In The Mirror ......

BOOK REVIEW: Love, Me and Bullshit!

The year was 2004!! The paperback revolution in India started in that year itself. With the advent of a new trend of narrating self – experience in colleges – the long starved readers started relating with the dizzy nostalgia of umpteen recklessness of their own post teen days. Or repenting for what they missed. And for the mass, it was relishing the glimpse of their larger than life dream college life. And, in no time, the trend became a style – a shield-like attribute that any IIT/IIM alumni should possess. And, it increased the readership exponentially – the youth of India once again returned to the age old habit of reading novels – hats off to Chetan Bhagat !! and also to Peter Robinson !!

And, in Love, Me and Bullshit! – the author too acknowledged Bhagat’s contribution to inspire him for getting started. But, he has chosen a different path. Perhaps he was not too keen on making his book an “inspiration” for another Hindi movie.

The narrative is set on a time frame of 3 years – that portrays the juncture of any human life – the complexities of desire, love, lust and all that jazz.

Through the eyes of the protagonist, the author gives a vivid description of the inner conflict of a human mind. The mind that feels depressed as a friend gets to ride on his dream – the mind that repents for not chasing a “lion” – the mind that longs for someone to share his biggest happiness of life with – it is actually a graphic narrative of an honest mind that does not hesitate to unleash the feelings hiding in the darkest and the furthest nook of the heart.

The narration of the deep frustration is very real.Raw. It hurts. Itches your skin. The story makes you identify the poet, the philosopher and the beast in you.  It reflects the strength of inner belief in the God throughout.

 Love, Me and Bullshit! by Vivek Kumar Agarwal

The writing is smooth, sometimes allegorical with imageries. I loved the way the author portrayed the essence of love. It has no reason. Not physical. Not platonic. It simply happens and slowly creeps into the highest rung of prioritization of our mind. And, we become ready to sacrifice anything – just anything.

But the story strangely restricts itself only within the inner feelings of the protagonist. Though the readers are highly acquainted – it does not even trod the way of fun and glamour. Although it is humorous at times, the story mostly reflects the gloomy side of human psyche. The conflict within. The author proclaims himself as a victim of melodramatic Hindi movies – but he safely avoided a gripping climax. Be it the same old story – we always love to bite our nails in the climax scene.

But the book scores differently.  It scores in the odd way that inspires one to listen to his heart against all possible odds bypassing all lucre of prosaic grace.

And, in the end it will make you stand in front of the mirror. You will notice the poet in you on your right, aloof – you will notice the philosopher on your left, aloof – and the beast in you is …… well, some things are best when left unsaid. The position of the beast in the mirror I mean!!

from the Crow's Nest ...

“Forward-Thrust: 2012”

Caring a fig about Morality:

"The question of morality stems from the society and culture we are brought up in."

From a metaphorical point-of-view, the same steel-o-glass building will be seen as an architectural marvel by a city-boy. To the small-town girl, it’s claustrophobic, maybe brazenly show-off(ish) !!

Maybe the other way round too …

Thus, while we keep making off-hand comments and gestures about “How could he .. !!” or “Even she too … ??”, we fail to realize the dialectics, the dichotomy and the tight-rope that develops in the meanwhile.

 The same single mother gets a warm welcome in one corner of the city; she gets a cold shoulder or a frown in another part of the city. Interestingly, almost as a corollary, it is to be noticed that the city also grows up in diff. directions and frequencies over time. The south part may not grow up exactly with the same mindset and logical congruencies like the northern belt of the city.

And when we dissect a situation on the altar of morality under the cross of Society, we must keep this same above point in mind, of the same Society growing up in diff. time-frames zones and mentality. What is crime or unusual to a section, can maybe an eye-opener to another group of people.

What we need as collective souls is the need to open up and let more to come in. When we put dark glasses on, it becomes difficult to see the sunnier side of things. We need to walk in the other person’s shoes and gauge the condition prevailing on the other side.

We can have this as our new-year resolution. Maybe as one of the resolutions.

from the Crow's Nest ...

Rear-view Mirror - 2011

“Converting KHANs to Balan : deciphering the code … ”

Acting is a nice childish profession - pretending you're someone else and, at the same time, selling yourself.
Katharine Hepburn

2011 came as a nice complement to the above statement, the actress this time being Vidya Balan. What Vidya brings onscreen is a home-grown charisma, a chutzpah that is unique to her presence. The magic worked at the start of the year. The magic worked at the end of the year.

“No One Killed Jessica” saw a resilient version of Vidya. The morning showed the day. Audience rejoiced the sturdy avatar of Vidya. While Rani Mukherjee almost stole away the thunder from Vidya, she steadied her ship till the very end. Almost Dravid-like compared to the flamboyance of a Sehwag-like Rani Mukherjee.

Let’s take a look at the reviews:

“But it is Vidya Balan's Sabrina who steals the show with her quiet courage, her absolute ordinariness and her complete disbelief at how someone with a pistol in his hand and power in his head could shoot down somebody for a mere drink. Watch Balan's body language and her aimless travels in Delhi's public transport and you'll understand how the common man survives in India: against all odds, albeit with courage and dignity.”– Times Of India

“It makes Vidya Balan's stand-out act -- her hesitant body language, her faith, her helplessness, her rage, her sorrow and her gratitude all come across beautifully; you don't even notice her pared down dialogues -- all the more commend-worthy.” – Rediff.com

” The first is personified by Vidya Balan, who plays Sabrina, Jessica’s beleaguered sister who fights in vain, against the might of Manu Sharma, a powerful politician’s son. Unlike her glamorous, party-girl sister, Sabrina is painfully plain and sober. Wearing drab clothes and spectacles, Vidya is a portrait of anguish and strength.” – NDTV 

Morning showed the day .. January paved 2011 for Vidya Balan in this case. And in what manner! The dream run continued till the fag end of 2011 with the release of “The Dirty Picture”. The premise was controversial enough to give the film that extra share of eye-balls. But with the sight of skin from Vidya Balan was a vision rather than a move. And boy! How it worked.

Coupled with her power-packed performance, and with that dare-to-bare frames, Vidya threw a challenge, Gladiator-like. And one, who has seen the movie, will agree that she comes out unscathed in the end.

Vidya Balan throws an open challenge to the protagonists who have played the lead onscreen till date and how she comes out of the ring!

Eat these:

“The Dirty Picture is essentially Vidya Balan's film, all the way. She gives a towering performance as the protagonist who remains unapologetic about her life till the very end. The high point of her act is the fact that despite portraying a sex bomb, her sexuality never ever gets vulgar and crude.” – Times Of India

“In terms of creativity, it's a middling effort. But where bravado is concerned, The Dirty Picture kicks ass by virtue of three very strong reasons: Vidya Balan. Vidya Balan. Vidya Balan.” – Rediff.com

“And Vidya Balan pulls off Silk in a manner no current female actor can. Heck, no actor in recent times has -- if I may say so -- the balls to give himself/herself to a role as wholeheartedly as Vidya has (barring, probably, Ranbir Kapoor in Rockstar).” – DNA

The innings was not over yet … 2011 also saw the poster release of her 2012 release “Kahaani” where she plays the role of a pregnant lady in search of her lost husband. The poster depicts her in another stellar performance.

The thermometer keeps climbing up, the mercury seething with expectation from a lady who has changed the way Bollywood ladies have played on a quintessentially male-dominated turf.

After the “The Dirty Picture”-success, Vidya pointed out that she should not be compared to the Khans, rather on the contrary, the Khans should change their surnames to Balan. Even “confidence” becomes a clichéd word in front of such a statement.

Ms. Balan took the road-less-travelled in 2011. 2012 doesn’t seem any different either. We drool in anticipation of another stellar performance. Another riveting overture of the unexpected.

from the Crow's Nest ...

Rear-view Mirror - 2011

“Mi Anna Hazare Boltaye” or “Me Anna Hazare Speaking”

“The middle-class rises” or “the middle-class leaves PM” – the headlines since April 2011 read somewhat like that.

The headlines hovered round somewhere around the above quoted lines.

They still are.

The point is how does one assess the claim?

First, the middle class is not about the few chosen ones who were at Ramlila Maidan. Nor they were the ones who are on a symbolic fast in front of the camera. They were not either who had printed “I Support Anna” flexes and did candle-light vigils. Soft patriotism and foolish jingoistic war-cry are not the order of the day.

The middle class is still the one who jostle for a foothold in the bus. They still negotiate Rs. 10/- in a shop. They still hate going to the local bazaar because of inflation. Son’s school fees still give them high BPS. Insomnia. Hyper-tension. Bring it on.

The middle class is being given the illusionary-mislead that the salvage of the black money is the key to all the problems. And while the middle-class is being mislead, fellow Indians are still lying on the ground, clutching on to their farm-lands, waiting for the bulldozers to crush them.

This is the same time when the police are firing in another end of the country for another piece of land.

A chunk from the same middle-class.

And while we are fighting corruption in high spirits, we will come back home and beat our wives to pulps for a salty sambhar.

We will not let out our homes to single mothers or divorcees or widows or a young couple.

We will discuss “Anna” while sipping Green Tea.

We will nod our head in unison over a glass of red-wine and discuss how our country is rotting from within due to corruption.

While Anna fasts on the dais, people flock around the free-food stall. While Anna poses inside the Tihar Jail, the Tihar Jail canteen gets emptied up.

A chunk from the same middle-class.

And the same political drama unfolds in the background - the Congress through its colonialist, feudalistic, hereditary techniques, allowed Rahul and Priyanka to decide on the JanLokpal bill. That makes it Rahul vs. India or “the next PM thinks...” kind of a scenario.

Brand Rahul gets yet another launch-pad.

And AD 2011, we got Brand Anna. Gandhi reincarnated. The toothless smile. The Gandhi topi. The background flex. The white attire. His armour flawless. The middle-class, always hungry for an icon, laps him up.

And another woman has been on a fast since the last decade. No candle-light vigil or hunger-strike or media-frenzy has been there. Because of a stupid reason. AFSPA.

Another man dies of fast. Because of a stupid reason. A polluted Ganga.

RTI activists keep receiving bullets as an answer to their letters.

The market sees no brand here. No business here. No media thus.

And we have the hype around the issue. Clear winner. Sanjay Leela Bhansali promotes “My Friend Pinto” at Ramlila Maidan. A man fasts in Vadodara. A man fasts in Howrah. And media-frenzy reaches inexplicable heights.

 “Anna Diaries” in newspapers. "Anna-using-I-Pad”. “Anna-fart-has-no-smell”. The long-shot of Indian flags being waved. The close-up of a dreamy-eyed kid. All the hypes. All the mechanisms at work. The blatant media-tricks to sell every bit of the septuagenarian.

This is no awakening. Ramlila Maidan is no Tiananmen Square. Not even a Tahrir Square. The land-mafias are still at ease. The coal mafias are at large. Goa, Orissa, HP, Noida, Gurgaon, West Bengal, Seven-Sisters ... every individual is looking down the barrel of a gun with no land beneath their feet.

The clever manipulation of a Gandhian aura. The slow build-up to a joyous climax. The illusion of a victory-of-the-middle-class.

And I open the newspaper to an advertisement stating “Farmer’s pride. India’s pride. Bollguard-II” by “Mahyco Monsanto”.

Jai Hind !!


(Rear-view Mirror - 2011 looks back on the year 2011 as it is passing by. We look back on events that shook us. We take you through the lanes and by-lanes of our minds. Hope you enjoy the ride.)

from the Crow's Nest ...

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond ....

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

                  ---- E.E.Cummings 

The Baton gets exchanged.................

Dil Chahta Hai & Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara

It was a rainy day. The atmosphere was not ready for such a mind- boggling experience. Neither was our soul. All of us flocked to the nearby screens. Three queer faces were peeking out of posters. The I-have-seen-it-all Akash, the mom-i-am-so-confused Samir and Mr. cool-as-a-cucumber Sid. We, who had, braved the rain and gone gone to watch the big guns of Bollyworld, were taken by surprise. It wasn't them-  but the onscreen the trio who got the better of us. It was the other bunch of men who caught us by our nape-like a mother –cat holds her kittens and safely transfers them to a cozy, warm place – the debutant director, the music composers, the lyricist, the whole team took us to an old place, cozy and full of warmth. A place we had always known. A place we had always known. A place where we find our closest of friends. Friendship.

Years ago, when I was in school, I used to find an open sky in front of the radio. The walls of the idiot-box used to be claustrophobic to me. That was the time when I had heard on air that “parents introduce us to the world but friends who stay with us throughout the rest of the journey”. That rainy day made me realize the true essence of friendship. The first scene where the other two bursts into Sid’s house late night imagining an emergency to the scene where the three part ways – the roller – coaster to the ride has always been a treat to watch.

Dil Chahta Hai

My house had a pond years ago. Every day, I used to come back from school sit by the bank, just allowing every bit of the serenity seep into my blood. DCH and a nth review of the entire movie still gives the same smile, to that same angle, my lips curl in that same position, to that same angle, my eyes emote to that same pain, my breaths still paint the same paintings – every time, I click the “Play” button, I feel that same serenity. Feeling that I used to feel sitting at the pond bank. Such was the impact of the euphoric milieu that was born out of the trio.

DCH on 24^th July, 2011 completed its journey of a decade. A journey that has been a cult,  almost symbolic to the journey that the three embarked upon till the last scene. Awards, kudos, celebrations, cult status, stardom for the director. All-time high for the music directors. Another feather in the cap of the lyricist. A dizzying cinematography. A freshly –minted script.  

And, also the other side of the moon. The mythical fan-following. The Goa shooting spot revisited. The umpteen copies of that shadow-dance sequence. The fake fish-eating photo. The fun. The all-I-have-is- you-guys feeling.

The trio, over all these years, have swept away every friend who has seen this ode to friendship called DCH. And, while DCH gives to such a height and structure, I relived my DCH moments too.

DCH showed us how every frame can be precious in a man’s life. Months after Akash and gang had passed out of college, Akash could still see three of them sitting at the college stairs, giving away to their hearts’s content. We had ours too. We four.

Cycle rides to eternity, laughing away to glory, snatching less-fortunate one’s tiffin, fooling away forever- our list was long enough. Cycle was a catalyst to love, lust, pain, glory. Friendship found a new horizon, newer dimension.

Last bench catastrophes were cool. Calling one by his/ her father’s / mother’s name became a cool menace. Hanging out together was no longer a non-sense. The sudden, unplanned trip, out of the blues bike rides, cheap thrills, bunking, out-of-budget expenses, et al.

  And, the legacy continues. Till date. 10 years and still continuing. People still swear on DCH. The dialogues are still mint-fresh. And boys still dread a Priya-like girlfriend. Girls still die for those dreamy eyes of Sid. And resembles all that DCH is made of.

Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara 

But times change. Years pass. Buddies grow stronger, sharper too. (I have alittle doubt regarding the smarter  part though.) Anyways, DCH too had to grow up. And, what better way than to pass the baton to ZNMD?

What did you say? The word ‘baton’? Yes… you heard right… cause life is a relay race… every action has a consequence … every bit of our schedule gives rise to a chain reaction. Somewhere in life, school paves the way for college. Somewhere in nature, the seed grows into a tree. Somewhere in love, the words carry the seeds for the future.

And, in between all these cacophony called life, the baton gets exchanged. DCH gives ZNMD a gentle yet careful message. You can almost see the predecessor’s shadow. But, that’s it. ZNMD showcases how every ‘Bwoy’ in the team has grown up. Even that old man.

The first whiff of adolescence or feet-firmly-on-the-ground hits the nose when Imraan – Arjun – Kabir battle it out among themselves regarding Arjun’s ex-lover, Sonali. But, unlike DCH, they don’t cancel their trip midway nor break friendship, rather they move on. And, if that is the signal of intent, it gets confirmed at the end when we get to see Kabir ends up single, and at the end when Imraan and Nuria are still cool about being just a pair; unlike DCH where Sid meets this new girl on the beach and the round table dinner sequence, as if the film couldn't have ended with him single.

Also, the music director trio, they have achieved a whole new curve, the old man has come up with some absolute fantastic lines, the cinematographers look delicious frame-by-frame, and the director still has her head between her shoulders.

And, how I saw my bwoys grow up to a different height altogether. Some migrated to different latitudes and longitudes altogether. But the heart beat has remained the same. The pulse still races in the same fashion. The missed calls, SMSs, pokes convey the same message – my bwoys are still very close.

The madness in the heart, the Bedouin nature in the blood, the nomadic spirit yet a strong desire to get settled, we four have made quite a long journey in life.

And while we have traveled long, while we have far and out, we have found a Sid, an Akash, a Samir among us.

And inside us, we know, its a decade that has passed in realizing so.

(This post is an entry to the Reel-Life Bloggers contest organized by www.wogma.com and www.reviewgang.com )

from the Crow's Nest ...

The Wired Generation: - I

X, Y are talking.

X – “Arey! Yesterday I met P…”

Y (thinking) – “Okkkk .. FB pe … “

X – “We had a good conversation … “

Y (thinking) – “Oh … FB Chat pe .. “

X – “ He introduced me to 2 of his friends .. “

Y (thinking) – “Oh ho … Now I get it .. FB group me subscribed hai dono .. wahi pe baatein kar rahe the sab milke …”

X – “But then 2 of his female classmates came and dragged them away…”

Y opened her mouth …

Y – “But how can they drag someone away on FB chat?”

X – “Who told you anything about FB chat? We bumped into each other at the college gate”……

The Wired Generation: - II

X – “Arey madam Namaste! … When did you come back from abroad?”

Y – “Arey long back .. 2 months its going to be now…”

X – “You never told me … “

Y – “Arey couldn’t tell you coz I never found you online in the meantime … “

The Wired Generation: - III

Husband – “Arey where were you? I was frantically  searching for you. Looked up in FB, Orkut, Gmail .. couldn’t find you …”

Wife – “Arey Twitter pe toh dia tha … Did you check there? “

Husband – “Oops … 1 sec … Missed out on that .. “

The screen read – “@Big Girl Now: Going to washroom .. be back in 5 secs. … #toilet  “

the wired generation .....  or weird maybe ... !!