LAW!!!
Some time back, this word would bring to me this image of a “secure” future. I remember ma’s sigh of relief when I told her that I wanted to do law...she was happy I finally acquired this thing called “ambition”....
January came and went...and I sat for this exam after studying for 2 days with a weak liver just outta jaundice. I thought I aced it but I didn’t. Didn’t even reach the dreadfully high cutoff.....
I guess that was the day I ran to the nearest window and threw my “ambition” outta it...into the grey oblivion of the city’s concrete skyline. Back came my old “ambition”-I really wanted to write. So the life of a journalist appeared so “Yeah!! That’s it!!”-ish. Legal ambitions fizzled out like gas from a soft drink can and I had a new “ambition”....(To god’s grace, I still do)
Dad said something about “job security”. What he doesn’t understand is that he never had a daughter who was meant for “secure” things...she was this girl who wanted to fly, and still does. She is this girl who has always searched for the meaning of the voices that go on inside her little head, always looked for the face behind the unknown call which always eluded her....the call of the future, the call of words...the call of rhyme and metre...
After 18 long years she sees the blurry outlines of those faces which called.....and it’s time she answers them......
It’s time she washes the dirt off her wings and flies off....
"Well I guess that you probably know by now
I was one who wanted to fly
I wanted to ride on that arrow of fire right up into heaven
And I wanted to go for every man
Every child, every mother of children
I wanted to carry the dreams of all people right up to the stars....."
So I finally managed to catch The Namesake, and to put it in a word, I was disappointed. It was always happens to me-books made into films always fail to live up to my expectations. When you read the book, you tend to make mental sketches of the characters, situations and emotions. But when you see someone else’s imagination take shape on the giant screen in front of you, it is disappointing to see them not match up to your expectations. Maybe this is a wrong approach to watching movies, but that’s the way it is, for me.
Firstly, for me, small details go a long way in making a film impactful .In the beginning shots, the camera rolls over the city roads and pans onto a small road divider sign reading, “The Telegraph. Unputdownable”.The book is set in 1968 and since the film maker does not mention the period of the film, I presume she sticks to the book. The Telegraph began to use the aforesaid catch line only in the last few years.
The trams have been shown with advertisements of ATMs hollering across their tin bodies in the trip the family makes to
During Gogol’s marriage to Moushumi, Ashima recalls her wedding to Ashoke when she remembers herself reciting Daffodils till the end but in the beginning of the film, she is cut short in her recitation by her father-in –law-to be, who recites the concluding lines himself.
The make-up. With all the orange and white flowers adorning her hair and the kilos of kohl in her eyes, Tabu ends up looking more like a Bharatnatyam dancer than a literature student that she’s supposed to be. And the Alta on her hands-it is so weird and one of the biggest misconceptions people have about Bengalis. For once and for all people, Bengali women do not wear it on their hands-be it 1968 or 2007.
Moreover, the make up fails to maintain the continuity of Tabu’s age. She looks old with graying hair in the Taj Mahal trip but scenes later, she looks like a newly wed with her parting smeared with generous doses of vermillion and jet black hair when she receives the news of Ashoke’s death.
I am not being cynical but just pointing out the flaws which caught my eye. I’m no stalwart at judging movies by their technicalities and I lack the qualifications to do so. But as an average movie goer, these were the things which kind of jarred my viewing.
Not everything about the movie is bad. There were quite a few scenes which were warm and touching.
When Gogol returns from Cleveland which his head shorn, the bonding shown between Ashima and her children is a major tear jerker and goes on to say a thousand words without uttering a syllable.
The scene where Gogol’s head is being shaved with the loud punk rock playing in the background is a beautiful scene highlighting the in your face contrast of emotions.
The visuals of the
The scene with the Saraswati idol hauled and being carried in the rickshaw is beautifully shot. The contrasts in the lovemaking scenes of Ashoke-Ashima and Gogol-Maxine have been brought out very subtly without being too grotesque and flesh flaunting. The difference between love and lust has been beautifully brought out....
The concluding scene where Gogol and Ashoke walk down the boulders is beautiful and touching....the words (penned by Jhumpa Lahiri) are equally warm.....
“Will you remember this day,Gogol..try to remember it always...remember that you and I made this journey ,that we went together to a place where there was nowhere left to go.....”
The city basked in the mild yellow of the December sun-
Had a story to tell with each of its shady turn.
We walked hand in hand-through the sleepy lanes,
As the sun drew patterns of love down our backs-
We talked of our lives-their whites and blacks.
We painted the grey town with the bloody red of our hearts,
We saw our faces glow with the burnt red ecstasy-
We set forth the beginning of our blue fantasy.
The day turned violet and the maroon hour turned wet-
We painted the town back to its grey,
So that the world wouldn’t know of the unnamed hour-
When our souls met.
The last verse...
Hours of walking and my legs are far from tired-
The darkness veils the shy bride’s heart-a shroud to all the desires.
I walk on towards the land of hollow humanity –
But halt, is that you I see?
Is that the blood of my smiles that stain your lips?
Was that my soul which you just tore into bits?
But much before you were here, I was gone-
Into the land which kisses no dawn.
Much before your sole trampled my tears,
I had bid a cold farewell to my old fears.
Here I was, killing myself within me-
Hiding the rotting corpse in a dusty corner
Which you’ll never see.
So while you were busy gathering your ammunition,
I had already put an end to the endless hours of procrastination.
So tell me, do you see the cold grave-
Lined with dusty tombstones and jaded epitaphs?
Do you read what they speak of-
Of incomplete Marijuana dreams and forgotten paragraphs?
Look into my eyes; tell me what you see-
Do you see broken shards of a mirror-
Each telling a tale unsaid?
Or do you see the remnants of a soul which you decided to trade?
I see you rejoice at having gagged my smiles,
The joy of tasting my blood shines in your frozen eye.
But be not fooled; believe not what will never be
Because when death came, the only one by me, was me.
I won’t begin off with any courtesy because courtesy’s not meant for b**ta*ds like you. I always thought I could never completely hate a person, always thought that a person cant be completely bad. But thank God, I met you else I would’ve suffered this misconception throughout my life.
You were the worst thing to have had happened to me. If I have spoken to you nicely and been polite and all, God! I’m so sorry for that today. I’m ashamed I ever knew you; I hate myself for being nice to you and feel stupid to have paid heed to your croc tears and other equivalent emotional bullshit.
I know all this doesn’t matter to you ‘coz you are inhumanly shameless. The jerk that you are, you will never realize the futility of your existence...ummm, on second thoughts, it’s good that you exist-it’s for people like you that Hell is still functional. God, I cant even think of a suitable insult for you-you are the biggest insult to yourself...your existence bears a testimony to the biggest bane on my life and reeks of the decaying humanity within you.
If you’ve ever been hurt, good...may it get multiplied by a zillion times. I’ve never prayed for someone’s bad, but I will do that today. May you be unhappy, may all the people who you love, leave you. May you die a loner-may you rot in hell. So much said, I still don’t think I’ve cursed you enough. You’re just a cold blooded sick ba**ar* and you deserve nothing but swears...may a smile never appear on that shitface you possess. I hate myself for being a friend to you, hate myself for standing by you, hate myself for praying for you, but way above any hatred is the one I have for you, for being what you are-a super sucker!
I know you’re not gonna read this...I’m happy you don’t read my blog (hopefully!) ‘Coz I don’t want your fucking shadow anywhere near anything concerning me and my existence...FUCK YOU!!
-Bedatri
P.S: Rijoy, Surjo, Shantanu-since you three have a knack of misunderstanding me, let me tell you this aint for any of you.... (If you’re reading, that is)
Life...it sure does weird things to you. It makes you jump at the prospect of getting over with your dreaded ISCs and then it snubs you down with the “indefinite postponement” of your last paper.
I’m not here to talk about whether a chemical plant can turn around the state’s fortune and nor am I here to talk about who’s right and who’s not. I’m here to say what I think and if you don’t agree, I don’t really mind.
The Bengalis have spent decades sipping tea over the day’s edition of Anand Bazar Patrika and cribbing, “Na e rajye aar kissu hobe na.” Well, the years of procrastination did help, I guess. The state began to be considered to be the “next big thing” with the corporate biggies taking interest. But wait up, the story’s far from over. There goes the “Bangali bhodrolok” sighing over his ABP again-“kono mane hoe, etogulo manusher foshol!” Halt. Think. So do you want to see the state “debhelaap” or do you want the farmers to thrive? Whatever you decide, just don’t crib. The years of endless cribbing, decades of undecided whims has got us nowhere, really. And for the “humane” folks who think we need both –agriculture and development-I guess you could voluntarily give up your own piece if land for the factories, eh? Hurts, doesn’t it? Well, it always does, when the load is on your ass.
I’m not supporting any party. What happened in Nandigram was bad, inhuman and downright heinous. But let’s not play the blame game out here. The police did try tear gas and rubber bullets on the people who decided not to yield, and then came the showering of stones which lead to lathicharge and then, bullets. What I don’t understand is, when you see bullets coming, why don’t you stop being adamant? You wanted to be brave and pay with your lives, and you did. It was a grievous moment, absolutely. Bloodshed has never helped and it never will. The government WAS wrong in doing this.
But then again, our opposition aint a group of the most intelligent and sensible people either. So what do you think they do? Call a “bandh” of course!...and that too when the students are racking their brains for their board exams. It is sad that our “opojeeshaan” is uneducated enough to not know the difference between CBSE, ISC and HS. They’re this bunch of selfish people who want the slightest excuse to demand the usual-“Buddho babur istofa”. Fine, point taken. But who replaces him? A certain Miss Banerjee who looks around for excuses for fainting on account of “chest pain”? Oh, please! I mean, if you know you have a weak heart, then why go into all that shouting in the first place? It’s still a mystery how she manages to not lose an ounce after weeks of “fasting”. All they can do, is call bandhs and beat the pulp out of people and answer bloodshed with bloodshed, and commit a wrong to rectify a wrong. And you think THEY will make a great government?...umm, not really.
All
College campuses see millions of dreams take shape everyday...dreams of change...dreams of an improvement...dreams of a utopia...but where do they go? They get buried under the shouts, shrouded by the banners and trampled under the spiky boots of the very system they want to change.
What the government needs is a spine. It needs logic and rationality. What it needs is the youth. We’ve had enough of pseudo people adorning the TV screens with their demands, enough of old hags promising to bring better days to the state when their own days are few. A bandh is supposed to be a weapon of silent protest, and not an extended weekend. All the state needs to do is WORK and prove a point with its work ONLY, because years of shouting lungs out haven’t made a difference and it never will. For all you know, each new morning may still herald a new utterance of, “Na e rajye aar kissu hobe na.”....
