baali

I hate packing bags. Granted, they’re usually full of things I’ll need where I’m going but it’s such indignity heaped on my possessions. Clothes get crumpled, food gets squished, valuables are scattered, and part of the space becomes a receptacle for the unwashed detritus that is the unavoidable consequence of travel.

Travel or not, there is more baggage we carry. It can get heavy. It evokes curiosity, pity and distaste among those who are unfortunate enough to notice it. The term itself implies a weight dragging you back, rendering you sluggish and unable to react appropriately to situations. Packing it takes years, lugging it around, a lifetime. Every piece of insecurity, slight, sadness and humiliation needs to be carefully wrapped and packed. And the most amazing thing about this reprehensible load is that it always has space. It doesn’t matter what you already have in there, there’s always room for more. And thus, it keeps getting heavier everyday.

Ever so often, we make space in it for a few things that still keep us sane. If the rest of it holds us back, this grounds us. If the rest of it slows us down, this provides the pause before the dash.

I remember two things I’d kept with myself for the longest time. The first was a gold “Om” that was gifted to my grandfather by DV Paluskar after his (my grand dad’s) first classical music performance. Pleased with my grandfather’s singing, and unable to procure any other token of appreciation at the time, he removed the sacred symbol from around his neck and gifted it to the promising young talent before him. Although the promise of that talent was eventually lost to a hurricane of personal tragedies and practical considerations, the pendant must’ve been an incredible memento for my granddad. To this day I have no idea why he gifted it to me. Perhaps he saw it as a magical talisman that waited in the wings till it found a deserving owner, or perhaps he wanted me to have it as an inspiration and a cautionary tale; that potential must never be allowed to lie dormant.

The second was a watch, gifted to me by my girlfriend from her first salary. We’d traveled that journey together for years, putting up with concerned parents, petty friends, difficult engineering courses and the trials and tribulations of any relationship. Her first paycheck was a sweet moment for her and an incredibly proud one for me. We biked over to the store and she let me choose my watch (we’d been pretty poor before that; I was a student and we subsisted on pocket money). I pointed to a wonderful, sleek Esprit. It was a tremendous luxury in those days, given our spending power just 24 hours before that moment. She paid. She paid with pride. Yes, it had a lot of pride and love packed into it.

It was also the one thing I ran back for when the earthquake came. A year after we were married, I was away in Gujarat on a training stint with my employer. I had rented an apartment on the eleventh floor of a residential complex, along with a classmate from business school who was in the same city. As we prepared to retire for the night, the floor vibrated, then swayed. Gujarat has its fair share of tectonic activity so we knew what this meant. Within seconds, both of us had made a mad dash for the stairs. We joined a stream of panicking residents stumbling over each other. We reached halfway down the first flight of stairs and I remembered I’d left the watch on the windowsill of my bedroom. There was nothing to it. I had to turn back. My friend gawped at me in horror as he saw me turn back to the house, shouted a few choice abuses at me and told me to run with him and forget the watch. I shouted back “ten seconds”. The floor was still swaying gently. Who knows, the whole building could’ve been reduced to rubble in ten seconds. I didn’t care. I dashed into the bedroom, which mercifully, was quite close to the front door, grabbed the watch and ran out again. (As I write this, it occurs to me that he was waiting for me; at the same point on the stairs I’d left him.)

As we reached the fourth floor after an arduous trek down the stairs everyone was visibly relaxed. If it hadn’t toppled over by now, it probably wasn’t going to. But we maintained a sense of urgency and made it out onto the street. It was three a.m. but the bustle was incredible, almost communal. As anxious family members sought out each other in the dimly lit streets of my township, I sat on a curb, playing with the watch, listening to my friend’s relieved sighs.

(I was watching Pulp Fiction the other day and Bruce Willis’ story reminded me of my watch. Thankfully my wife didn’t have to fight the VietCong to get the watch to me.)

I still have the watch. I don’t wear it anymore because it doesn’t work and it’s beyond repair. But it’s still there in a box of my most cherished memories.

There was a chance the expedition to retrieve my watch could’ve proven fatal, but it didn’t matter. Was it just the sentiment behind the watch that pulled me back to it? Or was it the fact that it was a symbol of a relationship we’d nurtured, leading to such an important milestone for her? Perhaps I went back because it is a symbol of what we can accomplish together; some hope for the inevitable tough times that lie ahead in any relationship.

A few days ago, I met a new colleague at work. He had impeccable sartorial sense – not a crease or seam out of place. Elegant shoes, a suit with a great fit that was most certainly tailored and yet, perched on his nose was a pair of worn-out glasses completely at odds with the rest of his attire. I had to ask. “A gift from grandpa” he smiled and replied. I didn’t probe any further. Presumably that one adornment was what kept him focused, centered, or optimistic. At any rate, it made him feel better than an expensive pair of Dolce & Gabbanas that would’ve completed his look.

Intrigued, I asked the good folks on Twitter about the one possession so dear to them they carried it with or on them at all times. What followed was an absolutely remarkable series of responses (which you can read here) that was a window into a world of possessions that have transcended from mere material objects to spiritual accompaniments. Just like my watch, some of them are crumbling, functionally useless and yet they carry within them a powerful symbolism that keeps their owners going. (by the way, a huge thanks to the folks who shared their personal stories.)

A ring from a sister who isn’t in touch these days, and yet a reminder of their relationship; a Hanuman Chalisa, bestowing a sense of protection, even though the owner isn’t religious; a pendant that reminds its owner of her failures and thus, the strength she possessed to overcome them. Or a note with a few lines from the Hanuman Chalisa, scribbled by a loving, protective mom. A ring from a father, a list of songs and raagas performed in all concerts the person attended, a rosary, a rupee note the owner possessed the day he landed in Mumbai. Symbols. Inspiration. Mementos. Positive memories.

Some of those mementos had sadness associated with them, like the deaths of loved ones. But it wasn’t their passing that was being commemorated but their lives, blessings and inspiration.

Just goes to show, not all baggage is bad. And we are what we keep.

link-Petzl Roc Trip China 2011
If not for climbing, watch it for the amazing scene, video editing and music.

Every simple things are so high in energy content.

कबीर का दोहा

जब तू आया जगत में, लोग हँसे तू रोय |
ऐसी करनी ना करो, पीछे हँसे सब कोय ||

जब तू संसार में आया तो तू रोता था, लेकिन लोगों ने खूब खुशियाँ मनाईं | अब जगत् में ऐसी करनी मत करना कि तेरे बाद पीछे से लोग तेरी हँसी उड़ाएँ |

Vikramaditya Motwane’s Udaan was the film of the year for me.

However, I had known before watching it that it was adapted from the story of Anurag Kashyap, and with him involved in the writing, I knew that it wouldn’t be bad at all. Also, Udaan was an unconventional story, and when you make an unconventional story in a cliched industry like Bollywood, you have the entire world open in front of you.

I was curious to see Lootera because I have always believed that it is tougher to make a genre movie. Especially when characters break into songs every half an hour – be it out of love, lust, anger, or depression. Would it be possible to create a romance (having set it in the 50′s, to boot) that will not seem asinine?

And I am not really a fan of romantic films. Barring Annie Hall and Notting Hill, I have never really connected with a romantic film, as I find the lines too corny, and the premise laughable.

But two minutes into Lootera, I slipped into my seat comfortably.

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

When Varun, an archaeologist arrives at a zamindar’s house, it is not his boots you see first. His boots, his pant, his belt, his shirt, his neck, his eyes, and his face. No.

Lootera begins on sound footing, drawing you into its world. A world that is captured lovingly by Mahendra J. Shetty. A world that is untouched by democracy and its many benefits and failings. A world that is independant, yet dormant. The world of the zamindar who knows that times are changing.

Before we know it, we smile at what is frothing – a slender romance. Like the ones we felt at high school. The soft tickle of a glance, the victory of a snide remark reaching its target. 

Amid the loud exaggeration that we are used to, here the magic lies in chemistry that arises from smart dialogues, just the way it should be.

The film benefits from performances by the cast. While Ranvir Singh and Barun Chanda play their roles to perfection, it is Sonakshi Sinha who stands out.

She has very distinct looks, and Lootera uses it to the hilt. There are no shots attempting to cover her forehead, or make her look chic in shorts. The camera grazes over her sensuously at times, and hopelessly during others.

Much is being said about Trivedi being the next Rahman. There are years to go for him, of course. But there is a clear difference between the two.

Rahman’s music is like powerful and gigantic. It looms over the film like a colossus. If the film lives up to the music, it is a spectacle. If the film doesn’t, it cuts a very sorry figure. Like Sachin hitting a marvelous century, only for India to lose the match.

Amit Trivedi’s music, however, is never larger than the film itself. When it works well, the music makes love to the film, blending together to form moments of cinematic magic. Like in Udaan, the greatest thing about Amit Trivedi’s music is that you don’t really notice it after a point. It is part of the narrative, part of what is unfolding.

And yet, it is not overbearing. Moments of silence are interrupted by beautiful pieces of music – from the Sawaar Loon to the ektara in Monta re. For the connoisseurs, the film doffs its hat to the film of the era.

Lootera is a Bollywood romance that doesn’t make you cringe while watching it. Making DDLJ and Dil Toh Pagal Hai seem like badly done Doordarshan soap operas.

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

Go watch Lootera. Before it gets outcharmed by Despicable Mitu, or run over by the Flying Sikh next week.

Some will complain that it is slow. But then, not every film has to be fast paced. It’s not a race.

At least, Lootera doesn’t seem to be running in it.

कबीर का दोहा

माटी कहै कुम्हार सो, क्या तू रौंदे मोहि |
एक दिन ऐसा होयगा, मैं रौंदूँगी तोहि ||

माटी कुम्हार से कहती है, तू जीवन भर मुझे रौंदता रहता है लेकिन एक दिन मेरा भी आएगा जब मैं तुझे रौंदूँगी और वह तेरा अंतिम दिन होगा | अर्थात् सभी से सज्जनता से पेश आना चहिए, क्योंकि वक्त का कोई भरोसा नहीं है |

Anne Frank (1929-1945) was a young Holocaust victim who wrote the most famous diary in history. Frank and her Jewish family (including her older sister Margot, who is pictured with Anne in the comic) were forced to go into hiding from the Nazis in Amsterdam in 1942. They stayed in a secret section of an office building for nearly three years before they were captured. Anne and Margot eventually perished at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, just weeks before it was liberated by Allied troops.

While in hiding Anne kept a diary which described in great detail her family relationships, living conditions and life under occupation. The diary became a refuge for Anne as she discovered her talent for writing and even started to dream of a career as a journalist:

“When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that’s a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?”

Little did she know that her diary would become one of the most famous books in the world.

- The conflict depicted in the final panel is the Syrian civil war. Nearly 100,000 people have died since the conflict began in March 2011, with over 1/3 of them being civilians.
- Thanks to Tess and Patricia for submitting this quote.
- RELATED COMICS: Malala Yousafzai, Aung San Suu Kyi, Pale Blue Dot.

कबीर का दोहा

लाली मेरे लाल की, जित देखूँ तित लाल |
लाली देखन मैं गई, मैं भी हो गई लाल ||

मुझे हर जगह ईश्वरीय ज्योति दिखती है- अंदर, बाहर, हर जगह. लगातार ऐसी दैवी ज्योति देखते देखते, मैं भी ईश्वरीय हो गई हूँ |

कबीर का दोहा

ऐसी बानी बोलिए, मन का आपा खोय |
औरन को शीतल करै, आपहु शीतल होय ||

मान और अहंकार का त्याग करके ऐसी वाणी में बात करें कि औरों के साथ-साथ स्वयं को भी खुशी मिले | अर्थात मीठी वाणी से ही दिल जीते जाते हैं |

At the onset, let me do a Pritam.

This is not completely my idea. A post has gone viral on Tumblr, titled ‘6 Fairy Tales for the Modern Woman’. This is a take on it.

Mind you, I have not copied that post. I have merely been ‘inspired’ by it. Which means that I can take the essence of it and reproduce it for my own benefit, and still get the credit for it.

God bless Pritamda.

Now, being the Modern Indian Man is a tough thing, what with the skewed up sex ratio that begins from 618 women per 1000 men. While the rest of the country on average fares slightly better, there are other issues to deal with – so many religions, so many languages, and so many cultures. In such a scenario, is it possible to have a fairy tale?

If you have watched a Karan Johar film, you will thump your bottle of Gatorade on the table and say an emphatic ‘Yes’. So how would the fairy tale go? I made a few guesses.

So here goes!

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

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

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

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

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

(Image taken from: http://www.inkity.com/shirtdesigner/prints/clipArt1/AVP50317.JPG)

Hello 252!

I don’t really have much to write here (stumbled across the blog after what feels like ages!). Just thought I would give lafootrix a bump so there is some activity here. The next time, I will come with a better post.

On second thought, lemme try if I can try to make it better right now.. so here is an impromptu ‘kavita’!

I don’t have much to say
but I’m gonna try anyway
How about I ask you “whatsup, fellows?”
To which you might reply with a dozen hellos
voodoo, baali, and one plus eight,
I hope your life going great
Damu, chaitu, and krovvidi,
I hope you are still like a kiddy
pingu, bojja and sir punch
I hope you’re a happy bunch
Sumanth, sunil and uc,
I hope you are doing something gutsy
Vandith, gagan, and nitin
I hope you’re seeing the light within
If there’s a name I’ve missed
it’s not because I’m pissed
Maybe the names don’t come in multiples of three,
and also, I don’t have a degree in poetry
If we agree to disagree
then I think I must end the poem and set you free.