Ponder

As I age, I notice - that what we talk speaks a lot about who we are and while we talk, we actually put a display of our thoughts - like a scan of what we would go through in our minds while we speak. And in my day to day life, I see them all around me - People who talk like they mean it, talk and don't know why or what they talk, people who talk sense, nonsense, people who talk out of their hearts and then some who do through their backsides. Here's a run down of the specimens in my research.

The weather reporter - I know of a person, a sweet, diffident one - that comes to me every time we cross paths and gives me an analysis of how I look. The person would walk to me, greet me in the sweetest smile and tell me how I look for the day. "You look tired today" "You look dull" "You look really fabulous in dangle earrings, you should wear only dangling ones" "You look pretty today - keep wearing this top" " you gained weight from the last time I saw you - you look fat" - the report goes on and on - mostly like a under enthusiastic weather reporter reading out the daily forecast. The only problem I have with the reporter is that on an average day, unless I am sedate on pain killers, I do know if I feel or look dull, fat or tired. I don't need a reminder of how I look every time someone sees me, (specially, if that someone sees me on a daily basis) -as to what kind of a look I am wearing for the day - chances are, I peeped into the mirror on my way out of the house and even if I didn't, my look for the day will not effect the day in anyway.

The Quiz Master - The quizzer needs to know it all - and at once. In the first meeting, the quizzer would ask you how old you are, why you are that old, how much your husband makes, how much you paid for your new refrigerator, how often you clean your house etc....if you give the quizzer answers to all those questions - the quizzer will quickly encroach your privacy and ask you questions you might not ask yourself. The quizzer's main focus in life is 'others' and the no stone is left unturned till you let it all out. The quizzer, more often than not, tests your patience and your ability to get away with ambiguous answers and your knack to be politically correct. The quizzer has no respect whatsoever for your privacy.

The Butcher - You could use the term "Dockers" loosely for a dress pant - but not in the presence of the butcher - your every word will be dissected to fine pulp, pulverized to no end. The butcher's aim in life is to look for inconsistencies, mistakes, grammatical errors and low IQ levels in the person he is talking to and then attack them with a sharp as a butcher's knife criticism. If you post a general observation about terrorism - the butcher will quickly come in and smack you down for posting an observation and not really joining the anti-terrorist squad and laying your life down for the cause you passionately talk about. If you repeat wise words of a wise man - the butcher will still come in and tell you why the words are not worth being uttered by a wise man in the first place and then as to how much useless it is to repeat them by giving his own take on the said quote.

The wannabe stand up comedian - This specimen doesn't mean any harm - the only aim in his/her life is to pull humor out of every situation to make them look like messiahs of sense of humor. They want to be the life of the party, the pride of the group but somehow end up making irritable comedies of their own self. Sadly, they end up hurting feelings as well sometimes - all in the name of God blessed humor.

The Know All - from rocket science to Vedic texts, from para sailing to pet care - the know alls are walking, talking search engines that have enormous knowledge at their finger tips. You tell them about an observation made a couple of minutes ago - ofcourse, they had seen it, been there, done that, nailed it. Go figure...and most importantly, keep shut!

The parrot talker - Most of the time, you have a difficulty understanding what they are trying to say. The parrot talker has a halo effect around his/herself that leads them into believing that they are being this profound, though provoking conversationalists - but for the most part they lay eggs right left and center - they do provide a lot of comic relief though - from the more spiteful specimens.

The a$$ - This specimen walks away with all the awards - this is the one that has no consideration for the feelings of anyone - including children - and in his/her most vicious and vile self can call a child in glasses as an old man or make fun of a handicap with a trademark condescending humor. The a$$ handpicks topics of discussions - the ones that are sensitive and can cause discomfort to others and goes ahead making his point and crushing hearts and feelings in the process. The a$$ (animal, not body part BTW) will point out your shortcomings in a sadistic way and smiles contently as the people around them sigh in despair.

I have more that I should record, more thoughts that hit me. Shall probably revisit this - but this is an attempt to come over the writer's /thinker's block.

Aim

Taking lazy turns

Around bustling isles,

Steering way through

Busy streets,

Steaming veggies, brewing tea!

Changing sheets

And dusting furniture,

Teaching alphabet, singing lullabies,

Cooking meals and pruning shrubs,

washing clothes, scrubbing tubs

Reading poems and writing blogs -

It lingers through little tasks

Triumphs in errands

And thrives on wee joys,

My Ambition - or lack thereof!

Connection

"Trains are liable to make up or loose time" the painted foot note read - on the little black board she used to write the arrival timings of the trains in that small town Railway station she worked in. She would look at the sentence and cringe. "loose time!" "loose time"? Really?How could a picky language lover tolerate the confusion? But no one ever seemed to notice it like she did - or no one ever seemed to bother if they'd noticed it in the first place. Till he came in to the picture on a bright weekday. The crowd thickened around her counter window- but he waited- till he got a chance to come closer to speak to her from the other side. "But it has to read Lose, Not loose!" He pointed out. She looked at him with immense interest, almost like she had found a voice resonating with her own. Almost as if she was in shock to realize that there was another person existing in this world that looked and noticed the little things the way she did.
"It is painted that way" She offered her explanation, her acne accented cheeks which were already red from the inflammation turned a shade brighter as she spoke. Her perfectionism making her wonder if he thought she'd painted the letters that way. She suddenly remembered the way one of her uncles asked how stationary was different from Stationery when she was in primary school. She remembered how she felt insulted that he'd think she'd not know. This young woman, all of eighteen was a lover of all things perfect and Her language topped the charts.
"Just saying!" He smiled. With a twinkle in his eyes and disappeared into the busy platform. She looked in his direction and smiled without her knowledge.
"What are you so happy about?" A colleague's question brought her back to the moment and she got back to her work in the enquiry counter.

*******

"Is the east bound train coming in anytime soon?" A familiar voice made her look up from the book she was reading. She was in her night shift and the relatively free schedule of trains allowed her to dig into books. She looked to find him again - her face broke into a beaming smile.
"oh, you? How are you"
"Very well!"
"Yeah, the train will be here momentarily"
"Thanks - By the way, what keeps you so engrossed?"
"Oh- this book" She lifts the book into her hands and flashes the cover.
"Anna Karenina?" Nice read. Heavy, tragic - but nice read!"

"You read it?"
" I think I did!"

"You read a lot?" Her heart was racing now. There is a connection with this person.

"I am bound to. I teach"

Now she got up from her seat.
"Awesome!" She squealed in joy.

"Don't tell me you teach English"

"Yes, my dear! I do!"

"Grade school?"

"Graduate school!"

"No kidding - So tell me we can discuss 'Paradise Lost'

"Sure we can. Tell me when and where?"

She wanted to say "Right here, right now" but contained her excitement and said whenever you can spare some time.

********

Now it was obvious he loved her. Like his own, and how would a hopelessly romantic eighteen year old not love him back? They were walking back to a nearby coffee shop to get refreshments.

"Get something" he insisted. " I think I am okay" she excused herself. She was lost in the way he sang to her on the platform - a divine hymn singing the glory of Goddess Shakti. She got off her schedule to meet him on the platform while he waited for a train to arrive. They both sat on one of those benches planted into the concrete of the platform, oblivious to the world around them. From a distance, it was an amusing scene - for no bystander would understand what connects them so intensely as to make them lost in each other on a busy platform with all the hustle and bustle thrown in.

The train arrived and his guest who was passing through the station, got off the train to wish him. "Meet my friend" - he would introduce her to the guest. "Meet Daya Mata - the head in our Ranchi headquarters - he told her, as she joined her hands to greet the guest. He was heavily into spirituality and meditation - one of the other aspects that intrigued her to no end.

"I am dropping you home" he confirmed as the train took away the passing guest - without asking her if she wanted him to.

"I'll take the bus" She insisted.

"Follow me! No arguments"

They drove home on his motorbike - lost as ever in their own world.

***********


He drove to her home with the copy of his Thesis. Read it - you'll love it" He offered. And then he asked her to come over to meet him at his work - in the nearby Degree college.

She walked to his work - found the college peon and told him that she was here for the English professor.
"Sir told me Miss" The peon would flash a grin. "Please wait while I get you some tea" He'd walk her into the staff room and offer her some tea.

"There you are" He said - with unmistakable joy in his voice.

" I hope the peon recognized you"

He pulled a chair to sit next to her and lowered his voice to a mock whisper "I told him there would be a girl looking for me in the evening - A strikingly gorgeous and poised one"

His love and awe for her out did the collective efforts of the all the boys who hit on her. His words made her feel beautiful and confident.

She managed a silent embarrassed smile.

"What are you smiling about? You know right? - You are a very pretty and sensible young woman, and I wanted to warn the peon beforehand so that he would get ready to lose his heart"

Her smile stretched from ear to ear...is it not enough that this man taught her ' Paradise Lost' and made her discover Milton? Is it not enough that the man connects with her like magic and sings to her and awes her with his outlook on life and endears her with his gentle kind ways? Is it not enough that he charms her with his intellect?

She collected her notes that day and walked home feeling like a pageant winner.

***********

It is their usual place of meeting. The coffee shop opposite the railway station. A man walks to him and wishes him

"Good afternoon professor, what brings you here?"
"I had to meet some friend passing through"

The man looks at her and recognizes her.
'So, she works here with the Railways?" the man asks him.
"yeah she does - what might interest you is that she is a student of literature as well"

"My daughter is a student of literature too - the man adds. It is endearing when daughters take up their fathers' passions"

She understood the misconception going through the man's mind and attempted to offer a clarification.

"Yeah, it is endearing - he cuts her off" and hurriedly takes leave of the man saying he has some work to attend to.
She follows him while saying bye to the man they just met.

On her way back home, sitting behind him on his motorbike, she asked him
"But the man thought I was your daughter - it is funny though, one of my traffic controllers called me the other day on the network line to give me some work related info and he assumed the same thing as well - telling me he was your student and he never knew that I am your daughter, it seems the other day he saw us in the coffee shop together."

"What did you say to him?"

" I told him you are my daddy's friend. You know what was funny? He was telling me how handsome you were in your day. Funny cause I think you are hands down one of the most interesting and handsome men I'd met so far"

He let out a loud laughter.
"Thank you I guess?"

"But anyway, why did you not tell this man I wasn't your kid?"

"Because I feel you are mine"

She smiled to herself - one of those beaming smiles that bloom on her face when she is in his company.

And they drove back home lost in one of those conversations.

Work in progress...

She roams around almost lazily in the Magnificent cathedral - looking at the stained glasses the depict the life and times of Jesus Christ. The visitors go about the expanse, animated, letting out sighs of awe. The scene looks like a vintage motion picture sans dialogues. Her eyes rest on a sculpture. Jesus - bleeding while surrounded by his followers. Numerous candles light up around the scene, giving it a 'back in time' feel. She gathers her scarf around her elbows and picks a candle to light. She reaches out to a shining candle nearby and dips the wick into the gentle flame. The warm glow illuminates her face - a generous forehead letting out tell tale signs of a jump start of the process of aging when looked at in that illumination, Calm, peaceful eyes and a perfect nose that stands out and anchors the features. Her lush hair falls back in a tight braid while wisps of deep black hair escape and cascade onto her cheeks. She is effortlessly beautiful, dressed in a dull cotton tunic and a pair of conservative indigo jeans. Her face has no traces of makeup, the only aspect of adornment that competes with her absentminded smile are the generous solitaires she wears on her large earlobes. The off white knit scarf around her neck falls on to her bust while covering every inch of her long and slender neck. It is hard to say if she has any more decorations - fabric covers every inch of her body. Her tender feet nestle on the cool floor of the cathedral as she presses them hard into the surface in an attempt to cool the warmth the hurt sculpture of the Lord creates in her. The corner of her eyes get misty. She lets our a little mock cough...a reflex that comes out when she realizes the moistness in her eyes. She clears her throat and slily wipes her eyes in a make believe attempt that looks like she is wiping a grain of sand away from the tip of her lashes. The enigmatic smile plays on her full lips all along.

She finds a seat on the bench. and lifts up to look at the endless ceilings. It is hard to believe that it is middle of the day with the all powerful sun frolicking at his hottest, brightest best on the outside - the dark expanse of the inside of the cathedral has no traces of artificial lighting. The stained glass accents glow in the darkness along with the nimble wicker of the naked flames from the candles that are lit around. She is lost in a trail of thoughts again - drawing comparisons of how the inside of this dark place of worship with little flecks of light coincides with her own inside. Little flecks of thought shine in her gaping, empty heart. She is transformed into the past...a past that comes and gets her a decade and a half later.

Ponder

She limps up the stairs with a pot of water on her hip, her sari pleats tucked into her waist. She stops for brief moments, as if to gather strength to take the next step. Her eyes have a ring of grey, giving away the age which she denies by going about like a machine running on fuel. She carefully pours the water into a stainless steel drum and repeats the drill. On random days, when her luck fails along with the municipality water supply, she does this chore to make sure there is enough water to drink and use around the house. Her younger days aren't any different. She wakes up before dawn to cook for a big family, packs her lunch along with the others' and takes a public transport to go to the school where she teaches. Her evenings are filled with household chores and cooking and cleaning after grown up kids. Now she is retired. Old enough and worked enough to rightfully deserve a 'retirement'. She keeps her lips zipped and her hands and mind busy. Never waits for her daughters in law to chime into the chores. Diligently cooks, cleans and feeds an ungrateful family that should, ideally, take care of themselves and then take care of her as well.
Her service is the tip of the iceberg.
"Take it if you like it" she'd offer her every worldly possession from saris to accessories. "Do it your way" she'd withdraw, when family decisions are being made. "Let me take care of that" she'd volunteer to wipe the butt of a grandkid.
Her daughters in law afford the luxury of PMSes, boredom and break from the kids in forms of shopping trips while she works like a machine that could have been fortunate enough if she were an actual machine, that she could break down and stop working from the overuse.
The pampered sons and daughers in law think they deserve it, think they are so good that their mom is all over them slogging her last bit of energy off, repaying them for their worth!

**********************************************

If there were a human form to anger, ego and selfishness - this has to be THE man. He'd gamble, drink, womanize and come home to a dreading family that hides behind the doors when he smashes his dinner plate into the wall just because the fish isn't done right! His wife would weep silently while the sons and daughters follow instructions to the q, not looking in the eye, not questioning, not rebelling. He'd have it his way - shouting at the pitch of his lungs and making the house a living hell. The last time he comes home with an overdue bill at the local bar, the son pulls out the money earned from tutoring and pays the dues. The daughters cook and clean while the wife silently suffers the atrocities of holy matrimony. He specially makes it a point to show off in public as to what a dread he is to his folks and how much respect he commands and how disciplined his family is.

Little does this monster of a person know or realize that it is their love for him that makes them endure his eccentricities and to question a person and put him in his place, it does not take a whole army and ammunition - all it takes is a little giving up!

*****************************************************

The boy lives with a purpose - to love the girl. He has eyes only for her. He yearns for nothing except to give her what makes her happy. Smiles, cards, chocolates, flowers, gifts, reassurances - you name it! She chases a goal, a mirage, a nothingness - which makes her blind to the emotion, to the pure love that is being served to her on a platter. She doesn't look at the love, or may be she doesn't care to admit - for her world lies elsewhere, an elsewhere where there is everything but love. She admires him, acknowledges him but when it comes to realizing how lucky she is, she fails - she moves ahead in life, leaving a shattered heart that holds her in its every little piece. She gets what she wants, but will never live to realize what she threw away was a million times precious than what she chased.

************************************************************

The worst thing in life is not lacking it - it is lacking the realization of having it.

Value

Hey you - I am asking you!
What matters?
More than a smile that comes your way
When thoughts of despair doom your day!
What matters more than
A bellyful of grub,
Dreams to be - small but meaningful.
Does a closet of full of clothes
Define your inside?
Like the words your speak
Or thoughts you think??
Adornments, sparkly and shiny
Don't take away from the filth within.
What matters more
Than a friend in need?
Than a helping hand,
When you are hurt and pained?
A shoulder to cry
A word of love
That'd take the turmoil away!
A conviction to speak
And not be afraid
Of telling the truth
Or supporting it!
What matters more?
Than a non-judgmental take
On things you might not like
Or do yourself!
Does anything matter more?
Than being yourself
And loving and giving
What you can spare??
What matters more than a good deed
A kind word?
A caring seed
For folks around you?
What really matters
Is spreading the love
Not driving cool cars
Or fighting big wars!
The bags of money,
The heaps of wealth..
All stay back
What matters is health!
A healthy mind,
A healthy thought
What matters more
are battles fought
To fight our egos
To kill our selfishness
To be a Samaritan
Of humanness -
Is what matters more than
Having it all!

Verse

Your thoughts that follow
Like a persistent toddler
With separation anxiety.
Your Emotions that cling
Smothering my existence.
Your words echoing
In the abyss of my heart
Your never-felt touch
Mocking me of the lack.
Your love that was there
Without ever announcing itself,
Or impacting me,
Like the way your absence does.
Dreams of you
That take me back in time
Leaving a void in my present.
Where do I live?
In the non-existent past
Or the painful present??

Melancholy.

I sift my thoughts
Through the debris of the past
A heap clumped
with the moistness of my tears
I gather cysts of pain
Malignant, life taking -
Know not what they would come to mean.
I dig the graves
Of buried hopes
Cry over the remnants
And mourn the loss.

Is this getting them back?
Or letting them go?

Speechless.

She finds words
like luck in loads.
To translate a picture
into strokes with language.
She finds words
Like swift sharp swords
To haul attacks
At atrocities.
She finds words,
Like simple codes,
To put forth her thoughts
Of everyday life.
She finds words
To feign her feelings
To mask, to conceal
And confuse the world.
Alas...she finds not
A single letter
To tell Him
How much it hurts
When the love
Emerges out, piercing her heart!

Curiosity

In search of answers

looking for them -

In grass, side walks,

Flowers and buds.

In critters and bugs

Trees and bushes!

In search of answers

While lumbering around -

In bloomers and suspenders,

squeaky boots and pom pom caps!

Till the bloomers bloom into formals

And then the transformation of

Question and answer sessions

Take unexpected turns

Looking for them in people -

Their ages, lives, their homes and dreams

Inquisitiveness takes an ugly twist!

Ah…the pains of growing up:-)

The Plea.

This review contains Spoilers.

I got some down time, finally, to watch Guzarish, the film that I'd been wanting to watch all these days. Sanjay Bhansali intrigues me as a director. I saw his debut "khamoshi" and noticed him for his keen observation skills and sensitivity to the handicaps that exist around him. It was a failed but laudable attempt by a new kid on the block, brave enough to questions the 'song, dance, fight, cry and happy ending" sequence of commercial Bollywoood cinema. If my friends' observation of my taste being 'weird' is true, I seem to like cinema that addresses more than entertainment. I do enjoy the mindless dramas or romances that Indian cinema churns out, but I love directors who look beyond what meets the eye and make attempts to put forward a message. Who ever said that cinema is meant only to entertain and not to preach or teach or invoke thought, is, according to my humble and honest opinion - wrong! I see the influence of cinema all around me. People imitate the style, the dialogue and even the mannerisms of the characters that are created and depicted on the silver screen and we all do, consciously or otherwise, get influenced by the medium, which collectively, can effect the face of the society we live in- so to present a deep, thought provoking subject is a very laudable attempt in an industry where most movies are made with an intent to succeed at the box office.

Guzarish, or a plea - touches the sensitive subject of "mercy killing" or Euthenesia as it is popularly known. According to the House of Lords Select Committee on Medical Ethics, the precise definition of euthanasia is "a deliberate intervention undertaken with the express intention of ending a life, to relieve intractable suffering*

To come back to the plot, a slightly plump Hrithik Roshan, who plays a quadriplegic (Ethan Mascarenas) tied down to his bed, but not tied down by his spirit, counsels the hale and healthy brethren that calls him for advice and teaches them a thing or two about love, life and living, through the medium of a radio show. Aishwarya Rai plays his extremely diligent nurse (Sophie D'Souza) of twelve years, who'd not taken even a day off from her work during this period. Enters Shernaz Patel with her theater-trained performance, as the buddy and lawyer( named Devyaani Duttaa) of Ethan Mascranecas , and it is then and there that she takes away form the dumb looking Aishwarya with her out of place costumes and expressions. Aishwarya, I'd opined earlier, and I do again, is a woman India should be proud of - but not by any stretch of imagination is she an actor that is watchable. In the scene in which she confronts her husband that conveniently appears at the fag end of the movie, to make the 'marriage' of the leading characters possible, Ash displayed acting skills of an armature - and pulled the movie down with all her might and main. I am not critiquing her costumes or the scripting of her character - to me, Aishwarya is not born to act - and she seemed to not have learned form all the experience of being mentored by directors like Bhansali and Ratnam. She falls as flat as ever!

Back to the plot, the movie, for dealing with a sensitive and controversial subject like Euthanasia, didn't evoke the thought or emotions that I anticipated. This is coming form a movie goer that could cry at the slightest provocation, and I am surprised that no scene in the movie spoke to me in terms of sensitivity. The student's character played by Aditya roy Kapoor is worth a mention for his very natural acting skills but again, the character is not molded to its true capacity.
Bhansali is known for his grandeur both in terms of sensitivity and sensibility, but his movie is more like a first draft that would have had a great potential if it was worked on the way Bhansali is known to work on. Hrithik shows the shades of the actor in him which is a pleasant and powerful change form the star we usually get to see. The rest is mediocrity at its best. The soul of the film is flawed and so are the characters and the execution. The sub plots that walk in and out at their will are loose ends that leave the audience with a lot of questions about the love and rivalry aspects of the protagonist's life.
There are a lot of layers to the person that is Ethan Mascrenas and those layers are meant to be manifested in the numerous relationships the film portrays - but none of them kindle the underlying warmth or passion the director envisioned. There are a few scenes that attempt to steal the show - like the one in which Ethan refuses a hug saying he has enough attachments and the one in which he opines to have undergone 'Chinese torture.' All these moments lack the depth the intensity of the subject demands.
I shall remember Guzarish as a brave and expensive attempt with unnecessary ostentation that distracts the viewer from its soul. It is like the beautiful statue of a woman - breathtakingly beautiful, but lifeless and lacking personality. All it displays is the sculptor's skill and attention for detail. All else fades in the glory of the visual.

*courtesy - Wikipedia.