Sometimes shit. Movie rage.

One day Karan Johar, the film maker and India's wrong answer to Stephen Fry, decided that Ekta Kapoor was not doing her duties well. In today's fast paced lifestyle, people should not have to wait for 11 years to realize they've been watching crap.

With this view, and a 400 billion rupees and an ensemble cast, Karan Johar set out to make Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. One ought to stop when your title translates to Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness. But nothing was going to stop K Jo from wasting 400 billions and the potential of some fine actors.

I am not going to give you the plot of the movie, go read Wikipedia for that. I am merely going to reveal certain motives behind the making of this film that the public never knew about. Remember how the title promises moments of sadness as well as happiness. Well, you are going to cry at every moment in this film. No, not because the film maybe pathetic. Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham was designed to make you cry. When someone in the film cries, you cry. When someone in the film smiles, you cry. Genuinely. Shahrukh looks for opportunities to cry, Hrithik goes from crying to being euphoric back to crying. Amitabh Bachchan does not like to cry, but is made to, in the end. And Kareena is a student of King's college, London.

The public was always curious about the personal married life of Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan, the height issues, the good actor bad actor issues and the disappointing son issues. With Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, much of these was brought to light in different shades of pompous red and yellow.  

Basically, Amitabh's character, Yashwardhan Raichand is a wealthy, good natured, humble, all loving businessman who does not want to do anything with the working class populace. How everyone else in the film bring him to change his mind and become extra all loving, forms the story. At the heart, Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham is a larger than life, the Universe and everything film.

Tip: If you watch the movie in segments, you almost get the feel of a daily soap. That's the power and finesse of Karan Johar.

She looked decent. Socially, she had good prospects. A dead father did not matter much in society these days. A western schooling and an Indian living meant an ideal character.

Then she shook everything. She eloped with a seemingly illiterate guy who worked as a domestic help. People started talking. People did not really care about her future more than they cared talking about it. A dead father was suddenly significant. 

People talk for a few days or months at the most. Until they talked, her marriage fared well. She had a beautiful boy. Fair, from his father. Then one day the father left. The swarthy young mother and her fair boy were on their own. People talking seems to be a bad omen. They curse the lives of those that are unimportant, even insignificant to them. It is the only way people have authority. 

A few years now, everything seems normal again. She lives as a tenant in a cheap but decent looking chawl which is queerly built behind a restaurant & bar. People say it is cheap, living there. They cannot justify it really, but they will continue to talk nonetheless. 

I hear people say that she now sells her body for her stomach. Maybe, maybe not. People won't cross check it anyway. This city has become sadist. 

Years down the line, the college going boy of this illicit mother convinces himself every night, "A prostitute's son is not a bastard. A prostitute's son is not a bastard." He does not even know whether his mother is really one. 

Expecto Patronum

The iPad is a beautiful thing. It made me want to sketch. Then I dabbled on paper too. I'll put them on soon.

Devil is in the details. But there's too much details in this city to romanticise.

Too many people, too many incidences, too much happening inside the fences.

Why do you think was Mordor so beautiful despite the foul air?

For fair was the balance between life and action. 
For Bombay though, Mordor is but a fraction.

Your maximum city ain't some fancy boroughs.
Carelessness taken for honesty, evil too here is gross. 

A cold cat lingers on the cold street on a cold night. It is winter and the cat knows. It is November, the cat would not care. It is looking for some thing. As it walks past a tiny puddle of water on the foot path, it stops. The cat can see a blurry crescent moon in the water. It looks up, purrs and continues the calculated walk. Up ahead on the street where the row of houses begin is parked a car. It is becoming bigger and bigger as the cat treads on. Once close, the cold cat now feels some warmth. The idea of a car is comforting. But before it can heave a sigh of relief, a familiar meow is heard. Another cat steps out from under the car. Both exchange cold glances. A minute of stare and the new cat swiftly turns around, its tail stretched upward. And as it stoops to enter its bed again, says, 'The next car is empty. Some salmon in the bin. Make yourself comfortable..sister' and disappears in the darkness under the car. The cold cat looks up at the moon with a thankful face and walks on.

A Post Script

This is regarding the two short films I have just uploaded on the blog. Both the films were made more than a year back, when I was studying Mass Media. I would have loved to provide the scripts of the films, but cannot. We did not really have a sense of any pipeline while making those films. Owing to our ignorance, I had hand-written both scripts, the copies of which are nowhere to be found now. I had thought of penning down the scripts by going through the films again, but later scrapped the idea. A script is made into a film, not vice versa. And though literally it is possible, I would not be doing justice to the literature. 

Venn, short film

This is one of the few short films I made with a filmmaker friend of mine. Venn was made on an intensely tight budget and in not more than three days. We entered the film in the Kolkatta Film Festival, where it was among the five selected films to be screened from the student category.
I co-wrote the concept and story of the film with Vishal, the director of this film. Owing to low finance and wanting to experiment with non-actors, Vishal decided that I should act as the lead character of the film. I personally find myself to be not a good actor at all, but Vishal says otherwise.
    

Nibandha (Essay) the film

Nibandha was my very first attempt at script writing. My college seniors after reading some of my Marathi poetry decided to make me re-write a script that they and a college professor had roughly come up with. I rewrote the entire script even making some fundamental changes in the story, which fortunately the team was happy to incorporate.
Nibandha (Essay in English) was shot in a small village in Alibaug. I was never present on the shoot, because the team did not have enough money to take me.

The Young Man and the Sea

And hence he went to the sea.

Ten minutes:

The sand under his feet still;

the air salty, also the lips that held a fire.

Ten minutes:

the afternoon horizon was his. he had a right to it;

He had come to the sea;

because he had life, the sea had existence.

It was he who feared the vastness and worshiped the solitude.

Ten minutes:

he did not belong anywhere, only to that moment.

And this solitude he wanted it to be like the sea,

Solitude without pity:

Dare to sympathize the sea and it shall show you its fierce glory.

The Man wanted that from the sea, and the sea wanted nothing.

Because he had life, the sea had existence.

The Naked Rainbow

The child is naked, undisturbed and free.

Wheels for its feet, on a playful spree;

Not a verse to learn, no truth to know,

For every rain has its rainbow.

The wet brows of the city won’t worry the child,

Its concern is to run and just run on wild;

Those tiny cement ponds, how shall the child row?

But every rain has its rainbow.

The child has no black umbrella, nor any care;

For unlike the groomed dolls, it has dead hair.

Danced the child until the shower did drain,

For it truly had welcomed the rain.

Unveiled the sky, a colorful show,

Now this rain too had its rainbow

Doped Tranquility

Foul smell fool’s paradise.

In the air on the minds,

riding on a breeze yet languid;

It all comes and remains, lurks and hovers.

A stone whirled thrust into vacuum

tearing apart patience,  elevating freedom.

An act of deliverance and then submission;

Falling reluctantly into the same vacuum,

transcending into the subconscious;

A blatant cognition unmasks

like hot air on a hot coffee;

A poet's rhetoric meditation.

Blood running placid and cold,

and tranquility goes yet beyond.

Sonnet for the Muse

The unseemingly true scene of love

and my profound emotions in light,

the stage seems fragrant with thy divine

No act ever commenced with such might;

Like wry passion of a romantic poet,

Making the sun-lit lake soar;

And the whistle on the tree banked,

Song of the love-bird duet;

Struggling a trek up a mountain;

The dry enthusiastic smell of the rocks,

And the haste mixture across the twilit sky.

At the foot, on the lake again,

The breeze has ceased my sail;

Now I await a guiding row.

An Extraordinary Ordeal

An empty road in an emptier desert;

As I take the air with a friendly breeze,

a picture bestirs my thought.

The stray stones on the empty road,

lying like orphans. An abstract.

The breeze ignores my profound wonder..

nonchalant characters on a nomadic trip?

odd remnants of antiquity?

warriors suffering outrageous fortune?

The desert has its way,

this way of manifesting its power

the way all nature does manifest.

The play of perception over conception,

Delusion, hallucination, head games.

and then a dawn of truth with the falling sun,

A dream being the truth, aye!

I dismiss the subtle scenario

and embrace a simpler road.

Being

Yes, being able to cultivate the desire for writing does give you some sense of being alive.

 And now being fully aware of the fact that beings like me cannot survive without accrediting ourselves with this little ounce of self-claimed creativity; that beings like me can smile when we put a full stop to a paragraph we just wrote, with full intentions of either sharing (bragging) our knowledge or pissing someone off with all the ten-alphabet long words in the language. Yes, that is the pleasure beings like us have. Or rather a being like me has.(I don't want litigations)

Curiosity kills the Cat? Why are human beings being frightened over cats getting killed anyway? So do not laugh when I might someday use the phrase, 'Wandering and Wondering' to cover many of my scribbles. I just want to suggest and promote Curiosity in one way or the other, because we can get curious as much as we want to, now that we know only cats are going to die out of it. Do forgive me if I in anyway hurt anyone's intellectual sentiments.

Magazine Design

These are extracts from the magazine I designed and edited for a college project. (Tools used : Adobe Illustrator)

An Elderly Rightful Grassy Affair

The Old Man with gray hair walked up to a 4 storey commercial building and stood near the entrance. It was the day after the State examination results had come out. And students with beaming faces were rushing in and out of the building. On the top floor were a private tutorials who had vigorously taught those students around the year to score their most, and so had many of their students scored. They were the ones who were now rushing in and out of the building.

The Old Man loosened his grip of the suit case he held, then slowly lowered it to the ground, and let it rest. " Hey kid!" the Old Man hissed to a passing student. "Tell me who scored the most from this tutorials of yours". "That guy in the yellow t shirt, you see. The one with spectacles", the student replied pointing to another student in a yellow t shirt and wearing spectacles. "Ohk..good", the Old Man said shoving the kid away " Now go on".

The guy in yellow t shirt and spectacles soon became aware of staring eyes. He turned to see an Old Man with gray hair and a long gray over-coat staring at him. His stare seemed unusual.

The Old Man signaled the kid to come near. The kid a bit confused approached. "Whats your good name kid?", asked the Old Man with gray hair. " Jack....Jack Ass sir" replied the kid with yellow t shirt and specs. " So tell me Jack Ass, do you feel good about your performance?" "Absolutely sir. My parents and teachers are super proud of me." " Hmm..and why did you perform so good?" "Sir? what..i don't get you" " Chuck that..how did you get those glasses? Did you watch a lot of cartoons kid?" " No sir..never..not at all..i don't mean to be humble sir, but the glasses are, mom says because i read a lot" "Oh..and what do you read?" "That which i am supposed to read..you know text books, reference ones, newspapers. Something that always tell me how the world is" "Oh..and did the newspapers tell you a lot about the world?" "Yes sir they indeed did"  "Are you sure the spectacles aren't because of watching cartoons?"  "Well sir, if it clears your doubt i am happy to tell you that i anyway loathe something as useless as cartoons"  " Well Jack Ass, as i guessed..you really are a very healthy example of an ideal student"

The Old Man stooped to open his bag and continued, " You deserve an award for this. We at ‘The Old Man’s barn’ are proud to honour you my dear boy with this gift you indeed deserve and need too”, saying this the Old Man yield a shot gun out of his case and shot two rounds into the boy, sending him flying almost five feet away from where the Old Man was standing.

The Promised Land (Ugly story not meant to be read)

The Promised Land was exactly as promised. But Sir Welshock Bugstree wasn't here to verify any promise. He was here to look for his lost younger brother, Barks Bugstree. The other day Barks had come up to Sir Welshock and requested his ear. Upon Sir Bugstree's opening of the ear, the younger Bugstree made a big clearing of his throat. And the cleared throat then produced some irresistibly annoying sounds in bad rhythm.

The elder Bugstree fell silent after. A silence that added more silence to the lord's original silence. Then keeping the Natural History of the Promised Woods book down, His lordship turned to his sibling and said 'Get lost', in a tone which signified pure contempt. Barks retired from the study with pure confusion.

Later in the day Sir Welshock found a note under his smoking habit. It read: ' Lost. Most probably in the Promised Land. The book goes too. Sorry for that. Love. Yours bowingly, Barks B.

So far

21 years to life and yet when i get up in the morning, i am confused as to how the day should be spent. I really do not understand why a career is important. Why does it define our life and our personality?

Cannot a man want to do a variety of things in his short life? The idea of death and the theory of nothingness post death scare the shit out of me. Still the World is so beautiful and yet so much is to be seen, explored.

Don’t mind the lack of flow in my scribbling. I am writing what i am thinking. Like a textual voice recorder or something. So yes, i would like to be a wanderer, a traveler. But then how do i earn for my travels. Can’t someone pay me for travelling the world? I would right about my travels and maybe you can sell it. Hmm. I am blank. I will stop now; I need to think of the places to travel. Because I cannot possibly cover the entire World. It’s too large and I am too small and life is too short. I should sleep. The street dogs outside bark a lot at night. Wonder what makes them. Still, the night smells so beautiful. Mysteriously beautiful. Okay, good night and if you've reached here, thanks for reading. Love.

Life is getting pretty shitty. I wrote pretty shitty because it sounds nice. Because it contradicts and rhymes at the same time. I love it when things happen in a fashion which either annoy me or annoy the people around me. Because then I can know, the things that are happening are in accord with the balance. That balance Darren Aronofsky's plot so much relies on, in the Pi movie.

bruised ego

The hypothesis – Somebody is manipulating my life.

Last Saturday my disoriented ego (where one does not know whether to be egoistic or not) received a little setback when I wasn't allowed to sit for the 7 am lecture for being fifteen minutes late. After hurling a few abuses (the ones you normally use to abuse professors) I came back home.

Two days back an old trek-buddy of mine called up to announce that they've (‘they’ is all the other old trek-buddies) decided on a trek for this weekend, starting from Friday night - sort of a reunion. I had to attend this Saturday’s lecture at any cost. The seed for this hypothesis was sown. ‘Why me?’  ‘I can buy a fake medical certificate’  ‘Who the hell keeps a lecture at 7 in the morning?’  ‘Why does it rain so much? ’ ‘Atheist?!’  ‘What is time management?’  ‘What am I saying?’  ‘Why me?’…. These are thoughts that justify my disoriented ego.

To signify the serious nature of this problem I will acquaint you with some facts.

I haven’t trekked with these old friends for quite a time now.

The Harishchandragad fort where the trek is due is a place where Nature manifests its mesmerizing beauty. Trekkers call it their paradise. I have been there many times, poured gallons of sweat onto its earth, got stung by a hundred plus swarm of killer bees, was defeated by a dog in a climbing race, and drank more water than anyone has on a trek.

 Last night, to commemorate the arrival of the Marathi month-‘Shraavan’, I had soup + fried-chicken + chicken-gravy + fried fish + ice-cream in the given sequence. 

 And. The professor had conducted a class test which carried marks, the day I missed the lecture.

So I did not go for the trek. Today morning I woke up sharp at 5 with all the last night’s food flooding up to my esophagus. Somehow overcoming this difficulty I reached college at 6.18 am to be welcomed by a deserted campus, people sleeping on the streets and staring dogs. Yes!! The rains were heavy since last night and as a result the Mumbai trains surely will be running late. I was fantasizing about giving the professor a taste of her own medicine if she showed up late. 6.46 – the evil pig from Angry Birds mwahahahaed to announce an SMS that declared the lecture to be cancelled, for the professor wasn't keeping well. Bang!

The Conclusion – I am distorted.