Mode C is as much for Calvin as it is for Chaos, as much for Cool as it is for Cold, as much for Class as it is for Crass.

Mode C is a way of life, the Calvin way of life which I am so fascinated by as to keep trying to make it my own way of life. But what exactly is Calvin's way of life, you ask...and I say that there are no clear answers to this one.

I strongly believe, however, that almost all the seriously critical fundamental concepts of life, they are just the bogies under Calvin's bed that he is afraid of. Everyhting else...Miss Wormwood, Susie, Mom and Dad, and of course above all, Hobbes...aren't they all merely the means that he uses to attack these bogies?

It is nothing, therefore, but the perspective of each of these players on the stage of Calvin's dramatic life that helps him fight these bogies and move on in his own unique way...listening to all but doing only what finally makes sense to his own individuality. This is what comes closest, I guess, to the Calvin way of leading one's life...

Thursday, December 24, 2009

The Blogger's curse

I am extremely sad and hurt, and not for the first time because of my blog.

It is something that seems to be so inexplicable initially but once you think about it, all of it starts making sense. The writing of a blog is, in my opinion, all about putting down your feelings and emotions in a manner to which you will be able to relate, some time in the future when you go back to the blog and reminisce about the days gone by.

In the process, however, one tends to write of memories the way they came about, not shrouding them in any manner of propriety. In conjunction with this, if one also names people in the blog, it no longer remains mere memories associated with one's own self or actions. The interpretations start coming in, scope becomes broader and the probable impact of the written word is deep rooted.

Reminded of the same today through some context, I was made to realize that in the communication age of the present, reference checks for jobs, opinion formation by friends and so much more happens through an online search for a name that a casual remark in a blog can cause much unintended harm.

I appreciate this and have made necessary corrections. However, what still beats me is the indelible impact the writings can have on an individual and my relationship with the individual.

Is it not correct, then, to write about things in a lingo which was so common and acceptable in the context and settings the memories are from? Are things so far removed that the banter of yesteryears is being taken as the slander of today? Why does a mere play on words have to be taken as an expression of opinion that does not even exist? How can the blogger express his feelings such that no one is able to look at it so dispassionately, dissect it line by line, and yet not be able to read between the lines?

I am, definitely, extremely sad and hurt.

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

This day, that year!

At a friend's wedding last month, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that most of the closest friends of the groom in attendance were actually class/hostel mates of his from senior secondary school. The fact that the school in question was my own school, the famous (notorious?) Delhi Public School, RK Puram, only added to the nostalgia that swept over me with this realization. To imagine other school class/hostel mates being so close to each other after so many years and at the same time, there being so much distance between my own friends from that era and me, it was a saddening thought.

And then I met this hostel mate of mine, who I was reasonably close to, at the airport this weekend. Both of us were coming back from weddings of people both of us knew, just that I went to one and he to the other. Seeing him there brought back so many memories, what with the recent remembrance that other wedding had initiated. I was, however, shocked at myself, especially with the lame enthusiasm that I greeted him with. Instead of meeting like long lost buddies, we met like strangers, some bit of it may be attributable to the insanely early hours of the day at which we met.

I was also chatting on the internet a couple of days before this weekend meeting with another hostel mate of mine and he seemed pretty disillusioned as well. Keeping in touch is so easy yet so difficult. Life moves on and so do circles of friends but both of us agreed that it is up to an individual to pick and choose who or what they want to retain out of the different phases of life. Retention of friends for good is so much a personal trait rather than being explained by any amount of providence or even the age old excuse of lack of time.

Having felt and said all this, I just thought of putting my thoughts together and go back in time some 12-13 years back (how time flies!!!) and write about the people who mattered probably the most in that period and what I have left of those associations now. So here goes, this one dedicated to DPS RKP, my alma mater and all things/people related to it:

Arnav Hazarika Som, extremely popular with girls, the rock-listening, guitar-playing variety...compete antithesis of what I was at that point in time. And yet we became close, close enough to share a bed (two single beds joined together, don't get any ideas!) in a room of nine people (yes, we had nine people in one room!). I learnt a lot from Arnav (or Ronnie as was his nick name) and I looked up to him, wanting to be like him some day. It was only much later when I met him during my MBA summers stint in Kolkata that I could see myself as coming anywhere close to it.

I met him last at the Delhi airport just a few days ago and though I always knew that he was in Mumbai, I could never really initiate any contact. He is now in the private equity arm of a Times Group company and from what I could gather, doing well for himself.

Shivanu Kohli, the quintessential serious and shy guy who would work really hard and not party at all. He was actually a contrasting personality, outwardly silent and yet innately loud and extremely vocal. From a reasonably large town in Haryana, he had the famous Jat temper but displayed it very rarely. Butt of our jokes for the way he looked, he never complained, at least not initially. As we became more comfortable with each other's company, he did use to flare up at times but as I said, it was once in a blue moon. Very serious about IIT entrance preparations, he was the one who gave me the news of my selection and was rather short when I hinted that probably he did not read my rank correctly, especially when he had the misfortune of not being selected at all.

I met him last at the MBA entrance group discussion for SP Jain Institute which was about 5 years back. I later came to know that he had taken up a job at Coke post his MBA from SP Jain but I have no clue where he currently is.

Dipanjan Das, the suave, boarding school old-timer, with lean, chocolate boyish looks, the perfect gentleman that girls would love to take to their parents, someone who could naturally converse in a language and of matters that were still alien to me. Dipanjan was almost always soft spoken and the last of participants in any kind of revelry that we may end up in. He almost seemed to look at us in amusement as we started to rejoice the hostel life and freedom associated with it, having already been there and done that. Teased no end for his alleged flings with the fairer sex, he could be the perfect display of grace and yet the right amount of silent anger that is capable of putting others to shame and silence.

Last I knew (through social networking sites), he had completed his MBA and was with GE. I have not really interacted with him even once after school and I am not sure if I will get to, in the near future.

Snehesh Mitra, the closest of all my friends in school, he was the boisterous Bengali having stayed his life in Bhagalpur in Bihar. Loud and vivacious, handsome and good looking, and yet a little elephant footed when it came to girls, very impulsive and emotional, not too keen on working so hard as to spoil whatever fun there was to be had, Snehesh was very likeable, at least to me. We literally hanged out together, separated only for the classes in the morning (we were in different sections). I could be very comfortable in Snehesh's company and I guess he did not mind mine either.

I would have met him last about a year after school when he was in Delhi preparing for IIT entrance exams and I was there for some administrative work at the CBSE office. I know (again from social networking sites) that he is married and working for a start-up in Bangalore. Even though I have his email id and probably even his contact number, I haven't really been able to re-initiate anything.

Sumit Kumar Jain, another Bhagalpuriah, but as different from Snehesh as chalk is from cheese. Very confident and assertive, except from some sort of complex that he seemed to have on account of his height, Sumit was one smart cookie. The perfect all rounder, he could score in academics, speak and act passionately, look good and charm girls, the works. I did not really kick it off with Sumit but we were still very cordial with each other and when it came to having fun at the expense of others, neither of us were found wanting. Always willing to rock the party, Sumit could be relied upon for the lighter moments but may perhaps not have been as much of a partner when things went wrong for me.

Last I spoke to him was through a social netwroking site when I pinged him out of the blue and got an encouraging reply in return. Nothing happened after that and the last I know, he graduated from IIM Calcutta and was working with HSBC, first in Mumbai, and then somewhere in the Middle East.

Mudit Bhargava, the guy who impressed my uncle the first day he came to drop me off at the hostel, very organized, diligent, and a shining role model for those in our age group...the sort of person who comes across as well read, a thinker who can act without delays, someone who knew how to manage time between whiling it away and utilizing it wisely. Mudit was another person I used to look up to and even be in awe of. Hailing from the snow covered hills of Simla, he fluctuated from being extremely warm to even cold at times. I never really was able to figure him out completely because he seemed to display only as much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted you to see and know.

I chatted with him on the internet a few days back and got to know that he is married now, and after working for about four years in India, is currently completing his PhD from the USA.

Shameek Sharma, the Surd, the epitome that defined the phrase "happy-go-lucky" to me for a long time, he was one of those who probably changed more in the course of those two years at school than anyone else, even me. The day he came in, he was accompanied by parents and a whole lot of books. While the rest of us were just looking at the place and making things sink in, he seemed to have already got a head start that even the seasoned Dipanjan seemed to be surprised at. Dismissed initially as a book worm, Shameek came back strongly to become one of the craziest people I have been around.

I have been witness to his status updates on facebook but am completely clueless about his whereabouts nevertheless. Again someone I haven't met after school, his contact details can be found out without much difficulty but I haven't really done anything about it.

Ajit Bhaiya, closest in terms of background to me, he came from a small town in Bihar, born to middle class parents, soft spoken to a fault and even stammering at times, with a physique that had nothing to write home about...Ajit or Bhaiya, as we used to call him was always playing the downtrodden. Ajit was brilliant, almost a genius when he did come to apply his mind, which unfortunately did not happen too frequently. He was amazing at physics and my savior a number of times when I had frustratingly little clue about what was happening in the middle of all those levers and pulleys. Being close to Snehesh was the common link between us and even though we were never really very close to each other, we did spend a lot of time together at school.

I came to know from Mudit while chatting with him the other day about the tough times he has had ever since he left school and the fact that he is currently back in his home town, doing tuitions in Physics, the subject he liked the most. I had last chatted with him on the internet some 5-6 years back and have had no personal contact with him ever since.

Kaushik Kishore, part of the room 9 and a half (we were the nine 9's, of course) was from Patna and to put it kindly, pretty raw, significantly less raw as compared to me but raw, nevertheless. An ardent procrastinator, Kaushik was one of those who you would like almost instantaneously. Prone to agreeing to whatever someone said, he was hardly the types who would get into an argument. Laid back and relaxed, the only thing that ruffled his feathers was the specter of studies, about which he seemed to be pretty fussed.

I found him on one of the social networking sites a few weeks back and pinged him to get a moderately welcoming mail in reply. I did not really follow up and am still as clueless about his whereabouts as I was before the communication that I started.

Shivam Bansal, another 9 and a half, son of a businessman, used to the luxuries of life but not spoilt at all, not exposed to the tenets of the modern world of rock "and all", Shivam, popularly called Bansi, hailed from the temple town of Varanasi where his father had a going business. I remember Shivam as keeping pretty much to himself but having the most cordial of relations with almost everyone. He was not one to bring the roof down with his own antics but was definitely not a spoil sport when in the middle of things that shook the world.

I have absolutely no clue of where he is after graduating from IIT Delhi. Not to be found on any social networking site either, he has literally vanished from the earth ever since I last met him at school.

There were so may others that keep coming to mind as I write all this and it is so difficult to write about all of them for want of space and time. There were, of course, my room-mates from the second year, the brilliant and accommodating Saurabh Siddharth, and the extremely cheerful and nice guy, Animesh Agwarwal. There were others I used to spend reasonable time with...the mousily-active Shyam Agarwal, the genius, singing-songs-in-the-reverse Keshav Kunal, the soft-spoken giant Ashwani, the brash and super intelligent Abhisheks (mota and patla), the eternal fighter Sandeep Jaiswal, the good looking to-be-doc Ishtiyaque Hussain, the dapper joker Sachin Talwar, the heart-of-gold-image-carrying Nikhil Singla, the crazy genius Manish Jalan, the seniors and the juniors...the list appears to be endless.

And then there were the girls, very few of them I actually came to know first hand...the long haired shy singer Aparna Sharma, the fiery though diminutive Deepanvita Upadhyay, the bold and beautiful Mayuri Khanna, the short and sweet Supriya Goswami, the hot and happening Shruti Nayan (not from our batch but who cared!).

The list and the memories can just go on and on but this will have to do for today's quota of nostalgia. I just hope that despite the changing nature of life, I can get back to those glorious days, if only in my memories of people associated with them. Better still, won't it be great to be sitting together with some of them in some familiar cafe, sipping a cup of coffee and refreshing our collective memories?

Monday, November 30, 2009

Just another update

I recently attended a friend's wedding in Kolkata. I intended to write a tome describing the events around the wedding but petered down upon realizing that although these events deserve recounting, things may turn out to be a little uncomfortable for some, including me if I did go through with the idea.

Amongst other things, one year is behind the day Mumbai (and to a less extent, I) faced one of the most horrifying and terrible nights. The night of 26/11, as it is fashionably called by the press and the Mumbai glitterati, will remain etched for quite some time in my mind, as it would in the minds of many others who were directly or indirectly affected by the events of that ominous night. I can only wish and pray that those affected get the strength of spirit to go through whatever they have been forced to go through.

There is a new chapter at work and I am supposedly heading a new vertical that has been set up to analyze client investment portfolios. Christened Investment Analytics, the team is responsible for marrying the generic research and product recommendations that is generated by the Products & Research Team with the client specific requirements provided by the Relationship Management Team. Typically, this role is performed by the Investment Advisory practice in most of the global private banks but the work is not as appealing here. As it has turned out, most of the work is aimed at assisting what would have been an investment advisory practice. Going forward, the practice may become bigger and closer to the Investment Advisory kind of a vertical and the responsibility to make that happen, scarily enough, lies on me.

I have been having a good time generally over the last few months with busy weeks and busier weekends. Movies, plays, meeting family and friends, going out-station for weddings...I have had some really nice time recently. I only hope that the run continues and I do not slip into one of those pseudo-depressions that I have the habit of doing.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Kabhi hum kaminey nikle, kabhi doosre kaminey

Main 'fa' ko 'fa' bolta hoon
Abe 'fa' ko 'fa' nahi to kya 'la' bolega




and it goes...Dhan ta nan. One of the most anticipated talked-about and hyped movies of the year, Kaminey does not disappoint, not in the least. In spite of the overwhelming majority coming out in fully voiced approval of the film, there is always the lurking doubt in one's mind as one watches the scenes unfold. Will it live up to the expectations built by such strong feedback coming in from almost all quarters? Is it another case of might becoming right and people following the herd and talking in a certain manner just because everyone else is? Will all the talk about getting your brains along for the movie and respecting viewers' intelligence be just a carefully orchestrated PR strategy? Is there really path-breaking, cult-forming cinematic excellence at display?

It may not perhaps be said that Vishal Bhardwaj's effort is perfect but it is as close to it in today's times as it can be. Building up the story and all the while challenging the viewer to continually think, interpret situations and get the hang of the story a la Johny Gaddar or DevD, Kaminey seems to have vowed to not let the viewer slip into mental slumber. All events of import post the interval are linked to stuff that is not explained by dumbing it down but more so in passing reference, by just displaying events as they take place with the freedom given to the viewer to form whatever conclusions she wishes to form.

The thread of the story is not lost anywhere what with the careful plot construction that takes place, involving all characters in a blitzkrieg of slides in the lives of the twins, Charlie and Guddu. There are a lot of characters intertwined with these two and the beauty of the movie lies in the finesse with which each one of these supposedly ancillary characters are sketched out. You can not help but wonder at the ingenuity with which the screen comes alive upon each appearance of the Maharasthtrian-speak politician of Amole Gupte, the fiery Marathi mulgi of Priyanka Chopra, the cocaine-addicted whacko gangster of Chandan Roy Sanyal, even the bit characters of corrupt narcotics cops and other gangsters (some of them even imported from Africa).

Vishal Bhardwaj, it will suffice to say, has done it again. Not only has he done an extremely fine job in directing a motley crew of relative newbies to the formulaic Bollywood, he has also worked wonders with the more established cast of Shahid and Priyanka. Shahid delivers on the front foot in his twin role with the two brothers actually coming across as being as different as chalk and cheese. The beefy, catcall-inducing gangster is innocently devilish while the stammering simpleton comes across as the eyes-averted, mentally slow and introverted idealist.

Priyanka Chopra does a fine act as the fiery and gutsy modern-yet-traditional belle who can lie through her teeth, plan much before she gets to act, and even shoot at her brother (in clear deviation from the standard Bollywood lore...even though the gun was out of bullets when she shot it, she did shoot) as long as the end is clear and worthy. Not too much to look at sans her made up and glammed avatar, she still comes across as an actress who is taking leaps and bounds to the grease paint.

As mentioned earlier, each of the other actors in the movie deserve special mention for the way they have, under Vishal's able direction, of course, brought alive the various characters of the movie. Gupte, Sanyal and Co., take a bow!

To top it all, the music of the movie really fits the folds almost seamlessly. Whether it is playing in the background to add to the excitement of chase sequences, or in the foreground in all its psychedelic glory, "Dhan ta nan" rocks...and so does the rest of the musical score re-emphasizing the multi-talented genius of Vishal Bhardwaj. Even the placement of the timeless classic "Duniya me logo ko dhoka kabhi…" is spot on. Consider innocuous songs like phataak, or the one accompanying the celebratory bridal participation in what is supposed to be the groom's baraat, nothing seems to be even an inch adrift.

The story line of Kaminey may admittedly be slightly thin and oft repeated in the Mumbai (or is it Bambai) film industry (identical twins caught up in each other's lives) but it is the treatment that gets this movie up to the tops. It is the small nuances that tease the viewer to apply her mind, to decide for herself if the movie is up to her standard or vice versa. What makes this one special is the pun in showing an auto rickshaw with its clearly displayed meter reading "For Hire" as the corrupt cop is shot down. What works for this movie is the immensely humorous jab in the bad-guy Shahid replying to the plea of the good-guy Shahid of his wife being pregnant by asking him tongue-in-cheek, "to kya meri kokh ("coke") ujaadega?"

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Update long due

It's been ages since I last wrote and this time, there are no excuses. I just did not feel like writing. Every time I came to see the blog, I felt like updating it but never managed to gather enough verve to actually sit and write something. Not that there was a dearth of things to write about...quite to the contrary, actually. Not only from a strict news point of you, but even from the emotions and sentiments ruling my life, there were so many things I should have recorded but I did not. Well, better late than never!

Getting on to the news front first, I bought a house in Mumbai...that's right, a dwelling place in one of the most densely populated and costliest cities in the world. That is the good part. The bad part is that the house and associated liabilities have resulted in a fixed monthly expense of about Rs. 80,000 and that is without taking into account the other, relatively variable expenditure that one will have to make towards regular expenses like maid, electricity, cooking gas, car fuel, groceries, etc...most of which is being covered by Priya today but that will only last for that much more time.

The office, incidentally, has also shifted to Kalina, which is only 3 odd kilometers from my new home. What this means is that I have now got additional two hours of my life per day, all to myself. I have started utilizing these two additional hours properly. While the one in the morning goes into exercise (I have actually started running and to my utter surprise, I have managed notwithstanding my leg), the one in the evening goes to reading (one good habit that I had put on the back burner for a long time).

Amongst other news, my car has become a wreck and the driver is threatening to leave (not related to each other but still...). Now Sunil, the driver in question, has been serving our family for the last six years and since he belongs to the native place, the trust factor is pretty strong. From my side, I have tried to treat him well but the promise of Mumbai does not fail in getting anyone. Having spent his driving career in Jaipur and Delhi, Sunil has realized, having come to Mumbai, what the possibilities are...how endless they seem once you are free to pursue them...and free is what he wants to be.

Okay, now that we are done with news in its strictest sense, time to do the transition from news to its impact. The transition, of course, starts with more news and this one happens to be that I did not get any special treatment from my firm this year (and this includes bonus and salary hikes which I did not expect, as well as promotions and role definitions which I did). That's it...I have said it and I don't care who reads it.

Obviously, all the news has resulted in a combination of some extreme sentiments. There is, of course, happiness, joy, pride, and a sense of achievement on the family owning a house in Mumbai (celebrated in part via two housewarming parties, one for the college junta and another for the office people). At the same time, there is sadness, disappointment, disillusionment, and a resignation to fate that has resulted from news at work.

I have become so befuddled with all this that I don't know whether to be happy or sad nowadays. The end result is that I have become such an explosive mixture that at times, I hardly know what to expect from myself. A friend tells me that I am dead and have lost my sense of humor, another tells me that I am into some sort of depression, my sister has stopped talking to me since I flare up at her at the slightest of things, and I get tired of any conversation that lasts for more than a minute or two.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Much ado about...

Regular readers of this blog (I am still hopeful!) are aware of the entire brouhaha about "The play that never was" which happened last Wednesday. Irregular readers or those who don't know what I am talking about should read the previous post just below this before they come back to read the rest of this one.

Now that Wednesday March 25th was approaching, I was looking forward to watch the play more than ever before. Further news items in newspapers and on the radio, talking about the play and how its special edition was going to be a special show, kept on adding to the anticipation throughout the week.

And then it was that I received this mail from my boss asking me to arrange a mock session for some presentation on some product that we are launching. And before you say you guessed it, let me still have the satisfaction of telling you that the mail mentioned Wednesday March 25th as one of the dates on which the sessions would take place and before you jump the gun and take away from me my thunder, let me also tell you that the timings for the session were just right, starting about an hour before the show started and ending at least an hour after the show could have ended.

So it was that with a heavy heart, I drew the schedule and sent it to all concerned. I was still ruminating on the lost opportunity and trying to console the inconsolable Jassi when I was given a real bad look by one of the other concerned. He also happened to have planned for the show...with his wife...having bought tickets worth Rs 1000 each...twice of what we paid, btw.

In spite of all the bad looks and all the inability of being consoled, nothing could have been changed, more so when there was a mail from the boss again the next day, asking people to stay back for the entire session irrespective of whether they were directly involved in it or not. You couldn't have played around with something as direct as that, could you (we did try doing some re-scheduling earlier when certain things would have freed us up on time for the show)?

It was not to be and it was not. We sat through the entire mock session, I trying to forget everything by concentrating on watching the presentation getting murdered in some mock sessions and added on to in others, others shifting from being interested to being hung over, all this within less than a few minutes.

And then the torture ended and we were out on the streets to get back to home and that is exactly when the show broke as well. As Jassi put it very nicely, "not only did we not get to see the show, but we also got to get stuck in the traffic because of it".

PS: We managed to sell the tickets in time, and the person we sold to had a really nice time...really nice...really nice (yes, she did it, repeated it thrice).

Thursday, March 19, 2009

My Blonde Moment

I did it. Before you start your wisecracks about how everyone does it some time or the other and it took me a really long time to get about doing it, let me correct you. It's not about what you think it is about. It is about what I am going to tell you it is about.

So there is this very popular play I had been looking forward to catch whenever it plays in town. The play called "The Vagina Monologues" is broadly a tribute to Women's Liberation and is popular the world over. It was last Sunday that I came across an ad which said that the play was in town and for the first time in its screenings around the world, this screening (the 200th one) will have any male actors and these male actors would be the celebrities Farhan Akhtar and Imran Khan.

Expectedly, it was an excited me who, after being reminded of the play yet again by an ad this Sunday, shot off an email on Monday morning to all friends, asking them if they were on for the show on Wednesday. Since it was middle of the week, most of the people responded in the negative and it was ultimately Jassi (Jasminder Gujral for the uninitiated is a colleague and friend) and me who ended up forming the party. I happily booked the second cheapest tickets (which were worth 500 apiece, incredulously) on bookmyshow.com and received confirmation for the same on my mobile.

All I needed to do now was walk up to NCPA (next building to my office), show the message on my mobile, collect the tickets, walk into the theatre and enjoy the show. Things were going along on the said lines till we saw that the ticket counter from where we were supposed to collect the tickets was shut down. When we, exasperated because we were already late for the strict 7:30 PM start, approached the security guards, they knowingly smiled and reassured us that such things have happened in the past.

While one of the security guards was trying to call up the program manager to help us out, the other kept talking about some Lawni event that was happening and if we had come to see that. Knowing that there were three theatres in the NCPA compound and assuming that he was talking about some event at one of the other two theatres, I did not pay much heed to what he was saying. He then went on to ask me if I had the message with me. I was about to blow over the top by now as I opened the message on my mobile and began reading from it, as if to prove the big mistake the guard had done in challenging some one like me on some thing like this...of course, I had the message...what did he mean by Do you have the message...Will I come here just like that, without booking tickets, without checking if I got the confirmation message...

"See, here it says", I said..."Vagina Monologues, NCPA Tata Theatre 7:30 PM, Wednesday, 25 March 2009. Aaj Wednesday hi hai na?". And that was when Jassi spoke for the first time. "Dude, kya kar raha hai...Today is Wednesday but not the 25th, 18th of March, what are you doing???"

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Ghate do to bache kya?



Jaise door des ke tower me ghus jaaye re aeroplane
Jaise sare aam Iraq me jaake jam gaye Uncle Sam
Jaise Bisleri ki bottle pike ban gaye English Man
Jaise har ek baat pe Democracy me lagne laga hai ban
Jaise bina baat Afghanistan ka baj gayo bhaiyya band
Jaise door desh ke tower me ghus jaaye re aeroplane


Anurag Kashyap does it again. In fact, he did it again when he did it in DevD. This was what he did before DevD was completed and even if you may say that he did it better the second time, he still did it damn better than most others even the first time around. Coming after Black Friday and No Smoking, with Gulaal, Kashyap has gone really deep into the web of ambition, greed, and angst as he weaves his characters around it.

Set against the backdrop of the Rajputana movement and its overlap with student politics in the local university, Gulaal's storyline seems to be incidental to the real tale that is attempted at being told. This, perhaps, is the weakest link in the movie and it is difficult to say if this was intentional or otherwise...once human feelings and emotions take center stage in such strong fashion as in Gulaal, it is anyway difficult to do justice to anything else.

As you see Dilip Singh (Raja Chaudhary) move in with Rananjay Singh aka Ransa (Abhimanyu Singh) and are just settling into the movie just as Dilip is trying to settle in a new city and university, you are caught unawares as Dilip gets entangled in one of the strongest and most hard hitting ragging sessions seen on celluloid. You follow Dilip getting beaten and thrown butt naked in a room which has for company, another naked individual who, you realize with a gasp a little later, is Anuja (Jesse Randhawa), a new professor at the college. If ever a movie had set the tone for what was to come next, this was it.

Dilip's humiliation sees Ransa getting involved in the petty college rivalry and the subsequent entry into the scene of Dukey Bana (Kay Kay Menon) who is the covert marshal for Rajputana independence. In no time, Ransa is projected as the candidate for General Secretary Elections in the university, with full support from Dukey Bana and hidden support from his father, the ex-King, whom Ransa is not really proud of.

At this stage, we also see the introduction of probably the two strongest characters in this movie, the brother-sister duo of Karan (Aditya Srivastava) and Kiran (Ayesha Mohan). Burning with angst against their father for not having given them his name and against the society for never failing to make them realize and remember their illegitimate status, Karan and Kiran want to achieve their rightful place in the Rajput society, come what may.

As pawns start getting moved, the color of blood gets mixed with the heat of bodies pressing against each other and everything, right from bullets to free sex, is used to further the political ambitions of the involved players. Ransa gets killed, Dilip becomes the dummy candidate, wins the election. Kiran sleeps with Dilip, makes him lose his sleep and resign only to take his place. The two camps bump off people before seamlessly merging and Kiran using her charms on Dukey Bana to go for the final kill.

Things happen at such a frantic pace that getting a hold on the story and tying together the strings of each of the many characters becomes next to impossible. This may have been the falling of any other movie but the treatment that the characters get from the director stands out in this case. You keep marveling at Kiran's unabashed sexuality, at Karan's lack of any scruples in getting his sister on others' beds, at Dukey Bana's insane fervor, at Dilip's bumble act translating into that of a madman, at Jadhwal's (Pankaj Jha) arrogance and cruelty, at Anuja's pride and her frustration at having lost it, at Madhuri's (Mahie Gill in a special appearance) simplicity going to the extent of idiocy, at Bhati's (Deepak Dobriyal) cool composure and single minded devotion, and above all at Prithvi Bana's (Piyush Mishra) John-Lennon-amulet-wearing, harmonium-playing folk songs interspersed with some really topical English lyrics.

The score, especially the lyrics for Gulaal is one of the most exceptional to have hit the screens in recent times. With Piyush Mishra being given full freedom to flex his creative muscles, the result is striking. Whether it is the topical commentary sung and picturised as a mujra or the closing re-interpretation of Sahir Ludhianvi's Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai, Piyush Mishra is simply brilliant. With his music (mostly in the background), lyrics and his smooth act in the movie, he stands out as the single largest thing going for this movie. And to say that for a movie which has excellent acting displays from nearly half dozen artists is really a lot.

The ever potent Kay Kay Menon, though standing by his own in an explosive performance, is still overshadowed at times by the sheer natural talent of others, the notables amongst them being Abhimanyu Singh, Deepak Dobriyal, Ayesha Mohan, and Aditya Srivastava. All these actors and most of others get into the skin of their roles and get colored by the red Gulaal at different points in the movie, red Gulaal that depicts the emotions associated with rebellion, revolution, anger, ambition, pride, lust, fear, greed, exploitation...

Anurag Kashyap has managed the technicals well and they are good enough to not distract attention from the pure play of emotions that is the high point of Gulaal. In trying to be true to the plotline, however, Kashyap does actually lose the plot at times. There are too many things going on and the typical movie audience keeps trying to tie all loose ends together, focus on how each character is developed, concentrate on the idea left behind with them at some point of the movie, expecting it to be brought to its logical conclusion before things end. It does not happen, however, and it can be attributed to the new genre of film-making that Kashyap brings to the fore.

All threads are not meant to be tied up, all ideas are not important, it is not as much about the revolution than about the characters' situations around it and their way of handling these situations. It is not important if you did not know what happened to Anuja, to Dilip, or to Kiran later...what matters is the strong realization that a change in guard is not enough to change the reality ala Ye Duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai...what matters is the look on Kiran's face in the last frame of the movie and she stares on with tears of pride at her brother as he takes over pride of place at the helm of Rajputana, a society of those very people who had rejected them, humiliated them, and laughed at them for their illegitimacy.

While you watch the movie and digest all this, you may keep your eyes open for the Kashyap touch. There are many ways in which he differentiates this movie, changing it from yet another couple of hours of entertainment to an arrogant medium of expression. The difference is depicted and illustrated both directly and through references...via the use of profanity in sharp dialogues, use of some twisted humor and unconventional music, attention to details, some jazzy light and camera angles, raising a toast to rock culture, whether it is direct references to John Lennon, or the indirect usage of symbols like the song Kiran keeps playing on her guitar (Goodbye Blue Sky from Pink Floyd's album 'The Wall'), and above all, cryptic symbolism depicted in so many different ways, in the antics of the painted Ardha Narishwar and Prithvi Bana, in the names of drinks that Ransa orders (Republic and Democracy, anyone?), through symbols like the word Nihilism (the philosophical position that values do not exist but rather are falsely invented) written on the black board of the class Anuja goes in to teach.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Ye Duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai

Movie: Gulaal
Lyrics: Piyush Mishra
Verdict: Simply awesome

O Ri Duniya

Surmayi Aankhon Ke Pyaalon Ki Duniya
Satrangi Rangon Gulaalon Ki Duniya..O Duniya
Alsaayi Sezon Ke Phoolon Ki Duniya
Angdaai Tode Kabootar Ki Duniya
Karwat Le Soyi Haqueeqat Ki Duniya
Deewaani Hoti Tabeeyat Ki Duniya
Khwahish Mein Lipti Zaroorat Ki Duniya
Insaan Ke Sapno Ki Neeyat Ki Duniya..O Duniya

O Ri Duniya

Ye Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye To Kya Hai…

Mamta Ki Bikhri Kahaani Ki Duniya
Behno Ki Siski Jawaani Ki Duniya
Aadam Ke Hawwaa Se Rishte Ki Duniya
Shaayar Ke Pheeke Lafzon Ki Duniya

Ghalib Ke Momin Ke Khwaabon Ki Duniya
Majaazon Ke Un Inqualaabon Ki Duniya
Faiz Firaaq Aur Saahir O Makhdoom
Mir Ki Zauk Ki Daagh Ki Duniya

Ye Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye To Kya Hai...

Pal Chhin Mein Baatein Chali Jaati Hain Hain
Pal Chhin Mein Raatein Chali Jaati Hain Hain
Reh Jaata Hai Jo Savera Wo Dhoondhey
Jalte Makaan Mein Basera Wo Dhoondhey
Jaisi Bachi Hai Waisi Ki Waisi Bachaa Lo Ye Duniya
Apna Samajhke Apno Ke Jaisi Uthaalo Ye Duniya

Chhut Put Si Baaton Mein Jalne Lagegi Sambhaalo Ye Duniya…
Kat Pit Ke Raaton Mein Palne Lagegi Sambhaalo Ye Duniya..

O Ri Duniya…

Wo Kahein Hain Ki Duniya Ye Itni Nahi Hai
Sitaaron Se Aage Jahaan Aur Bhi Hain
Ye Hum Hi Nahi Hain Wahaan Aur Bhi Hain
Hamaari Har Ek Baat Hoti Wahin Hai

Hamein Aitraaz Nahi Hai Kahin Bhi
Wo Aalim Hain Faazil Hain Honge Sahi Hi
Magar Falsafaa Ye Bigad Jaata Hai
Jo Wo Kehte Hain

Aalim Ye Kehta Wahaan Eeshwar Hai
Faazil Ye Kehta Wahaan Allah Hai

Tumhari Hai Tum Hi Sambhalon Ye Duniya
Ye Bujhte Huye Chand Baasi Charaaghon Ki
Tumhaare Ye Kaale Iraadon Ki Duniya…

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Colors of Holi

When it is time for Holi, I have never been one of those early starters, delaying the inevitable every time. This happens partly on account of the inertia that is behind my procrastinating self, and partly due to the looming fear of having to work hard for getting the color off my skin. Even when I was a little kid, whereas normal little kids revelled in the concept of dirtying themselves and others and getting lost in the world of colors, I had no such, at least not as clearly established, inclinations.

Now that many springs have passed since I used to be a little kid, the scenario is, if anything, even more so directed against the getting-wild-on-Holi tendencies. Not that I have anything against the festival or people who celebrate it whole-heartedly...in fact, I love all the revelry, the fun, and songs and dances that make Holi as special a festival as it is. But all the same, I can not get myself to shout with the same gusto, to forcibly bring out the shy ones from wherever they are hidden out to the maddeningly vibrant colors, to end up in a state where not even my closest and dearest would recognize me if not for a bucketful of water splashed on my face.

It is not that there have not been instances over the years when I have been one of the most vociferous on the battle field of color, actively involved and deeply ingrained. I can distinctly remember times when I was in different hostels (higher secondary, graduation, and even at post graduation levels) and as much a part of the fun as everyone else. But as I said in the beginning, I was never amongst early starters in this aspect, always the one who would follow the lead and that too after reasonable amount of either cajoling or coercion, depending upon the degree of inertia I would be under at the time.

This Holi was not too different. As India and Indians all over the world looked away from the daily routine and worries and trepidations and put on the mask of color, I was mostly unmoved and unimpressed. With Bharti Didi (my first cousin who stays in Vashi) having invited us for Holi, I was thankful that at least I will be amongst people on the festival and not closeted within the walls of my home with nobody but Priya for company.

I had thought that there will be quite a lot of action at Bharti Didi's place, what with Jijaji being of an effervescent nature himself, and his brother and sister-in-law also being there to enliven the atmosphere. I was surprised, however, to discover that the inertia I have is shared. In retrospect, I think that this may have been more because of the age group that the party belonged to. Although not really coming from entirely different generations, Priya and I were relatively the younger lot and the others had seen more of life and Holi festivities than either of us. And then there was the media, generally sermonizing on how festivals have been increasingly losing their sheen and zeal over the last few years, more so in the recent recessionary times.

So it was that apart from the traditional tilak, this Holi was rather colorless and limited in its impact. Till the next time, hope that the symbolism that color represents is not limited at all and all of you have an extremely colorful and joyous year ahead.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Nayan Tarse



Tauba tera jalwa tauba tera pyaar
Tera emosional atyachaar


The movie is anything but emosional atyachaar and thanks to a certain Mr. Kashyap for this. This is one movie that more than lives up to the expectations that surrounded its release. Not boasting of a stellar cast, the movie seems to be running purely on the eclectic reputation of its lead actor and more than that, its director. Abhay Deol and probably more so, Anurag Kashyap (especially after his recent work in No Smoking) have increasingly set themselves up for scrutiny whenever they try to do something that is even close to different. They have done so many things that are supposedly different and that too, in such a short span of time that any more different from their stables does raise the curious and often cynical eyebrows.

This one, however beats all cynics hollow in an almost surreal psychedelic fashion, a fashion, which to the average viewer, would come out as the underlying theme of the entire movie. Starting quite in similar vein to other recent small budget Abhay Deol starrers, DevD traces the stories of Dev, a spoilt brat who goes to London to study and his childhood sweetheart, Paro who doesn't think twice before sending her nude pics over the internet to her lover and carry a mattress to the fields on her bicycle in the hope of getting an opportunity to make out. As if this was not explosive enough for a start, soon enough, we are transposed from the single room sets and the fields of Punjab to the techno music playing bars of Delhi.

This transformation is not without incidents, though...incidents which are central to the story and the setting of context. A casual fling at a marriage ceremony (the definition of casual gets a new meaning here) and some banter about Paro result in the arrogantly rebellious scoundrel humiliating and disowning his equally strong-headed, reveling-in-sexuality girlfriend insatiate, almost as in an incomplete sexual release.

That is how it comes across, the first half of the movie, resplendent in the colors of the human body and the desires that it has over and above anything else. There are no feelings and no emotions as things move from one frame to another with an incoherently insensitive Dev trying to recover from the emosional atyachaar of his pyaar who decides to get hitched to an older man, if only to teach her jilted lover a lesson.

This recovery is guided by the ever-smiling, cunning Chunni, the pimp operating in the environs of Paharganj, that eternal cove of Delhi which hides beneath itself much more than probably the entire city of Delhi can dare to reveal. And this is where we meet Chanda, the girl prostitute, the linguist who can provide phone sex facilities in so many languages, the girl-woman who could never make it as the regular girl-next-door because she was filmed doing the unthinkable for a school going girl.

This, of course, refers to the DPS (my alma mater, coincidentally) MMS scandal. Here, I must admire the way Kashyap brings out the fact that everyone who ever found it fit to condemn the protagonist in the little MMS movie did so only after having a good time exploiting the victim, first by enjoying the episode to his heart's content and then, of course, by writing and talking reams on how the moral fabric of the victim and the society at large has gone to the dogs.

So Chanda, it is, who goes ahead and gives some sort of support to Dev, even if it means Dev vacillating between pining for a forbidden fruit in the form of an unclaimed and now non claimable love and coming to terms with the fact that the only one who loves him probably does not have the right to do so for she, her body and her love, are all on sale in the marketplace.

Sounds familiar, does it? Close to what Sarat Babu wrote in the classic Devdas, is it? Well, the answer is both yes and no for the director and all three lead actors (four, if you also count the effervescent Chunni) hold fast to a modern adaptation of the classic but at the same time make it abundantly clear that it is but an adaptation.

There is no way the classic would have ever thought of the three characters who come out at the most random moments in the movie to break into a jig or just watch silently, leaning against the wall. There is no way the classic would have such an amazing soundtrack and make the most optimum use of sound, lights, and camera to reflect the inner conundrum that Dev goes through while getting split between the two loves of his life...destruction of self and humiliation of others.

All the same, Anurag Kashyap does not fail to dig deep into the psyche of his characters and bring out what they stand for in the story that the classic novel tells. The nonchalant rebel in Dev, the vibrant pride in Paro, and the calm devotion in Chanda are all there, perhaps brought out in Technicolor through brilliant audio-visual treatment. The cine-goer comes out with endless things (good or bad depends on the diet of movies that he has been brought up amongst) to say about the technicians of this movie, whether it is the director Anurag Kashyap, or the cinematographer Rajeev Ravi, or the brilliant people associated with the songs and music of the movie (Music Director Amit Trivedi and the playback singers, specially Bony Chakravarthy and Shruthi Pathak).

Amongst the actors, it is not very surprising to see the underplaying of Abhay Deol fail for once. He could have grabbed a little more of the camera and been the better for it. However, he continues in the tradition of an Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye or a Manorama, Six Feet Under and plays the exact contrast to the most recent portrayal of the character of Devdas by Shahrukh Khan. While Shahrukh was completely over the top, Abhay is too subdued to make any meaningful impact.

The half-Indian half-French Kalki Koechlin is not an actor and that is very clear. However, Anurag Kashyap has worked wonders with what he has been able to get out of his real life girlfriend for this particular movie. It is difficult to put your finger on whether it is the disinterest of a prostitute that is essential to the character or it is the lack of capacity to act and portray emotions that leads to the empty face of Koechlin. Whatever it is, it works!

The one actor who comes out very strongly in the entire movie, of course, is Mahi Gill. Playing the super-confident woman of the world of today, Mahi is superbly brash but yet dignified, strangely even in her humiliation and more appropriately in her revenge. She comes out as someone who would be likely to be the sort of woman that the character of Anurag Kashyap's Paro is...and that is saying a lot because even if this character is real, it is certainly more real than what any of the movie audiences are going to be willing to accept.

The broad pulse of this movie is rocking, to use the euphemism that the supposed target audience of this movie would typically employ. The endless scenes of intoxication preceded by the ones that cause the said intoxication have been shot with perfection. The camera angles, the colors, the background score and the actors' emotions or the lack of them need to be seen to be believed.

Most important of all, the transition of the much filmed character of Devdas is there for all to see and admire. From a man who loved too much of KL Saigal and Dilip Kumar to the self-flagellating, self-indulgent man of Sharukh Khan, Devdas is now the sulky, unsure, and insecure individual who goes on a journey of self-realization, a journey that is replete with his own obsessions and addictions.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

What's on your mind?

It has been a long time since I last wrote and this happened despite my resolution (not a new year one but generally) of being more regular. Anyway, that is what always tends to happen if you really set your mind to something contrary. Come to think of it, that can not be right especially if you think about what Basu, a budding hypnotist has to say. Basu is a classmate from BHU and a good friend who I recently met at the wedding of Ankur, another classmate and good friend from BHU (and also my room mate for the only year at BHU when we had to share rooms).

Now, this wedding was in a place called Chatarpur, which inspite of what people may think, is not in Delhi (that is Chatarpur hills, by the way), but in Madhya Pradesh. The place is a district, a decent town by any standards and yet surprisingly does not even have a railway station. This is explained by the fact that the town apparently does not fall in the middle of any major route, somewhat like a dead end maybe. Anyway, I am digressing. Coming back to the point, a trip to Chatarpur in the middle of the week (the wedding was on Thursday) seemed entirely unlikely till Basu and Animesh (yeah, I know you have guessed it already...another classmate and good friend from BHU) started making plans to go there.

Go there we did, but Animesh could not make it and it fell to Basu and me to enliven the proceedings at Ankur's baraat, which was running the risk of being a non-starter but for his brother and the two of us, of course. We danced the night away and warmed the cockles of our hearts enough by feasting on some good food and good faces. Having done that, it was time to go to Khajuraho the next day to give more definition to the Madhya Pradesh trip, unique and unlikely to be repeated soon that it was.

Khajuraho was exciting (not just erotic, read again) and not only because the ruins were the way they were but more because standing in the midst of it all, you could not help imagining yourself in the era bygone when the same area that seemed deserted except for the typical tourists, was the center of civilization as people knew it. The temples, their roofs, entry pathways and the entire aura of the place simply transported you in the middle of all the action, the priests chanting mantras, the flower sellers offering you flowers to devote at Gods' feet, the artisans presenting their craft at the temples' steps...it was all so fantastic.

Khajuraho done, we moved on to Delhi where Basu was hospitality personified as I stayed with him for a couple of days and we sat around discussing stuff, watching movies, and generally having a good time. It was in the middle of this good time that we decided to take on an earlier discussion that we had somewhere in Madhya Pradesh on the efficacy of hypnotism as a form of therapy. Having tried a trained hypnotherapist and discovered that she was busy and not aavailable before I left Delhi, Basu decided to take matters in his hand.

It was, he said and I tend to agree, the suggestability of ideas that hypnotism is all about. An idea, once implanted in the subconscious tends to bring the person around to accepting the idea in its entirety. So, coming back to what I started with, if you really set your mind to something (especially the subconscious part of your mind), there is no way that will not happen. So a situation where what happens is contrary to what you have thought will happen, there is something really screwed up about you and your mind :-)

By the way, the experiment of hypnotism that Basu did with me was pretty successful.