Monday, February 23, 2009

Millionaire Exploitation

First, congratulation to everyone who has won an oscar. A.R. Rehman, you deserve this. 

Second, fuck everyone who has lost all aim in life than to celebrate Slumdog winning oscars.

Yes. It has won a few oscars.

Big Deal.

Do you think it would have still won if it would have been directed by any Indian director? What would you have done, would you still have seen a Bollywood produced Hindi movie called Slumdog Millionaire?

What is with us, Indian's who still long for western attention, even if it portrays the nation in a bad light?

Don't get me wrong. Slumdog is a good movie, yes. But, it doesn't deserve so many oscars. Even if it does, it doesn't deserve such a hype.

Sorry all excited citizens of a country I also call my own. I am sad to see you get excited over receiving some American shit for a movie by a person whose nation ruled us for 150 years, exploited us, and by the hype over Slumdog, still doing so, unknowingly to most of us.

Sorry.

(Above views are all my own, and i mean no disrespect to India, Britain or America.)

Monday, February 16, 2009

Julia

"Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia"

She's been fleeting in and out of my life for the past couple of years. But its only recently that I consciously noticed her presence.

I don't even know whom I met first. Which Julia I met first.

Was it the oceanchild? Was it the dreamboat queen? Or, was it the pianist?

I don't know. I can't even remember. I tried to recall, but, I can't. It's a strange thing. Earlier, I didn't even acknowledge her presence. And now I do, I can't remember which of these namesakes I met first.

Now, when I consciously feel the existence of Julia, the song of love, dream of love, or unfulfilled love - I get lost.

I wonder if the key will unlock my mind. I wonder if we will play together. I wonder if the silent cloud will touch me.
"Julia dream, dreamboat queen, queen of all my dreams
Every night I turn the light out"

The V-Day

He woke up. It was the day. The big day. He could either make it, or break it.

He remembered her reply.

"Come with a gift for me, then I'll think about going out with you."

He opened his wallet and knew that day, he would break it.

His purse was almost empty.

***

There she was. The beauty queen of college. And for her reception, there were a thousand boys waiting, with flowers and colourfully wrapped presents.

But when she came in, she ignored the throng of people waiting for her. She walked straight, yet her eyes were wandering here and there, as if looking for something or someone.

All the boys were disappointed. A glance on them and she walked past.

And then she saw him. He was sitting, alone. Apart from everyone, in a very different mood than everyone else. When everyone was apprehensive, he was looking as if he knew.

She approached him. And smiled at him.

He looked away.

"What happened?" She asked "Where's my gift?"

He gave her a rose.

"That's all?" She asked.

"Well... I do have an eclairs if you want. Fact is, I'm broke." His voice was resigned, lost.

She linked her hand with his.

"Let's go. Lunch's on me today then."

His face was unbelieving. She smiled.

"And, give me the eclairs!"

Thursday, February 12, 2009

My dusky maiden

My dusky maiden
We met in a dream
And it passed
Without knowing

I never even got
The chance to ask

Do you even think
Do you ever think of me
Or us?

Untitled

He was sitting on the stairs, to be alone from the known crowd of the college. He was sitting, with a book in his hand, tired, yet thirsty for the printed words on the yellowed pages of that old book.

Suddenly, his concentration broke. Somebody had come and sat down beside him. He looked up, irritated. He didn’t like people invading his personal space without permission. The retort, which he was going to utter, however, stayed unspoken.

It was her.

And she had tears in her eyes.

And that was very unlike her.

“What?” He managed to stammer out. She looked at him, turned back again and started to weep. Looking at the floor, she kept crying, her face hidden in her hands.

He didn’t know what to say. Tentatively he put his hand around her shoulder and drew her closer. She kept crying, her head, now on his shoulder.

With his other hand, he was looking for something in his pocket. He found it, and drew it out.

“You want an ├ęclairs? Chocolate cheers up people.” He held it in his hand, looked at her.

She looked at the small toffee. Took it, and threw it down the stairs.

“You’re hopeless.” She muttered.

Almost as a reflex reaction, he withdrew his arm from around her shoulder. She hid her face again in her hands. He looked at her, and kept looking, lost for words.

The silence was heavy in the air.

Suddenly she looked up.

“Go get that ├ęclairs!” She said.

And she smiled. Almost.