Communication problems

I would argue that Priyadarshan has relentlessly brought out and addressed the problem of communication in our society. This problem of mis-communication or a lack of communication happens due to different reasons. In the latest ‘Bhagam Bhag’ the small mis-interpretation of ‘heroin’ for ‘heroine’ (due to a trick of hearing and the incomprehension of a ‘Dehati’ played by Govinda for the word ‘heroin’) leads two innocent guys into a mad world of deception and merry-go-around chase. In ‘Malamal Weekly’ greed and fear involving intertwined ‘murder and lottery prize’ become the reason for people ‘to lie’ and then ‘lie over a lie’ and so all three – ‘greed, fear and lies’ multiply and proliferate. It is the same fear which leads Paresh Rawal’s character in 'Hulchul' to go on lying in a comedy-of-errors manner to hide the fact that he is married.

Characters in his films speak a lot; they seem deeply perturbed, talking very little sense and giving vent to their frustration. Also, they are very bad listeners. Priyadarshan brings out the absurdity of over-communication as a lack of communication brilliantly. Rajpal Yadav playing Bandya is a luckless servant bound to Gundya (Paresh Rawal), an equally luckless master in ‘Chup Chup Ke’. He seems to be complaining all the time about his condition and ends up worsening it. Through all his garrulous talks, he only invites further wrath from the family of Prabhat Singh Chauhan (played by Om Puri) and their servants, the silent Jeetu (Shahid Kapoor) however gets away. Bandya’s dilemma is that nobody is prepared to listen to him, he just cannot communicate his suspicion about Jeetu or his observations about him, and he gets mixed up.

In Priyadarshan’s films, the supporting cast is important because through them he creates a world of total chaos. Films like, ‘Chup Chup Ke’, ‘Malamal Weekly’ are undoubtedly inspired form other flicks but they also show a director who has an eye for an ironically grotesque world - a world where people are driven by the weight of such compulsions that mis-communication becomes inevitable – a son thinks that by killing himself his father can use the money from his life insurance and pay off his debts, a poor person earning a rupee a day suddenly sees the possibilities of one crore rupees and ostensibly looses his head.

His side-kicks recall parodists like clowns in circus or cross-talk comedians in a music hall, and by showing the fact that they always keep getting kicked, Priyadarshan also symbolically poses the problem of the ‘Others’. The hero’s friend ironically named ‘Lucky’ played by Arshad Warsi in ‘Hulchul’, an incredulous guy who with great commitment helps his friend in carrying out pranks, always bears the brunt of people while mistakes are done by somebody else, many a times notably by the hero himself. The character of Gullu executed yet again by Rajpal Yadav has the same story to tell. An Indian taxi-driver in U.K., Gullu wants to help Indian guests coming to London but ends up getting cursed and beaten again and again.

Ivan Klima - Moments when love pops out unexpectedly

Chekov's short stories have travelled continents, inspired writers speaking, thinking , dreaming and writing in different languages. If the Chinese writer Gao Xingjian takes a leaf of minimalism from him, another genius, the Czech writer Ivan Klima is equally sparse and equally concerned about the brilliance dimly perceptible in banality.

He has a strategy in those collection of short stories "Lovers for a Day". When the two lovers fall in love, they seem so unlikely a match and their falling for each other happens in such uncertain circumstances, and yet, they do, then love flies away as quickly as it had come. Some compromise and stay, others get up from the bedside, leave the dim room and are gone into their early lives, there is a compromise here too. Through all this Klima gives hope too, a slight one.

He seems to be the asking the question - "Why do we talk about love all the time, when do we start talking about it, can it be the point where it has ended, can there be sympathy between two people after love between them has gone, can there be love-filled moments when we take calculated risks and then discover them to be blunders"

Elegant and he does not write even an extra irrelevant alphabet. Much less political than his earlier published novels, a lovely read.

biting sadness and happiness engulf you at the same time

It is surprising how I forget she has an impairment of sorts. It has been thirteen years since she got hurt and it stuck to her. We were shocked , traumatized and dismayed, then slowly with time, it left us for most of the time, revealed itself to us only in moments. During these times, I have been jealous, loving, condescending, arrogant and tender towards her. How should I react to her impairment?, has been a question I have asked myself. "Normalize Things" is what people say. Recently she has come to terms with her impairment and when she tells it very matter-of-factly, I miss a beat each time. I feel very proud of her then. When she told me recently, she has had it verified from the doctor that she has no vision in one eye and then asked me how does she look today draped in madurai silk, I told beautiful and she said the greatest moments in life are those when both biting sadness and happiness engulf you at the same time. I could only say yes -- sibling affection as we paired together to cross the traffic and have Biryani.

He replied "Saddam"

At Tanjore, we admired the Bhadisvara temple in a way that architecture illiterates are expected to do. We could see people around who did exactly the same thing. They were very eager like us to capture the temple and more so their visit in photographs and videos which they themselves were producing. While leaving, just at the temple gate, we were accosted by a sweet little bright boy, selling incense sticks. When asked about the price, he said "ten for the sticks and two my commission". "Please take the sticks" my mother said and I took them and gave him a ten rupee note. He repeated "ten for the sticks and two my commission", mildly complaining to my mother about her stingy son, it appeared. We could not help but smile.My mother gave his ruffled hair a maternal toss as he smiled taking in a breath and showing those broken newly growing incisors. Mother asked "what is your name".
He replied "Saddam".

Out came a butterfly, from another tree full of leaves

Too sweet, the tea today morning, an irritation as P. looked up from his crossword to complain to the bare tree overlooking us. Out came a butterfly, from another tree full of leaves, the winter wind so slight in morning sun, and soon in his eyes a doubt of whether it was a fly or the leaf itself flown by the wind.

That small incident, that ambiguity, was enough to create the mood swing as P. drank the rest of the tea and solved his crossword.

too much of it, now lets progress

After the erasure of ‘graffiti from the walls’ in the last Assembly elections, another quintessentially symbolic trait of West Bengal politics and everyday life of Kolkata – ‘the STRIKES’ it is felt need be engraved in fleeting nostalgia. People of the city seem to be saying or the purported mediated political rhetoric is – “too much of it, now lets progress”. The historical phantom of counter-cultural kitsch and the political satire of limericks and caricatures might yet again be a part of city walls, due to an amendment legalizing graffiti passed by the State Assembly lately, ‘the STRIKES’ however, seem to be an insignificant drone around the defiant hunger-strike of Mamata Banerjee.

sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it

I said...

I looked at your dreams, sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it. it was about you wanting to have a choco-dip. I wanted to laugh at you and then felt so sorry for myself, I was laughing at your innocence, that you were a small girl.

You said...

I looked at your dreams, sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it.it was about you interpreting my dream of having a choco-dip. I wanted to laugh at you and then felt so sorry for myself, I was laughing at your innocence, that you were an old man.

Imagination of a Disaster

The responses to the Bhopal Gas "Disaster" have been recurrent and multiple, sufficing it to be finally labeled a "Tragedy", with resistance against perpetrators brought in forth by empathy, imagination and crucially so, "bare need". A professor of mine recently recalled," how strange we have not been able to do better", considering "all Indians are Activists", I told him a bit stubbornly i believe "at least we are getting better and better". "Ah"...he said..."but its not enough"... and became lost and I left him to come with an "Imagination of a Disaster"

Woody Allen would make a film on us.

thought, really did, that
I will go to that small beach we discovered together

thought, really did, that
You will come today there in the morning at 5

thought, really did, that
I will come with my laptop and play you the tune of the sea kissing the rocks

thought, really did, that
You will come with your hair over your ears and listen to it

thought, really did, that
We will lie over the fisherman's raft and talk about Virginia Woolf's Lighthouse

thought, really did, that
Woody Allen would make a film on us.

act of aping

A fragmented screen. The visuals interpreting the text written between the communicators in its own hyper-real space with the text occupying half the screen. The screen had a de-centering effect. You were neither in the text nor in the screen and you knew it was not real. You enjoyed sometimes maybe trying to be puppetted by the visuals, in the parodying act itself you wanted to make fun of it, avenge your disgrace. You wrote the text as if you were the scriptwriter manipulating the visuals. Sometimes nobody cared. Nobody actually should get so psyched up; it is just a friendly tongue and cheek. Still, you did ask for it when it was offered. The rebellion of the powerless against the powerful - act of aping.

Excerpts from my unpublished novel.

thought again today why

real good Wine and yet I shall be a bit dissapointed with them . After those scent-filled sips and the sea so beautiful, they talked about work, brought it to dinner table after 5, then told me to eat it too with wine, it did not taste well, could it have?

A weekend so dreaded because of the boredom it brings, came and is passing by. A trip to Chennai cancelled, a plan for Mahabalipuram dropped in mid-air. sunday morning left with newspapers, cut a few of them across bylines, read a few lines in the literary review twice over coffee ( the only thing i made today), invented an idea for an article, lost it after having lost myself in Vanilla Sky...

thought again today why i read books? and then looked up the two paragraphs above this one...

comparative aspect - urban migration

the yearning for the lights and life(style) of a metropolis.

For Mahashewta Devi, it could be the yearning of a civil servant stuck in the tribal land of Palamu for Ranchi.

In Tamil cinema, it could be the idea of Chennai for a rural Tamilian.

In a Chekhov play, the secret desire of a pilgrimage to cities like St.Petersburg.

Ritwik Ghatak's Kolkata sucking refugees into its growing suburbia.

The city of Mumbai portrayed in Indian mainstream and parallel cinema.

The enchantment with the city, the migration to it, the ineluctable love-hate relationship of the dwellers with the city here.

and with it the call of the village , its nostalgia.

two things come out clear even in this muddled putting down of things.

The comparative aspect involved in the idea of a city - the migration of a person based in Palamu to Ranchi and migration of an inhabitant of Ranchi to Mumbai.

Secondly, initiation of this process of migration and resettling has long begun,
looking for greener pastures in concrete land is an age-old phenomenon.

throw their hands into the air in exasperation

It is strange how many people do it, scan a thing, summarize it and reproduce it down. Maybe they put in a something of theirs into it as well. Pollute it and also beautify it in equal measure. Then, another person does it, adds in something of his. When it comes to me, and as I read, see, hear and smell it, I am supposed to think about IT, try to make sense of IT. what an illusion and the absurdity of IT ? - All people throw their hands into the air in exasperation when this thought comes to them....

thus spoke R.

"Saw a cat, remembered a friend of mine who had the same eyes. i did not like him, had a reason then, to not like the cat. Do i make up these reasons for not loving pets? Why can i not relate to them? Have i made an effort? Why am i so concerned only with the human? the 'human' takes up my entire day? am i making that transition from nature to culture? can''t i have both?"
thus spoke R.

men went on dying, women were left pregnant and widowed

something happened to a tribe at a certain point in history, then they were inducted into the big thing, they could not relate to it, they were told - drinking alcohol is bad habit, they were told - wearing animal bones is a bad habit... they were educated.........

they rebelled but were confused, did not know whose side to take, men went on dying, women were left pregnant and widowed

a writer went there and told their story, he had a man and woman falling in love for his story to be read and within it he captured a moment in history, endowed it with the permanence of art

dislodging the utopia

The "blogosphere" is prognosticated to become the "public sphere". bloggers shall leave their petulant and sentimental personal diary reports and start talking about political and judicial issues in and around them. An exchange of views and couter-views will occur. Links will be there, comments will be left posted which will again be counter-commented upon, such is the new evolvment of public sphere and yet there are challanges of rank, inclusivity and accessibility -- issues which help in dislodging the utopia of a perfect ideal of "public sphere" into the too rational too modern now a history.

levi and pakeezah - life sailing in poetry

to read periodic table and see pakezaah, one cannot complain of a dissonance, for both are life sailing in poetry - the former takes us to a life having lived an experience which still resonates in Europe, the other is a sad fable about the vulnerability of dreams, the sad demise of the unbreakable --- levi makes me remember the smells of my chemistry lab, also instructs me about characters, passing on the wisdom that the genius lies in finding the majestic in the trivial, pakeezah raises her fingers towards the sky, my eyes follow, asking me to search destiny in clouds, weather, sun and the moon...

a cultural performance - la sa ra

saw a south-indian classical performer with a French artist dancing together to tunes from both countries, eyes flitting from one to the other sometimes it became difficult to follow both their movements together, as they played and fought one another, waited for their men, envied each other, their reactions varying one found one of the inevitable ways in which cultures coalesce people together, touch them unawares, the fuzzy boundaries of nations, and the beat of the inter-national or rather cross-national, if left to "la sa ra", at times during the performance, it felt god came and touched you

sarat babur golpo

S.C Chatterjee's writings have very powerful woman characters. Chatterjee has his men flitting around from here to there, engaging in a directionless meandering, seeking anchorages in places inhabited by women.The man is a wanderer, in his roaming around, in his journey one finds ambitions, also a mental quest for finding answers to questions, also perhaps a journey to understand, make sense of the mystery and depth of a woman.

"talk to her" it said and he stopped thinking about his loneliness, if not only for tonight

he felt lonely, took out the mobile from his pocket and tried his three friends - 2 males, 1 female -cold statistics. Unable to get to them - some did not connect, others kept ringing - matter of factly, he went for a walk, realized he was tired, felt his sweat and entered a conditioned library, went through a book on a "Subaltern Studies" - to be precise, and then took leave from books to roam a little further, meditated on loneliness - to have remembered, till he saw a tamil family clustered around the verandah, and then thought further about family, till he came to the sea, then he thought about gazing at the sea, singing a few songs to himself, but, there was no space, all around were couples, it was weekend time. He thought about eco-tourism, then finally he did find a place to squeeze himself, started singing, and then got up, then he took a walk back home, and saw a almodovar movie,"talk to her" it said and he stopped thinking about his loneliness, if not only for tonight