaraman
Our conversation left me hurting from our memories.
Though I could say nothing to you when we spoke,
I hope you will know what you need to, here…
just so you know you're not alone.

Darkness wins over Light

2008-01-22T10:35:00.000+05:30

Right is wrong; wrong is all around
Your arrogance, your pride, your world
It’s all going down
Show me your face now,
Where you gonna go?
I’ve shut out the last door,
Watch my dark take over your light
Black is white, but white shall never win
Do I hear you wish you were on the other side?

Take your belongings, you don’t belong here
I don’t give a fuck if you don’t have a place to lie
This is my roof and this is my land
You want to fight? – Sure –
It’s my sword against your bare hands

Black is white and white shall never win
I won’t stop at you, or your kith and kin
Don’t ask for justice; not for truth to be told
Open your eyes, the gates of hell unfold
What is it you ask? Do I have no mercy?
You can’t penetrate my sensibility
This fight is not for honour or for pride
In my dark world – I damn truth, might is right

Dare glare into my eyes, red with insanity
I own the ground I tread, every piece beneath my feet
Upon orders from my will
Lay quietly down, concede.
Clear out this land, this is now my country
Your grave lies in wait;
Let me lay you in your home

Call upon your guardian angel
Ask him to lay his cross upon my feet
Surrender – accept defeat
It’s your only chance to rest in peace
Watch me as I trample upon your soul
Where is he now – that holy guardian of yours
Right is wrong, I knew it all the time
Who, do you think, put that thought in your mind?

The Lord whom we defied

2008-01-05T17:38:00.000+05:30

This post has a back-story, which is not imperative to it's comprehension, but since I am one to indulge you obsessively with back-stories, I thought...

J writes a blog and her recent post was 16 lines of sentence starts, with no sentences following those starts. This piece is my completion of her starts.

Do I resolve to get up?
Or should I just lie
Maybe I am floating
Or I can forever deny

Not everyone believed, nor had faith
But all dug there; where the legend lay
It is true; nothing awaits us beyond the horizon
And maybe we shall see the truth someday

Could I be the one to lead you away?
Why am I holding the torch, when I don’t see the light?
Probably, it shall burn our past
Or am I still trying to belie?

This is all we have, staring us in our face
Because nothing before and nothing after shall remain
Never again shall you wake up, my brother
And I light us now, here’s to you – the lord whom we defied!

If Only You Would Speak

2007-12-23T09:19:00.001+05:30

How I wish you would
Engage me in a conversation
Tell me what’s on your mind
Pour out your heart of gold
Even tears and curses
Are welcome with me
I can give you my attention
If it means anything

How I wish I could help you
Find you a magic wand
Cure you, cleanse you, melt your heartburn
With a touch of my hand
How I wish you would talk to me
Even if, infrequently
Instead of the pillow
Leaving tear marks that I can see

With our yesterdays broken
Lying battered and bruised
We have just tomorrow
And the old dream of a smooth cruise

Some promises, some memories
Some nights under dim lights
We have much to fight for
How I wish you would fight
But the silence is killing
How I wish you would speak
Hurt me with your words
I will take it with hope
You can curse me and hit me
Or cry on my chest
You can have me as you like
If we come through this test

In whispers and sighs, remember?
We spoke into nights
With a longing never fading
Under crumpled sheets of white
Now unspoken desires lie
Under those sheets
With a promise of tomorrow
If only, you would speak…

Inspired by ‘Heart Full of Holes’

by Mark Knopfler from Kill to get Crimson

Flesh Hunter

2007-12-16T17:26:00.002+05:30

Hooked onto his lies
A few, enough to get you
What he’s after is your skin
Riding on course through drinks and dim lights
Morning come, he’s gone
No note or a kiss on the cheek
Throwing emotion to the wind
He’s gone hunting his next fling

Between pleasure and desire
He immolates you nonchalantly
Someday may come to haunt him
While he hops from bed to bed scot-free
Don’t fall for the passion in his arms or
The way he clings to you, like a moth to fire
Daylight burns him off any bond
He walks away, to lay down another one

In his own hand, he wrote his death wish
Before hitting the highway on his self-destructive drive
Throwing emotion to the wind
Wrapped himself with a blanket of insolence
To let no flesh prick his pride

Cast his eyes upon his first prey
A queen of emptiness; beautiful by skin no doubt
He said, ‘hey, would you like to get a drink’
After a few and later that night
The flesh hunter was born, as his victim lay
In pleasure of the hour before

The price of drinks, his pass aboard the train of flight
Conversation too much to give, so he lies
Tossing smiles between lecherous eyes
Don’t fall for the passion in his arms or
The way he clings to you, like a moth to fire
Daylight burns him off any bond
He walks away, to lay down another one

Listen to him laugh
Flash and wink, enough to get you
What he’s after is your skin
Riding on course through drinks and dim lights
Morning come, he’s gone
No note or a kiss on the cheek
Throwing emotion to the wind
He’s gone hunting his next fling

Friends and strangers are alike
In the pursuit of the next sheets
Lying under which he vows
Silently, as the other sleeps

What I started out to find was love
To have and to hold
To see into her eyes and find myself
Having all of her, but wanting more
How did I come to this?
Could I be delivered?
Meanwhile, this loneliness of mine
Finds its vent inside her void
The rub of flesh to flesh, how
It fills me with fuel to carry on
Until a morning comes to life
Holding me back, not wanting to move on

Flesh hunter, searching eyes
A ready to flash smile
Bucks to play another night, the same old drill
Riding so, on course, until he
Can't get himself to use her as a kill
Wants her, to have and to hold
Find himself looking into her eyes
Knowing he has all of her and wanting more…

Kartick Sitaraman
16^th December, 2007

This is the first piece whose Second Draft, and not the First has been posted. It's not important from any other perspective except the vanity of the incident itself.

Charulata - my thoughts

2007-11-26T17:41:00.000+05:30

Directed by: Satyajit Ray

Charulata, ‘The Lonely Wife’ is a 1964 Satyajit Ray film, based on a short story by Rabindranath Tagore. The story itself is set in 1870s in Calcutta. It’s the story of a woman, Charulata, a lonely wife (as the title suggests) and has 4 other characters – her husband Bhupinath, her brother in law, Charu’s brother and his wife.

The film opens in a large palatial house where Charulata wanders in loneliness. Her loneliness is depicted through her environment; an overwhelming house, contrasted by the stark absence of people. She passes her time watching people pass by the street, through a pair of binoculars. That is the closest she gets to human contact, apart from instructing her old, partly deaf servant to deliver tea in the office (Bhupinath’s printing press in another enclosure of the house). Life passes her by from a distance. Metaphorically, her husband also does the same. He passes her by as she stands in the corridor. She uses her glass again to see him walk off and then the camera pulls back with a jerk, rather rudely disconnecting you from her life. She is already disconnected.

What caught my attention in the first 5 minutes of the film itself was the geometry in Ray’s framing. I know geometry is not the best word to describe the exaction of his framing (which he was as famous for, as he was for the ‘symbolism’ in his films). The framing, the elements in the frame, the art design is so carefully detailed that in no frame do you see empty spaces without a reason. Every element inside the frame talks, the character is silent – it’s a great metaphor for loneliness as well.

Then, once the human inter-relationships come into play, i.e. after the entry of Charu’s brother and sister-in-law and Bhupinath’s brother Amol, the film escalates to a new level in a revelatory display of human relationships and the under-layers of the different characters.

You start off with a husband who seems so lost in his world-view of politics and honest journalism that you begin to feel that Charulata only exists in his life to serve food and tea. However, Ray adds another layer to this character in a later scene. Bhupinath talks to his brother Amol, a writer, asking him to nurture Charu’s latent talent for writing. We realise that Bhupinath does understand her, he wants to connect with her but can't. So, he realises a dream for her, weaves it in his mind and then devises a way, through Amol, to execute that dream for her; not realising the simmering love that Charu harbours for his unanchored, free-willed brother.

Let me just describe one more scene before I finish. This is a most fantastic depiction of the control that Ray boasted of over the craft, without ever boasting about it. This scene starts in Charu’s bedroom with Amol, Charu and her sister-in-law. The sister in law sticks out like a sore thumb between the two other characters. She's a woman; a woman by gender and nothing more. The brilliance of this scene is how Ray establishes that through Amol’s character while she is planted in the scene. He then weaves the conversation around Amol and Charu to such a fascinating level that we forget about the sister in law. At this time, the camera is below eye level. We have only Charu and Amol in the frame and we have completely forgotten about the sister in law and then suddenly, we hear her snoring as she is lying next to Charu on the bed. Then the camera dollies up to reveal her. My mind suddenly went, ‘Fuck! She's been here all along?' This is the director showing himself off in the most beautifully subtle manner... 'Aah, you forgot about her, didn't you?' That is a storyteller bringing his A game to the screen and in his case, I suspect it was much before we even had a benchmark for it. I am certain he's laughing gloriously someplace in heaven right now.

The best and most fascinating aspect of this film was how Ray mounted his scenes and his characters, leaving many windows through which you could see that scene, those relationships and the film. He doesn’t point you to a window. He does his thing and says, ‘Yours now! If you think this is how it is, then it is. If you think otherwise, then that is how it is.’ It works every which way. Now that is some serious magic and mastery.

There are 5 other scenes that I had specifically noted down while watching the film, but I don’t want to talk about them. Just watch the film.

We’re half a century behind him, in chronology and sadly, in thought. So far ahead of his times, so far ahead…

Pigeons on the window sill

2007-11-22T13:16:00.000+05:30

Foreword

This is the first post on my blog that is authored by someone else.

While this post succeeds ‘One Night Love Affair’ and is written by the dedicatee of the same, it is not in any way either a follow up to it, or on the same train of thought.

I received this in reply to that post, and felt I should post it here (with permission from its author of course).

- Kartick

Pigeons on the window sill

I see them sit there, as one takes the place of another. There are three of them now, two trying to please the third, puffing their throats and cooing their way into her heart. Which one will make it I wonder?

Suddenly one of them flies away, afraid, leaving the turf clear; and so there he is, the victor, the one who gets her. He does his best, he coos to her and does a dance, but she maintains her distance, her head held high.

His antics get louder, more desperate, more dramatic. She takes notice, but it’s not seen in her actions. He's trying to get close to her, but she strays away. He pecks her on her mouth and she finally gives in!

They run around, playing, feeling, kissing, biting; he mounts her, their bodies shudder and shake, and in a flicker the labour is over, the moment is gone, the fire is out, the love is over.

They fly away to their own separate worlds... the pigeons on the windowsill.

- 'That's Me'

One Night Love Affair

2007-11-21T14:50:00.001+05:30

Oh this wind that hits my face
Cutting through my windbreaker
Cuts my skin hard,
Exposing the emotional underlayer
All it took was a note from you
Saying you wanted me here
Am on my way, driving blind, except on faith
Putting to test the top gear.

You had me at your feet last night
Fallen in love with you again
Lying stripped naked to my bare bones
Until you wrapped yourself around me
And we couldn’t take it any more
When you touched my face and asked
Why I didn’t give us the chance when we had it
I would have given anything I could to have you
Beyond a one night love affair

Oh how we made it last night
Lying on the roof, as the god up above
Hit us with hard rain
In each drop that fell upon your body
I saw moments that we missed
In a life that could have been
But I couldn’t taste your sweat
I didn’t see that bead run down your neck
I knew your hair was wet from the rain
Not from the passion of our love or from pain
When you held me inside you
Wondering if this was true
I caught a moment in your eyes
Enough to lie down beside you and die

Incessant in its fall
The rain finally brought down the wall
Unspoken words, unsaid
Until you cried upon my chest
Until I gave you all I had, I ever could
In your bed, up on the roof
In our minds, inside our heads
We lived that life we could have had
Lived it up each moment up to dawn
Though our one night love affair

When morning came and it found
Me, lying in your arms
My face buried in your neck, at last
Resting where it longed to belong
Everything around us bore
Testimony to the night before
Our bodies so beautiful, in bare
From our one night love affair.

It has been long... very long since I could write a poem.
It came to me this morning; and I felt the wait was worth it.

Kartick

Absolute power creates an OSO

2007-11-12T16:22:00.000+05:30

King Khan said in an interview to Taran Adarsh that it is a belief in his office, among his staff and himself 'ki agar SRK ke saath kaam kiya aur film ne paise nahi banaye toh kya kaam kiya.' It's a great spirit and I have huge respect, admiration and an unmitigated jealousy for what the man has achieved in the land of a billion dreams.

However, when he hands the reigns of such power to a storyteller with absolutely no respect for the medium, or her audience and says, 'I'll give you myself, a 6-pack, a couple of score crores , the best technicians in the business' and that's all that the director in effect gives back to an audience, I feel it was the absolute power, arrogance and audacity of these people that created an Om Shanti Om - with no respect for a film-loving, star-worshiping audience. It's as much our fault, our cock-sucking populist demand that supplied an OSO to us. We brought it upon ourselves.

I hadn't planned on writing this post, I avoided it stubbornly for the last 2 days after having voluntarily put myself through that 2 hour and 45 minutes of mindlessness and a damage of a few hundred bucks, but I'm here now, and I'm going to make this worthwhile.

Most people I know are loving OSO, including very close friends whose judgment on other things I have deep respect for. But when they say I loved OSO because it entertained, I feel we have derogated ourselves to a position where these people in power throw pieces of stinking carcass from their high-towered castles, and we lap it up, and sing their praises. It's not plain disgusting, it is self-annihilating, but we go on loving every minute of it.

I have nothing against commercial cinema, I have nothing against commerical cinema making money, I am not an art-house purist who only wants films that are pushing the boundaries of the medium.

But I shall not take an ill-conceived, unbaked piece of filth and devour it because it came from the kitchen of those that I put in that position. OSO is testimony to how a filmmaker and producer can take their audience for granted. We'll put SRK, with his 6-pack, with a stunning lady clad in an addendum to a bra for most of the second half, a nonsensical screenplay and an even more ridiculous script on film and get away with it! No... they can't, they shouldn't.

Am not saying we must boycott these films because they are commercial, or because they are made purely with a profit motive and nothing more. Every film has to make a profit for the team behind it to survive and I'm completely for a profit making venture. But while you keep an eye on profits, don't turn a blind eye to the quality of the product you're putting out into the market.

We as a consumer nation evolved in the manufacturing and services sector. We opened our gates to international competition and said we'll play you in our field. Those who didn't stand up to the test were wiped out, those who got better survived; but most importantly, the consumer 'moved on' to a better quality standard. The supply curve readjusted to a new qualitative demand curve, and I believe we will need to push the demand curve upwards on films.

It will take time, but I'm hoping we get there before we subject ourselves to worldwide ridicule as a 'song and dance' filmmaking nation. I realise we offer that better than anyone else in the world, so must we remain as such, and never move up the value chain?

Our IT industry made and probably makes a bulk of its revenue in providing low cost, labour based services to international clients. But once the pioneers in the industry stuffed their revenue base, they realised they need to work their way higher in to the value chain.

I can't say if in films, as an industry, the pioneers have made their money as yet. I have a feeling we're good, but I could be wrong. My only point is, the revenue pioneers needs to push the cause of cinema as well while stuffing their bottomlines - if that cause is left to the alternate wing to provide, then we're fighting a terribly tilted losing battle. There is no way the Sudhir Mishras and Anurag Kashyaps can do what the YRF/ UTV / Red Chillies can, given their revenue bases and industry control.

Lastly, but most importantly, the consumer in us has to wake up and say, 'I'm not taking shit anymore. It could come from the biggest star of the industry, but if its below quality, it will burn in hell and so will the maker for having not put in enough effort.'

I don't wish to grudge SRK's success, I love him offscreen when he is not acting. I love Farah Khan's work in choreography, hell I even liked bits and pieces of Main Hoon Na... but an effort like OSO needs to be rebuked (in my personal opinion). Go do your homework first. Give me a story, give me a good film, and I am all yours to be entertained.

A 6-pack ab is poster material, it doesn't warrant a 40 crore film. (I don't know if the film cost 40crores or more or less, it's largely irrelevant)

Absolute power has corrupted... someone has to clean up the system now. We can start by rejecting filth. The supply curve will shift.

This article was published on www.passionforcinema.com.

A Mighty Heart - a mighty story

2007-11-02T12:34:00.000+05:30

Some films are such powerful stories before they get to film that you adjust yourself to it once the mood and tempo of the film is set. A Mighty Heart is a mighty story in itself, you know that before you walk in. What you want to know is how the movie is going to tell it.

Michael Winterbottom is reputed as an intelligent, sensitive filmmaker - this from reading about him and his films. He brings both aspects in full glory to the reel with this film.

By design or default, and in retrospective it seems just right that the film started without much ado. I mean that literally, we sat down after the National Anthem, and the credits rolled, just like that. No ads, no stereophonic sound design for the title shot of the production house, nothing. As if Winterbottom had that planned and said, 'let's get on with it.'

The film opens on a day, just a day, like the one that had passed for Pearl and his wife and the one that would have followed, if not for his kidnapping.

Daniel Pearl was a WSJ reporter, working on a story for which a contact through a chain of contacts has setup a meeting for him with a particular Sheik Gilani. Later turns out that the chain of contacts and fixers include some shady characters. However, this is not Danny's story, it is Mariane's - his French wife, a journalist and an expecting mother.

This isn't a plot based story, the plot is irrelevant and far too complicated for it to have become a picture as powerful as A Mighty Heart is. This is the story of a human tragedy, Danny and Marine's at an individual level, and of a confused, bitter society of extremists, who live in a state of suspended human values, reason or sanity.

The film, for its most part is set in the front section of the house of Hasra Numani played (rather, beautifully underplayed) by Archie Punjabi. Hasra is an Indian by origin, works with Danny at the WSJ, and is on the story with him. The other characters include some known faces in Will Patton who plays an American consulate agent in charge of diplomatic security, Irrfan plays Captain Javed Habib, head of the Pakistan CID and Aly Khan plays a jihadi who plans and executes one part of Pearl's kidnapping.

Other characters include Danny's parents and sister back home, Danny's friend and colleague called Steve, Danny's boss at WSJ and Javed Habib's rock steady right hand man. These characters inhabit Hasra's house for the 5 weeks of the search and most of the screen time. It's pointless in talking about individual performances, they are perfect in the context of the film, and more perfect than that is Angelina Jolie's performance as Danny's wife. At no point in the film, including the scene when she finds out about Danny's death does the performance get emotionally overbearing. Angelina lives Mariane and lives her as if she WAS her. At the end of the film, during a sombre going-away dinner that she owes to these people who put their lives into saving her husband's she says, 'the motive of terrorists is to terrorise people, and your efforts are not in vain because I don't feel terrorised. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me.' She says without a tear in her eye, she holds herself in the same disposition through the film when anyone except her occupies the frame - it is the undying love for her husband, her stubborn hope of seeing him again, and in the end, the new lease of life in their child that she finds her courage and her reason for life. Danny never gave in, and neither will she.

The film is just about that, about her story, her version of what these people went through in those 5 weeks.

However, from a pure 'film' perspective, there is so much more that Winterbottom has incorporated into his film. If it wasn't for this enormous human tragedy that one genuinely experiences, the film would work just as well as a political drama, as the story of a victim trapped in an indecipherable system where each player has his stake to protect, yet a duty to fulfill. On another level, it's a great character film. It's a fantastic script, which straddles between the tragedy on a larger level, to weaving in elements of unintended humor and the beauty of everyday-ness into the lives of those around Mariane.

At some moments in it, I was reminded of Syriana, where each character only holds a small perspective within a perspective so large that at some level it doesn't make sense at all, but somehow in pieces it does. Similarly, in A Mighty Heart, in the huge scheme of things, Danny was one piece of perspective that these characters held, while various other players i.e the Media, the US Government, the Pakistani government, the Jihadist organisations, held other pieces which resulted in Danny becoming a price that his family had to pay.

Danny's story is allegorical to the truth that surrounds us, the reality of the insanity that our world is. It is heartbreaking in itself, yet in Mariane's version of it, she pitches in the positive side of humanism - through courage, will and hope.

Anurag Kashyap - Goddamn the man

2007-10-27T03:05:00.000+05:30

That bastard! He makes films; and someday, I will too. But I could never consider myself to be in the same profession as him, in the same league, in the same space. Goddamn the man. There is no God who created men as equals. Men are not equal, they never will be.

I have just come back after watching No Smoking. There is nothing I have to say about the film. There is a lot I want to say TO it's creator. I'm seeking some help to be able to reach this to him. I want him to know what I felt after I saw that film. That being audacious enough, here is my communique...

Dear Anurag,

The most contemptible feeling of frustration that a man can have is to be standing at the doorstep of deliverance; being at the gate of entering a world he seeks to enter, a world he has sought for with his life, his dreams, his work, his passion, his every expended energy, only to know that he cannot ever take the final step to enter it.

You, among many other influences brought to me a dream, a fantasy which has shaped into an active pursuance of the art of storytelling. I am just starting out, I have many a tides to sail over before I can hope to get to that doorstep. Yet, while I've just pushed myself into the high seas in a small rocking boat, you have given me the full realization of the fact that when I reach that doorstep of deliverance, I shall stand outside it, knowing I could never enter it for it hosts you.

I hate you Anurag, with as much hate as my heart will allow me to harbor against a man who has done me no wrong except bring to me the realization that I could spend my life and every expendable ion of my energy in trying to achieve what you have and know that it is in vain. I hate you because I cannot love you and I cannot respect you because I don't understand you, I cannot relate to you, I cannot bring myself to exist in your space and I couldn't want more than to do it.

I sat through No Smoking, immobile and in utter contempt for how humiliating an experience it was. To know that someday I shall be in the same profession as you, yet know that I could never inspire as much or extract such contempt from another person.

I wish I never had to feel this way, I wish I could come out of that film as many others did, mutter some imperceptible, insignificant words and go home with indifference. Or I wish I could come out and say 'What a great film, wish I could make something like this someday'. I am incapable of doing either.

I had read in an excerpt somewhere that when Alan Resnais came out of a theatre in Paris after watching Godard's Rules of the Game, he sat on a pavement for some minutes, immobile and unable to get his body to respond to an order to get up and walk away. I went through the exact same motion, though completely involuntarily when I walked out of Huma Adlabs, Kanjurmarg at 1.25 am, an hour or so ago. I chain smoked three cigarettes for they were the only avenue available for me to personify my contempt for you, until I came home and found another avenue in these words.

I hate you because I can never live up to the benchmark you have set for a storyteller to achieve. I wish I could love you, how I wish I could love you, but I can feel only hate and despise at the moment. Even in that hate, I cannot hate you with purity since I hate you for what your work achieves, AND for showing me what I cannot achieve.

I realise this mail must sound overbearing and probably pretentious, but I cannot do better.

When I shall become a storyteller myself, I will re-read this mail every time I feel I have told a story to my best capabilities, and afterwards, I shall start from scratch all over again.

It is a most sacrilegious disgust at my own inabilities that I go to bed with tonight.

I wish I could love you.

Kartick

The 20s Odyssey

2007-10-21T23:25:00.000+05:30

I'm a compulsive, embarrassed and self-admitted non-reader of newspapers. Became one by default, I had nothing of interest to look forward to in a newspaper. Slowly, that escapist tendency became way too easy to give and go back to reading those '32+ x' pages. However, every now and then, I find reason to feel like a loser for my lethargy with the paper.

Here's my latest reason, and it doesn't get any worse than this. Such a beautifully written piece and I would've never known about it if not for mom. She handed me the paper saying, 'This is what you strive for, and exactly what worries me...' I was in half a mind to give it a skip after that introduction. But she persisted, and I'm glad she did. Moms... best thing to happen to mankind. :)

We're in the best time of our lives. I doubt if we realise it, let alone appreciating it fully. It's that time when everything is achievable, when the world is waiting to be conquered, when life lies ahead on a 'long road' waiting to be tread upon, and we spend so much of our time planning for destinations that we hardly bother to look at what's passing us by.

But the wonderment, the need to explore, the fear of what we're letting go, yet the excitement of what lies ahead... the wonder years. Here we are, right in the middle of it!

I insist you read this article. It's beautifully written, radiant with thought, entrancement and gratification. Find it here.

The happiness in small things

2007-10-08T13:06:00.000+05:30

I'd mentioned in a previous post that I'm beginning to find happiness or satisfaction in little things...

Shukla and I had planned a 'smoke' together to celebrate my office-coming. (Shukla works in Dubai, so we smoke physically in our respective locations, but co-ordinate it on cyber space). We had that smoke today, and in the course of that smoke, I found happiness in another small thing and also material for this post.

When I walked into office in the morning, I found a security guard standing outside our new office. The old office (for digital entertainment) is on the 6th floor. Our new office (TV & Films) is on the 5th, and hence, a new security guard has been stationed outside starting today.

I sat on the staircase with my smoke and noticed that he was still standing. Investigations (I've just begun work on a crime fiction show, and that's why the term) revealed that he had not been given a chair as yet since it was his first day and he was due to receive it by the end of the day. I wondered how someone could be left standing for a whole day outside the office, when the office had so many spare chairs with no one to sit on them.

I asked our office boy to give him a chair from inside until he got his own chair sanctioned and actioned, that could take a while in a 'large corporate setup' believe it or not. In 10 seconds he had his chair, I had my moment of satisfaction and this post.

It's largely insignificant, I know; this small moment, but it was worth that smoke. That, in itself is very rare. He insisted on standing while I was still outside. Now, am inside and I hope he's stationed himself on it for the time being.

In our fast and ambitious daily lives, we tend to... well, you know the rest of it.

I promise to be back, though I don't know soon. I write now only if I feel I want to say something. I've been told by a few of you that you visit this page expecting a post, and return disappointed; with no post, and probably with my lethargy and inaction. I'm quite flattered at the comment or crib, whichever way you look at it. I only hope every post is worth the wait. It is for me.

Johnny Gaddar - my thoughts

2007-09-29T16:00:00.000+05:30

Johnny, Johnny Gaddar, thoda pheeka hi sahi, par dum hai yaar...

I am a huge fan of the crime fiction genre, whether in print, or on film. While the last few years have witnessed an overload of cop and underworld films, I doubt how much of crime fiction-telling we've done as an industry. I can't quite dish out a list right here, right now, but I don't think we're masters of the genre. In such an industry, Sriram Raghavan (writer / director JG and Ek Hasina Thi - a telling film) is an exception, in talent and more so in his body of work. He was also involved with the TV show CID since its inception and while it hit big with the TRPs. He, for sure is a die hard fan of the genre, and a master story-teller (from what I've heard and read about him).

Now before we come to the film, let me put on record the fact that THIS is NOT a review. These are purely my feelings after watching the film. It's more an emotional vent than a rational analysis of the film, so please excuse me to that extent.

The film started off in the way a 'con gone wrong' film is supposed to start. The con is laid out for us, so are the players. That is where my interest lay. Who's playing, and how are they playing? The group dynamics are well laid out, the controller (Dharam paaji, beyond even the acceptable now... ab bass paaji), the tiff-makers (an interesting combo of Zakir and Vinay), the brute (Daya Shetty from CID) and the brat, introducing, Neil Nitin Mukesh Mathur (I've read various combinations of his name in various articles, sab milake itna banta hai), in what could have well been his dream debut. He delivers in parts, doesn't in others with the balance tilted more towards doesn't. However, it's a good start, nevertheless. Neil is also, by the sly, in 'love' with Zakir's wife played by Rimmi Sen. You might be thinking that's not a good idea for two guys who are part of the same gang, and you're right. Further, we go.

From the outset, Rimmi is on Neil's case to upp and leave, both his 'business' and the country. That's the single motivation for Neil aka Vikram aka Johnny Gaddar to walk down the 'dark path' as Dharam Paaji says, and light the trail of crime and punishment (I borrow that phrase from Bhavani Iyer's article on the film on pfc, and Mayank's review in the paper today).

The film is supposedly Sriram's tribute to the genre and his inspirations. In accordance, we see references of Johnny Mera Naam and Parwana, and a novel by James Hadley Chase. The film itself seems to flit between scratchy production design, coupled with careless lighting, and at other times, moody ambience and lighting and a rare craftily executed physical combat sequence. The scratchy parts hurt the film's mood and rhythm.

Some of Sriram's recent inspirations, namely Shakti, Parinda, Ghayal and Satya are all films about characters, not about the crime. Likewise, JG in its form, is about its characters. It is a con gone wrong yes, but the film is more about the effects of that wrong, than the con itself. Hence, the film seems to be flawed in its form (from my recent and limited understanding of these concepts). I wished in retrospective that Sriram had brought us closer to the other characters because when they start falling, you don't start caring. That I thought, is where the film fell short. What kept me plugged in was that midway, I realised that was where the film was headed and then re-tuned myself to watch it with that perspective.

Every character has a back story mind you. The problem was that it seemed to me like those stories were card boarded, rather than cemented. Dharam Paaji with the tape of his deceased wife's rendition of 'Mora Gora Ang Lai Le', Daya with a mother suffering from Alzheimer's and in the course of his frequent visits to have pataoed the nurse, Zakir with his questionable marriage to Rimmi and his obsession with Vinay's gambling den property, and finally, the most rounded of all characters, Vinay with his beauty parlor chalane-wali wife (that's the second in 2 back to back released films mind you, Gul Panag does the same in Manorama SFU) played with great charm and affection here by Ashwini Kalsekar (again from CID, and more recently from Siddhant). Even Vikram's story is rather flimsy. He is in love with Rimmi, though that love hardly manifests itself in anything except her constant persistence to get out, and his constant insistence that he can't quite yet. There again, the film loses some points. Maybe it's the expectations from the man that don't quite relent, or the lack of substance that doesn't quite elevate itself to its maker.

I won't get into the actual chapters of the film. It would be a killer to read about it here, and my greatest complaint with Mayank Shekhar's otherwise brilliantly written piece on JG in Mumbai Mirror today is that he killed the film way too much. A thriller is supposed to reveal as little of itself anywhere except in the actual film. It's a cardinal sin for a professional critic to have written so much about a thriller in his review. Such reviews should be subject to legal action on the basis of 'loss of revenue accruing from excited pup behaviour.' Nevermind.

In it's philosophy, the film is bang on. On the path of crime, layers of betrayal, treachery, malice whether voluntary or involuntary, and then the need for redemption are so intricately interwoven that it is only the punishment of the crime itself that can peel the layers off, and in its aftermath leave behind the core of human nature: the inexplicable want.

With every new film I watch, I wonder how many people are able to actually see the film in its finished form right at the beginning. Diagnosis is always easier than prognosis, no doubt. However, these are people at the top of the profession, if they can't do it, who will?

I've waited for more than a month for this film to hit the screen. While at some level, all that anticipation and great expectations from JG and more so Raghavan, dampened the ultimate experience, the film did fall short of delivery even otherwise. Yet, I look forward to Sriram's next. If he can't do it, even RAJINI KANT! :) Come onnnnn Sriram... !!!

Looking back, looking ahead - 10th - 15th Sept

2007-09-14T09:15:00.000+05:30

Dear Readers,

On PUBLIC demand, this post is back and it feels good to be back. 5 people = public enough for me to write this post. The 2 new additions from the three I'd mentioned earlier are my dearest sister Rupa and a relatively recent friend, Chandni.

I'm growing up and am very glad about that. Since growing up essentially means change, let me try and articulate what Delta Change has been, so far.

I'm turning outwards, coming out from my cave and I could go on using more metaphors, but I think you get the drift by now. But, that's not it. In doing that, I realise that am opening myself up to so much more than before, quite naturally ofcourse. What it's doing to me is helping me see things through a different filter. Small things make me happy (it always did, but I didn't allow that happiness to last very long back then). 2 small things have happened in the week gone by, and that's what I'm going to talk about in this post.

Monday, 10th Sept, evening, location - the editing studio at Adarsh Nagar Andheri (was editing a film for corporate training for Preeti), time - around 9pm.

Message alert tone - 1 message received , from Vivek

- Vivek is my friend, and also we philosophize (is there a word like that?) and has been the most guiding friend I could ask for. He has stayed up nights, helped me produce a jingle for our college festival for free, and then, the most fondest memory I have of him is when he asked me to sing on a jingle he was doing as part of his demo (this was about 3 years back or so)... ever since then, that one jingle keeps igniting my spirits to get my voice back, and get back in a studio to do one more song, even if just one more... and am now seriously working on that.

The message reads - 'hey, i was just listening to the cholamandalam track now (that was the track I had sung on). will surely use your voice man'

For a second I didn't believe the message, that moment was my suspension from reality. For me, singing for Vivek is equivalent to singing for Rahman, in fact those are the two musicians I wish I can sing for.

That was my first small victory for the week, the fact that I have a renewed hope now, provided from outside. This is now a certainty, only a matter of time. Cheers to everyone who thought I could sing well, who ever complimented me on my voice; I'm forever grateful to you, because apart from my own desire, it's all of you and your faith which will culminate in my standing in that studio room again. Thank you, this is my reward and my redemption in your eyes; maybe not yet, but in time.

The second victory came the next day.

Tuesday, 11th Sept, morning, location - home, time - around 9am. (I must shamefully admit that I WOKE UP to it - disgusting. But I was in the studio last night until 1 or so)

I wake up and find - 1 message received, from Mangesh Borse
- Prof. Borse alias Mangya alias Mango (as Chief and Shobha call him - they've worked together in the past) was our Advertising prof in Welingkar. One of the only two people from college whose lectures I faithfully attended and one of the two people who showed concern for me, my career; basically one of the two profs I 'talked' to in b-school. The other being the legendary Prof. R. Venkatesh alias Venky.

The message reads - 'hi, would you like to come for a mentoring session tomorrow?' I called to enquire what that meant. He said, "I want you to talk to 2nd yr students about a career in research, and besides that, I want you to talk to them about your passion for filmmaking, and how one can turn a creative passion into a profession over time."

Sounded a lot deeper than I thought I was qualified for. After all, he is the same person who called me when he found out that I quit campus placements to get into films, and also when he found out that I quit Drshti without a job in hand to say, "I'm going to kick your ass, why do you do stuff like this?" He was candid enough though to talk about that in class, apart from other things he mentioned, some things I didn't know off until now. But most of those things added up to my small victory.
My proud moment was that I was called from a batch of 300 odd of us who graduated in that year to talk to these guys.

I like these small victories, I'm beginning to enjoy them. These milestones along the way. Someday, if I get invited to any of the IIM's (Mani Ratnam was at IIM-C last week apparently) or better still, the FTII, to talk about anything, I will remember this small victory.

I'm on my way!

Hmmm... 2

2007-09-09T21:56:00.000+05:30

The title rhymes with Dhoom 2 (D silent). I started out to write a very personal post today, but just as the page was loading, I started watching a news program on NDTV, and now I dont feel like writing that post anyore.

The program was about how ill-doers invade someone's cyber space and blah blah - basically side effects of putting your life up on the public domain. Not like it opened my eyes to the reality. It's stuff that you know even otherwise, but when it's presented in such starkness it somehow manages to sting you. I'm upset. I don't know if I've been frightened by the program, but the fact that I've decided to shelf that post for the moment should mean it has done damage.

Matlab, where do we go from here? Kahin toh kuch chain ho yaar. Bheed mein bhi agar insaan akela na reh paaye, toh kahan jaaye koi? Yeh log saale sab jagah parasites ki tarah ug aate hain. It's naive ofcourse to hope these miscreants trip into hell, either by design or default, but that's what I'm really wishing right now.

Maybe I'll come back later to write that post I wanted to write.

Am submitting to my fear.

Hmmm...

2007-09-03T22:57:00.000+05:30

Aisa hai, ki aaj tak yahan sirf teen tarah ki blog entries hui hain.
1. Poetry (or what I would like to pass off as such. Mera poetry hai aakhir, abhi aapun ko itna hi aata hai toh kya karen? Aapun koshish karta hai...)
2. My thoughts on the movies I watch and feel like writing on from time to time
3. The daily diary that I started to journalise my 'struggle days' to get into the film industry.

Besides these three type of entries, there has been one on Shantaram. Ek woh tha, aur ek yeh hai. This post doesn't fall into any of the above categories either, but I needed to write. I've been feeling that for a while. I haven't come to this page in a couple of weeks and I'm letting go of the discipline again.

The last couple of weeks have been good actually. Am doing work that I love, and though it might now SHOW on my face, I truly love what I'm doing. Ofcourse, needless to say, I wish I was a lot better at it than I am, but my incompetence in every sphere of my life is something I'm trying to accept as a given and marking it as an 'Attention Area'. But I'm not going to talk about that, this post wasn't part of the daily diary, so I shall let those insecurity demons lie for now.

Soldier, Parry and Suchitra are three people in particular who have asked me why there is nothing new on my blog. Shek also drops me stinker mails saying, 'Update your blog, gaandoo'.

So here's to the three of you. Thank you for bringing me back and right now Parry in particular. He's been on my back since yesterday, and I promised him 20 mins back that I will put up a post immediately, and if you're wondering why this post is making no sense whatsoever, blame him. He wanted it, I promised one, and I'm delivering it. Well, can't thank him and blame him in the same paragraph right? Damn, I hate being a nice guy... so...

I will blame him in the next paragraph! Ok now?

Oh man, I'm making no sense at all... this is pretty much like RGV ki Aag. I also thought of writing a piece on that, but there isn't much to say about it. After Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, I was angry. After Aag, I was feeling sorry for how the world is going to crucify RGV for this film. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but I feel sorry for where he has brought himself. What a brilliant filmmaker. Newspapers have been reporting that he has gone into hibernation and is untraceable. All I'm hoping is, while the world is trying to find him, he is able to find himself and come back as the guy who gave us Shiva, Satya, Company and above all, Rangeela! Dhoondho dhoondho zara usse...

I promise the next post won't be gibberish. Filhaal, thanks for tolerating me.

Looking back, looking ahead... - 5-12th Aug (Part II)

2007-08-14T21:49:00.000+05:30

I was at Sudeep's place on Saturday night (4th Aug). We were awake till 5 in the morning. I drifted into sleep, and woke up with a start at 7 in the morning. I had something to do on that Sunday.

I had a singing voice, a good singing voice. I never trained. Though I did learn Carnatic classical for a few months, I never practiced. Somehow it never captured my imagination. My lack of discipline then, a medical problem in the form of nodules in my vocal chords, lack of willpower to quit the smoke-stick, a general lack of sustained inclination to sing in a studio and some other less pinnable elements have left me with 'I HAD a singing voice'.

Every now and then the inclination to sing in a studio resurges, it fills me with anger for how I have wiled away a talent, and how I could've achieved a lot more with it than I have. One name that burns like salt on my wounds is Naresh Iyer. We were learning music at the same time, with the same teacher. A couple of occassions, we even had our classes together and hence sang together. Although, I didn't learn much, or enough; he, on the other hand did most things right, I would presume, which has today won him a National Award for Roobaroo (from Rang De Basanti). As if singing for Rahman in every album of his wasn't enough. Since the time I found out it was THIS Naresh Iyer who is singing for Rahman, my inclination has been on a steady level, if not rising. However, that apart, I still have the medical problem that I haven't been able to work around as yet.

All that apart, I can still sing, to whatever extent possible. For the last few years, since the advent of the original Sa Re Ga Ma with Sonu Nigam, we have seen the Talent show explosion. Everytime one of these new shows started, I would be told by someone who has heard me sing, no matter how long back in the past that I should try my hand at it. I've heard comments like, "arre woh xyz aur woh abc jaise log sab us program mein gaate hain, toh fir teri awaaz toh usse definitely better hai." But everytime I heard one of the better guys on that show sing, at his best, I knew I was nowhere close to being able to achieve that level of singing now. So I let go of Indian Idol, Sa Re Ga Ma Pa, Fame Gurukul, Fame X and Super Singer (btw, Naresh Iyer had auditioned for Super Singer and I doubt if he won it, but that's where Rahman picked him up from).

So this time, I made my mind up to try my hand at Bathroom Singer, by Sahara Filmy. I know, the title isn't quite encouraging in the right sense, but given what I had, I thought this was the only place for me.

So at 7.45 on Sunday morning, I joined the long line of hopefuls, dreamers, crooners, some not quite crooners and above all fellow 'Bathroom Singers' outside Goregaon Sports Complex. Since I wasn't prepared in advance for the event, I made my list of songs while I stood in line, I had over 7 hours to practice, and finalize my list. When I got into the room for my audition, I started with my recent favourite Bavra Mann. After a few lines, I was asked to sing another song. I started with Pukarta Chala Hoon Main. Next, Badan Pe Sitare. Next, Hum Hain Raahi Pyaar Ke.

Only saw 3-4 lines from each song. I was told, please expect a call from us. Meanwhile, I'd seen him write YES on my form, so I imagined I'd made it to the next round. I was happy! I wasn't as good (or bad) as 'everyone' there. I was better, even if only slightly.

Next day (Monday 6th Aug) was round 2. That morning was the first time I met with Bijesh. When he left with, “I will call you on Wednesday once I have figured something out for you.” I wasn’t so sure he would call back. I had my apprehensions, and almost a feeling that this was going to be another of those 'filmy' meetings I had had with people in the last 3 months. But I didn’t have much time to ponder over it then. I rushed to Goregaon for my second round auditions for Bathroom Singer.

Monday, of the few thousand people who'd showed up on the previous day, around 30-40 had filtered through. We were told to wait our turn, and things were progressing very slowly. I had carried Shantaram with me, and found little to complain about immediately. I immersed myself in his journey to Prabhaker's village, and how he was christened Shantaram.

Again, I spent, or invested an entire day for this event. This time however, I wasn't standing in line outside the gate, but sitting comfortably on a chair inside, with Shantaram. By late afternoon though, I was beginning to lose my patience. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast in the morning and was getting irked at the snail pace at which things were moving.

Anyway, after a round of venting with the event organizers, I got back to Shantaram. Also, a young pretty girl, part of the event team, with a pleasant smile, provided eye candy. Around 8 is when I went in for my audition. It had been 8 hours or so, without food, with water. I was tired, bored and more than anything else, happy that I was going to be done with it now.

I entered, and started with Bavra Mann again. Slightly lower pitch than I should've taken, with the benefit of hindsight, but it did exhibit my bass in good measure. However, every song has a feel to it, and I feel now that maybe I lost that feel with the lower pitch. Suddenly a voice interrupted, it was Ravi Kissen (one of the judges). Introduced himself and Shibani Kashyap (the other judge, remember a song called Sajnaa from Waise Bhi Hota Hai -II? Was sung and compsed by her). I was asked to sing another song. I chose Jeevan Ke Safar Mein Raahi, by Kishore da. I think I had it going well, when I was stopped again and told, "hum ek aisi awaaz talaash rahe hain jo khuli hui ho, aapki awaaz khul nahi rahi. Aapki awaaz mein woh 'jhaag' nahi jo hum BS mein dhoondh rahe hain..." And that was it! My tryst with my vocal horizons came to an abrupt end, within 30 seconds.

I came out, and my first thought was, 'well this is what I was expecting. Why does it hurt?' It probably did because I was used to being told I was good at singing. I used to know I was good at singing. And here, I was told I didn't have enough 'jhaag' to make it to Round 3 of BATHROOM SINGER! Couldn't get much worse than that. But it did. The fact that I had resigned myself to be rejected, to not make it, to know that I wasn't good enough. I think all those feelings did me in.

I've been practicing, not with the intent of doing anything with it, but just to keep my voice in check. There's a message I sent to Vivek earlier in the year when I was in Delhi on work. It was to the extent that I wanted to record for 2 people, him and Rahman. Rahman for obvious reasons, and Vivek for having given me that first feel of what it feels like to record in a studio, to listen to it back home, to have others swear by it, to 'record', and more than anything else, for the friend that he has been to me. The only way I can think of paying it back to him. There's no logical explanation beyond that to it.

As of now, I am going to find a way to sing, with the nodules still lodged in my vocal chords. There must be a way to do it. I need to find it.

Shantaram - a life lived through a book

2007-08-14T18:10:00.000+05:30

When I picked this book up, I had little clue as to how it would leave me. Now that it has, I despise the fact that I went through it so soon. I have no comments to make on how good the book is. This write up is about what it has left me with.

Ritika and Soldier have also read the book. You will find some excerpts from the book on Ritika's blog (http://houseoflearning.blogspot.com/2006_06_01_archive.html), but it was their comments which got me writing this to them.

"There's so much and so many in that book that will haunt me for a long time. Karla, Prabhaker, Didier, Lisa, Abdullah, Nazeer, Khader... it's a life that I can only live through a book. It's sad that I am not built that way. I don't measure relationships in absolutes; in terms of life and death. I live in relatives.

I'm sharing an excerpt from a chat with Suchitra here. I was very close to the end of Shantaram last night when we were talking. Read in that context.

'me: u know i am a lot more involved with a book than i have been with a film, ever. with every book i love, i hate it when i get closer to the end because i know tht with the end, a life within me will end, a part of me will die, and i fear tht i wont find it again, in any other book.'

I know I will find someone else in some other book, some other people, some other things I can relate to. I think a book involves me a lot more because I live my life with its characters, in that world for that period of time. Its part of my reclusive, introverted self going out and making friends, being with them - something I resist, whether consciously or otherwise, in reality.

Suchitra told me 'we will move on, and we move on faster as we get older'. I agree with her completely. A heartbreak is not of the same magnitude as it was the last time, the first time. We rationalise, accept or just get busy and move on... and that takes away the romance from life. It's sad, but true. Suchitra is my Karla; she tells me things which make a lot more sense to me in retrospective, while she has seen what is to come and said it in the present. She woke me up from my slumber, and has brought me to where I am today. I can't explain it more than that, yet she knows what I mean.

I finished the book this morning, and I've picked it up twice since, to read it again. But I've resisted. I cannot violate the relationship with it because it doesn't have a choice in the matter. But the life I lived with that book, that journey is something I will take a long time to get over. Lst Friday when we were at Regal, when I walked to the Mondegar lane to get my bike, I realised that Bombay in that place had changed for me, in an inexplicable way.

Acting is a scary job. If one can get so involved in just knowing about someone, I wonder what might happen when you're playing somoene else. "

Looking back, looking ahead... - 5-12th Aug (Part I)

2007-08-13T16:51:00.001+05:30

The Week That Was...

After about 3 months of deadends, breaking my head against walls that weren’t showing even a single crack in them, I can now look back and say it was all meant to be, and it happened for a good reason. Smile my reader, smile! Smile with me, smile for me and smile for yourself, your faith was not misplaced and at times when my own confidence wavered, the words of faith you instilled in me have finally come good. Take a moment here, and … smile! I am now a writer (Fiction – TV), with Tangerine Productions, a TV18 group subsidiary, venturing into Films and TV this year.

I had met Sameer Hanchate who, in the list of numbers he gave me had mentioned Bijesh Jayarajan, dialogue writer, and co-screenplay writer (with Sameer) on Gafla. So I messaged Bijesh then, and we have been trying to set up a time to meet ever since. It didn’t happen until the Monday that just passed; the second day of the most eventful week in my life since my Himachal road trip.

I had a very strong ‘instant instinct’ about Bijesh [and pardon me if my words and retro-fit analysis (Thanks Anna for that phrase… kidhar se seekha?) seem highly influenced by Shantaram]. Bijesh entered in a white spotless and well pressed half sleeve shirt and blue denims. His disposition had me thinking either I am going to like this guy totally or not like him at all. Over the course of our hour long conversation, I came to like him and realized he had a very mathematical / pragmatic way of looking at things, which I had to appreciate. I had never imagined a writer to be quite so disciplined, well-planned and organized as Bijesh. We talked then about movies, TV, writers, the industry, the studio model here, Hollywood many things… then he talked about what he was doing, and how I could work with him.

The part that struck me as odd then was that he never once asked me any ‘interview’ type questions, which was reminiscent of my interview, (which was not much like an 'interview’) with Chief (Balaji), Shobha and Sonul at Drshti. I liked that. He had accepted me as someone who will work with him while we were talking, and by the end of it, it was a question of what I can work on, and how we can work out the arrangement. Here’s another thing that he said which I was very appreciative of, “I am working on 2 feature ideas, which are very interesting. But the problem is, they are for friends and that implies that money is either not involved right now, or won’t be much. So I don’t want to involve you on that until I know how much I can pay you. That will make me feel less edgy.” I was in half a mind to tell him I will work for free on it just because you thought of that the way you did, but I resisted. One thing I don’t do easily nowadays is to commit myself. He left with, “I will call you on Wednesday once I have figured something out for you.” I must admit here that I was apprehensive about that. I wasn’t so sure he would call back. He didn’t know enough about me, hadn’t asked me much except what I had told him, we had discussed general movie topics and that was it.

Come Wednesday, he promptly called to meet the next day; which we did. That is when he put the offer on the table saying, “This keeps the money coming in on one side while you can simultaneously work on your own stuff, or we can work on the film scripts together. But the job gives you 2 things: -

1. money while you’re working on something else which doesn’t pay.

2. it always helps to write on subjects that are not yours. That way you’re broadening your own horizon, while you get to hone your skills, improve the craft.

Fair argument. Then came the dicey part… “See the money wont be much because we’re working on a development budget right now, it will basically be ‘aane-jaane ka kharcha’.” That got the meter down in my mind… 7500?… He continued speaking while my meter kept spiraling downwards, and at a scary speed. 5000?… “but jo bhi hai, thoda toh paisa aata rahega…” 3500?... “I can even tell you the figure if you want…” 2500? 2000? SCREEEEEEECH!!! BREAKS ON! Isse kam nahi ho sakta baap, I was thinking!

Then he spoke, “15000 is what we have budgeted right now.” BINGO!!! TRING TRING TRING TRING!!! Bells were ringing… of course its nothing. It’s about a third of what I gave up to come here, but it is also thrice what I would have made had I started out as an Assistant Director – initially. I jumped (mann mein jump kiya). Then we spoke about what I would be doing there… which is not quite WRITING so much as researching and developing. They’re in the development stage right now, so we are building the shows on paper right now, the story structure, the characters, the context etc…

So then, that’s that. The next chapter of my life, my journey in the film world begins. The prologue is over. I’ve put my first foot into the door. Now the real struggle begins. With the benefit of hindsight, it seems like this was the easiest part. God bless me for the Long Road ahead…

So then my reader, Smile with me today! We made it, and let's hope we will in the times to come.

Chak De India – my thoughts

2007-08-11T10:25:00.000+05:30

2 / 5
Director : Shimit Amin
Writer : Jaideep Sahani

Chak De India is a sport based film, and given that, it opens in a most predictable fashion – with the sport in action. We open on SRK in action – meet Kabir Khan, Center Forward and Captain of the Indian National Hockey team. They are playing the finals of the WC finals, which comes to rest on one penalty shot, to be taken by the cap himself. He scoops the shot, which misses the top rim of the goal by a few inches and brings the team to a disappointing loss. Just after, a journalist catches him on camera shaking hands with a player from the opposing team, and suddenly the entire nation has declared it’s verdict, labeled him a traitor, burnt effigies, and I’m wondering… hello wait a minute, isn’t this hockey we’re talking about? When the hell was the last time we heard / read / saw the mention of the game any where in the media, let alone TV channels going out on the street to get public opinion? Isn’t that a privilege reserved for Cricket? And how many more times are we going to play the ‘Muslim Indian needing to prove he is an Indian first’ card? Don’t we have anything else that can capture the emotion of a large audience? With that cinematic liberty taken, writer Jaideep Sahani and director Shimit Amin embark on a journey full of such predictabilities, emotional clichés and inconsistent character trait plagued script.

Next we know, we’ve fast forwarded 7 years, and our hero brought down is seeking his redemption and glory. How is he going to achieve that? By almost over-casually squirming his entry into the National Women’s Hockey Team as Coach and getting them to win the World Championship, due in 3 months’ time. Unbelievable you think? Like one of the hard-ass players in the team once mentions in a bathroom talk, ‘Apne India mein kuch bhi ho sakta hai’… likewise, apne hinhi filmon mein kuch bhi hota hai. Well, another departure from reality, another cinematic liberty!

Up to this point in the film, (which is only a few scenes), the film is almost running on auto-pilot; the first scene of some ingenuity comes up much later, in the dormitory. So then, Coach Sir Kabir Khan goes about setting up his team; he makes it clear that it’s either HIS WAY or BENCH PE. Anyone who doesn’t fall in to line, is to sit out all practice sessions on the bench. SRK in very SRK style (khalak se awaaz nikalte hue) says, ‘Is team mein ek hi goonda ho sakta hai, aur woh main hoon.’ From stammering and hammering in his earlier films, SRK now substitutes khalak se awaaz nikalna for the stammering, baaki sab same hai. Anybody think he is growing as an actor?

The scene just before the interval is clichéd in its use, but done with some energy and manages to keep us entertained. A fight breaks out with some local boys who pick on some girls and one by one, the entire team gets on them and turns the entire place upside down… all for Kabir Khan to make his ‘team-building’ point. I wonder if the Hockey Association would have foot the bill for that rampage. Up unto here, JS’s script is only about mediocre, but there are touches of detailing in it – Delhi boys picking on the north east girls, instead of the more conventionally appealing Chandigarh di kudi (Oye so cute yaar), or when the north east girls resent to having to feel like guests in their own home must be appreciated. However, it is also rather evident that he is more comfortable keeping the ‘north’ girls in focus because he understands that psyche and that language a lot better than he does anyone else’s. Well, every guy has an Achilles’ Heel.

Come second half, and our team flies down under, where the championship is scheduled to take place. Our girls and Coach Sir as well, suddenly seem to suffer from a total lack of the single minded-ness or the purpose of their existence as a team, and while other teams are training, and training hard; our girls walk around the entire stadium looking at the others train, and end up at the buffet – hogging. Then again we find them dealing with the same demons that plagued them in the first half, lack of a team spirit, playing for self etc… however, with all the odds against them, our team, still goes on, magically and makes it to the final. Great!

A serious character inconsistency was right at the end when SRK indulges in a private moment at a time when his character should have been with the team. If he did believe in INDIA first, then the team, and then himself, his private moment is not quite justified. However, he is the HERO of the film, therefore his RESOLUTION has to be complete, but once again, at the cost of the script.

What the film does manage to do is to get audiences to cheer for our team. But look at it this way. Had the theatre telecast a live match, India v/s Australia, would we give a prize for guessing who the crowd would support? That is about all that the film manages to get away with – not much. None of the subplots of the film seem to have been written with any thought. At the outset itself we have established that the women’s hockey team is not taken seriously, neither by the family of the players, nor by the association, nor by anyone except maybe Kabir Khan. Why did we need 2 badly and single dimensionally written scenes, between one of our players and the Vice Captain of the Indian Cricket Team to prove that? Where is the JS who wrote such beautifully and rounded characters in KKG / Company?

It is not, in the least, an easy task to film the game sequences in a sport based film, but a little more work could’ve added some visual chutzpah to an otherwise drag of a film. The camerawork by Sudeep Chatterjee is enough to give us a proper perspective during the game. He essentially establishes all his wide shots from the sideline and while we’re in the field, we’re only following the ball. However, what that takes away from us, is the dynamism with which the camera could have involved us in the game. We’re following characters in the film, not the game so much, while the camera mainly follows the game and not the characters so much. There is a slight discord there. The music is upbeat and keeps the rhythm of the game alive, or maybe even helps it a little bit.

Is it too much to expect some talk about the sport itself, in a film which is based on the sport? There could be 2 reasons why the writer may have completely avoided talk about the nuances or tactics or strategies of the game –
1. no research into that subject,
2. the fear of disconnecting the audience with too much game talk.
Scenario 2 could have actually presented a challenge to the writer, but he has obviously circumvented it by conveniently putting a commentator in the second half, who tells us exactly what is transpiring on screen, but there is nothing there that we can’t see for ourselves. Or was that meant to be ESPN radio-commentary?

JS seems to have sleep-written the film. I had great hopes from the film because it involved him (Company, Khosla ka Ghosla, Bunty aur Babli) and SA (Ab Tak Chappan – easily one of the best films of this decade, and most certainly one of the best in the Crime / mafia / cop genre). Just as I walked out, I got a message from a friend which said, ‘I went with no expectations and quite enjoyed the film.’ Sadly I couldn’t say the same. I could enjoy MYSELF, but not the film. Chak De India is a reasonably ok film to watch with friends. Go watch, clap for your team, cheer for them, and they will win the WC for you. But don’t expect any more.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead… - 4th August

2007-08-07T08:49:00.000+05:30

I re-established an old connection, and was even gladder to find that it existed in the exact same form it was left in… Sudeep (aka Bubla aka DOP from SRFTI) is a friend from Podar. We were the misfits, the questioners, the wanderers and today I can say we still are. I met Srijit (specialisation - Direction) at his place as well… there were 5 others I was introduced to, but Srijit, Sudeep and I had a long 3-way conversation over whiskey and smokes for a long time that night… I can’t say it was a particularly encouraging conversation though, but it was engaging and intriguing for sure… here I am, an MBA in Marketing, with 3 years of work-ex cumulative in Advertising and Market Research, and I found that I was no better or worse off than a bunch of graduates from a premier film school in the country, the Satyajit Ray Film & Television Institute, Kolkata. As Srijit put it, 'the 'break' of our careers (Read: lives) may be decided on a thing as random as a fart of a producer / director - accept it. This is the film industry, there is no science to it, there is no logic. It is LIKE THAT ONLY'. I can't accept it, but I have little choice but to live with it. I felt as soon as I stepped into that place that there would be a lot more frustration, despair and anger in that place than what I go through everyday, but those guys were surprisingly easy-going, or maybe they appeared as such with the accessories I mentioned earlier, or maybe Saturday night was their break from it all. I realised that we’re all fellow strugglers, irrespective of age, backgrounds, years in the industry, or any other demographics; we’re all on an uncertain journey towards a certain dream… humrahi in the safar (Read: SUFFER)!

Looking back... 4th August

2007-08-04T09:53:00.001+05:30

No post for the week gone by. While I realised I had a regular readerbase, comprising of 5 people, let's say.... I also realised that I had nothing to say...

Shukla asked me if I thought rambling online would help me write. My answer without hesitation was Yes. I am writing, am I not? To some it makes for mindless rambling (myself included at most times), to some it is tit bits on 'what the hell is this guy up to?', to some others it is their 5 minutes of amusement, to whomsoever it may concern - while there is a need for me to write, my post finds an audience (even 1 is audience, if that 1 is not myself). So I write.

Great NEWS!!!! An idea which languished in my head for 4 years has finally found itself on paper, my hard disk and someday, maybe on film. I've penned the 1 pager of what I can call my first original feature film idea. Its great - only from the point of view that I've started working on it. I have no qualms about the fact that it is not going to be a classic or a film that pushes any cinematic boundaries, it is going to be a story told. Period! That's all I want to do; tell a story, on paper and someday very soon, on film.

Now for the not so great news - well 'nothing' can't amount to news! So applying the principle of no news = good news, let's say I have good news about the past week... No news! :) Just about 30 more calls and 30 more deadends...

Am done...

Looking ahead now...

Leave your comments on the comments section here - what ever you guys tell me in person or on gtalk, tell me all that here... I want record that you said it!

Bow Barracks Forever

2007-07-28T10:40:00.001+05:30

2.5 / 5

I went to this movie purely because I try to follow small films, representative of the independent movement, to whatever extent possible. One good reason being, while we have witnessed a slow but sure change in the industry, to make a film like BBF and put it out there still takes some sort of conviction (read: BALLS) on part of the producer / distributor - and that I respect.

I liked the story, the setting, the world into which I was being taken and had completely surrendered myself to the maker even before the Dawson family moved out of the 'padha', which is where the story begins. The film is essentially about a 100 yr old building in Kolkata which is so seriously dilapidated, in its bricks as much as in its inhabitants, its sustenance is under question on a daily basis.

So we enter the building to find every family drinking out of its cup of woes, cursing the city, cursing their own fate, and yet getting on with life with either the false hope of a better tomorrow, or under false promises of a better tomorrow, or the utter desperation to escape this 'shitty' today. Welcome to BB.

However, that is about all that you get from the film, and that is where it disappoints. The film almost ends right where it starts, which is metaphorical with the lives of those it's dealing with. BBF is about the little things that life is made of, and those little things never change. Every little promise unkept, every small hope undying, and every dream unrealized is the humdrum of everyday life, which is how BBF keeps it. And suddenly towards the end, things change - because they only will when one's world is shaken.

However the journey, which is the quintessential of any dramatic film is made far less enjoyable than it could have been by poor scripting and weak editing. The film plays out like a stubborn tautology; in desperate need of a better writer and editor. With every subsequent scene, you are watching a scene that you have already seen, hearing dialogues you have already heard and witnessing events you have already witnessed... the film depicts the grind of everyday life at its most unpretentious, ingenuous and hence artless form.

The cast have their own shortcomings in an already suffering script (which therefore reversely demands more from the cast). None of the performances merit a mention, except that of Lillete Dubey's for the entire duration of the film. Victor Banerjee (I fail to see the calibre of acting that precedes his reputation, at least in the few films of his that I have seen) has his moments in the film, but can't say he's good throughout. Neha Dubey holds your attention for most part, but seems like she was cast because she would be able to pull off what the role needed more than anyone else the director could have thought of. Sabyasachi, does what he can to be a menacing bastard, but while we feel sorry for Anne (Neha Dubey), it stems more from the physicality than any layered characterisation. Clayton Rodgers, is unable to connect us to his character except in the climax scene of an outburst about him being a failure... the rest, well, not convincing, but they are there.

The production design is fantastic. What it achieves, given the claustrophobic framing kept through the film in all its interior shots is brilliant, I could almost smell the place. The camerawork, for the most part remains outside the characters; I presume, from the fear of exposing what has to be called shoddy acting, (and retrospectively, terrible dubbing). The audience's disconnect is as much the shortcoming of camerawork as it is of the actors.

However, at the end of it all, we're there to see the lives of these people, and for that, I enjoyed the film. It's a story of a world I know nothing about, and hence enjoy to watch. I only wish it was told much better.

*This review is published on www.passionforcinema.com

Looking back, looking ahead - 25/26th July

2007-07-27T00:44:00.000+05:30

Yesterday (25th) I was in no mood to do my everyday routine of calling / msging etc... took a break. Felt good, until my parents got home. Then the guilt, pain and the frustration caught up. Anyway, in my favour, I enjoyed yesterday. Finished off a couple of pending things, first among which was TAKE A BREAK FROM THE FRUSTATION!

I heard Shek's podcast inteview with Andreas Kluth (writer with the Economist). A good conversation that. Wrote a substantial 4 page document of my thoughts on the various issues - mailed it to Andreas. My 2 bit towards being 'heard'... this is another bit ofcourse... then I also heard Shek n Ritika's Bizination pod... oh btw, Shek and Aditya (his pod partner) are among the first young entrepreneurs on to the pod phenomenon in India. Check out www.theindicast.com for more on them).

Met Shek in the evening... he'd sent me an email, in the morning saying, 'Soldier - I love you. I will now send this mail without rambling anymore'. That was a kick start of a mail for me, right in the morning... I thought he'd shed more light on the diagnostics of it in the evening, but saale ne Zero watt ka bulb bhi nahi jalaya on the issue... anyway, its the thought that matters, plus I got 2 very endearing hugs (alas from a BOY again.... where are the women?)

Today, met with a company which is in the films business, but corporate films. Had a predictable interview there, not exicted about it, but its work, and right now that's very important for me. So that... they are to get back by next week, and frankly, I'm in selective hurry about it. In a hurry if nothing else works out, and hoping something else DOES.

Then I dropped in at Satish's office (ref to post on 23rd for background on that) to pick up my jacket which I'd left there by mistake. He smiled (I SHOCK - Aamir Khan style from Rangeela), and as if he was waiting for me to drop by, very warmly said, "hey Gautam has just come in. So I think you should meet with him... do you have a copy of your cv with you?" He took it, walked inside, and came out in less than 30 seconds saying, "come" I walked along, he sat me in a chair and Gautam and I took it from there...

Now opposites attract is a phenomenon that applies in the magnetic world, in the people's world, like attracts like. Gautam, I found out just quit a 10 yr long career in advertising and got into films... so we spoke like long lost brothers in a Manmohan Desai film... about the vagaries of the industry, paths, journeys, destinations et all... we ended with him saying, 'as soon as I have something which I believe will add any value to you, I will call you, rest assured'. Then before leaving I called on Satish again to thank him. Briefed him on my conversation with Gautam, and Satish left me with, 'What am I here for? We'll manage to find that project for you, dont worry; (and signed off with what I believe are his key words) I'll CRACK IT'. There's something that's queerly intriguing about him, I want to crack him now... lol. Ok, bad joke!

I headed to Matunga, and the day has just ended a while back with dinner at Kohliwada with Sashant (aka Senior aka S1 aka Jogging Partner) and Naresh (aka 'the benchmark good boy in the extended Nayak family)... btw am also an extended part of that family. I'm writing this post from my room in the Nayak residence!! Dosti gehri hai, photo 3d hai, ghar free hai!!!

End of day's play!

My scattered thoughts on Zodiac

2007-07-25T22:10:00.000+05:30

Zodiac
4/5
Director : David Fincher

Not many murder mysteries are about the arduous, physically and psychologically exhausting journeys that those on the right side of the law undergo to achieve a resolution. If you have seen Seven, you would know that David Fincher likes to get into the minds of his crime solvers more than criminals; deal with their demons, weaknesses, fatigues and motivations rather than making a fast paced and slightly simplified version of achieving the end without taking one through the process.

Zodiac is completely about process. It is a true story based on case files, spanning 14 years (or was it 12?) of a serial killer on the loose, with 3 Californian police departments on the case.

Somewhere through the film, you let go of trying to keep up with the facts of the case, let alone be a step ahead of those grappling with it on screen. You realize that this is not that kind of film. The facts are there for the characters to deal with, you are only to watch them do it. Hence, after a while, once you give up on the plot, you start losing interest in the happenings… It is the mark of a brilliant filmmaker who is at the top of a genre or his forte of storytelling when he can tell that time will come, and David Fincher understands it. He is at the top of this one, he swiftly shifts gears from the plot to focus and make the film a character progression drama for a significant time in the second half of the film… you only realize it once you understand that you are now watching a lot more of Robert Graysmith’s personal life and involvement with the case than you did until now… by that time, he’s got you exactly where he wants you… involved in the character, not thinking about the plot anymore… Touché!

Must watch for any crime genre fan.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead… - 24th July

2007-07-25T02:39:00.000+05:30

Event of the day - my meeting with Sameer Hanchate (the guy who co-wrote and directed Gafla, a film I loved - if you havent watched it, you missed it. Its not out on DVD, so you will just have to wait it out until it acquires Home Video or Satellite distribution)

The entire day passed without a trace of activity. Well, that's not new anymore. However, did manage to meet with Sameer in the evening. I'd asked him for a half hour appointment. I made elaborate plans with Hiten post the meeting, scheduling dinner at home (Mom was to make Pulav, Sabzi, Raita etc), he was coming over, then we were heading for Zodiac at PVR with Chandni, 11pm show...

So my meeting is scheduled for 6.30 at Chembur Barista... I was thinking I will be done by 7, home by 7.45 (Theory of Conservatism: accounted for traffic at its worst), dinner by 8.30 and PVR by 9....

Sameer arrived at 6.45 (btw, called and intimated that he was running late - very professional, appreciate it). We got talking... the agenda for the meeting was to discuss or thrash out my writer's blocks, the existential questions I was unable to resolve, which either kept me from putting any more words on the computer screen, or from putting words already on paper on to film.

Very congenial and articulate guy Sameer, and it showed quite clearly in his film. My first question to him was something to effect of, "uhmm... ok let me ask you this first.... how do you know that what you're writing is good enough to be told... secondly, do you ever question yourself on, 'why do I want to tell this story?'...". He smiled the 'welcome to the club' kinda smile (I say that with the benefit of hindsight) and started with, 'Ok, that is a question related to content'... I said, 'yes' and thought, 'or even motivation'.

From that point on, we started talking... and a half hour meeting went on for a good 3 hours 20 mins... or so I think. I realised it had been that long when I started getting endless calls from Hiten asking 'Where the fuck are you?' Btw, that is a spiced up version of what he said, not a verbatim quote. He is neither that aggressive, nor could he afford the effect of an expletive while sitting in my house, with my mom, waiting for me to show up for dinner, (which he eventually had by himself and left)...

The conversation with Sameer was interesting, insightful and left me feeling like I had established a forum of dialog with him for time to come. That, in addition to the fact that he gave me a list of 10 people to call who may currently be working on something and in a better position to give me a project, than himself.

I left feeling, 'damn, it would be great to work with this guy'. He has no airs about himself, talks straight from the heart, uses appropriate words to optimum effect and is very grounded in his reality. I respect that.

So then, from the time I left Chembur, to the time I reached PVR, after having stopped over at home for dinner (and an awesome one at that), it was 53 mins, by the clock (well, cellphone time. But I can't alter a saying like that, to my convenience, right? Whoever said that sayings weren't open to technological progress...!)

Zodiac! Awesome! Watch it if you have the patience and the bent to watch a 3 hr film about a journey of solving or getting close to solving a serial killer mystery, and not one that travels at a supersonic speed to the end.

End of day's play!

Looking Back, Looking Ahead… - 23rd July

2007-07-24T10:05:00.000+05:30

Morning started at Shek's place, slept over Sunday night. Got home, and by around 9, I had my TO DO list for the day. That list is essentially a list of names I am to call / msg / mail on that day. Was to talk to Sameer Hanchate in the morning, he didnt answer. Msgd 2 other leads, neither answered. 1 msgd saying, 'duper ko baat karte hain'... oh Apoorva Lakhia replied to my third msg to him with 'all positions taken. all the best. cheers.' Now I'm excited. The fact that he replied basically means I can msg anyone's cellphone and over a period of time, with persistence / annoyance, I will get a reply.

Out of the blues. Boobla (aka Sudeep aka original Podar gangmate aka DOP from SRFTI) called... we had a typical 'Strugglers INC' type conversation... he's studied Cinematography from Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute, Kolkata and is back in Bombay for action... was spelling out some of the 'filmy' experiences he's had so far... says, 'Main 10 saal mein dukan band kar doonga... I want to earn enough to buy a house in Manali... then I am off... farming karoonga...' abhi se filmy baatein kar raha hai... might meet him soon.

Then the other guy I spoke to today was Anand Gandhi. Anand is a fellow filmmaker, though ahead by miles. He has made 2 featurettes so far, Right Here Right Now and Continnumm (have tried about 5 variations of the spelling, dont care abt the right one) and is currently working on some feature scripts... I am meeting with him sometime this week... have some things to figure out about how to write scripts, how to tell stories, how that whole thing works, does one always battle with fundamental questions at every stage of writing the script like, 'is this good enough to be told?', 'why do I want to tell this story?' etc...

The third interesting call of the day was towards the end of the working day... I called a guy called Satish. Nithya from Madras Talkies gave me his number. Rushed over to meet with him after we spoke on the phone... this guy's life is pretty interesting... I'm not going to get into any of the details right now... maybe later, maybe not; but here is the thing... he says, 'give me 24 hours... if I can't crack it by then, I can't crack it...' now THAT is some attitude... and from the story that he told me, about his life so far, that attitude seems to flow through right along... there's an alpha male ego, power seeker, goal driven, focussed, but not rigid... good stuff... So I am meeting him again day after and he will let me know by then, one way or the other.

Hiten n I met up on my way back from Andheri and had dinner; well it more an assorted dinner, with the first course at Pizza Hut Andheri, then second course at a Pani Puri wala in Powai, and third course with Sev Puri and Dahi Puri at another vendor in Powai (the second guy was almost closing down when we got there, so couldnt help but find another guy)

Bas... khel khatam...

India ka bhi, rain gods saved the day for us at Lords... and my 3 phone calls saved the day for me! :)

Looking back, looking ahead...

Looking Back, Looking Ahead… - 18th - 21st July

2007-07-22T15:20:00.000+05:30

I've been away for 4 days, and Shek's insistence, as a regular reader, gets me back.

18th July -
Didn't do much, in fact, I cant remember what I did today... Spoke to Nithya (Madras Talkies). She said she would put me on to one of Mani's long time associate directors called Kannan who is making his first feature. Said she would talk to him and get back to me... spent the day doing nothing, well if nothing = free, then I couldn't have 'spent' it right? Now you know what I do with myself when I'm doing nothing... I mess with my head...

Oh today I called every director whose name I found in the Film India that Mattoo paid for... well 'every' is an exaggeration, but I called around 11 of them. RGV is in Hyd shooting for Sarkar 2, VCP is looking - sent resume, Govind Nihalani is working on an animation film until Sept, so only after that, Sameer Hanchate (Gafla), Sanjay Khanduri (1.40 ki last local), Tigmanshu Dhulia (Haasil, Charas), Apoorva Lakhia (MSAMD, Ek Ajnabee, Shootout at Lokhandwala), E Niwas (Shool, LKLKBR, Dum) - sabko phone kiya, sms kiya etc... Sanjay replied on sms saying, 'mail cv and text me again in aug end' - Fair! Sameer (and i've exchanged emails with him a few months back) recalled my name and said, 'you were going to send me ur resume back then', I apologised and said abhi bhej raha hoon. But, nothing until Sept... Aur kisi ka ya toh reply nahi aaya, ya no projects right now etc...

Anyway, another lead that I cashed in on was Chandni's friend's husband, guy called Samir. Got a production house called Boundscript. Will come to that on 21st. Oh, and that project with Rajkumar - not happening. I called him, and he goes, "nahi yaar... 3 freshers nahi liye, sirf 1 hi liya, woh bhi producer ne bola"... saala, bolte bahut jyaada hain, karte bahut kam hain...

That's all... day spent, or whatever...

19th - Starting slightly pre-midnight
Hiten landed up at home to celebrate my bday! CCD se cake / pastry bhi laaya... kya too much hai... bahut pyaar... bahut pyaar... itna pyaar (read: pastry / cake) sehat ke liye acha nahi... We drove to Powai lake, while cursing the total lack of any foresight (doordarshyta) or planning among our local civic chiefs... kya chutyagiri mein flyover banate hain saale... We parked at the powai lake, we sang happy bday (solo mein complete bday feeling nahi aata hai, so i joined him), i blew a candle, which he carefully packed again saying, next bday pe kaam aayega (kya chindi hai humlog - I wudve done the same, or worse, i wudve put a matchstick instead... hehe... hamara kuch nahi ho sakta)... nice start to bday... nice!

Finally nailed down the ever elusive Amit to a meeting in the morning. No immediate help forthcoming here either (that was my fall back plan ki aur kidhar kuch nahi hua toh Amit kar dega... let's see...) However, got the producer's letter from him for the Writer's Association registration. Next stop, Film Writer's Association. Got myself registered, though not without the usual paper pushing, and a funny as hell 'MBA' incident... too long to put down here, anyone interested, you can ask me in person. Went down to get a photocopy of my license, and spoke to Kannan then.

Now THIS IS THE MOST EVENTFUL THING that has happened to me in the last 2 months. We spoke and Kannan said, "I'll call you next week when I'm back from location scouting, and you can join me in Chennai. Will 2 days be enough for you to join me?" I was thinking, 'FUCK 2 days. Just 4 hours - you call, i take auto to airport, 2 hours from then, i shall be with you mate... just tell me WHEN!!!'

I walked back to the Writer's Association, now smiling to myself. Suddenly the slouch became an upright back, my chest expanded to fill in a lot of air, the lens with which I saw the world changed, I felt confident; all in a single moment. Called Shek n Mattoo, my collaborators - happy / exicted sounds everywhere... I HAD A PROJECT, WITH MANI'S 7 YR ASSOCIATE!!! GOOD START! Nice Birthday type things were happening... AD project mil gaya, writer register ho gaya... sab cool hai!

I rode to town, and rode like I hadn't in a while. I rode like God! Had to run an errand for Suchitra, needed to pick up the camera she won from Nikon for 'Emerging Talent 2007' - an international photography contest; am infinitely proud of her. Met Rach there, her office is 2 buildings away. Rach and I have a connection that Anna would best analogise with the lead characters from Eric Segal's 'Doctors' - and I would agree with him. We just have an inexplicable connection, much like most connections are... its nice, its great...

Then picked up Mattoo from office and like I later told Jenny (non-stop nonsense Parry's gf) - I was doing my good deed for the day, "helping the helpless and needy" hahaha... We stopped over on the way at Harry's office where we ran into Jenny. Parry had a new kind of medical problem, he has a viral fever that keeps him from going to work, but allows him to meet his gf in the evenings... saala... Then the night ended with me, Mattoo, Shek n Aranya dining together... good fun. First happy day in a long time...

20th July - all things come to an end, good things end sooner
In yest's excitement and fervour, I told Chief i would take him out on Friday... true to my word I landed at Drshti, and among other things, generally called Kannan to clarify a couple of things on my mind. I mentioned I didn't read and write Tamil - and that was it. The End of my good day yest! Saala, ek language padna likhna kya nahi aaya, kismat ne palti kha liya... project vamusho!
WHAT THE FUCK!!! I messaged him as soon as I hung up saying, "I need this project Kannan. I really do. Please consider that. If you can give me any other responsibility, I'd be grateful." He wrote back saying, "dont worry, I will try." Kal shuru hua career, aaj khatam ho gaya...

Went for dinner with Shobha, Harini and Chief. Nice time, but I was just not in the frame of mind - that kind of thing leaves you more drained out, when you're in a moment you want to enjoy, but something in your mind goes, 'fuck it - not now'.

21st July
Met Samir, he was quite nice. Said I could join him anytime but as 'liasion exec' which essentially translated into an admin job, and one that wouldnt pay. Alternatively I could wait until Oct for the next project, and start in the direction team. Most likely, that is what I will do...

Was at Drshti for a greater part of the day... Didnt want to be alone today no matter what... but like Gulzar saab has said, 'bheed mein bhi insaan akela hai.." felt as lonely as I could the whole day... ended with a large party at NSCI... Goti, Smruti, Pranzee, Tejas, K2, Sash, Hiten and me... Wasn't enjoying any bit of being there... Then while the others were drinking, Goti n I went to the restaurant next door to eat... and there I felt like my day had some sort of productive time to show for... we had an engaging conversation about his business... Goti manufactures women's underwear (kya naseeb hai saala... upar se kamata bhi hai...)... and he sells to a lot of the chain malls... he was narrating a lot of incidents that happen in his transactions with the 'mall-type' MBA guys... we laughed our guts out... and I learnt so much... I love having these conversations with people, whether Sash (aka Senior aka S1 aka Jogging Partner), or K2 (aka Kartik Sanghavi aka Dildo aka 'thoda slow bol na') or Shek, or anyone for that matter who talks so passionately about their work... then Hiten and I rode back home...

End of day's play.

I realise the account of the last 4 days are very dispassionate, almost as if I dont care... Ive always felt an intangible loss for not knowing to read/write Tamil.. today it became tangible. Sucks!

Anurag's DevD with Abhay Deol has been announced for Sept/Oct - mereko uske saath kaam karne ka hai!!

Looking back, looking ahead...

Looking Back, Looking Ahead… - 17th July

2007-07-18T09:27:00.000+05:30

The day started with a promise, with hope... I had 2 meetings set up; one at Reliance Entertainment, with the creative director, Mohan Azaad. Amit gave me his number, and though I have known Mohan Azaad for a while and along with Amit, he also helped me out with my first short film; I wouldn't think I would have an audience with him, if not for Amit's msg the previous day. The second meeting was with Ganesh Iyer, Mirchi Movies. I met Ganesh a couple of years back, Feb 2005 to be precise, when I had already opted out of campus placements from Welingkar and was looking for an entry into films. Since then, this guy has stood out as someone I have tremendous respect for, been a friend, philosopher and guide - to use a cliche.

The meeting with Mohan Azaad didn't end up in anything particular. It was one of those conversations that goes many places, and ends up nowhere. Ofcourse, I asked all the pointed questions which would result in any immediate actionable opportunity for me, but there are none currently... (hey, there's a rhyme... aise hi chalta raha toh... main kahin kavi na ban jaoon, is dard mein hai kavita... lol no offense Kavz...) So that meeting ended with nothing. But now, there is 1 more person I can call for help, especially with my shorts... cheap mein lights, camera, etc chahiye?

Then I met Ganesh. The last couple of times we have met, we seem to be going around in circles. I met them back in Nov 06 when I was looking to move out of Drshti, and had met with Ganesh and the CEO Munish Puri. This was for a corporate profile (Mktg + Ops) sort of thing, which had little to do with the creative side of filmmaking, and more with the business side. Anyway, that didn't come through back then...

May 07 met with them again, also with Mr. Rajesh Kurup (HR). Same profile again, but this time I said I wasn't keen on it because I had already quit Drshti and had quit with the objective of getting into films, and with no half measures. So if it meant a struggle for a couple of years as AD, then so be it.

July 07 - am desperate, frustrated, broke, still looking to become an AD, have nothing on the table, and am offered a similar role again... in Chennai. Should I jump, or should I resist?

That's the question I have been trying to answer all day long yest. Logically, JUMP! Philosophically, RESIST!

More than finding an answer to that question, I am angry at myself for having such a wavering conviction. If I set out to become an AD, why am I even considering this? There are good reasons for me to take it up, hell yes - parents most of all, but then I was fighting those reasons until he told me, 'are you open to the idea?' right? Why suddenly when a carrot is dangled, do I start chasing my own damn tail? Ganesh also said something else which hit me hard... he said, "you will need to come across as being a lot more aggressive... you seem quite meek or unsure of what you want"... ofcourse! If I go around questioning my convictions, how the hell am I going to appear to have any conviction?

The fact is that apart from the one time I gave in to what seemed to be the easier thing to do and joined Drshti, I haven't done that again... (and while we're on that, am taking Sem III law as well - KT ki maa ki aankh... woh bhi dekh loonga...) So this is what I'm telling Ganesh... "I don't want to take this up Ganesh. I am grateful to you and really appreciate the fact that even after I put you in a tough spot the last time around, you have enough faith in me to want me working with you guys, but if I cannot justify to myself why in 2 months' time I have changed my mind, from wanting to be an AD to coming back to accept a profile I didn't want, how could I ever explain that with any conviction to anyone else, including Munish? I am desperate and all that yes... but this is just too soon to give up... I redeemed some respect for myself when I quit Drshti, gave up that paycheck to follow a dream again, and that took me 2 yrs to do. If I caved in now, apart from losing that respect for myself again, I wouldn't know how much time it would take for me to regain any confidence in myself. Thank you so much, but I can't do this."

The lines between being stupid/ insane/ impractical and being true to myself have been blurred for a long time, or maybe am so blinded by either my insanity or truth that I can't see those lines anymore...

Either ways, am looking back, am looking ahead...