So, what do I really expect from a movie? I am sure contradicting myself. If you ask me what kind of movie I’d want to make or want to be associated with, I’d say “The movie which is honest”. What is a honest movie? A movie which takes its own course. The story which is dictated by the characters. And not by the Director. Definitely not by the “cast”. “Naadodigal” is one such movie. It is a honest movie, to say the least. It is the kind of movie where the Director’s part stopped when he decided the characters and the setting/environment they belonged. After that, the whole story was dictated by the characters. They decided how the story should take shape. Karna (Sasikumar) did what he wanted to. And not because the Director wanted him to.
All said and done – as an audience – when I sat in the theatre, why did I not feel good? Why was I squirming on the seats? Why was I waiting for the film to get over? Was it because I hated the movie? No. A definite No. It was because I wasn’t happy with the characters in the first place. Director Samuthrakani decided to have the characters Karna, Pandi and the third-whose name-I-forgot. If I had liked those characters, I’d have definitely liked “Naadodigal”. But It was not meant to be the case. It was simply because I wasn’t able to relate to the characters – wasn’t able to accept their beliefs and opinions, I didn’t happen to like the film that much.
But If you ask me again “What kind of movie you’d want to make or want to be associated with?”
“Naadodigal”, hands down!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Move on!
“So, this is it?” I asked.
“Yes” she said in a broken voice “But, we’ll be friends”
“Cut that crap” I thought to myself.
“Ok then, bye!” I said and cut the phone.
He
“Who was that on the phone?” VJ asked me.
“She said it’s over”
“What?” VJ looked terribly confused “Hey, you guys were going well till last week. What happened all of a sudden?”
“Forget it” I wanted to think of some thing else. But, I couldn’t. Even though I realized that it was too early, I liked the relationship we were in. Some where between friendship and love. I cursed myself for proposing to her and spoiling the whole thing.
“She said it’s not going to work out. And so she split” I realized that my eyes weren’t steady enough to look at his face.
“What the fuck?” He cursed her. And continued “OK… you know what? Durga has dumped Aravind”
“Really?” I looked at him.
She
“Who was that on the phone?” she asked me.
“Oh…yeah” I said “That was my tailor”
“Yes” she said in a broken voice “But, we’ll be friends”
“Cut that crap” I thought to myself.
“Ok then, bye!” I said and cut the phone.
He
“Who was that on the phone?” VJ asked me.
“She said it’s over”
“What?” VJ looked terribly confused “Hey, you guys were going well till last week. What happened all of a sudden?”
“Forget it” I wanted to think of some thing else. But, I couldn’t. Even though I realized that it was too early, I liked the relationship we were in. Some where between friendship and love. I cursed myself for proposing to her and spoiling the whole thing.
“She said it’s not going to work out. And so she split” I realized that my eyes weren’t steady enough to look at his face.
“What the fuck?” He cursed her. And continued “OK… you know what? Durga has dumped Aravind”
“Really?” I looked at him.
She
“Who was that on the phone?” she asked me.
“Oh…yeah” I said “That was my tailor”
Monday, June 29, 2009
Surprised!
I was really surprised when I came to know that people I lost touch with are reading this blog. Infact, I wrote something some time back as I thought it would be a nice thing to read it after a few years. Come on. Why am I beating the bush here? I wrote this - http://mylife-intercut-cinema.blogspot.com/2009/06/quick-one.html about my crush. I never, in my wildest dream, did realize that she would get to read it!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Seeing the "bottom"
As I hesitantly entered the gates of a small hut, the first thing that struck me was the smell of the boiling rice. Accompanied by a faint smell of Curry, the environment was a typical Indian poor household. I looked to my back to confirm whether all my team mates are with me. No one wants to get hit alone. Do they? In case, I meant. A very young pregnant lady walked towards us with cautious eyes. I brought in an artificial smile and introduced my team. Who we are. Why have we come here.
She looked at us. Blank.
It was written on her face that why the so-called modern dressed – educated - youngish boys/girls are visiting her. Yeah right? Anybody would be sceptical. I tried my best to speak to her in a language which she is comfortable with. Unknowingly, here and there – some English words got popped up. But it was fine. She could understand what it was. Two minutes in to the conversation, she understood that we were students trying to help the village in some way. I said we’d like to take a brief survey about her household and with that information – suggest a suitable occupation which she can do from her home and earn some money. Actually, what we were trying to do was to understand their economy - generate alternate means of income – suggest practical methods of saving. She hesitantly gave details about her family. The first surprise of the evening for me was that this <20 year old girl is a mother of 3. And one more in the pipeline.
“What does your husband do?”
“He works as a daily coolie”
“Where?”
“Don’t know”
“How much does he earn?”
“You’ve got to ask him”
“Does your boy go to school?”
“Yes. From this year”
“Have you been to school?”
“No”
“Do you save anything?”
“-------“
A sense of uncomfortable feeling started peeking through me. Right then – I was talking to a real poor Indian housewife who is not even empowered enough to ask what her husband is doing. Notwithstanding the fact that she is the mother of four of his children.
I turned around to brief my team. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that I’m the only thamizh speaking person in this group. I’ve got to brief them in regular intervals to fill in the gaps. Parag, somehow, understood what she was saying and said “I told you right? There won’t be any savings”
“Now, what?” I asked my team.
“Ask her whether she knows any vocation. Like Candles, matchsticks”
I asked her. Negative.
I asked her whether she would be interested in doing a new occupation.
“I need to ask my husband”
“Fuck him” I thought to myself.
I briefed my team and we decided to go to the next household. All the 9-10 households we visited had the same story. Well, almost. Some work in agricultural lands. But most of them work as daily coolie’s somewhere in the nearby towns or even Madras.
“How much do you get as daily coolie?” I asked a father of 3.
“If it’s Rs.50 job – we won’t get more than 2 works in a week. If it’s Rs.100 job – we won’t get more than 2 works in a month”
The job-givers sure know how to keep these people in check. I realized that the Re.1 Kilo rice is the biggest boon these people have got. That made sure they never starve at all. But it isn’t enough. If the children of this village have to grow – they need something more than just food.
The government school here ensures that they get education till their 10th standard. But what next? You need money to study at college. How do you get them if you don’t save from now on? We found that the real need of the village was not food – sanitation – health camps. They knew how to take care of themselves.
But the need lies in elevating them to the next level. How do you empower them so that they save enough money to send their children to college? Empowering women will be the key. Teach them an occupation – find them a market. That, according to us, is enough.
As we lurked back to the bus walking through the homes we visited in the evening, every woman – I mean, every woman in the house – invited us for dinner.
I felt sick.
She looked at us. Blank.
It was written on her face that why the so-called modern dressed – educated - youngish boys/girls are visiting her. Yeah right? Anybody would be sceptical. I tried my best to speak to her in a language which she is comfortable with. Unknowingly, here and there – some English words got popped up. But it was fine. She could understand what it was. Two minutes in to the conversation, she understood that we were students trying to help the village in some way. I said we’d like to take a brief survey about her household and with that information – suggest a suitable occupation which she can do from her home and earn some money. Actually, what we were trying to do was to understand their economy - generate alternate means of income – suggest practical methods of saving. She hesitantly gave details about her family. The first surprise of the evening for me was that this <20 year old girl is a mother of 3. And one more in the pipeline.
“What does your husband do?”
“He works as a daily coolie”
“Where?”
“Don’t know”
“How much does he earn?”
“You’ve got to ask him”
“Does your boy go to school?”
“Yes. From this year”
“Have you been to school?”
“No”
“Do you save anything?”
“-------“
A sense of uncomfortable feeling started peeking through me. Right then – I was talking to a real poor Indian housewife who is not even empowered enough to ask what her husband is doing. Notwithstanding the fact that she is the mother of four of his children.
I turned around to brief my team. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that I’m the only thamizh speaking person in this group. I’ve got to brief them in regular intervals to fill in the gaps. Parag, somehow, understood what she was saying and said “I told you right? There won’t be any savings”
“Now, what?” I asked my team.
“Ask her whether she knows any vocation. Like Candles, matchsticks”
I asked her. Negative.
I asked her whether she would be interested in doing a new occupation.
“I need to ask my husband”
“Fuck him” I thought to myself.
I briefed my team and we decided to go to the next household. All the 9-10 households we visited had the same story. Well, almost. Some work in agricultural lands. But most of them work as daily coolie’s somewhere in the nearby towns or even Madras.
“How much do you get as daily coolie?” I asked a father of 3.
“If it’s Rs.50 job – we won’t get more than 2 works in a week. If it’s Rs.100 job – we won’t get more than 2 works in a month”
The job-givers sure know how to keep these people in check. I realized that the Re.1 Kilo rice is the biggest boon these people have got. That made sure they never starve at all. But it isn’t enough. If the children of this village have to grow – they need something more than just food.
The government school here ensures that they get education till their 10th standard. But what next? You need money to study at college. How do you get them if you don’t save from now on? We found that the real need of the village was not food – sanitation – health camps. They knew how to take care of themselves.
But the need lies in elevating them to the next level. How do you empower them so that they save enough money to send their children to college? Empowering women will be the key. Teach them an occupation – find them a market. That, according to us, is enough.
As we lurked back to the bus walking through the homes we visited in the evening, every woman – I mean, every woman in the house – invited us for dinner.
I felt sick.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Hit!
12.30 AM.
I was cruising on my bike over the Anna Flyover. Two movies at a span of six hours were taking a toll on my eyes. Both the bad news and good news were that I watched those movies alone. With no one to speak to, I might drift to sleep any moment. I mean “any moment”. Two roads stared at me. One towards T.Nagar; one towards Nungambakkam. Every time I reach this part of the flyover, I get confused. Both these roads can take me home. Which one to take? Some times, choice is an irritant. I decided on Nungambakkam. I like that steep curve at the end of the Flyover. Somehow, I like driving through it. Those butterflies I get in my stomach when I reach the fag end of the curve. I-pod was trying to wake me up by shouting “Show me how to live”. I don’t want to hear that song. I was in a good mood and I didn’t want to spoil that. “Next time, I won’t give my I-pod to my sister to refresh the library” I decided. From where is she getting so many weird songs like these?
12:10 AM.
“Enna?”(What?)
“Illa sir… velila vara mudiyathu” (No sir… I cannot come out)
He stared at me as if saying the conversation was over.
“This is getting cynical” I thought. I am not going to trade with this guy any more. I can’t believe that I am dealing with this bastard. Had I not been a policeman, I would have cut his tool with a hacksaw. “…. .… he doesn’t deserve to live”. Can you believe that this guy is right in front of me? Yet, I can’t arrest him. The funny part is that he does not even have minister level influence. He is the son-in-law of some former MLA. I mean… why the hell did I become an SI? This bastard raped a school girl on the school grounds right in front of some four girls. These girls testified. By that time, he had absconded. And now, after two weeks of intense search, I caught him at the 100 feet road signal. But Shit! I’ve got to talk to him! TALK! … Talk to the pervert!!!
Not for the first time, I hated what I was wearing.
12:40 AM
She isn’t that much bad. I mean… How else I would have known in this life time that there was a song called “Bol…na Halke”. I’ve always been a Hindi-movie illiterate. The only connection I have with Bollywood is A.R.Rahman. I know only those Hindi songs composed by A.R.Rahman. My sister has some Hindi-speaking friends. So, any good song, she’ll get to know. She would dutifully download it from Limewire and from there to our I-pods. The sad part is that her friends have very bad taste. Once in a while, they’ll suggest a song like “Bol…na Halke”.
“Hey… wait… what is that? I bent down my head to reduce the volume. And then, I hit some one.
“Holy Fuck!!!”
With the speed I was travelling, the hit must have been fatal for that man/woman. I lost control after hitting and skidded on the roads. I must have broken my right hand. I have not felt anything more painful than this. But, I have got some thing more to fear about. What if that person is dead? For the first time, I realized how I would feel if I had been in a jail. A policeman came running towards me.
It was scary.
12:35 AM
“Let this be the last day of my career. I am not leaving this bastard” I decided. I switched off the phone to avoid any calls from my boss. I opened the car door; dragged that bastard out and gave one big punch right on that stomach. The punch I gave was not just for the crime he committed. That punch is for me to vent out my frustration. For what I had become in my life. I was 23 years old when I joined the Police. Till now, after 15 years of my service, I haven’t done anything useful to the public. I felt like crying. “What I have become!” I take bribes for my boss. I take bribes for my juniors. I am doing everything I didn’t want to. Every bit of frustration I had in every nerve of my body came out and hit that pervert’s goddamn stomach.
The bastard fell on the middle of the road. Just then, in a flash, before I could realize what was happening, a splendor hit him. It threw him right on one corner of the road. I ran towards him and looked at his face. He was unconscious. He must be dead!
I felt a strange kind of sensation. I have never felt anything like this. I won’t call it as “happiness”. It was definitely more than that. The feeling was definitely better than what I had when I became a father. I felt this bastard deserved every bit of it.
I neglected him and ran to the rider who hit him.
He was not seriously injured. He started crying. For me, at that moment, this guy looked like GOD. I helped him stand up and noticed that he had broken his hand. I called an auto; gave that guy a few thousand rupees which I had got as a bribe that night. I told him that I will take care of his bike and there is no need to worry. I sent a P.C along with him to the hospital.
I went near the bastard’s body.
I felt proud; I felt like crying.
Monday, June 8, 2009
A quick one
Bought a vest coat – yeah, the one which Aamir wears in Ghajini – for my friend’s marriage. After a long time (1 month or so), went for shopping with my friends. Every time we are in a shop trying different dresses, I found that the shop workers when attending to us always have a smile. May be because of so many jokes floating around in the air in their rather mundane schedules.
And after a really long time (2 years), tried to establish contact with my college crush. It’s always nice to hear from your past-crush that she is doing good. :)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Hands over my arse.
See. It’s like this. I sit just behind a guy who either loves raising his hands or he honestly knows the answer for the question. That fucker doesn’t even care an inch about the poor soul – yeah, that’s me – who places his hands over his arse every time the professor looks at that guy.
It’s been a solid 1 month for me here at Great Lakes and never did I have the intention to sit down and write my experiences or how I feel. Fortunately or unfortunately, today has become that day. The day for me to vent down my extreme emotions which I felt from 6.15 PM to 8.15 PM. Five minutes into the class, I realized that I didn’t know what the professor was talking about. “Didn’t he ask us to study the Long run impact of productivity in India? Why is he talking about inflation now?” I was thinking to myself. Oh my! He has started asking questions. Fuck. Fuck. I hurriedly turned towards my left to see my ever-calm group mate glancing through his con-eyes on a blue colour economics book. Shit. I don’t even have that book. A flurry of butterflies started flying over my Poha-filled stomach.
As fuck luck would have it, the guy whom I mentioned in the starting, raises his hands. Slowly.
Fuck.
Now. Some history. This professor has had the reputation of neglecting the guy/girl who raises his hands and pin-points somebody who sits in his/her vicinity to answer. If you had been in a classroom (of course you’d have. What kind of question is this?), you’d know that every person has eight people surrounding him. If that guy sits in the aisle, the number reduces to six. In this professor’s class, if you sit just behind or just before that guy, the probability of you getting caught increases from 1/6 to 2/6. You are twice as probable of getting caught.
Now when I imagine how I might have looked at that moment, I..... don’t laugh! As I said, I was covering my arse with my left hand and was using my right hand to give a posture as though I am thinking. By consciously avoiding his eye contact, I was expecting him to ask some other soul . Two seconds over. Nobody is talking. Is he looking at me? I was truly scared. Now, should I look at him to confirm whether he was looking at me? What if he was waiting for me to look at him and ask after that? Should I take that risk? But then, what if he thinks that I am ignoring him? That will do more damage than this. Won’t it? Oh man. This is a fucking tricky situation and I became real uncomfortable. What was the question he asked? Do I know the answer? Do I know anything at all to just blabber? Shit. I couldn’t even recollect what the question was. Butterflies were playing see-saw in my stomach and I reluctantly decided to get my eyes meet his.
I slowly moved my eyes from the right to the left where I presumed he stood. My eyes never wanted to look at him but I had to take that decision. Just when I swallowed a pint of saliva and looked at that place at last, Bang! He was turning towards the white board.
At that instant, I bet that no one was more happier than me in the entire world.
It’s been a solid 1 month for me here at Great Lakes and never did I have the intention to sit down and write my experiences or how I feel. Fortunately or unfortunately, today has become that day. The day for me to vent down my extreme emotions which I felt from 6.15 PM to 8.15 PM. Five minutes into the class, I realized that I didn’t know what the professor was talking about. “Didn’t he ask us to study the Long run impact of productivity in India? Why is he talking about inflation now?” I was thinking to myself. Oh my! He has started asking questions. Fuck. Fuck. I hurriedly turned towards my left to see my ever-calm group mate glancing through his con-eyes on a blue colour economics book. Shit. I don’t even have that book. A flurry of butterflies started flying over my Poha-filled stomach.
As fuck luck would have it, the guy whom I mentioned in the starting, raises his hands. Slowly.
Fuck.
Now. Some history. This professor has had the reputation of neglecting the guy/girl who raises his hands and pin-points somebody who sits in his/her vicinity to answer. If you had been in a classroom (of course you’d have. What kind of question is this?), you’d know that every person has eight people surrounding him. If that guy sits in the aisle, the number reduces to six. In this professor’s class, if you sit just behind or just before that guy, the probability of you getting caught increases from 1/6 to 2/6. You are twice as probable of getting caught.
Now when I imagine how I might have looked at that moment, I..... don’t laugh! As I said, I was covering my arse with my left hand and was using my right hand to give a posture as though I am thinking. By consciously avoiding his eye contact, I was expecting him to ask some other soul . Two seconds over. Nobody is talking. Is he looking at me? I was truly scared. Now, should I look at him to confirm whether he was looking at me? What if he was waiting for me to look at him and ask after that? Should I take that risk? But then, what if he thinks that I am ignoring him? That will do more damage than this. Won’t it? Oh man. This is a fucking tricky situation and I became real uncomfortable. What was the question he asked? Do I know the answer? Do I know anything at all to just blabber? Shit. I couldn’t even recollect what the question was. Butterflies were playing see-saw in my stomach and I reluctantly decided to get my eyes meet his.
I slowly moved my eyes from the right to the left where I presumed he stood. My eyes never wanted to look at him but I had to take that decision. Just when I swallowed a pint of saliva and looked at that place at last, Bang! He was turning towards the white board.
At that instant, I bet that no one was more happier than me in the entire world.
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