Aiyyari : The Magical Movie.



Watched Aiyyari. A MUST WATCH movie.

In these days of everyone complaining about everyone else not spending enough time with each other, this is one movie which brings the family, the spouse closer.  It's no less achievement.
How it managed to do so?

Because, in the end, after almost three hours, four tubs of popcorns, colas and burgers included, you are bound to ask your neighbour, "What just happened here?"
Even enemies are bound to discuss, "Bhai, ye bata de, aakhir hua kya?"

In fact, during the movie itself you'd feel that itch to pause it and ask someone if they are also as lost as you are or is it you alone on whom suddenly age has caught up with in just 45 minutes in to the movie! Trust me, in those first 45 minutes, at least once you'd mistrust your  senses and feel senile(!) or dumb depending upon which side of 25 you are.

Though on the positive side, it made me recall many forgotten incidents. Like it reminded me of one of my cousin who once pronounced the word Dilemma as Dalai Lama and then was suitably upset that I gave a blank insensitive face to his emotional Dalai Lama!

...and, on second, third and fourth thought, it should be TAX FREE.
Because, this movie is bringing us closer as a group, as one team, as  a family, as a nation discussing the same thing and surprise surprise, still agreeing with each other! Free of caste and creed, middle and uber class, regionalism and language barriers, we stand united in asking, "For God's Sake, WHAT IS Happening!?" :/

It is the real patriotic and pro- nationalistic movie!

It forges RE- CONNECT
 It made me comnent on a friend's wall. I was 'made' to connect with her which otherwise I could have conveniently ignored. It made us RE- connect. *Sigh...
Such a sweet feeling...in this way it is rebuilding strained relationships and calling estranged friends back.

Last but, not the least, it is a brain teaser. After 48 hours of watching I am still in the process of deconstructing each scene and dialogue ..to get some clue for the eternal question, HUA KYA?

So, don't wait reading me more on this topic and grab the first ticket of a nearby nearly empty theatre and reap in its benefits.

I rest my case.
Happy Watching.



Disclaimer- It's not a paid promotion. The views expressed here are solely my own. ;D




Senryu : Dreamcatcher







                      pearls of longing gleam
                     wishes twirl like feathers soft
                      wakefulness and dreams

                      vibrant threads of love
                      needled in my heart, I knit
                      our own dreamcatcher





Image : sunshinebluecloud blog



The story of a Folly : Girl


Written for Friday Reflections with Corinne and Shalini who are hosting it for the photo prompt.



"Where angels fear to tread...fools rush in." - Alexander Pope


There was once a silly girl
whose hair cascaded in shining curls
her eyes were true, her smile was warm
Her heart had a happiness good luck charm

Which made all  beings just fall for her
butterflies to flit and kittens to purr
Moon bloomed, stars twinkled at her sight
Fountains rose high for her sole delight!

Ah! Then she met a wolf in the wood
lonely, tired, ozing blood.
The friendship bloomed, wounds healed like that!
The scars she safely hid in her heart...

They laughed for hours, played through sunsets
But affection and need are different sets
As winters smiled and snow came down
The silver orb observed with a frown that,

She loved, but wolf was restless for more
For new games trampled her feelings pure
Now strong and wild, he missed his pack
His types, his crowd, his ways, to be back.

Unlike the stars which bid goodbye...to comeback daily in the night sky.
Wolf scathed her face, locked her in a cage
And mauled the soul with mocking grimace

Then leaped and went straight out of sight
To grasslands wild, to summers bright
The girl laughs daily with empty joy
And goes through days like a doll, a toy

To  put  an end to this endless pain
So you won't hear this from her again..
I found her with a noose in hand
The liquid eyes, the haughty stance

I still hold her in my arms as I say
Not all words mean what they say, they say
O you' who reads with a jeer, smug smile
Pray you don't know that wolf so viled



Image : Internet

चिर

लाल चुनरिया सर पर ऐसे
केसरिया ज्यों बाना
ज़री किनारी लहके पढ़ कर
आँखों मे उलहाना

कँगन, झुमके जल जल भभके
मन अग्नि की ज्वाला
बाहर की लपटें थीं शीतल
सो अर्पण कर डाला

काजल की झूठी लीक कहाँ
आयत नैनों को बाँधे
मेहा से बरसे, उर में सूखा
वेग कहाँ तक साधे

जीवन एक छलावा जिस पर
खोटा समय कराया
सत्य प्रेम बस चिर निद्रा है
आज समझ यह आया





लाल चुनरिया -  bridal red scarf
केसरिया ज्यों बाना - (with an attitude of) saffron headgear of a warrior
लहके - glints like fire   
ज़री किनारी- the golden lining og the hem of the dress
उलहाना -sarcasm...Here, humiliation and sneering.
भभके- flame up!
बाहर - world(ly)               
आयत नैनों - large eyes, here, moonstruck    मेहा- rain clouds
छलावा - illusion.               
खोटा- waste
सत्य प्रेम - unconditional love
 चिर निद्रा - the ultimate rest

Image : Internet

Moon : A story of loss

A story-cum-musing inspired by the image at the end...


Once upon a time a sly and lonely wolf got a mask of sheep. He wore it for a lark and entered the herd of the docile species just as a distraction from his uncelebrated existence. The novelty was like a spark of sunshine in his mundane life. His loneliness made him bear their lame games with patience, laugh at their dumb puritan lifestyle and eat the tasteless grass. But, as fate would have it, he became friends with an ewe and was so enamoured by her  simple ways that forgot his slyness and started living with her herd as one of them.

That was the season of monsoon when days were dark and nights, darker.

All day long, the masked wolf would work with the group, chat, eat grass, laugh and play with the lambs running till the horizons, chasing the rainclouds, the blue feathers of his dreamcatcher flying like mystical flames and its pearls catching  light,  shining like beads of that bliss.

At nights, he would sleep inside the cave with the herd, as innocent like a baby's heart. He wanted to live with them in his real form but his affection for the ewe and fear of losing her, prevented him from disclosing his true identity. His mask was the testimonial of his goodness and a guarantee to stay within the herd and the dreamcatcher attached to it, a symbol of hope.

Days were passing in a happy whizz when one day a yellow leaf twirled in the air. It went past the wolf's eyes swirling towards the ground and a shadow crossed his masked face.
It was an indication of the end of rains.

That night the sky was cloudless, a bright half moon looked down on the dewy pastures and was stunned to see a wolf sleeping calmly with the lambs. The lonely moon smiled with a malicious grin and crept away silently collecting his silver robes. Every night the moon's wicked smile grew wider till, on plenilune, the moon appeared in its full selenium glory,  aureate like molten gold and dazzlingly beautiful like all things cruel.

The wolf was already experiencing the well known pull.

Well aware of his foredoom he stood up, rising to meet his jealous adversary.
For one last time, he looked back at his friends, his foster family with his aching longing glance still well hidden behind his mask and then leaped out of the herd. Making a dash towards the highest peak he bolted like a burning arrow from warrior's quiver!
The trees were whizzing past in a dark blur, pebbles were flying around him from where his paws were touching the ground, the meadow, the small tinkling brook where the ewe used to fool him with the tinkling of her bells, the much loved boscage where she used to wait for him in hiding, the treasured pasture, familiar scenes and phrases, playful moments and laughter, everything was flashing in front of his eyes clear and blinding like thunder lightening. But, he was running.  Sprinting high, diminishing the distance between him and his nemesis in the sky.

Uncontrolled anger made him mad and he howled. A howl of an unchained agony.
A cry of unbearable despair,  of someone who had loved deeply, with his everything and, has lost. Of someone who had guarded the flame of love with his own being and then that flame has been extinguished.
The river slowed down on hearing that cry of pain, the trees bowed down with the weight of that sadness, only the wind blew like a lunatic shouting and shrieking, as if in rage.
Slowly an unbearable silence crept up over. Hushing the entire valley it mutely sang of the undecipherable anguish of an unloved animal.

The lambs shrank back hiding into their mothers' fur. The older sheep shook their heads in dismay on this careless blunder.
In that silence the wolf was still tearing his lungs out with repeated howls of raw fury, of  frustration and hopelessness of an unreturned love.

Only the glorious moon was smiling.


Courtesy: Instagram

****
At times the persona towers the person.  With the art of pretence, the shallow very easily lure in the guise of substantial, charlatans charm by their honed up skills, but those who actually want to transform themselves are stigmatized.

...and, those who are too natural to accept their gifts are trodden upon. 

We severely judge such souls- the weirds, the loners, the eccentrics and the lost ones... while these are some of the most compassionate, the most understanding and unpretentious ones where we fail to listen to their silent cries, to warm up to their expectant eyes and to notice the smile dying slowly from their lips. 

It's not always that the moon is glorious and every wild soul, a beast. 
In these times, roles are reversed, my friend! Be careful! 



नज़्म : रंजिश



वो इक पल जिसमे हम दोनों, चले थे हाथ थामे संग,
सज़ा हो उसकी इकतरफा, ये किस तरह से वाज़िब है?

हरसिंगार, चम्पा, नदिया, बरगद जल गये सारे
नहीं जलती मगर यादें ये दिल की कैसी साज़िश है!

कुफर जैसी सियाह सीरत, मुलम्मा झूठ का तिस पर
इबारत इश्क़ की पढ़ ले, भला कैसे मुनासिब है?

खिला था चाँद आंगन में, सितारे जगमगाते थे
अँधेरे को चुना हमने,अबस सी क्यूं ये आदत है?

वो लम्हा जिसमे हंस बैठे ज़माना भूल कर सारा,
सज़ा सदियों पे भारी हो, ख़ुदाया, क्या नवाज़िश है!

ना होते हो तो होते हो, बिना बातों की बातें यूँ,
गोया हर बात हर चुप्पी, बस इक तुम से मुख़ातिब है।

वो बातें जो जलाती हैं, रगों में खूं धुँए मानिंद
उन्ही बातों पे बातें हों, मिरी आख़िरी सिफ़ारिश है।

वो मंज़र जो पिघलते हैं गोया सीसा हो आंखों में
उन्ही को रोज़ देखूँ मैं,  बहुत गहरी ये रंजिश है।





हरसिंगार = night jasmine               चम्पा = Frangipani, Plumeria                 
बरगद = banyan tree                       साज़िश  = ruse, planning
कुफर = sin                                         सीरत= mind, soul
मुलम्मा= outer husk, mask.             अबस= futile
गोया = as if                                       मुख़ातिब = for you, towards
सीसा  = molten lead                         रंजिश= acrimony, bitterness
Image: Google


जाने कैसे

मार्ग था सीधा सरल, 
संतोष धन, आशा सखी
ज्ञान दीपित, प्रेम प्लावित, 
वीथियाँ करुणामयी...
जाने कैसे पथ ये तुम तक मुड़  गया 

चाँद सा खिलता निशि में 
सूर्य सा सोना उगलता 
पवन से भी तीव्रतर मेरा 
हृदय ऐसे  विचरता 
जैसे खुले नभ में उड़ा जाए 
अकेला एक पंछी ...
जाने कैसे फिर ये तुमसे जुड़ गया 

सीखा मेरे मद से 
भंवर ने गुनगुनाना 
हास से फूलों ने सीखा 
खिलखिलाना 
और मेरे कण्ठ से 
मधुमय सुधा सा राग फैला ... 
फिर भी मन तितली सा मचला, उड़ गया? 

सुनहरी लकदक से सज्जित
कुछ सुधामय बोल मीठे
था प्रथम, था नया अनुभव 
बुन लिए कुछ स्वप्न झूठे 
जाल सम्मुख देख कर भी, 
बस फुदकना डाल पर उस
नेह का बंधन ये ऐसा पड़  गया।

निस्तब्धता में स्वर,
वही, गुँजार सुनना
और रव में मौन-स्मित
उपवास रखना 
जान कर भी यूँ
बधिक की राह तकना...
श्वास की गति तक ये क्रम अब पड़ गया..

जाने कैसे पथ ये तुम तक मुड़ गया।







Image: watch this beautiful movie on an unusual friendship here

वीथियाँ  करुणामयी - lanes of compassion.                मद- flamboyance
निस्तब्धता - silence, solitude 
रव - frolic, noise
बधिक- executioner, slayer                             श्वास की गति- till the last breath                              क्रम- routine

Sunshine : A story of Happiness


Another silver-purple dawn had cracked. 
 The tall deodar trees were standing still, silhouetted against the rapidly unfurling dawn waiting for the winter sun to rise. The dewy Dhauladhar hills were now visible- now gone, with the swirling mist playing one last hide-and-seek with them before moving to the higher altitudes.
The quaint hamlet of Yol was slowly waking up to the morning voices of the gushing river, twittering birds and dewdrops falling from the eaves. Nestled like an exotic flower amid the sylvan surroundings Yol seemed to be forgotten by its countrymen, from their minds and maps both. Away from civilization, it was untouched and undiscovered.

That winter morning, without electricity, the village was enshrouded under the purple veil of darkness waiting for the sunshine to light it up. But, the ladies had already started hurrying up with their chores, lads were helping elders with household errands, menfolk were getting ready for work and little children, they were waiting inside their quilts for their fathers and uncles to step out of home so that they can rush outside to play!


The little daughters of sun, the sunbeams were also waiting for their Papa to get done with preparations and move out of their heavenly abode. Dressed in dazzling reds, ambers and golds, they were eagerly counting minutes till their father rose up from behind the mountains so that, they too can run out into the inviting playground of the world.

 "What is it that their punctual dad is being delayed today?" they wondered. 
It was getting late and they were fidgeting with a radiant energy ready to burst! At last the Hero daddy defeated the dense clouds and made them pave way for him. The  mist rose up, dancing for him but her fake coyness evaporated the moment she observed his stern face, red with irritation on being detained. His temper was rising by every passing second and the way a crafty wily person can't bear the brilliance of honesty, the shallow mist, in front of sun's splendour dispersed into a lack-luster nothingness! 

Oblivious to the worldly game of virtuous and conniving, the girls were restless with their childish exuberance and the moment their mighty father ascended the sky glorious in his majestic vermilion regalia, they ran out pell-mell; one over the other, bubbling with joy, uninterrupted, their tiny pink feet taking them here, there, everywhere! The bright smile of their faces sprinkling golden dust on all earthly objects bestowing them a magical transformation from mundane to the morning fresh, lighting up every corner of the village. 
The warmth of their laughter filtered into the ornate rooms of madames through peacock latticed windows, caressed the delicate filigrees on the balustrade of the white staircases, made the eaves cozy and comfortable for the birds to hold their meet and spilled inside the dressing rooms, touching each bottle of rose attar on the mahogany dressing tables, making them glint with a pink delight! 
The radiance of their cherubic jolly faces threw a sheen on lush emerald gardens and the heat of their incessant chatter reached up to the kitchen shelves bringing the mango and chilly pickle to ripe up tart!  Through the gaping holes in the straw roof, they peered into huts of the poor and packed the empty nooks with a warm benevolence.
The bubbly girls then ran through the fields; browning the grains, into the orchards; tickling the apples, pinching the berries, hopped over small hills; caressing the fleece of sheep, danced over the running streams, kissed the cheeks of the children playing in the streets and rubbed shimmer on the red of the bangles of the new mountain brides! Ah, they were girls, after all!

They dazzled the only blackboard of the village school spotless clean making it shine so black that all eyes hurt and combed grandpa's pure white hair making the maze sparkle as if ablaze with golden silver flames!
Tired after all this early morning madness, they silently creeped up in to the pallav of mother's sari, making the gold of zari thread sparkle and the silver of her anklets twinkle. 
Then, like clingy children, followed her to the temple sitting bright amid the pooja thali with incense, sticks, earthen diya ,saffron genda, yellow white champa and red jawakusum flowers.

The head priest blew the conch, the devotees chimed the hundred temple bells, the red triangular flags laced with gold fluttered like scarlet flames in wind over every temple dome and for that split second, nature bowed in reverence to the Creator as the little girls of sun, the sun-rays, the sunbeams dispersed, filling the temple with their liquid warmth, scattering into million tiny atoms of light inside the sanctum sanctorum, leaving their glitter on every stone and pebble, unfurling and dancing on the temple floor drawing mystical patterns of the divine. 
In that moment Nature became unified with the Creator as light merged with the Illuminated One - the Jyotiraditya Jyotirmay.




The sleepy hamlet of Yol was covered under the thick veil of blue...



...and, at last, the sun rose up. :)


pallav = the floating end of a sari.                                                                            genda = marigold                         yellow white champa = yellow white Frangipani or pluumeria                            red jawakusum = red hibiscus





Missing : A letter

Prompt: Missing

Dear friend, 

Thank-you you for being graceful in your parting note but don't you think, it would have been better if you had allowed me to bid adieu too? Or, were you too scared to give me a chance to speak?

Am indebted to you for the last impression I have of you- the last few days and the final gracious bow... 🙂
It showed your compassionate heart and honest unblemished soul. 
Moving on with honesty and reason is a sign of growth and intelligence while scampering away like a mouse is not. And, lying and withholding information is devilish, disillusioning, disgusting and shattering. 

I MUST say that, being a creative person I reserve the right to be expressive about the feelings and times we have shared. Unlike you, I don't have ANY ulterior motives, I don't drop names, nor I want to please the movers and shakers of the society. Always hated gimmicks! 
I write. Almost the same way you breathe. Bas, aise hi.

Please, don't EVER feel pleased enough to strike a bet with others that I am calling you back through my poetry or colours, my songs or my smiles. No. I never did. 
Just missed you. 
Missing is one thing, wanting is another. 
                                                                  - yours truly.





Written for Friday Reflections with Corinne and Shalini who are hosting it for the prompt missing

कुछ वो पल : Review

The book cover embellished with
my pink Jaipur Stones earrings
depicting 'Kuchh wo pal' or
those few moments beautiful
and precious as these jewels...


The book ' Kuchh Wo Pal'  is the debut effort of Subrat Saurabh in Hindi poetry where the poet has penned down his journey of life from the eyes of a sensitive young boy leaving home for hostel, as someone who is growing up in this world making new friendships, losing some and missing a few others, as someone who has just found his first love, someone nursing a broken heart, as a son, a grandson, a loner, a thinker and many more faces of himself taking us on a roller coaster of myriad emotions of love, longing, loneliness, apathy, frustration, separation, romance and abandonment.
These emotions are sculpted into words in the form of 50 poems all of which are independent and are written in a simple, easy to understand Hindi. The poems generally start in a promising manner but somehow lose their sheen midway coming to an insipid end. 

Writing Style
The poet has the writhing desire to express his feelings, that insuppressible itch to write and create something beautiful but unfortunately, this effort falls flat on face ending into a vapid cacophony of words and phrases. 
Hindi is a beautiful language be it in its pure form (शुद्ध साहित्यिक संस्कृतनिष्ठ  भाषा ) or in its Urdu, English mixed Hindustani form (साधारण  उर्दू-आंग्ल-हिंदी का गंगा-जमनी संगम ) but, the book fails on both levels as the crucial thing missing from these verses is - the soul, without which words are like empty husks, attractive but meaningless. The poems fail to leave any impact and are just an assortment of words making less sense and more noise.

My Take
 A poem is a spontaneous flow of emotions where the poet's world merges with that of the reader indistinguishably and we feel his journey to be ours. His joys bring a smile on our faces and his woes are our miseries. His first love brings a rosy blush on our cheeks and a naughty twinkle in our eyes whilst his first break-up chars our heart! We lose ourselves in the ebb and flow of his verse and like puppets are controlled by the inky strings of his pen. 
Alas! it is not the scene here.
Almost all the verses have an intriguing opening line but,just that. like- अगर कोई आये पूछते हुए मेरा नाम, 
हम इस कदर खो गए,  तिनके संभाल के रखें हैं झरोखों पर , यूँ बारिश की तरह कभी बेवक़्त आना... How I wished the next lines to be as interesting and promising.

Shortcomings
The verses are quite immature lacking depth. These are neither  governed by any poetic meter (which is not a flaw) nor have the lyrical grace of a free flowing poetry.  Even vers libre has a certain reckless excitement and an open uninhibited attitude to them which is entirely missing here. What disappointed me the most is that, not even a single verse in the book has energy or intensity of any kind to it!
It entirely fails on all emotional grounds lacking in everything be it pathos, pain, compassion, satire, love or fondness.
At places, there are grammatical errors of maatra like (सीलवटों  = सिलवटों ) and at others ,either the words are too prosaic or harsh tones are used making certain words stand out like odd eyesores.

I hardly ever criticize a book so harshly but this sadly, is a lack-lustre collection of stale emotions presented in a very insipid manner. 

However, a faltering never spelled failure. It simply means a need for a better grip.
So, I wish the poet loads of intense emotions sprinkled with that grace of expression for his future endeavours as I would definitely like to read him in a better avatar. 


About the poet:
Subrat Saurabh is a writer and a blogger known by his pen-name ChickenBiryanii on social media.He is proficient in writing witty one-liners, a skill he employs liberally on Twitter using his pen name. His tweets and witty liners were telecast over television channels and  frequently gets picked up and published in leading newspapers or online news portals.He currently lives in Bangalore but in his own words, he is a small- town boy born in Muzaffarpur, Bihar; who is a keen observer of different moods and phases of people around him inspiring him to write in Hindi. He can be contacted at
 Website Address www.chickenbiryanii.com and Here 




The book was received with gratitude as a part of  the Book Review Program by Blogadda for an honest review.









Halloween Night : A poem and some thoughts.





                                                                    A night of black cats; flying witches are seen

                                                                 Harvest moon whispers eerily, "It's Halloween!"

                                                                    In ruse with prowling ghosts and spectres fre

                                                                 The moon laughs noiselessly with a malicious glee.

                                                                    Wolves are silent tonight, the spirits howl within,

                                                                  For some of us,  isn't it a daily din?

                                                                     The graveyard sits up, voodoo dolls pandiculate

                                                                   Dark shadows of sin creep up to the wicker gate!

                                                                      Church bells are mum, toothy pumpkins greet

                                                                   We goblins are here, say,  "Trick or treat?"🎃🎃





                                                        For these sweetest devils ever! 👻👻




 Epilogue


Nothing exist in today's world  till it's been dissected and debated by self proclaimed critics on 'elite', read 'highly questionable' platforms like Twitter and Facebook.  From downright acerbic to wittily sarcastic to rarely genuine, the discussion can be of any genre. H
alloween is one of them. 
Spooky.

People wondered why Indians are celebrating it. I too share their wonder when I see clueless people simply aping the West, shopping for every occasion from X-mas, Valentine, to Father's , Mother's and all the other days. But I have wondered more and much before. Before the Twitter age when I myself was a teen.


 I had wondered why ladies have sargi on karwachauth eve when it's a tradition in Punjab and not in Uttar pradesh? 

Why the Marwari brides wear chooda when it's essentially a part of  the bridal trousseau of a Sikh bride? 
Neither they understand the tradition and emotions attached  to it not they care to follow. Just a fad?
And, why everyone is trying a pretty Rakhi in Dravidian regions when  it is a tradition of the northern belt!
Why most of the UP people are keeping Ganesha idols at their home complete with the ' Laal Baagacha Raja' caption when they have no connection with Mumbai!

Simple. Because Media, movies and TV have popularized these customs and everyone wants to create
their own magical Cadbury moments with their family and loved ones.


As Bhartendu Harishchand had once observed, Festivals are our life-lines. These are the traditional systems of maintaining bonding within a society, these are our emotional health check-up, these multiply affection, are opportunity for forgiving mistakes,  working together as a team...simply occasion for being happy.


In addition to that innate and primitive emotion, the phenomenon of consumerism has boosted the trend as more the occasions, merrier will be the business with loads of shopping bonanzas.

The Metro-city and Mall culture provided optimum environment to grab every new festival or event, regional, local, patriotic or international. Soon we'll be celebrating Losar, Hanukkah,  Mayan festivals perhaps with a boom in the sale of  lion masks, lama cloaks, red lanterns and Aztec prints respectively.
And...
I don't see any wrong in this provided that the children are made to understand the thoughts behind the occasion.

Why, I still remember the childlike thrill I felt when I 'observed' Onam being celebrated in Karnataka which is far enough place from the original hometown of the festival!

I did not witness any snake boat races but I was thrilled beyond words to be at a place where  something, about which, I had read only in GK books was actually happening! To find myself in the midst of that buzz was bliss enough for me! And with the same childlike glee I look forward to see the Hola Mohalla and the Kullu Dussehra as now I am in the middle of some  country living in Dev bhoomi Himachal!

I wish us to be global citizens, to  understand the culture and we may be pleasantly surprised to find the thoughts of someone several light years far from us to be similar!

Don't forget your roots but let your branches grow in all directions, let your flowers bloom with an unbiased beauty and then you'd bear the fruits of affection and brotherhood.
Stop debate, understand and accept.
Don't ape guys, grow.




Pic courtesy :  sunshine blue blog