यह क्या हो रहा है???

Okay, so this site still doesn't let me type in english. Atleast in the title space. I don't know how to set that right and it's bothering me. Like hell. Anyone with useful tips, your assistance will be suitably rewarded. No help, no reward. Get that?
Okay the up side of this is that a blog in July is happening after all. July has not gone by without a blog. I mean I know it has...but I apparently have the power to turn time back. I really, really do, check out the date of this one if you don't believe me.
So, a blog hasn't come to me (It really is like that...many bloggers would agree, that you don't sit to blog, a blog walks into your mind semi-constructed) in a long long time. Nothing new about that. I haven't had much to say even though the month has been a very eventful one. But now I realised that I do have things to say. And say them I will. So here goes:


To all the Bangalore auto-walas:
Do not, please, do not gang up outside malls and hospitals, eye people coming out with a vengence and accost them with "Elli hogbekka madam?!" I swear I will prefer to walk the additional half mile and take the non threatening bald little insignificant autowala's rick than climb into your monstorous machine. So if you want to come off too needy, be prepared to lose some serious business.

To pedestrians in India:
You smoke, you drink, you pee, you spit,
If you do it in the middle of the road, be prepared to be hit.

To all the two-wheeler, four-wheeler, eight-wheeler, sixteen-wheeler drivers in the city:
There are other creatures on the road. Really. If you opened your eyes a bit, you might even see them.

To the traffic policemen in Bangalore:
Show up. Please, we need you.

To Aamir Khan:
Make more movies.

To the saas bahu serial makers:
You might want to reconsider resource-utilization. After all the special effects, sound effects, and classic expressions of emotions ranging from wildly ecstatic to a catatonic stupor in 40 different people in the house, the only message you manage to convey is the lid of the pickle jar is missing. I'd call that shifty.

To the audience of the saas-bahu serials:
So Tulsi is changed again. Meera tried to kill Bani but she came back. And something has been happening between Anuraag Basu and Prerna for a really, really long time now. But outside of the idiot-box, time ticks on. And life goes on. Yes, it does. I promise you.

To the Indian Cricket Team:
Many modelling contracts, sponsorships, acting offers, and heatedly debated and speculated flings later, I understand winning is not an option. But is playing an option?

To the Aaj-tak and Star News people:
I understand why "Amitabh Bachchan ko thand lagi" would be breaking news for you. It means that the temperature is dropping to an extent that even Bollywood stars are feeling the pinch of it now. It means space ants are about to invade the earth in three months. Yes, no, I understand totally.

Yet again, to the media, specially the above mentioned channels:
Some news is not meant to be sensationalized. What your channel may be selling today might not be news but something else. You might want to think about it.

Via TimeMachine???

It's 11:15 am. Or so my cell phone says. I however, have no proof of it. I mean, sure my cell phone and every other watch in the house says it, as does the laptop when I switch it on. Or the television for that matter. But how do we know...I mean know...that it is infact 11:15 am? How? Who first decided what the time was? Did time begin when it was discovered? Or when watches and clocks were invented? Or when the world began? It could be 83 o' clock for all we know. Who says the day gets over when the sky becomes dark? Who, indeed?
Anyway, (if we're to believe my cell phone) it's 11:15 am. There is an almost unnatural stillness in the environment. Someone in the next building is having some welding work done. I can hear the faint whirring of the machine, the very gentle 'thwack' of the heavy sparks falling onto the ground like fiery raindrops.
A lot of the disconnected randomness (isn't randomness always disconnected? or is it?) in my thought processes can be attributed to the movie I saw last night. Navin and I thought it might be good for us once in a while to catch some non-mainstream cinema. That, coupled with our inexorable faith in the acting prowess of Vinay Pathak and Rajat Kapoor, prompted us to give 'Via Darjeeling' a shot. The movie defies time like nothing else. It moves back and forth in time like a pendulum, creating the very real feeling that time is but an illusion. The movie is about an incomplete story with a few alternate endings (alternate cinema in its true spirits?). A supposed thriller, with an insipid story line. A failed attempt at recreating the mysterious charm of some oldtime whodunnits. The glaring effect of over fertile imagination with very very limited creativity (too m uch imagination and too little creativity is always a bad combination- like McDonald Burgers with Sambhar, stone cold Sambhar at that- Did I kill any appetites there? Sorry.)
So, as we walked out of the theatre, our senses numbed with disbelief mostly (and a little with overactive airconditioning), I began challenging the existence of time. Is it there? Not there? Or what, really? Space Aliens, Please Help!!!

Randomness

Am back in Mumbai. 4 days into my trip, I am still taking it all in...the places I have been so closely associated with during different stages of my life. Feels great.Had been to Siddhivinayak today, as I have been going for many many Tuesdays in the past. For me,Siddhivinayak is as different from other temples (with due respect to all) as spirituality is from religion. I distinctly had the feeling that I had come home to an old old friend and was settling down on the sofa for a chat with a hot cup of tea in hand. There is no respect, respect born out of fear of being condemned. There is love, unconditional and unblemished, affection, if you will. And there is respect born out of this affection. I feel at peace with the world outside and within me when I'm at Siddhivinayak- the place that has seen me through some of the most troubled days in my past. Homecoming has many layers, many meanings. This then, perhaps, is one of them.

On a totally different and musical note, I recently heard this song, that had me going bonkers about it. It's the song Kabhi kabhi Aditi from Jaane Tu...Ya Jaane Na.I'm so in love with it. I have it on repeat on my MP3 player. I listen to it about 19 times a day. I was trying to understand why I like it so much and zeroed in on one unique reason among many not so unique ones. The inclusion of the name "Aditi" in the song appealed to me a lot. I feel that there is no greater respect you could give a person than addressing them by their given name. It's also so much more personalized. Like the song is custom-written for someone. IT rocks. Very well sung by Rashid Ali, Amazing music by ARR. So, without further ado, I present to you the lyrics

Kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
aise mein koi kaise apne aansuoonko behne se roke
aur kaise koi sochde everything's gonna be ok
kabhi kabhi tho lage zindagi mein rahi naa khushi aur naa mazaa
kabhi kabhi tho lage hardin mushkil aur harpal ek sazaa
aise mein koi kaise mushkuraaye kaise hasde khush hoke
aur kaise koi sochde everything gonna be ok

Soch zara jaaneja tujhko hum kitna chathe hai
rotein hai hum bhi agar teri ankhon mein aansu aate hai
gaane to aata nahi hai magar phir bhi hum gaate hai
hey Aditi maan kabhi kabhi saare jahan mein andhera hota hai
lekin raat ke baad hi tho savera hota hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura

Tu khush hai tho lage ke jahan mein chaayi hai khushi
suraj nikle baadlon se aur baatte zindagi
sun tho jara madhosh hawa tujhse kehne lagi
ki Aditi wo jo bichhadthe hai ek na ek din phir mil jaate hai
Aditi jaane tu ya jaane na phool phir khil jaate hain
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye tho ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura

Nostalgia

Haven't blogged in all of MAy. This blog was just to wake up from the malaise and make sure that my archives don't read 'May(0)'. A lot has been happening, and needless to say I have been busy.
Am blogging from an internet cafe, its after AGES that I am visiting one of these. Makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of rainy, college afternoons, hot cups of coffees, sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees overhead, notes to study from, books to photocopy, a teacher who used to admonish us when we would say 'xerox' instead of 'photocopy', long muddy walks, inane discussions, streetfood, beautiful Mumbai evenings... Yes, I got *all of that* from an internet cafe. Don't ask me how. But I could be there right now. Back in time. Sitting by the window with a steel tumbler of coffee in one hand, a book in another, focusing on neither, but the sunrays, now mild and soothing, filtering through the leaves and the grill on the window...Chitra sings in the background...sings some of Gulzar's lesser known lyrics...

Shisham ke patto pe pani
boond boond bajta rehta hai,
Barish beet bhi jaye to
der talak tapka rehta hai.
Boondon se bhigo dena
barishon ki aadat thi…
barishon ki aadat hai….
Yeh bouchar guzar jane do,
kachche rang utar jaane do,
mausam hain guzar jaane do.
Its beginning to drizzle.
I let an unexplained, inexplicable feeling of contentment wash over me...
Sigh. Life's perfect. Touchwood.

The Eternal Dilemma...

The dusk has set in. I choose not to use tubelights today, I want a particular effect that is obtained in dim lighting. Three minutes into our meeting, we're plunged into a silence. Not a comfortable, companiable silence, but an awkward, uneasy one. Not a silence where one doesn't have anything to say. But a silence where one has just too much to say, but also too much is at stake in saying it all. A silence that is very open to interpretations...
I wait watchfully, to see who opens the conversation. Noone does. I feel the pressure of time ticking away on my wrist. If we don't get talking in the next hour, we wait for another seven days. And the last seven days, from the looks of it, haven't been good.
"Ok, Someone's got to start. I don't think this has been a good week."
That's the father. He always takes the initiative in these sessions. That is, when I don't.
"Why do you feel so?" I ask.
"Why don't you ask her?" He gestures towards his 16-year old.
She remains silent, glance averted, mouth set in a determined line. Something about that stance says "I so badly want to be indifferent to this drama, but I can't."
"Its your feeling. Why don't you talk about it first and then we can take it from there." I put the ball back in his court.
He explains that he was very miffed that his daughter was listening to music on MTV (which incidentally had a video of skimpily clad women) at 8 am instead of joining the family for prayers. He switched off the TV. She threw her coffee mug in the middle of the living room. They walked out on each other and didn't talk for the rest of the week.
Tension thickens. Emotions soar. Noone is willing to look the other in the eye. The mother who has been a relatively inactive participant in most sessions looks askance at me...as though she is willing me to mend the situation...or their daughter as the case may be for her. I call upon her to talk about it.
"She should sit with us and pray. These are family values. She should follow them. All we ask for is 10 minutes in the day." I suspect the coming up of a tirade and check it.
I look at the individual in question. Intelligent and outspoken in most previous encounters, she is suddenly rendered demure...as if in face of the number against her. She has an expression of one being teamed against. She looks up at me, carefully avoiding her parents' eyes.
"I don't believe in God. So what's the point?"
"Maybe its our fault. We should have taught her religion when she was younger." The father's voice filters into my subconscious, as I vaguely wonder if religion or faith can be taught. Perhaps it can. But can it, really?
"Its my decision, so will you stop blaming yourselves?" The girl sounds distraught and angry all at once. The anger is clearly one which is not allowed expression, nor existence. It's as though she wants to sound like an adult- independent, strong, firm and composed. The effect is opposite, she is on the verge of tears. She knows that the phase of talking her mind is only restricted to the session.
The father looks angry, but it is evident he is checking his emotions. "We are trying so hard to reach out, beta. Why do you have to make this so difficult?" Those words remain unspoken, but I sense them in the offing. I also sense that the reason they are unspoken could be that they may signify defeat in a way.
"So many people before us have been following these things. Are they all fools?" He asks instead.
"Why do you want me to do something just because you and your ancestors did it? Don't I have a right to a mind of my own?" She is in tears now. Angry, helpless tears.
"What is it that you want?" I ask her.
"I don't want to be forced to pray. I don't want to do things that I don't believe in."
"Is this really about religion? Is that what this is about?" I ask.
There is a pause. Long pause.
"Not really."
Another long pause.
" I don't want to be told what to do all the time." There is a finality in her tone that worries me, it makes me wonder whether we will talk anymore.
"Because..." I feel the need to lead her on.
Another long silence. A very pregnant pause.
And then an outburst.
"It makes me feel this small!" She holds up her thumb and index finger an inch or two apart. "Don't I have a right to think and decide for myself? Everyone except me knows whats good for me."
"Maybe you are too young to understand certain things. Your decisions in the past have reflected your immaturity. You want us to take risks with your future again?" The father says, also distraught.
"Maybe I wanted to make those mistakes, and learn from them!" That was a near-fatal blow. Now the parents look scared.
"You can't survive in this world making many mistakes. When you have wisdom and experience in front of you, why would you need to make mistakes?"
I quail. This is getting to be a dialogue. Not a conversation.
"Maybe because your experiences don't work for me, Dad! I'm a different person. I need my own experiences."
"Why can't you understand-" They stop in surprise. Both have spoken the exact same words at the exact same moment. And indeed, the crux of the issue. Understanding. Theoretically, the easiest thing to do. And practically, the toughest.
My mind applauds the moment. I look from one to the other. And hit upon a universal truth. Understanding the emotional needs of another person and responding to them accurately is a very very difficult thing to do. Even if you are bound by ties of blood. Or those of a client and therapist.

P.S.: I know, J this may cut close to what I read the other day, but couldn't help...I just had to post this...

Misused Words Series #1

One word that I find is often used in the wrong context is the word "Psychic".

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Edgar Cayce (1877 – 1945) was one of the best-known American psychics of the 20th century and made many highly publicized predictions.In popular culture the word psychic (pronounced /ˈsaɪkɨk/; from the Greek psychikos - "of the soul, mental") refers to the ability to perceive things hidden from the senses through means of extra-sensory perception.

Many people however appear to use it in the context of someone being eccentric, or weird.

Painfully Krrazy...

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Yes, it really is. I discovered this the hard way on saturday. The means of discovery? A full two hours forty nine minutes of pure crap.
Had been to watch Krrazy 4 (or however else the makers of the movie want you to spell the name). The movie, predictably enough, is about four 'crazy' people. There is a man who believes he is living in Gandhi's time (or something like that, it wasn't very clear). Another one whose diagnosis is unclear, but the only thing obvious is that he doesn't talk atleast until the end of the movie (not that I'm complaining). Yet another who's vaguely a Mr. Goody-Two Shoes. And then there's this guy with the mercurial temper.
I'm not about to review the film here. The movie seems to have a message that the makers are not quite sure how to communicate to their audience. And so we are left with a not very convincing speech about the age-old 'abnormality vs normality'issue, and some painfully unfunny (is that a word? well, it is, after this movie!) sequences. It hurts to watch people play through cliched ideas of giving some one electroconvulsive therapy to 'turn them mad'. Or portray it in such a crass, insensitive way. Even if it is the villian who is being *rendered insane*. To watch someone play someone with a psychological infliction in Hindi Movies is quite literally painful, because they all seem to believe that such people are always regressed, aggressive, climbing trees, doing meaningless things, and basically imbecile. Very few movies dare to try and understand the method in the madness...What makes people 'tic', if you will. Like 15 Park Avenue. Or Maine Gandhi ko Nahi Mara. Or Taare Zameen Par.
There was just one scene in the movie, where Irfan Khan's daughter teaches him how to draw a star...There's something very poignant about a child having to play an adult's parent.
Indian Cinema has a long long way to go before it comes of age. Atleast in matters of the mind...