The Dirty Picture

The Dirty Picture is a very, very fine picture. 
Take a bow, Vidya Balan.

Sigh

The sunlight crept in and was trying to peep inside his bedroom. It was just another dawn of just another day.

Suddenly, his cell rang. He answered it. It was her call. She was calling him after what seemed like a long, long time to him.

She said, “I am sorry. Do you still love me?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied.

He could hear a sigh of relief there and here. Then they started talking…

Now, everything is back to normal. They are together again: across the 1,000 miles that separate them, across the time that divided them. They talked about the temple, about their daughter, about their future ahead… just like old times.

Then he woke up. Felt sad and sat up cold like a stone. Alas, it was an early morning dream… Today morning, he dreamt of her.

Sigh. A thousand and eight sighs.

This too shall pass.

The salt-pans are not visible anymore; they have given way to high rises. The yellow whistling flowers are not to be seen anymore; a BP petrol station came up few years ago where they once had flowered.

Vasai has changed; is changing. Better and wider roads came hand-in-hand with rising real estate costs. Basic infrastructure woes had reduced with every passing year: water supply and electricity improved. I did not get to see any hand pumps where they once stood in limelight as people, especially women and children rushed to fill their daily quota of potable water.

St. Augustine’s High was getting higher and the Ayyappa temple grander.

The horizon and skyline, as seen from Vasant Nagri, changed. The Giriz hill was not the only structure that stood between the railway line and the setting sun; there were newer buildings that were being built on lands that once were salt pans. The picture postcard sunset and its changing hues on the hill can’t be viewed anymore. Nor can the Sun be seen playing hide-and-seek behind the hill during its annual Uttarayan and Dakshinayan journeys.

Vasai is in the process of becoming the next Bandra; the next 'queen of the suburbs'. Because just like Bandra, Vasai too has still retained its idyllic charm and rustic life that will rapture you when you travel towards Vasai Gaon, or its beaches, or the fort.

This weekend may have been one of those nostalgic, sepia-toned trips to Vasai… and I would be dishonest if I say that during my two-day stay there, my eyes hadn’t welled up. 

It was only while driving back to Pune that this dawned – our Vasai house has been sold. Ani, our house, which was like a crevice where our bittersweet memories found a common hiding place all these years, is sold. Ani, avarka okha avarde kaash, avarde kanakh… nammalku nammalde nostalgia!

Sob, sniff, sob.

Though I no more have a house to call my own there, Vasai will always be a home. For home is where the heart is, right? :-)

Brahman and i?

Sarvam khalvidam idham Brahman.

Brahman:

• Is it the primordial intelligence that exists within all of us?
• Is it the communication that occurs between subatomic and atomic particles across physical distances?
• Is it the spaces between matter? Is it the dark energy or anti-matter that exists between ‘things’ that make up matter?
• Is it the cosmic play between matter and space and time?
• Is it Mathematics: “If you subtract the infinite from the infinite, what remains is the infinite?”
• Is it what makes us seek?
• Is it the ‘ocean of milk’ in which Narayana was sleeping on Anantha Sesha/ Adi Sesha? Is it the awakening of Narayana and the simultaneous occurrence of Brahma’s birth? Is it Brahma asking: “Who am I?” and the consequent manifestation of the Goddess?
• Is it adwaitham (One-Without-A-Second)?
• Is it the similarity between: I am the way, and the truth, and the life (John 14:6); Ana al Haq; and Tat Tvam Asi?

La Ilaha Illallah.

Let it be

Let it churn, let it churn, let it churn…
For then we shall get treasures and poisons; answers and questions.

Till then, let it churn, let it churn...

Till I am tired of fighting, till it is time to sleep.
Till then, let it churn, let it churn.

7 Khoon Maaf

This is one movie that holds promise. It says that there is still hope and redemption for us sinners (rather, the sinners inside us).

The movie is a very dark and sometimes funny portrayal of a woman seeking for God in ordinary men (in this case, for the Son of God in ordinary men). Maybe, it’s trying to make a valid point here by revealing the biggest fallacy of lovers: searching for God in our beloved…

In our search for the eternal, the everlasting, and the unattainable, we commit our biggest sins; our biggest mistakes (knowingly?). Our motive is so high, so sacred, and so lofty that we don’t stop at committing any sin no matter how beautiful or brutal.

The six men (in the movie) could hardly hold a candle to the Son of God. But did they deserve to be killed? Did she have a choice (to kill or not to kill)? Maybe, she did not have a choice. As one of her accomplices narrates a short, chilling fable, which explains why she would kill than change her path or search…

Many shots in the movie are dark and brooding, which leave haunting images. Suzanne Anna is one of the best performances in Indian cinema. She was so true to her nature… so honest… so gullible…

When the end credits rolled, the elusive answer dawned… there is a damn good reason for the movie to be titled 7 Khoon Maaf (roughly translates to 7 Murders Forgiven).

The woman was stronger than the six men she thought she loved, except the seventh. For He too had committed 'her' sin for her sake before she was born…

My love is like a red, red moon...

Today, was one of those twilights when the moon was looming over us near the horizon: big and brick red...

For a moment, I stopped my bike at the roadside and stared at the most beautiful object in the sky. And then, I remembered all the previous full moons I had seen in different cities across different landscapes and skylines (The city surely lends or projects its own color and character onto the moon.).

You and I see the same moon no matter where we are and how much you may have forgotten me or the full moon that we saw.

I know, this sounds just like an old, romantic cliche. But is it just that?

Koans from the Self

Can 'I' think?

Where does mu come from?

What is maya?

Energy appearing as a particle is maya; it behaving as a wave is also maya.

Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries)

This is a movie that says a lot without talking much. The movie captures Mumbai, its people, their lives, and its collective spirit just like two of its lead characters do.

The artist, Arun, and the documentary filmmaker, Shai, are the observers. Both are shameless voyeurs, which help them produce great works of art. They observe/peep into others’ lives and secret or routine patterns to produce great art. In the process, they undergo catharsis in their own mundane lives… Somehow, Mumbai brings both of them together when they were in their own individual voids.

Munna and Noor are the observed. They do not realize that and therefore, they end being temporary muses for Shai and Arun, respectively. Obviously, your heart goes out for both of them. You root for them throughout the movie even though your intuition tells you about impending tragedies for both.

This is a movie that reveals the interlinks and the interactions between the observer, the observed, and the observation(s). At some points, all three merge. And this provides us with a feast of sounds, sights, and events for what else is there to life in the maximum city.

This is a movie that contains shorter movies and films in it. Sometimes, the shorter films take over and we forget the bigger picture. The movie reveals that shared spaces just like shared times never belong to the people who shared it. Nobody owns those moments in time or space; neither the observer nor the observed. In the movie, there are only two silent constants when and where everything changes: Mumbai and Noor’s/Arun’s elderly neighbour.

This is a movie that shows us slices of life. It enters a whole new genre where very few movies belong: such is life…