merry christmas, grumpy! :)
Latest
what a find!
dearest meena pati,
i found the most lovely photograph a few days back in the set of photos ajoo had taken at munirka. i was so happy to find this photograph; it’s the only one i have with you in the last many years. i miss your loving smile and musical laughter so much!
dear pati
in the last 6 months, so many things have gone wrong and we have all met so many losses. but my first two losses, thatha and you, are what keep coming back to me. every time i get news of a new loss, my first thought is to call you and speak to you and thatha. i feel i always will get some kind of answer or consolation if i speak to you. whenever appa or amma haven’t answered my questions, you have been my means of trying to understand what is going on around me. even though you would never sit me down and explain it to me like appa does, you had a way of telling me things that nobody i know does – whether it was just through silent gestures or by urging me to continue focusing on my work. thatha also never said anything; he would just make me lie down with my head in his lap and try to pat me to sleep. although i found it a little strange, i realise now the comfort it gave me and how much i miss it.
today when people were coming to bid thyagu periappa his final farewell, i wanted to ask you so many things. i wanted to know why this is happening to us and so frequently; i wanted you to tell me that this is just a test and better times would follow; i wanted you to prepare me for the others that are to follow. i felt a guilt bubble up inside me as i started keeping count of the losses we’ve had and those that are to come. it was almost as if i was waiting for this stampede of losses to pass, hoping that we would be left with calmer spaces once all of this is over. but never for a second have i been able to imagine that calm space without you and thatha.
a few weeks back, i had a dream. we were all on a strange planet – a lot of it looked like iit home – and there was a beach with very calm waters. it was near about sunset and you, thatha and i were sitting on the sand and watching the sunset. the sky was a beautiful orange and its warmth seemed to reach out to us. i felt a glow of contentment and fulfillment inside. i don’t remember the last time you and thatha sat down on the ground. but it felt somewhat reassuring that there were no chairs, no walkers and no walking sticks anywhere in the vicinity of where we were. you wore your red and black polka dotted sari and thatha was wearing his usual white kurta and light brown coloured pants.
when i woke up, it was the middle of the night and i was in a daze because of my sleepiness. i tried my best to stay awake for a while and write down what i dreamt, but i dozed off to sleep before i even knew it. i feel bad that i couldn’t remember more of the dream than what i told you – i feel i’m letting go of everything that i can remember you with. i look at photographs of you, of us and i regret that i don’t have any photographs of you and thatha before i came to bombay, that i never felt the need to keep them. i also often find myself looking through these photographs for my own picture with you. and since i was the one clicking the photographs, i was never in front of the camera with you as i’d have liked it to be. i constantly feel that i have fewer tangible memories of you and i fear those that are there might fade away soon.
but it felt good today to meet sv mama today. it was only then that i realised how much he reminded me of you – the way he talked, his mannerisms, his frown… it made me realise that there are more things than photographs, better things, that will never let me forget you. i don’t like it that i keep thinking of you knowing that you’re not there anymore. but it keeps me going that you are someone who is so important to me and who loved me so much. i wish both you and thatha could have waited a little longer.
miss you lots, pati.
shaitan
i missed a lot of the media hype over this film, as a result of which i went to watch the film with a few friends without actually knowing what it was about. all i had gathered about the film was that it’s a film about 5 rich college-going, junkie teenagers getting caught in something dark – an idea that, i admit, is very vague. if told to describe the film in one concise sentence, however long, the word ‘vague’ would still sum up the intent of that sentence.
between telling the story of 5 rich, rash kids, drug addiction, corruption, the usual police thrashing, dysfunctional families, monetary pressures of the city, media hyperactivity and insensitivity, earning respect for the police department and moral constructs of society, the film seemed a lot longer than the 2 hours it promised. there was too much going on together in the film, and very few of them seemed to blend. in an effort to create several layers in the film, Bejoy seems to have spun chaos in his film.
in several ways, the film was severely unconvincing – from the conversation that Kalki first has with KC (Gulshan Devaiya) to the killing of the ‘shaitan’ in the house of god. the struggles and stories of Kalki’s friends are skimmed over to make space for her painful past, thus making them near insignificant in the story. save for Kalki’s traumatic history, which Bejoy mercilessly brings up repeatedly in the film through, mostly, disheveled hair and bleeding eye mascara, the film seems to go on about characters who one doesn’t care about or feel intrigued by. Tanya’s (Kirti Kulhari) image issues, for example, whether physical or cool-quotient related, are conveniently glimpsed over, thus making her look rather dimwitted and annoying. the characters don’t evoke any sympathy or even seem like they belong somewhere.
the kids exist in a nowhere space of daddy-pays-it-all-because-i’m-messed-up. okay, maybe i shouldn’t be so harsh; but driving around the city with a drug peddler thrice convicted for dealing in drugs says a lot about their intelligence quotient. with all due respect to the issue of drug abuse that Bejoy tries to address, we don’t see any of them pining for cocaine, except for Kalki who, towards the last 15-20 mins of the film, obsessively consumes cocaine and keeps rambling about her dead mother. by this time, we’re so overwhelmed by the constant reference to her past that we’re just waiting for the credits to start rolling.
what could have earned sympathy was their reaction to the hit and run incident in the middle of the night. but there is a day long feeling of remorse and guilt, and then the focus shift to getting themselves out of trouble by bribing the policeman. the plan to raise the money is inspired by a corny story about a friend who staged his brother’s abduction to earn money off his parents. when the media picks up on the abduction of a millionaire’s daughters and her friends, the plan changes to one that earns them extra money!
while following the story of 5 insignificant people one really doesn’t care about, there is the story of Mathur (Rajeev Khandelwal) – the honest, bad-ass indian policeman. he represents that part of the police department which chooses to survive on the peanuts that the department pays them, but refuses to give in to bribery and other unlawful means to earn money. Bejoy doesn’t compartmentalise him as the ‘good cop’; he shows him almost giving in to the bribe way out of a mess, thus colouring him more human.
Bejoy also branches out into Mathur’s personal life, which begins with a sweet waking-the-husband-up scene only to reveal the present tension between the couple through silences and the taking away of a Van Gogh painting from the house of a policeman earning Rs 8,500 a month (as mentioned in the film). (my intent is not to be judgmental or classist, but it all seems a little unreal. the only thing it does, is adding to the ‘hipness’ of the film). the only other time it comes up in the film in a major way is when a government official scrutinizes the divorce forms as Mathur and his wife file for divorce, thus mocking, very effectively, the institution of marriage. but where the relevance of this lies in the film, i do not know.
what is also difficult to miss is the picture of a morality structure that Bejoy draws for us. he explores the devil in us, using the kids’ story as his medium. the devil pushes them to extents which drive them to murder, bribery, spite and also become the cause of their own death. they run from one hell to another and finally land up in the house of god where they duly pay for their misdoings or redeem themselves. suddenly it’s all over; the dead friend is honoured and the dead peddler friend is labelled the sole cause of the chaos – all this aided by the police department in order to keep the people’s faith going in a disciplinarian for society. the power politics of all this was a little too twisted for me.
the film is driven by good performances by everyone and a soundtrack that packs in a good punch. together these two take the film through. Kalki Koechlin and Rajeev Khandelwal’s performance together outshone everything else the film had to offer.
in the rain
let’s run free in the rain tonight,
leaving behind traces in the puddles
of a time that we savour;
till the rain,
she washes them away
to fill the gaps we let be;
to substitute our memories
with new ones of a time to come.
let’s fall in love with the rain
and run free tonight
weather report
summer is here. and bigly so. between the air conditioner and sitting-outside-the-office for a bit, i think i’m in two different climate zones. the freezing synthetic cold drafts from the air conditioner and the ruthlessly consistent scorching heat outside. i wake up in the morning asking myself, “sweater or shorts?”, pause for a bit and say, “both”.
it’s strange weather when it shouldn’t be. i find myself listening to Pluvius Aestivius and looking to the skies expectantly for the rain to arrive. it’s going to be a long, long summer this year.
Andheri
the busiest station
where buses never take the shortest route to your destination
where traffic never sleeps
where you’re in someone’s way if your put your hand out to feel the rain
where work happens even when people sleep
where the list of restaurants never end
where every bus goes
where my new office is :)
dear thatha
when i had come to delhi for diwali last year in november, i had spent a day with you and pati. you were sitting at the table after we finished lunch and i had just walked in to get myself a glass of water. you called out to me and sat me down and asked me what i was doing. every time i would come back from bombay, you’d ask me whether i finished college or not. this question was a constant since the last 2 years… ever since i’d finished college. everytime i’d tell you that i’ve finished and that i’m working now. :)
this time you sat me down and asked my how my work was going. there was a zillion watt smile in my head when you asked me that. right after that you asked me what work i was doing and i spent the next (nearly) one hour explaining to you what film editing is. to the extent that i remember telling you the difference in documentary film and fiction film editing and working with video and actual film. it scared me a little that day how you asked me the same questions every five minutes, not remembering that i’d just explained the same to you just a while back.
my earliest memory of you was of playing chess with you in the munirka house where you would overlook the silly moves made in haste by a silly 8 year old girl. you would take a long while to think what best way to elongate the game and humour my childish eagerness and constant ‘play quickly or resign’ chants. and there when we sat at the table that day, you looked at me with your big child-like eyes laughingly apologising for not being able to keep track of things very easily since you’d grown very old and requesting me to bear with your repeated questions.
when i had come to delhi on the 9th of jan this year, i wondered that when i would meet you in the hospital would you ask me whether i finished college or would you inquire about my work. but the one time that i could speak to you, you thought i was batch and gave me a big hug and a kiss on either cheek as soon as you saw me. i was a little upset, but when mama told you that it was me, sruti, the smile in your eyes seemed to double up and i got a bigger, tighter hug from you. everyone always says that i look like batch and that i’m exactly like her. i remembered how you’d always mistake me for batch when i’d speak to you in tamil over the phone. i tried my best not to cry in front of you that day and succeeded for the longest time, till you pointed to my nose piercing and with whatever words you could manage, asked me whether it was new.
in all your days at the hospital, that moment was when i wanted you back home with me the most. i wanted to play carrom with you, the way we used to, where you and i would be in the same team and try to beat everyone else. i wanted to play my guitar and sing for you after, of course, printing the lyrics out for you and giving you a 5 minute long summary for each song. i wanted to hear you sing gibberish while imitating MS mockingly with a mischievous look in your eyes just to make me laugh.
you always had a very subtle way of showing your affection. when i would sleep in between you and pati, you would always sleep on my right. as was my habit, i would turn towards my left and sleep which invariably would mean that my back would be facing you. everytime, as soon as i would turn to my left, you would put a little bit of your quilt on me and that would always mean that i had to face you and sleep. and so it was. everytime.
i slept next to pati before i left for bombay on the 26th of jan. my back was facing the side where you lie down. i stayed awake for a very long time, waiting for you to put the quilt on me. i wanted to turn back and see you smiling back at me. i waited… and i hugged pati and slept that night.
thatha
the way your glasses were always tilted
the way your smile went right up to your eyes
the way you laughed so heartily
the way you were always calm
the way you quietly sat and observed
the way you’d sit up straight with a half-smile for a photograph
the way you’d be silly with me and humour my idiocies
the way you entertained my constant click-click
the way you’d be surprised every time my camera and i would sneak up on you
the way you just went.
i’ll miss you, thatha.
Happy Birthday
Dear Thatha,
It’s my birthday today, as you know. Meena Pati called up in the morning to wish me. I almost asked her to give the phone to you, out of habit. I missed your loving voice and smile this morning. Wish you were here.
Miss you lots, thatha.
fears
twist and turn,
open my eyes.
suddenly
a blank stare,
distant silence.
amorphous lies
whizzing past
in quiet whispers,
mockingly.
wired till deep.
a cog turns:
the beginning.
lit up,
on display.
shy away.
endless exodus:
wide-eyed
and anticipating
a silence,
a scream
and delight.
chained protest,
fall back.
head bangs,
open my eyes.
save me,
it is i.
the excuse
Wheedle me out,
Whisk me away,
Divert, digress the attack
so I sneak myself out.
Complicate, convolute. Dilute
my ineptitude, parade it
as determined intent.
Be my argument.
Generalise, contextualise
my existence;
drape it in caprice
for that one challenged moment.
“It is not just I”,
I’d then say,
indebted to metaphor,
my sole excuse.
when things go wrong…
The uncertainty of life begins to get on your nerves sometimes. It then seems like a series of random unrelated events that decide to occur in a particular order thanks to, what seems to be, a metaphorical draw of lots. The only reassurance in all of this is that, in that draw of lots, there may have been other things that were left out. That only these few privileged misfortunes had the good enough fortune that enabled their occurrence. It is to that probability that I owe my thanks, obviously not in the moment, because that would require a foresight of phenomenal capability – something that I hope will come with the passage of time.
The occurrence of most of these is beyond our control. The most we can do is click our tongues and mourn the untimely nature of the same, hoping that they hadn’t happened, only to realise that they were bound to happen later, if not now. In such cases there’s no other option but to accept what comes your way. Although this is also true for most other misfortunes, the only reason this is the lesser evil is because it doesn’t carry with it the burden of regret or the ‘what if’.
The pot had to blow, you think, in most other situations. When saturation point is reached, the only thing that repeatedly happens is the overflowing. This overflowing doesn’t seem to be quite the issue until you notice that it’s actually starting to collect a little flood around the place. Then what? This is where our dear old friend regret comes to us with this oh-so-guiltless look on his face, even though you know that all this while he has been watching, sitting inconspicuously on his couch of condescension, waiting for the right moment to enter the picture. And when the lull sets in after the first blow of that misfortune, you find him staring at you menacingly in the face.
You sense the crescendo build up gradually. Just when you feel you’ve peaked that climax, out pops the anti-climax, from the corner, oxymoronically adding to the climax you’ve been experiencing through this past series of misfortunes. It’s the cherry on top that came along only to be seen from afar as the apex of what, almost undoubtedly, was the apex itself up until now. So what do you do?
Till now you had figured for yourself that you would keep your cool through all of this. But the unprecedented visit by that conniving little cherry really went and turned it all upside down. You feel your temper rise like it was going to skyrocket through the roof of that imaginary thermometer inside your brain. By now you’re so caught up in the adrenaline that the anger pumps, and the anger that the adrenaline pumps in return, that you don’t pre-empt the second flood that’s going to take place.
It’s the thermometer that’s blown. Oh what a blighted mess. It’s time you walk back to your room, shut the door and fall off to sleep letting some Zeppelin play in the background, and figure that there’s not much to think about. The only thing you probably did wrong, was waking up on the wrong side of the bed, or on the right side of your bed, and in the attempt of ensuring that, revealing all those idiotic things you did that you’d been hiding under the pillow so nobody saw it.
Godforsaken luck. Bah. Humbug.
