Bereaved and Isolated
It was death all around, else people would be waiting for the final colossus to come to them and take them away with a whisker of a smile.
It was the time of hatred, just more hatred. We had no time for others, because sooner or later, they will perish and the perils will come chasing.
We waited for our turn. Yes, we are trying to make amends, steal away bit of thunder from the apocalypse and turn a blind eye to the slaughter game that’s tormenting us – when we are awake and when we are not asleep.
The cries, the agony, the contempt, the betrayal, the animosity. This is life, and life is cruel, standing at the pinnacle of failure.
We can see it coming, but we stand still, waiting for the inevitable. Perhaps, something more than just inevitability.
The First Time
Jennifer was equally scared, since her father was a part of the Army and it’s negotiators who were destined for an end that they refuse to see and condemn.
She is quite an opposite, though. Her mother is her friend and philosopher, but she obviously belongs to a generation that has seen lot of blood and vengeance running through their backyard. She supports her husband, but cares for her daughter and understand that such levels of tedious vibes might as well take a toll on the young girl. She is only 22, and loves poetry.
She is accompanying her mother to the bakery today, its been sometime since she visited the bakery or the main market place, she very fond of fish but her parents don’t buy it often as she has a medical condition and fish is not recommended. But, she still loves them and persuades her mother to get it, at least once in a week. But not when her father is around.
Air of Reluctance
A time of turmoil and prejudice, where human relationships are fragile and time isn’t giving you the space you want to live your life with a feeling of reciprocation. Time is for hatred and terrible things, things you don’t to hear or say or feel, yet all such divisive thoughts get the better of you in a resplendent, rustic flavour of unjust moments. You remain undecided, people around look pretentious and non conducive, let alone love taking a you turn for such rustic times. Yet, love prevails. Love dangles with a sword in your hand, ready to face the army who is far more powerful and indispensable than you can ever imagine. Yet, love remains your sole and only reason to believe that you will live, and see others live with dignity.
Another Wimbledon final, another magic on grass court. Wimbledon always takes me down the memory lane. Doesn’t matter who wins, but watching players sweating it out in this 2 week juggernaut is nothing short of a spectacle.
Wimbledon has been special ever since my younger days. I remember watching each of the high voltage matches with the utmost of attention and detail, not to forget the post match conferences and match analysis. I had numbers on my finger tips and exactly knew who won and who got knocked out! Yes, those were the days of unblemished joy, where you could just do what you wanted to. Yes, you had those interruptions but we’re largely positive.
Coming back to grass court in Wimbledon. I have seen too many greats playing the game in the last 20 years. But ‘Pistol’ Pete was arguably the greatest. And since my younger days and his rise to the prime collided with each other, he was my hero. And during the nineties, he was almost invincible. Some great rivalries with Andre Agassi, Pat Rafter, Jim Courier and Goran Ivanisevic, bit class of Sampras stood out. The only blip in his astounding career was the French Open that eluded him, but he was the Jesus of Tennis for me at that time. Roger Federer, another modern great, was able to overcome this and perhaps he was also one of those grass court champions who was able to break in to the arena of clay. Yes, Rafa belongs to another planet and his range is unmatched, and it is not surprising that their rivalry is one of the finest this sport has ever witnessed.
I have watched the recording of Boris Becker lifting the coveted trophy in 1985, and he remains a favorite too (incidentally, one of the commentators in today’s final). I loved Stefan Edberg as well, in fact, I adore the era of serve-and-volley players. Borg, McEnroe.. I love watching them play even today though the game and the landscape has changed immensely. Power has taken over elegance, tenacity remains the key though.
I have very little of Andy Murray and Novak Djokovich, but they are specials talents for sure as I managed to take sneak peek in to the Wimbledon finals in the last couple of years and they sure are in the right direction of becoming modern greats.
Another final in the Centre Court has come to a close and till next year, I wait for the most celebrated Grand Slam to come knocking again.
When jubilation and mediocrity collaborate..
I like blooming flashes of occasional brilliance.
This is all we live for, quest for gorgeous escapades.
Difficult to settle down, even more when there is so much to do, very little to run behind curtains and let the spotlight get the better of you.
Devour such places, envy them for their everlasting contour.
‘Raazi’ is one of those films that will get glued to your soul for sometime after you come out of theatres. May be, much beyond the streets, your neighbourhood and your living room.
Emotions and the very bane of human existence takes a ‘U’ turn in this sizzling drama that catapults us to one of the most bravest and disgusting stories I have come to know during the notorious battle of ‘Indo-Pak’ menace.
1971 was one of the worst India ever saw. Perhaps, the most valiant and path breaking as well. Some stories will blow your mind off, some will make you cry, some will rip you apart. ‘Raazi’ is a classic culmination of these voracious confrontations, within and outside.
I really fail to understand, how we could disown someone who has been so close to dismantle a great power that threatens to destroy the very country we adore. And that too, so conveniently with a dead statement like ‘they knew what they were signing up for’. That’s ‘Intelligence’ and ‘Hypocrisy’ in the same plateau.
The meaning of war is so beautifully explained, it’s appalling and equally disposes all of us to a reality we know but refuse to accept. Men have honour but no compassion, compassion is driven by the animosity for the opposite nation, relationships are built over the foundation of betrayal, emotions are packaged to triage deceit and conspiracy. In a world that’s born out of war, we want peace between 2 twin nations who never wanted it. Rather, the fire is not from the belly, but from the political powers who are either invisible or compromised, for another one. And, the juggernaut continues.
We won 1971, but we lost our peace forever.
The soundtrack of the film will live, perhaps for eternity. Arijit crooning to ‘Ae Watan..’ makes me believe that doesn’t matter who or how, but patriotism is inert feeling and cannot be bucketed. I and you belong to different places, but we still have love and admiration for our roots. And, this promiscuous feeling cannot be modified or disputed or disrespected. The BGM by Shankar Ehsaan Loy deserves equal applause, matching the intensity of this riveting tale. On top of it, the fact that ‘Ae Watan..’ encapsulates the words of the iconic Allama Iqbal makes it such an adorable classic of our times.
Alia Bhatt is simply outstanding as Sehmat Khan. She epitomises the dilemma, helplessness and the guts of Sehmat, which in itself is a spine chilling character. Mind you, Alia Bhatt is still very young, and at such an age, what she has done with films like ‘Raazi’ and ‘Udta Punjab’ is a revelation. Alia, I am sure your Dad is a proud man.
‘Raazi’ will go down as one of the finest 2018 ever produced. Not for the innovation but for the audacity to bring something so scary and dispensable to the odour of Cinema.
Hunger first, thirst followed.
If you are around, let me know and we can squash the heat to pulp.
“I am big” – says the structure with a pinch of arrogance.
The sky smiles and tweets back – “May be, but am still above you and you lie beneath”.