WOW: “Flowers At The Door”

Workstations become 'our own' much quicker than a person does. There were flowers on my work-desk, a bouquet himself, basking in the company of yellow roses. Without bothering to look who the sender was, for almost half a minute, I was blinded by beauteous bouquet. I had reasons -

1) I probably had never seen two dozen yellow roses all bind together could look so blindingly bright (beautifullingly bright). 

2) The air got all glossy after checking out who the sender was. 

A prominent name from my past was lurching over on a plain-white card stapled on couple of rose-petals (those yellow rose-petals). It was 'the day' of the year, frequently referred on social media as, 'another year older, none the wiser'. This shenanigan made sense since ex-past and I shared same date. A heartache traveled straight to stomach where it churned and churned more. Still standing over the desk, which by now had turned into a heartbreak hotel and it became nearly impossible to stay standing. I dragged a chair close enough to desk. Action of dragging the chair felt like.. well, dragging my foot through mud that had went dry and was now clenching onto my skin. 

5 long years earlier, I was advised by a whole clan of bffs and confidants to button-up lips about the whole *af-fairy* thing. Pondering over a cliched scenario of my love-life and feeling heartbroken at the same time, I broke off in an overly crowded McDonald. There was a temptation (there always is) to let it go, to forgive, to celebrate love and be loved. But by then, an unsurity had clouded the heart and like a little girl that once I was, thought its best to put it to a safe place. So I put my heart in an imaginary bottle and hung it around my neck. I didn't enjoy suffering anymore. The chair would remain empty for the next 9 years to come. 

It's that time of the year again (same month and almost a same date). Also a strong urge washed away my resistance of showing how strongly I felt when I saw the title 'W.O.W. - Flowers on the Door'. 

PS: Earlier this year, someone came and put back my heart where it came from, and the chair isn't so empty anymore.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

understood

what happens when you pour your heart into a territory unknown (to you or scores of generations before you) and have response be muted or non existent? is it something you solve in 90minutes with popcorn on your lap? i'll keep living it and keep returning to the shortcomings i thought i had conquered once upon a time coz it keeps going and showing me the FOLLY OF BELIEVING it can be understood. i smiled so broadly that my face hurt. maybe i'm naive... 

६ शब्दों की है ये कहानी

क्या छ शब्दों में कोई कहानी कही जा सकती है? मेरा पहला उत्तर होगा नहीं लेकिन यह मेरा आखिरी उत्तर नहीं होगा. अगर आपका आखिरी उत्तर भी नहीं है तो इसे इस तरह सोचिये- "पार्टनर तुम्हारी पॉलिटिक्स क्या है?" क्या यह मुक्तिबोध की कहानी नहीं है. "बात बोलेगी हम नहीं" क्या शमशेर की कहानी कहने के लिए इससे अधिक शब्दों की जरूरत है? "मैं शैतान द्वारा चुना गया लेखक हूँ" यह गैलियानो की आत्मकथा है. 'अ से अनार नहीं अत्याचार' यह एक समाज के बदलने की कहानी है. 'तलाक तलाक तलाक', 'बँटवारा', १९८४, २००२, द्रोणाचार्य ये सिर्फ शब्द नहीं, ये ऐसी कहानियाँ हैं जिसे पढ़कर/सुनकर कोई भी संवेदनशील व्यक्ति रो सकता है, गुस्से से भर सकता है, एक पागल कर देने वाली बेचैनी से घिर सकता है.

जब हेमिंग्वे ने कहा था कि मैं छ शब्दों में पूरी कहानी लिख सकता हूँ तो उनका मतलब शायद ऐसी ही कहानियों से रहा होगा और ऐसी ही कहानियाँ लिखी हैं हरी राम ने. सिर्फ छ शब्दों में वो समाज का सारा सच कह जाते हैं-

पढ़िए Hari Ram की ये six words story:

बेटा, चमार-मुसलमान छोड़ सब चलेंगी!
‪#‎sixwordstory‬

यार,कास्ट इशू. पापा नहीं मानेंगे.
#sixwordstory

काश! तुम जॉब कर रहे होते!
#sixwordstory

आई लव यू एज़ अ फ्रेंड!
#sixwordstory

अफसर कड़क था,लाख पे माना.
#sixwordstory

अफसर जात भाई निकला. बच गए.
#sixwordstory

जीन्स ने देश बर्बाद कर दिया.
‪#‎six_word_story_from_dehaat‬

पढ़के कौनसा डीसी बनेंगी ये छोरी!
‪#‎six_word_story‬

हम तो सबके साथ खाते-पीते है.
‪#‎upper_caste_revolutionary‬

सरकारी नौकर है. गाड़ी देनी पड़ेगी.
#sixwordstory

साला आरक्षण ने जातिवाद फैलाया है.
#sixwordstory

बेटा, झुग्गी वालों साथ खेलना नहीं.
#sixwordstory

पढ़ने भेजा है या पॉलिटिक्स करने?
‪#‎Savarna_confession_story‬

मुर्गा चख नहीं पाये, मंगलवार था :(
#sixwordstory

लड़की पढ़ी-लिखी है,पर रहेगी दबके.
#sixwordstory

बड़ी बेहया है. घूंघट नहीं करती!
#sixwordstory

साला एससी था, फ़ैल कर दिया.
#Savarna_confession_story

क्या कहा! लड़का वाल्मीकि जात है?
‪#‎sixwordtory‬

mere 3words are not enough

i love you.
against all odds.
how are you.
now or never.
i miss you.
dont give up.
be the change.
because i can.
over and out.
laugh out loud.
be right back.
let it go.
no strings attached.
seize the day.
going my way?
until next time
health is wealth.
listen, think, speak (in that exact order).
somebody loves you.
take a walk.
you're not perfect.
roses are red.

and as Fletcher would've said, 'call your mom'.

dear mom

you were always around. i would be lying if i won't say that it would've been nice to have you around. in a parallel world (beyond right and wrong, do's and dont's) i am making you watch Walt Disney's dumbo just like you made me watch 'boogie woogie' when all i wanted to watch ducktales

i no talk to my mom anymore, daddy issues but in a parallel world (to hell with parallel world..)

but then

but then,

she was supposed to be the one to hold it all back

and he was supposed to pour it out

for words that remained unspoken

for glances that remained unstolen

for skin tissues that remained untouched

for love that remained ungrew

but still,

she continues to keep him close

and no love but he continues to send his bests, his smilies and his typos

he continues to haunt her dreams

she continues to chase a mirage wrapped in flesh

and a wild imagination of an unparalleled universe

where number of bohemian coffee shops will surpass the number of cars and crowd on roads

where he attracts unusual weather and keeps her tongue busy

some days, he plays cupid

and some days, turns into a stone that smashes windows and breaks hearts

some days, his eyes flirt

some days, his whole being is just a smile so broad that makes his face wrinkled

some days, he is a secret lover

and on a night like this, he irons out her cold palms and whispers that maybe that's the way he prefers

it was one of the those nights

and it was his palm against her trembling feminine fingers

on nights like this, she wonders

if  she(they) has lost her (their) only chance to be mad at each other, to disappoint one another

coz the clock has long-ticked and gone

and the sand from hourglass has slipped

now her face has turned into what defines obvious

and when the big wheel will start to spin

there will be nothing

but pesky rumors and nasty smirks

and a question that why didn’t it happened

what was there to reason

to them, then she asks

given a chance what would they have preferred

a love affair

or an affair worth longing?

हम दोनों

हम दोनों एक आसमान के नीचे और बदलते मौसमों के बीच बडे हुए

हजारों किलोमीटर दूर रहके भी पास रहे

हम दोनों की इस हिम्मत की मिसाल देने के लिए शब्दों की ख़ूबसूरती की ज़रुरत नहीं

शब्दों की ख़ूबसूरती की बात करें तो चीज़ें आज भी नहीं बदली हैं

शब्द जितने खूबसूरत होंगे, बातें उतनी ही लम्बी और उलझी

बिलकुल हमारी जड़ों की तरह

उलझी हुई, गहरी और किसी तीसरे की समझ से बाहर

यहाँ बात प्यार की हो रही है तो प्यार का हावी होना ज़रूरी है

उन चीज़ों की या लोगों की हो रही है जिनसे दूर होते वक़्त

चाहे कितनी कोशिश करें

हम उनकी आँखों में देखके फिर मिलने का वादा नहीं कर पाते

वो तुमसे कहते हैं कि खराब वक़्त के लिए चेहरे पे हंसी चिपका के तैयार रहो

मैं तुमसे कहता हूँ कि प्यार को न तो सही वक़्त की ज़रुरत है, न सही जगह की

प्यार होने के लिए मुझे चाहिए तुम
तुम्हारे साथ कुछ मिनट और उन कुछ मिनटों में बैकग्राउंड में तुम्हारा पसंदीदा गाना 

प्यार की बड़ी-बड़ी बातें सुनता हूँ तो सोच में पड़ जाता हूँ

सोचता हूँ कि ये लोग प्यार करने की बनिस्बत नहीं, प्यार में जबरन पडे रहने के लिए ही शायद ऐसा करते हैं

गर ऐसा नहीं है तो एक-दूसरे की प्यार की कहानियाँ सुनते वक़्त क्यूँ हम खुद से कहते हैं, “
"तुम्हारा प्यार अच्छा, मेरा प्यार तुमसे कहीं ज्यादा अच्छा”
माना प्यार न हुआ, वजन नापने की मशीन हो गया

तुम्हारा पता नहीं 

पर मेरे साथ हमेशा ऐसा हुआ है कि जो चीज़ें मुझे याद रहीं, उन्होने मुझे बचाया

भूली हुयी चीज़ों को कोई दोबारा याद नहीं करना चाहता

तुमने कहा था जिस दिन ऐसा होगा

उस दिन सड़क पर ट्रैफिक कम, कॉफ़ी शॉप्स ज्यादा दिखेंगी

जहां हम दोनों जैसे प्यार में पडे लोग रोड ट्रिप्स और साथ में सनसेट देखने की बातें कर रहे होंगे

और बातें कर रहे होंगे नए और पुराने गानों की, एअरपोर्ट सिक्यूरिटी की और पासपोर्ट रिन्यूअल की

तुम नहीं जानती कि कोई तुमसे ऐसा ही प्यार करने लगा है

और उसके हिस्से आई हैं

प्यार की बड़ी-बड़ी बाते

उलझी हुयी, गहरी और किसी तीसरे की समझ से बाहर!

   

tutorial

i will tell you exactly
what has really changed

week after week
over the years

wrists have gotten thinner
and the veins.. greener than ever

wonder which one of them leads to let the flesh throbbing
wonder how deep a cut should be
memorize kevin spacey's voice that says,

cut along the tracks
not across them
that's a rookie mistake. 

a dream called sleep

'It's been how many years?', looking at her birthday cake which has her name engraved, she wonders. It always rains. It rained that very evening too. She is a fool. She thinks, it's a sign that someone is watching her over. God? One cannot be sure of 'God' unless you have seen him with your naked eyes. Have we? Sure, we have. We have seen him in our day-to-day life, in amidst of chaos, when someone makes our moments, fills our day with their warmth. We have felt his presence in all of those things, which pauses the moment and makes us smile. Haven't we?

She fooled you too.

Cutting the dream-sequensque nonsense, she realizes the unusual, now. It was a call from a dear friend. This dear friend was completely unaware of her birthday (how very special) morning, invites her to an intimate poetry-recitation session in remembrance of Bhagwat Rawat. After a moment's pause and not getting a response, he asks, 'you know him?' Hungrily, munching on her multi-fucking-grain bread, she says, 'not heard of him'. No prizes for guessing, he was kind enough to divulge details. Right before disconnecting the phone, she conveys disappointment on his ignorance of her birthday. (Secretly, she enjoys making her friends feel guilty). After making him feel guilty, she disconnects and starts to day-dream about the evening. Maybe, he would recite a poetry just to.. She is day-dreaming.

She is an idiot.

It's just rained and drizzling at the moment. She has this thing for drenching self in rain rather hiding under an umbrella. She calls it ecstatic. She is delusional. Swirling-up her mustard-yellow long skirt, gets into an auto, reaches at venue. It's one of the 16 storey building in Oshiwara and it has a lift too and it works fine. To her, a lift that works fine is a luxury, she can't afford. You didn't know? It's an another story, a long one at that. She will tell you the 'story of a lift', in another story. Not in this one. Yeah, 'my ground-my rules' and all that bull.

Gathering is exact intimate, her friend assured of. Like-minded lunatics. Teasing each other for not being in touch, we start laughing. Swallowing up every word of Rawat's poetry, she keeps asking about the poet and his life. His poetry just redefined the simplicity of words and the ways to communicate it. Here, sharing her most favorite:

चिड़ियों को पता नहीं

चिड़ियों को पता नहीं कि वे

कितनी तेज़ी से प्रवेश कर रही हैं

कविताओं में।

इन, अपने दिनों में, खासकर(specially)

उन्हें चहचहाना था

उड़ानें भरनी थीं

और घंटों, गरदन में चोंच डाले

गुमसुम बैठकर

अपने अंडे सेने थे।

मैं देखता हूँ कि वे

अक्सर आती हैं

बेदर डरी हुईं

पंख फड़फड़ाती

आहत

या अक्सर मरी हुईं।

उन्हें नहीं पता था कि

कविताओं तक आते-आते

वे चिड़ियाँ नहीं रह जातीं

वे नहीं जानतीं कि उनके भरोसे

कितना कुछ हो पा रहा है

और उनके रहते हुए

कितना कुछ ठहरा हुआ है।

अभी जब वे अचानक उड़ेंगी

तो आसमान उतना नहीं रह जाएगा

और जब वे उतरेंगी

तो पेड़ हवा हो जाएंगे।

मैं सारी चिड़ियों को इकट्ठा करके

उनकी ही बोली में कहना चाहता हूँ

कि यह बहुत अच्छा है

कि तुम्हें कुछ नहीं पता।

तुम हमेशा की तरह

कविताओं की परवाह किए बिना उड़ो

चहचहाओ

और बेखटके

आलमारी में रखी किताबों के ऊपर

घोंसले बनाकर

अपने अंडे सेओ।

न सही कविता में

पर हर रोज़

पेड़ से उतरकर

घर में

दो-चार बार

ज़रूर आओ-जाओ.

The pulse at the back of her neck is throbbing. She is marveled.

We talk about poetry the whole evening till midnight, while it's pouring heavily outside. Stealing her quiet moment, she realizes, poetry makes this world worth to live in. She is nuts.

One of the click from the evening. Meet Dhani, Rawat's granddaughter (and, most prettiest sight ever):

It's midnight. 'Quite an evening', she whispers.

She is quiet. She is sleeping.

Certainly 'one-of-its-kind' but hope not the last. - Madras Cafe.

In today's time, where every film-maker/director claims his 'film' as one-of-its-kind, (with all due respect to their hard work and its outcome), here comes a director who doesn't go over-board and let the film allow to do the talking.

Shoojit Sircar's Madras Cafe is one who leads (as I think in my little opinion). As a director, his second-timer lives upto the expectations, while handling with a walking-on-tight-rope subject.

Unlike his first directorial 'Vicky Donor' with an acid-like-subject-dipped-in-humor, Madras Cafe narrates the story of a nation dealing with political tension while the other one is facing civil war, plus, a conspiracy that will change the future of both the nations. With both his films, Sircar's message as a director/filmmaker is clear :
1) THAT his first success was not a fluke.
2) That he has taken a secret vow that he won't take his audience for granted (unlike his other contemporaries do).
3) THAT he will not bow down to stereotypes story-telling narratives and remains true to what it claims to capture.. that too, without sensationalizing the plot.

Madras Cafe's takes us on a ride of how, what & when of the-then Lankan war, a conspiracy that kills a nation's prime-minister.. without taking names OR sides (APPLAUSE). Yes, the characters in the film have their personal setbacks but Sircar manages to steer ahead the plot without being melodramatic.

It will be an injustice if I won't mention John Abraham's role as a producer-cum-lead-role. During his (almost) a decade of acting tenure, his acting skills has not only been questioned many-a-times but also 'labelled' as inconsistent. John's choice(s) as a producer introduces us with his new face. A welcome change, I say! (Having said that, How I wish to bow before John and congratulate him for being a rarest-of-rare-case of model-turned-actor-turned-producer).

Miss Fakhri (unlike in her debut 'Rockstar') not only breaks the ice of being a sheer disappointment but also, contributes to the story.

MADRAS CAFE brings a fresh air in this sheer mayhem of 100cr. club and all that jazz, a change so pleasant that certainly is one-of-its-kind but hope not last.

Last but not the least, as this old saying goes, "you cannot stop people from watching bad cinema but you can always spread a word-of-mouth and increase the viewership of good cinema'.

Here's to the new face of Bollywood. Hail Bollywood!

P.S.: ONE MUST AVOID 'Madras Cafe', if:
1) You think, it's just another film based on real events/characters/facts.
2) You are looking for bollywood typical patterns of unreal fight sequnces OR irrelevant conflict scenes.
3) You think, you should ignore this post and give 'Madras Cafe' a shot (and believe me, my friend, I will brim and brew happiness if you do so).

Keep wondering.

Since the day, she became aware of her female-hood in amidst of flesh trade, she keep wondering, 'Why are men willing to put money down for what is so clearly faked?'

Why does the hetrosexual porn customer need the fiction of female desire to sustain his erection, instead of just naked female bodies?

And the only answer (ironically), she received from her inner/outer voices that the men aren't interested in the truth of women's experiences (She can possibly be wrong here. Correct her, if she is).

The porn customer's truth is one of paying for services; perhaps that's the only power he can claim in this interaction. But is that what gets him hard? His buying power? Why then they are (she is) advertised as prostitutes and paid to simulate their own desire?

For the man, who buys the service of a dominatrix, being 'topped' as attractive as long as it's a service. He feels in control of this fictional loss of control because he himself paid for it. Here again, he trades money for a fiction, not just for a body. Then, why do the men themselves act so unaware of this economy, when it must be an integral part of their excitement?

She is struck again and again by the parallels between the prostitution and the culture in general. The people inside -  those performing, those observing, and those managing the spectacle - are 'normal' people engaged in an activity more explicit but not different in underlying structure from much of the activity of our daily lives. Her lover quietly whispers to her (in bed) that the prostitution's only objective is to allow them (men) to define themselves and their culture as normal, because it's we (society) who call the flesh-trade marginal and perverse.

From in here, it looks like any clean division between the perverse and the normal is a false one, which allows (at least she thinks that) all kinds of oppressions to go unchallenged. It allows a father who rapes his daughter and say, 'I am not doing anything wrong. Look at those perverts out there.' It allows politicians to enact wars on drugs, wars on prostitution, wars on aliens while they trade favors with corporate dealers, pimps and coyotes out of their offices.

A part of her started to believe that prostitution does not subvert the culture, it mirrors it.

Well, she is still wondering..

बेखबर.

बेखबर हर एहसास से
हर दुआ से
हर याद से
हर सहमे लम्हे से
हर डरती रात से
बेखबर रहना उसने सीख लिया
सब कह रहे हैं, सही मायनों में उसने जीना अब सीख लिया..

Seen Unseen - An evening in Dharavi.

On that narrow lane off '90 Feet Road' in Dharavi, a truck can block all view ahead. Yet, in such a place, a curious crowd had gathered under fluorescent yellow-orange shamiana that Saturday evening. There were local women and children dressed in their shiny best. There were those from lands beyond Dharavi in their ethnic kurtas, cool tees and what not. Passersby wondered what all the commotion was about. And as fleeting glances deepened into interest and the crowd spilled into the street, the organizers knew that this was going to be one exhilarating evening.

By the time, I reached there, a water bottle had been got into the system.. (that's what excitement did to us, to me) for I was going to see the 'Slumdog Millionaire' fame Dharavi.. (that's how non-mumbaikars knows the place).  As this post is about 'the' evening, so let me hold my thoughts on whether Danny Boyle did any good OR just-glorified-the-slum in a bad way.

So, the assembled had gathered to attend an exhibition by SNEHA on health. They were calling the exhibition Ghar Pe (At Home).. it was an installation of art pieces made by the local participants (mostly kids). I was in awe, for every piece evoked a particular aspect of health and was the culmination of almost an year’s efforts in creativity, conversations and skill acquirement. eg: mosquitoes embroidered on windows, photographs spread on utensils and dreams moulded into ceramic slippers, colored chits on turquoise wall with kids' name and their dreams.. they were just some of the examples of household items that were afflicted by a healthy dose of messages via this form of art, this form what I was experiencing for first time. Day of many firsts, i say!! 

The inaugural was preceded by a frenzy of photos taken by and of the participants of Dekha Andekha. 

The hall that is part of Ganesh Vidya Mandir was painted a turquoise green and saw almost two hundred and fifty visitors that evening. Among those who burst with excitement into the exhibition was Akku Behn, a middle aged sweeper from the neighbourhood. For Akku Behn, who had never been to an art exhibition before, the art pieces made by our participants led her to say that it is great that women are doing something different. And then in the crowd, was the little boy who wanted a fabric globe off a dream slipper to play with. And there was the sound of many an air kiss blown into the noisy room. :-)

Kids who had just been felicitated were exuberant when they saw visitors were paying *close* attention to their art pieces. This was yet another moment when a craftswoman metamorphoses into an artist and they recount a terrific time explaining their art to curious visitors. Zarina from the photography group feels that this exhibition is sure to bring about change in the neighbourhood.

As the street lights came out, the crowd  ventured outdoors. But I could see that everyone who had come there that evening, returned with a bit of turquoise.. including me.  :-)