Altitude

Heights, perceivable yet deprived.

Tells us where we are, doesn’t say where we came from. We like to be at the top, but fear to look beneath. Love flying higher but eroded by turbulent waters.

 Yes, I adore being out there but somehow get this feeling that blossoming flowers often forget the roots. 

the altitude. It isn’t what we see, it is what we don’t.

What’s in a 14?

Probably, the most hyped date in the world. No vintage urn, just being eroded with the most consumate word in our lives – love.

Nothing against love though. Neither do I have anything unceremonious against people loving each other. We must, we do, we will. But are we serving the purpose is the question here. If I love someone, why do it just for a day? Rather, why all this propaganda for the people you love when the person you love knows you do? Do we have to make this public? I am not looking for an answer, am trying to introspect. And find answers within. You must unless you really want the advertisers and purgative offers to exploit you. 

 I think global world is devout of the whole Valentine stigma, and we like sticking our nose out to smell something that’s out of box. Or, can I say, out of mind. In fact, that’s exactly what I meant.

In an age when love is no more than a mere four letter word, we need just you and me to say ‘I Love You’. Keep it simple, and keep it true.

A Father’s Note

 
Holding your just born son in your hands is a feeling beyond describable words. For a change, I have run out of ammunition as the newly born has swept me off my feet and I don’t feel the earth beneath me. The moments when we saw each other – yes, you can argue that the baby was oblivious of his father’s inquisitive eyes that ran like crazy to say – son, am your father and I love you. Yes, he will not respond now, nevertheless but a new era has begun, a new relationship has just created this world around me that I never knew existed till you happened to me. You don’t know who I am, yet. But you are my world, my life, my heartbeat. My everything, I guess. And I want you to know it.

Cheers to us, our life and we both are indebted to your mother, the woman of my life and the featherbed of your existence. 

Till you open your eyes, mine will remain famished.

Saturday Corner: Finding Fanny

Rustic characters, naive intentions, fake prejudices, 5 human beings treading a path of nullified emotions, desires and smallness. Finding Fanny isn’t your run of the mill, next door 2 and a half hour maroon. It’s celebrating human discoveries.

Set in the ever gorgeous Goa, FF renders the laziness of the island amongst few individuals who are basking in deterrent glory of their self devoid barriers. A widow with a cavalier attitude, a postman who unravels his love story after 46 years, a pretty young lady who loses her husband and desires minutes after her wedding, a painter who embodies lust over artistic colours, a young lad who searches for life after losing his girl to his best buddy. The best thing about each of them is their hidden fiascos of life. Or rather, the lack of it.

Homi Adajania strikes the right chords while he oscillates between the tangled lives and frivolous lives of the mean people he tries to broadcast in this conjugate tales. The beaches, the low lying yet ambitious sensibilities and the chemistry of malicious emotions take us through the rugged paths with immense flavour. His characters are not conventional, but they certainly are plucked straight from our unearthly lives. Its seldom that we realise such poignancy with ominous flair.

His casting is the brightest here. What else can we expect when 2 fine actors come together with 2 ravishing women and a young lad with loads to flaunt?

Naseer is at his usual whacky self, Pankaj Kapur is crookedly brilliant and Deepika Padukone makes our jaws drop as she blinks beautifully through the Goan ranches. Arjun Kapoor does well to creep in this ensemble drama with sumptuous humour. Dimple Kapadia, I must say, looks awful in her mommy act here. Not her performance though but she does need to become a tad slimmer to ensure we can say that sharing screen space is indeed a reality (no pun intended though!).

I loved this short, turbulent yet enjoyable journey to find fanny, and ourselves.

Barfi! – Sweet..

Landscapes woven out of an artist’s dream, streets that flush meadows in daylight, people who appear and are human, love that has touched the arms of divinity. ‘Barfi!’ is straight out of a folklore that doesn’t exist. Rather, you and me don’t know if it ever did.

In the last 15+ years of Indian Cinema, filmmakers have evolved, writers got back to the drawing boards that was probably alive during the early 70s till mid 80s and audiences are demanding more than a mere 150 minute potboiler sans sense and sensibilities. Anurag Basu, for me, has joined that elite bandwagon. Or at least, he has embarked on a fascinating road.

Barfi, Shruti and Jhilmil are rare protagonists in a script that’s woven around their vulnerable lives. One is disabled minus speech and sound, an autistic young girl who still is alive enough to emote and the third, is fulfilled with the right organs but without the sting that makes life meaningful. Barfi and Shruti share beautiful chemistry but the sustainability matrix falters in the ask of a society that never understands the intrinsics of human yore. It does also reflect upon failed relationships wherein we start living our life on the staircases of compromise and ‘that’s my fate’ attitude. Desires play a vital role as well, and seldom do they go hand in hand with what the heart says. Shruti exits (briefly though) and Jhilmil squashes in with a cherubic dose of innocence. Barfi, despite his limitations, is notorious and charming. His camaraderie with Jhilmil is magnetic and keeps you engrossed. Shruti shrugs her inhibitions (along with her family) to come back but she loses Barfi to Jhilmil. A limitless story unwinds in the backdrop, but for me, the 3 stand out as the yolk remains enriched. Obviously so.

Terrific performances make ‘Barfi’ memorable. Post ‘Rajneeti’, and ‘Rockstar’, Ranbir Kapoor’s big ticket is ‘Barfi’. His histrionics gave us a glimpse of an actor in the making and he has carried it off in style. Priyanka Chopra gives us a stunning Jhilmil with lots to rave about and has showcased immense courage to take up this act at this stage of her career (7 Khoon Maaf still remains a personal favourite though). Ileana D’Cruz is my surprise pic of ‘Barfi’. Not out of this world, but certainly a notable performance as debutante. She still has that plastic touch but saw less of it here and Anurag has worked well with her. A performance well within herself, she does look ravishing as the Bong girl. A well written script with precise screenplay treated impeccably, Anurag Basu has delivered a thorough winner.

I wouldn’t claim ‘Burfi!’ to be unique though. ‘Black’, ‘Taare Zameen Par’ and ‘ Guzarish’ have been such marvels in their own zenith but I would rate this as ‘audaciously penned’.

Oscar or no Oscar, ‘Burfi!’ is a craftsman’s delight. It would have worked very well in Mars or Jupiter, it most definitely doesn’t belong to the inhabitants of this planet. I might just head to the theatres next week to taste the sweetness of life, again.

Valentine? Pseudo..

Roses galore, petals kiss your thirst and mountains spit collages of serene kiosk…
At a time of penchant vows, I courageously demean the dawn to caress and make love.
Very, astonishingly, brave, mild, grizzly moan and fetish desires engulf paradigm.

I, fake, not to diminish but to flourish with pretentious glory.
Ah, my pittance of a mimic glows through the veins of malicious pun.
And, respite doesn’t meet me until I devour the known to giggle the unknown.

Yet, women, mostly, are paradoxical occurrences of my mingle minds. No, they love me.
Why? Where? Hmmmm… How? No, let’s go back and fend actions that mattered.
Am I to love and perish with substance that usually forges anonymity?

Guess what, I still love thee to elude wrath and flaunt insatiable within core.
Ecstasy, mind you, is a state of being you and inviting magnetic proportions.
I, think to be devoid, but, known to be alive despite.

While the world basks itself in ballistic hormones of youthful bliss (well, evolution might not alter few that scream from within), I, the most laudable of niche, wish you all, the memoirs of a beautiful and a voluptuous lifeomaniac. Or, perhaps, for the one that’s in the making.