Life-en-treats

First WB and then World Movies showed Before Sunset and Before Sunrise some months ago; two movies that can be seen independent of each other but are also good when watched sequentially. This movie manufactures tears in my body, but does not help with expelling it. Such is its sense of humour. Not sad at all, not happy surely--and not classifiable in those terms at all. The colour this movie splashes about is the colour of truth. An exploration into the myriad forms of love, disappointing relationships and my favourite part: a prophecy lived out. I seriously recommend this movie to those amateurs among us who have seen few movies, little life and even less of relationships. I cannot help saying that, and sounding imperious! Art makes us better and these movies are ART. But, of course, it takes a long long time to even understand art and then benefit from it. Like everything else, it also possesses the ability to violate us. Art makes better human beings because it provides for us...

A very deep question has been bugging me for quite sometime now. You could call it, that eternal question about the nature of love and human beings and even dismiss it because it's a difficult one. But the eternality of this question is somewhat transposed by the given timeframe, by the very concrete nature of its aspects that binds us humans, as does breath to body. How has the economic downturn affected relationships? I imagine there were households that fought about the sudden cut in resources. Changes in lifestyle must have been hard to enforce, upon others, upon oneself. The confidence of those given pink slips must have dipped even if there was some consolation in the large scale-ness of the phenomena. Occasionally, it must have felt a little like a natural disaster. People must have faced regret, sorrow and a sense of betrayal, with many relationships strained. And what of those who decided to say 'no' to life because they lost their jobs? It was only much later that...

Just this past week I met two unhappy women. Both aunties; that's what you would call them married women slightly older than you, if you grew up in Bangalore. Aunty no 1 is from a small town, and moved to Bangalore through marriage and has been miserable ever since. She was previously a neighbour of ours. She came to our house to find out about her husband's salary. She had to know how much he earns in order fight for maintenance for her son in the court. She was distraught at the prospect of losing her teen-aged son to her husband. 14 years since marriage, she had found no happiness at all, not one moment. Her tears made their presence in our small living room every now and then and vaporized into the warmth we extended to her, only to reappear again. From the very beginning her husband has taken sides with his mother and left her alone! Aunty no 2 also happens to be my masseur. The other day she came home and while I was being massaged to satisfaction, she shed tears fro...

To sharpen my writing skills I was going to go to bookshops and hunt for some books on clauses and idioms. But I chanced upon a book at my mother’s office library. Yes, that very library that fed my fires while I was younger. All my reading of the classics of several literatures took off from here. Significant memories are Dostoyevsky and Jane Austen. Like always, I freaked out a little bit when I went into the library, the minimum number I have wanted to pick up at any library are 20 plus books and definitely exceed the number of library cards I am allowed. Curse this love of books! This time, I spent a good time convincing and cajoling myself about the PhD work that awaits me and managed to get out of the library with a mere four books. One was on the history of Karnataka, another, a translation of Premchand’s stories, The Wisdom of Lao Tse and the last one, a book that summarized the workings of a newspaper, called Behind the Scenes on a Newspaper. Behind the scenes… is a small boo...

He was in Shiva’s outfit, in the same bus as I and got off the bus with me. Tall like a teak tree and lean, cloud-coloured skin, lightening-quick smile with a moon made of tin planted onto his head; He wore kanigale[i] flower on his arm. A plastic snake around his neck, a faded tiger-skin pattern, upon half a lungi. a Hawaii chappal… As if in response To my fascination He played the damaru[ii] Swayed the trishula[iii] Shook his anklets; galagala And said…I am Shiva. 2 I was at front, and he at the back, at the fair counter. While buying tickets too, --right behind me. In the junk jewelry store, he came before me, and rolled the shining nose-ring that he held in his palm and teased the shop-keeper, “How much does this ‘diamond’ cost?” In the balloon shop, ...

Janaseva Parishad, an activist organization from Mandya, staged two plays this weekend to collect funds for its Vishwamanava Anathashrama. The plays were produced by Janadani, a Mandya-based cultural and theatre group. Tirukaraja written by Nisargapriya and narrated in the traditional Janapada style by the Jogappas exposes the politics of a state critiqued only under the rule of a beggar-king. The ply begins with a spectre of anarchy after the king died without leaving an heir. The queen, the minister and the senani, all in the race for the throne, hatch plots against each other. But the rajaguru consults the dharmashastras and the royal elephant has to garland the person who will be king. More than even the feminist arguments put forward by the queen, there is a class critique in the play that comes up effectively. The elephant garlands the beggar causing much embarrassment. What happens further is a comedy of sorts. The audience thoroughly enjoyed the comedy. The beggar is groomed b...

Way back while I was an MA student, a dear friend once found this piece somewhere, took a print out and handed it to me with great love. Its a beautiful piece...I cannot forget its promise, despite my cynicism. If one day you feel like crying Call me I don’t promise you that I will make you laugh But I can cry with you If one day you want to run away Don’t be afraid to call me I don’t promise to ask you to stop But I can run with you If one day you don’t want to listen to anybody Call me and… I promise to be very quiet But… If one day you call and there is no answer Come fast to see me Perhaps I need you