Untouched.

Written before and posted on May 22, 2010. I was at the peak of crazy thrashing teenage love and in the middle of my intern-ship. 

 

What I mean by yours for keeps

Is that every time I wake up and

Every time I wish I could dream of you and

Every time I do- there’s you starting my day.

You keep my thoughts with you.

Don’t let go just yet. We’re almost there.

I also mean that every time I hear a song

And you decide to call up that minute-

I know it’s a little more than time

Or such insignificant measures that bind us.

You, by the way, are now a yardstick.

For anyone or everyone who has to pass by in my life

As a ‘somebody’. And you’re still up there, untouched.

Funny, haven’t I said that already?

But you may not have heard.

No it isn’t love. That’s such a limited word.

Words. Beautiful things, but limited scope.

Us. Unlimited, unbound, unafraid, unreasonable- Understand yaar.

Barfi.

I watched Barfi and I liked it. This is NOT a review- I’m not qualified enough, this is an opinion.

I went basically because I’m a Ranbir fan. All drooleth over the guy, you know- who isn’t? Irrespective of whether or not the movie has done well, Ranbir has always done a good job. 5 years, 11 movies- all of which may or may not have done well commercially (Saawariya, Rocket Singh, Rockstar etc.) but you need to see that he’s done well for himself. As Murphy and as an actor. A lot like Abhishek Bachchan (fangirl + logic = He’s done a great job in all movies, even in trashy ones like Dhoom 2 and Dhai Akshar Prem Ke) So I did go to watch him (Ranbir).

He’s expressive, he’s just done yet another great job. Murphy’s a vision of Anurag Basu brought to life by Ranbir. One shot I really loved was the pull-finger-fart one. Notice the high-five after that? There was no shor-sharaaba in it. He just casually puts out his hand and his father puts out his. Unlike other Bollywood exchanges, this doesn’t linger even a moment more. Like in real life. I will try imitating that lubricated move for a long time, but I doubt it will ever be as subconsciously done as Ranbir did it. That and every other shot has been so perfect that I will only fall deeper for this guy and hope to elope with him.

Ileana on her part was decent. I don’t know the logic behind casting her, new face or otherwise- but what I liked about her were the conflicted scenes. The one in which her mother questions her about Barfi, post-horse ride-night. Or the one where she has the ticket in hand. You know she’ll get on to the train, but she waits that one more moment after your heart sinks to make her move. And finally- when she has the choice of not turning around when Jhilmil calls. Ileana is decent, with sparks of good.

Another role I like in the movie was Rupa Ganguly. Subtle. To the point. Like a real mother- irrespective of era and state. She figured her daughter and put the dilemma as simply as she could. And that one moment where her college/youth love interest looks from his lumbering? The recognition? Skill.

But what stunned me most- and I must say the story belongs to her, at least for me- is Priyanka. Impeccable. Precise. Thanks to the cinematographer, even beautiful in her teary-eyed, upset moments. I’ll compare her acting as Jhilmil to Amitabh’s as Auro. Not for a second did I see a fleeting super-stardom peep from the guise of the character. Yes, some critics have called her an autistic child, but I don’t blame them. Autism does make you relate the person to a child- with their awkward control of emotions. I do not like Priyanka, my intolerance of her in most cases is almost embarrassing. I still don’t think she’s a great actress.

The point however, is that Ranbir outdoes himself in every movie. This was another instance. I’ve gone through the feeling 10 times before. But Priyanka is a wreck in most movies. She has performed in this one (If ‘Fashion’ is your argument, overruled). So if for 41 previous miserably failed attempts she’s given me this, I’ll say she’s done a brilliant job-not that she’s a good actress. Hence, credit to the direction and the script.

The saddest thing about the movie, and about the audience that it has been presented to, is that the audience would rather have their dose of happy masala. It’s about time we stopped taking mindless entertainment as a compliment to the filmmaker. That statement only means that the filmmaker has been able to put together some elements that make the normal person laugh and cry and forget about; which, honestly- my parents are very capable of in a single day. Barfi has been presented to an audience wanting temporary respite from their frowns- not to those aspiring to never get their frowns back. I blame neither the filmmakers nor the audience- commerce drives the world. An ‘Ek Tha Tiger’ is necessary for everyone to up their collars. and deepen their pockets.

I don’t know if the movie or the music has been duplicated from elsewhere, and frankly- that is not my concern. I just think that the product I watched, laughed with and gasped out aloud with, as if I was part of the movie and on cue, was sweet. I don’t think it changed my life. I don’t think I will be more sensitive to less-abled people. I just think that as a product it is complete. I liked the music, I sang along with it- and I was concerned where I had to be.

It made me respect one girl in the industry that I had no time or love for, and it strengthened my argument for Ranbir Kapoor and why I think he’s the best we have in mainstream, commercial cinema (the female counterpart being Kareena Kapoor, irrespective of how Heroine turns out to be.)

That’s all.

The chat window

The curse of the age is the ability to see how long it has been since you replied.

And the most embarrassing part?

That relief- that utter, complete, overwhelming relief when you do.

I know you’ll be too consumed by the day to probably type in something.

But there’s a tickle inside me that says, this moment, you want to.

It’s overconfidence, like every time before, that brought me down.

And again, that exactly, placed in you this time, that makes me feel that all of that,

What I told you about?

All of that wounding, bruising, bleeding?

Scarring?

That all of that was worth this.

I know it’s too soon.

I know it’s too optimistic.

I know it’s bordering on stupidity.

But just knowing that you are on the other side of the window,

Wanting, waiting,

Willing to say something to me?

It fills me up like orange juice.

I know. I know it’s different. I know it’s impulsive.

And I know we could be blown to smithereens if one moment went wrong.

But we’re still here. And I love the hope in your words.

This? This is as I wonder, one more time today, at how we even started here.

This is to remind myself, some years from now, that this is where I was.

And hopefully-

Just hopefully.

– Share it with you again.

Those many years from now,

That silly smile we have on our faces.

Good night, and I’ll let you have the last dance.

One of many.

Are you happy?

Maybe not as much as you’d want to be, not as much as you’d seen someone else be- which hurts more, if you’re that kind. It doesn’t hurt that they have the happiness, it’s not that you want to take it away from them, but it’s that teal-grey that seeps into your eyes with every time someone gets what you wish for and haven’t got.

Or even worse, something that just slipped out of your hand.

When you were looking somewhere else but thinking about what was in your hand. Who slipped, really? It’s awkward- being the dreamier of the two. But not being that is a lesson that you’ve tried learning over and over again but simply haven’t been able to grasp.

And this isn’t how you saw yourself- but then, what was it that you did?

Over time, and it will happen, it’ll be more about how you felt, than who you felt it for. How far you pushed yourself. Over time, the traces of him over you will fade. The scent will become less familiar, and the words will not be the same- at least, not their meaning. What’ll stay in your head is how you reacted to them. Those particular words.

It won’t hurt over time, and if you’re lucky, you’ll have those stolen moments of golden sunshine that see you patting your back for having got those 4 weeks right. Almost, that is. Because if it were perfectly right, you wouldn’t have been here. Trying to figure what went wrong. And in moments of weakness and being petty, trying to figure who went wrong.

The might of the ego versus the deception of the heart versus the craving of touch versus the silence of the mind.

All in one person who cannot abandon any of these- all in you.

And in your mind, all of the time- dreading. Dreaming. Stepping. Slipping. Falling. Flying. Fighting. Forgiving. Hiding. Highlighting.

You couldn’t be more alive, and certainly not more dead.