Water - a feat by Deepa Mehta

I am feeling a deep sense of satisfaction today. I saw Water - The last of the trilogy by Deepa Mehta and I am left truly exhilarated. I appreciate movies which force me ask myself some questions and really this movie does that in the best way. The movie is so subtle , three principal thoughts running in parallel. A widow (symbolic of at least most of them) wanting to escape her deary life , a man who believes in Gandhiji and wants to change the world and those of course who disagree with Gandhiji because they are not sure what is right and what is wrong. When I saw this movie I felt really lucky to be born in India at time when education has begun to make a difference. This movie gives us this message that we should never let something wrong go by, it takes a whole lot of courage to stand for what you think is right and to stick to it in this corruption driven society is a very brave thing indeed.

Hats off to Deepa Mehta for portraying myriad perspectives of Indian lives , a fun filled Punjabi wedding in Monsoon Wedding (dealing with child sexual abuse in absolutely the perfect yet subtle manner), the emotions which drive most riots (Earth), and the subdued passion in Fire and finally a excellent political and social statement in Water. This movie is slap on people who are afraid to discuss the truth and learn their mistakes from it.

The most interesting thing in the movie is the dialogue between a eununch and old and mean widow on Gandhiji. They have just heard rumors on the change he wants to bring and his ideology. The way they react to it and talk of things more relevant to them suddenly made me think that at that time communication media was almost non-existent and yet we had such a inspiring and powerful freedom movement in which the entire nation got together, but was it really the entire nation? Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to be born and present during that time, wolud I have been capable of standing up for my nation, would have I understood the necessity for it ? I can simply wonder because its to difficult to fathom.

The movie has it's flaws but overall a brilliant and daring statement by Deepa Mehta!

Barsaaat ...And cup of chai and the internet

I looked out my window in the morning and to my surprise and pleasure there was rain. Soft and gentle drops of water falling everywhere. I must have mentioned it a million times before but I simply love rain. I love the feel of cold water on my skin, the way it cleanes everything in its way ,so simple and yet so powerful. Suddenly the dusty leaves are green again, the bitumen black of the road visible and faded walls with creepers shining as if some exilir of life has been supplied to them.

The next best thing when its raining is a cup of chai. There is a magical connection between rain, chai and garam pakodas. I am sure any Indian will agree with me on that. Be it from the poor beggar on street or the fat seth sitting in his jewelry store, they all succumb to this magic, irresistable and insatiable every time there its raining. I always wonder do people get saturated with such a wonderful gesture of nature, but when I think of floods and storms I am forced to say that nature in all its power can humble us humans very easily.

So you can imagine my mood in the morning, me sitting at the corner of the sofa right next to my favorite window with special masala chai in my favorite cup and just staring at the falling rain. I was remembering so many beautiful things that I usually associate with rain. My first memories of rain begin with Ajmer, my birth city, which being in proximity to a dessert received rain very rarely. But as you may have heard "Bhagwaan jab deta hai to chappar phad kar deta hai" is pretty much symbolic to the rush of water we received from the heavens. I have faded memories of wearing flimsy raincoats and running out in water and playing with paper boats.

Bangalore rains have many stories hidden in them. The times when me and Karuna would just plan to go for a walk in heavy runs when everyone else in the colony would rush for a shelter or when I would reach college drenched and then just sit in canteen sipping tea and gossiping or when I would just curl up with a book for hours with the window open to just let raindrops and the cold in. I also have this sweet memory, my ex used to make sure that I step out with a umbrella and use it as he was really worried about me falling sick. I remember he used to stand at his balcony and keep a watch that the umbrella is being put to good use. But really how useful is an umbrella in thundering rain, so why bother in the first place.

There was this one time that I travelled with a friend in a tempo (small rickety vans) during these heavy floods. He had purchased a large study table and we put it in the tempo and we sat on the table and came back home. It was like a roller coaster ride, we were jostled in every direction with the roof leaking in many places and making us laugh so hard. We had people staring at us, as we tried to hold on for our dear lives, I wonder if they thought we were silly, or they envied our happiness. I can never say.

Anyway as I was thinking all this and was planning to pen it down, I decided to look for some pictures to add another million words to this blog, I typed "Barsaat" in google and to my horror and complete surprise a million posters of skimply clad bollywood heroines in the Indian swimsuit just popped up, now for those who are wondering - the "Indian Swimsuit" is usually this white, may be colored depending on the directors pervert imagination, skimpy piece of cloth by means of which the heroine tries to cover herself in the bare minimum way especially in the rainy season. I realized this was some movie promotion, but I was so disappointed. It killed my mood totally.

I had started my thoughts with "Barsaat and a cup of chai" but it ended with "Barsaat and a cup of chai and the internet" for totally killing the romance out of the very word barsaat. It was such a anti-climax that I decided to pen it down too.

Anyway adios folks, I will enjoy the rain and you mayalso do so because thats the best thing to do and think about your old friends and happy memories.

Bus Ride

We were just sitting and watching the rain falling and then I just had a flash of memory of my city Bangalore. I love the way rain falls, the way it cleanses, the way everything looks clean and pure and pretty. We went for a bus ride in Route # 3, to see a part of Logan I had never seen.

Logan is such a pretty town, eight months of snow does not steal the charm of this pretty town, infact just adds to the beauty. This blog is not about Logan , I will write about it later perhaps.

I was looking out of the window and the rain had now become these soft blobs of snow, the window was misty. I wiped it several times to see clearly, I saw pretty houses with white snowy roofs and warm yellow windows with blinds drawn. I was staring out for the window so long seeing so much more than that little window had to offer. I was seeing my city in its various shades and lights. Images just kept flashing by, blending with the snow and rain as if they have been there all the time and I just never noticed.

I have seen my city mostly from the small and dirty windows of the local buses. I enjoy travelling in buses, they have this charm I cannot resist. Sometimes I am just by myself and sometimes with a dear friend. I have a few bus ride friends and their chatter comes back to me clearly as I watch the snow falling. I always wondered how so many people took so much pain to travel but then I realized that maybe being the cheapest means of travel is not the only reason that these people are with me in the bus. I think they all travel together because each of those bus passengers derives a comfort from the rest, a comfort of sorts, a comfort that the others are also struggling like me. They also have a destination to reach, a dream or a hope to fulfil for a near or dear one.

My best bus buddy was Somjit, my dear friend and my best company in office. I worked for a year and it was really a good time because I had such good friends, the time spent with whom can never be forgotten. Me and Somjit travelled on Friday nights from office to home and it took us almost two hours in the bus. It used to be the best time, we used to pick up these egg and potatoes pakoras from a old man near the bustop and then wait for the bus. When the bus arrived we would rush to find a seat such that we colud sit together as the buses in Bangalore had special reservations for ladies and no men were allowed to sit on them. This is great topic in itself and I shall dwell on it later. Anyway after a lot of pain we used to find a good spot and then the journey starts. We had so much to talk about, office gossip, US of A, college stories, problems, fears and sometimes just fun stuff. I remember those days with such fond memories all that laughter ringing in my ear as if it was yestreday and yet seeming so far back in time. As we chatted we passed the usual routes and we commented on so many things that we saw. A new electronic store, a expensive garment store, book store or a hotel. I think my favourite was when we got these faint or sometimes strong food aromas from a big kitchen as we rode past and I could almost hear poor Somu's tummy grumling with curses and complaints. There was this one time we got stuck in a traffic jam on street which has the maximum number of Biryani Houses, we called it the "Chicken Street" as we never bothered to check its real name, and it was a tortured one hour that we spent in the bus as we could not leave it and our growling tummies and sensory nose would not let us sit in peace. It was the worst and the best time that we spent while travelling back home. I realized something that day, how it feels to a beggar to beg in front of any snack shop and not have enough to eat something from there.

There were times when I also travelled alone and had so many thought racing through my mind just as the bus raced to reach my destination. The rides always had a calming effect on me, gave me the time to think, to fantasize, to dream of the things I saw and felt. So many things I have schemed and planned while sitting in a bus and thought of the greatness I would reach or the fame I would acquire if I helped the people in this basti(slum) or taught those poor kids on the street who were begging now or helped that poor blind women by giving her some clothes. The turn my life would take if I smiled at that cute guy on the bike, or the dress I would buy just like the girl sitting next to me or the trees I would paint as I see them through the window of the bus rushing by, green and blur. Ahh life is so pretty and fast from within the bus, just a like a remote control surfing of TV channels, we see what we want to see and let it affect our minds and forget about it the moment the TV is switched off, the moment we reach our destinantion.

There is another favourite bus ride or rather tram ride I had in SLC with Nihar. It was so lovely such a pretty town, we were so happy so much in love and so peaceful with each other poring over the map to decide where to get off and what to see. The simplest things in life are enjoyed best with the dearest person to your heart.

Bus ride pretty bus ride ....... I will never quit travelling in thee......