Me / Nobody

Me

Mozart, Mirzya, …and My Mix-Tapes (love!)

Murakami, Mockingbird, Mahasweta Devi…and Mills & Boons (yup!)

Malvolio, Matru… and M

Mata, Misbah Ul Haq … and Mahendra Singh Dhoni (so HOT!)

Mmmm, HMmmmmm… and Mmm…mmm

Ma’am, Miss…and Ae Moti!

Mocha, Margarita… Mint

Mannat, Mandu….MOMA

Not your vibe, Mine

Not your spines, Mine

Not your fantasies, Mine

Not your balls, Mine

Not your sighs, Mine

Not your hats, Mine

Not your poison, Mine

Not your holes, Mine

NOT YOU, ME

Me gets to choose the Me I want to be, Today and Every Day from Today.

COME, FLY WITH ME.

Of love, life and everything in between

Masaan

The quiet paced journey to the sangam, after all the upheaval and 'utpaat' in their lives, is a very apt closure. And yet, I carry all of them back home with me; Deepak, Devi, Sadhya ji, Jhonta, Vidyadhar Pathak, Shaalu and even Sikander. 

The shared deep remorse of all the characters, of life as it is and of loves that could have been, does not drown them in the depths of the river or singe their spirits in the fires of the pyre. It defines them further, and propels them forward. They carry their grief and regrets with dignity and set out to embrace love, life and all else that comes their way. Once again. Staying true to their core.

Avinash Arun’s cinematography and Nitin Baid’s editing are organic. This makes Masaan, everyone & everything in it, tangible and believable. You seem to be watching it all play out in front of your eyes (maybe, majority of the shots being in natural light might also have something to do with it) and it plays out seamlessly. The edit and photography seem to work around the sacred script and the screenplay. Varun Grover’s earthy writing finds the perfect pitch in its actors and setting. All of it comes together with a natural ease, just like Chakbast’s fine balance of the elements. 

And the music, well it sticks. And how! Just like the Kashi in the film, it is an insider in the story. Interwoven. And yet giving all the elements in the story a release. Like the balloons.

Celine-Jesse

Somedays you get the brazen confidence to not only try out something new, but the surety of the hitting out a home run on your maiden game. Yes, that one. That day is today. A new recipe, untried before and maybe not even sampled by the taste buds..well, maybe. Or maybe, how about directly blogging out, strutting out in the blazing sun, no glares or sunscreen and tilting your head to gaze out directly at the sun..matching its ferocity. And maybe, making it wilt a little too. Ignoring the red marks all over your word document by the auto correct software and continuing to key on, setting the document ablaze with even more fiery reds. Opening the windows of the room, of your life to the storm outside and inviting in the chaos. Lets see what and how much can you stir up, after all? How much more chaotic can life be after you have visited us, you rhetorically ask. The winds and water gushing in and soaking it all. Leaving behind a heaviness of wet and livened up emotions, the storm doesn’t seem like a threatening stranger holding secrets but a well wisher showing us the mirror, by pulling out the blackened skies from within, and clearing the air, making way for sunshine. The sunshine before the sun sets again, darkening it all.

So what will Jesse, little Jesse do now? Will he miss his flight, alter travel and life plans or..stay on course, towards self destruction. Or maybe, the renewed energies gained, will help him navigate pre-set courses, no matter how damning, with more heart. Or maybe, nothing will change. In real terms. Only the celine-jesse in his mind would have aged and more data and love points would have accumulated themselves in his mirror world. It will be his mirror world that will feel the ripples, these ripples dying out before they make it to the real sands of time, leaving behind no imprints of their existence. And then, maybe, some will believe (the cynics and the non-believers), that celine and the sunset were a mirage, another page from another book or some other fictional reality. What do you think? And what do you want it to be?

Days spent with books

The day today, filled to the brim and spilling. Do I like them this way or empty? Somedays this and the most days that.

Guitar strings sounding taut and crisp enough to bruise the ears and shed blood. From the eyes.

I inhabit Nazi Germany most afternoons. Or maybe, it inhabits me. I can taste it in my throat. It holds my hand and I can feel its pulse, or the lack of it, in my palm. Admist all the fear, death, cold bonfires, out of tune accordions, hunger, sleepless nights, workless days and all other frosted feelings, I can sniff out childhood, hope and innocence…and my eyes burn with the smell of them. Hope in the middle of dead feeling marshes can sound, smell and look like a crude, ugly indulgence. Not just out of place but completely unwarranted. And it is from this aberration, this dash of colour in an otherwise gloomy landscape…that the colours begin to dilute, mix and spread themselves across the canvas and a story blooms born from within overgrown shrubbery of despair and sadness.

And then, the kids wake up to the drizzle of rain in the mountain ranges of the cold, picturesque foothill town in the Himalayas..and to a dancing, bubbling blue umbrella.

Summation

Tiny, puny, adult-like creatures, walking around on their own two feet, eating with their mouthful and laughing at the same time. I find these beings miraculous, to say the very least. Nature’s purest joy embodied in them, they dance, swerve, fall and rise again. And to top it all, they are for real. A magic that is for real. Go ahead, top that!

They., moving around, look like a summation of loves, yours, mine and then some more. They look like valleys of pooled in patience(s), yours, mine and then some more. They breathe in and breathe out thoughts, views, emotions that are our palettes merged together. They are the beacons funneling in energies, positivity, yours, mine and then some more. They stand for all things good with the world around us. We nurture them, like life nurtures us.

They are us, Tarun, much more than us. Walking, singing, dancing, breathing, beings – us, together…you, me and then some more.