Had a good laugh. Don miss this movie. Mind it
Sneak peek.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiBmTuEMaT0&feature=related
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
13 Tzameti & Rashomon
Just ended watching 13 Tzameti. Watched Rashomon yesterday.
My reactions are quite mixed. But there are lots of similarities across movies.They show human (men) emotions in difficult situations!!!
Quite interesting that a movie made in 1950 is able to hold my attention for 90 minutes. Now I know what a great director Akira is ,after seeing Rashomon and Yojimbo. They are masterclass and timeless. I would recommend it for all movie lovers. There is no big cast, no big sets but some great screenplay and shooting. I think he made viewers to think and believe it. I think I am blabbering. No words to describe, just watch it for urself !!!
A quite similarity between Rashomon and Hangover movie (I just laughed for 2 hours) is that they leave the viewers to make the story. So there is no flaw in the story, because its ur story. If both the movies had been told as it happens, then most viewers would have rejected it as unrealistic. Quite surprising technique!
13 Tzameti is quite wild. It talks about a ordinary man in extra ordinary situation. But the sutuation here is what makes the movie interesting. The movie is shot in a calm manner, but there is a tension through out the movie. Quite amazed, how a calm and simple narrative can bring out so much tension in the screen. All characters except the hero and few mortals are very calm in the movie, considering the extra ordinary situation.
My reactions are quite mixed. But there are lots of similarities across movies.They show human (men) emotions in difficult situations!!!
Quite interesting that a movie made in 1950 is able to hold my attention for 90 minutes. Now I know what a great director Akira is ,after seeing Rashomon and Yojimbo. They are masterclass and timeless. I would recommend it for all movie lovers. There is no big cast, no big sets but some great screenplay and shooting. I think he made viewers to think and believe it. I think I am blabbering. No words to describe, just watch it for urself !!!
A quite similarity between Rashomon and Hangover movie (I just laughed for 2 hours) is that they leave the viewers to make the story. So there is no flaw in the story, because its ur story. If both the movies had been told as it happens, then most viewers would have rejected it as unrealistic. Quite surprising technique!
13 Tzameti is quite wild. It talks about a ordinary man in extra ordinary situation. But the sutuation here is what makes the movie interesting. The movie is shot in a calm manner, but there is a tension through out the movie. Quite amazed, how a calm and simple narrative can bring out so much tension in the screen. All characters except the hero and few mortals are very calm in the movie, considering the extra ordinary situation.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Babies at my Home
few observations
1. The nest is far stronger than u think
2. The Eggs were very light
3. And they look like sponge from distance!
Friday, July 03, 2009
Andy Roddick - Trying too hard?
Yes just a hour back Andy Roddick reached the finals of Wimbledon 2009. He beat Andy Murray, the scot and the crowd favourite. He will meet Fed Express. I dont have great hopes for Andy against Fed. He has many problem but ... this is what he has to say when the reporter asked "You problem seems to be that you try hard in these big games"
"In my career I have many shortcomings, and surely trying hard is not one of them"
Roddick ... u surely are a winner, no matter what u do on sunday and ur backhand was awesome today.
In case u missed the story http://www.wimbledon.org/en_GB/news/match_reports/2009-07-03/200907031246623262859.html
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Royal Mischief
I was reading about karnataka cinema.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Karnataka
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Karnataka
How I started reading about Kanada cinema is a very big story and
credit should go to Rakshitha. But there was one line in
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Karnataka#Little_known_big_facts
, which made me laugh out loud.Wikipedia recommends "Lists of
miscellaneous information should be avoided. Please relocate any
relevant information into appropriate sections or articles. "
Against all this some one has commented
"Kannada film industry is known as the most mokkayest film industry
ever known in the country, the world rather"
I think it would be removed in few days. I hope people understand what
Mokkayest means!!!
Note : I agree to this big fact thats written there. It really the
mokkayest and if u dont Rakshitha better stay away from Kannada
movies!
Note on the Note : NOM and Just joking
Friday, May 08, 2009
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
A slip can make u world famous
Yes, I am not joking. Exactly 5 minutes into the game between Arsenal
and ManU, Kieran Gibbs slipped and he is world famous ... rather
infamous ... or may be I dont know. He is just 18 years old and what
would have gone in his mind. I pray to God that he gives him strength.
and ManU, Kieran Gibbs slipped and he is world famous ... rather
infamous ... or may be I dont know. He is just 18 years old and what
would have gone in his mind. I pray to God that he gives him strength.
This can change his life , his football career. Yes Soccer is great
sport, but is also unforgiving. He will be always remembered as the
Kid who just couldnt stand his ground.
Truely speaking ... i felt very sad last night not for the Arsenal
team but for him!!!
And hope chelsea dont slip today against Barca.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Kadha; Kasakkuthaiah
Really funny song. Enjoy the lyrics
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXXXTC_hKB4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXXXTC_hKB4
Kadhal Kasakkuthaiah
Vara Vara Kadhal Kasakkuthaiah
Manamthan Love Love-Nnu Adikkum
Labonnuthan Thudikkum
Thothu Pona Kudikkum
Paithiam Pudikkum
(Kadhal)
Yararo Kadhalichu Uruppadala.. Onnum Sarippadala..
Vazhkaiyilae Enrum Sugappadala...
Kadhalai Padam Edutha Odumunga..
Theatre-Ilae Janam Koodumunga..
Devadas Avan Parvathi Ambigapathi Amaravathi
Kathaiya Kelu Mudiva Paru
Kadaisiyil Serama Vazhama Sethanga.. Enakintha
(Kadhal)
Ethanai Cinema Ethanai Drama Pathachu
Ethanai Duet Ethanai Tune Kettachu
Ithanai Pathu Ithanai Kettu Ennachu
Sakthiyum Kettu Buthiyum Kettu Ninnachu
Kittappa Antha Kalathula Kayatha Kanagathae
P.U. Chinnappa Vantha Kalathula Kadhal Kani Rasamae
Manmadha Leelai M.K.T. Kalathula
Nadaiya.. Ithu Nadaiya.. Namma Nadigar Thilagam Baniyilae
Hello Hello Sugama... Ada Amam Neenga Nalama..
Engeyumthan Kettom... Annan M.G.R. Pattukkala..
Intha Kala Ilaignar Seyyum Kadhalukku
Ilayaraja Enthan Pattirukku
Veettula Athai Padunga Pondattiya Love Pannunga
Namma Thagappan Pecha Thayin Pecha Madhikkanum
Neeyaga Penn Theda Koodathu Enakkintha
(Kadhal)
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Pain and Joy
I never knew, what pain was
I never felt, what joy is
You gave me all the joy and
The pain that I couldn't bear
but all I asked was
an ORDINARY LIFE!
I never felt, what joy is
You gave me all the joy and
The pain that I couldn't bear
but all I asked was
an ORDINARY LIFE!
Away went the train, far too slow
Like a fainting heart, with blood too low
For a fainting sprinter
Touchline, though visible is far too away
Like water in a desert
I saw light in the tunnel
You gifted me something where I found everything
The something spoke lot of things, that you could never speak
I couldn't jump but cry as the joy was so real
With this water, I can cross this desert
With this light, I can walk this tunnel
I had crossed and I had walked
And
I'm back where it all started.
I dont know what to say
The pain so high, I could only CRY
I never knew, what pain was
I never felt, what joy is
You gave me all the joy and
The pain that I couldn't bear
but all I asked was
an ORDINARY LIFE!
I am not a poet
Though you made me write
This thing, so Beautiful
I never realised.
- A Heart that still beats!
This is not a translation but a original. Seems I can really write. I
know everyone has lots of questions
and assure you that none will be answered!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Pooralle Ponnuthayee (There goes a beautiful lady)
Male : There goes the beautiful lady, taking away my heart
Shying away like a paddy
Female : There goes the beautiful lady, leaving her heart on her soil
Standing by her land’s ways
M : You are the grown reap, I am the livestock
So leave your shyness away …
F : Reap as it may be, I wont let you eat
She will withhold the culture that has brought her up.
M : Uneducated, Your heart so untainted
Yours ways, words, thoughts are so pure.
F : Love for you is deep inside my heart
Words for them are hard to come by
River doesn’t know how to reach the sea … U know ..
M : Don’t worry lady … the Jupiter and Mars are not far away.
F : The lady … u saw, is like a thorn
It will hurt in all four seasons
M : Oh my lovely lady, You are the Jasmine
You wear the smell of a virgin and
Hold that light in your heart and keep it glowing
F : You always want to play and fool with … me
Shying away like a paddy
Female : There goes the beautiful lady, leaving her heart on her soil
Standing by her land’s ways
M : You are the grown reap, I am the livestock
So leave your shyness away …
F : Reap as it may be, I wont let you eat
She will withhold the culture that has brought her up.
M : Uneducated, Your heart so untainted
Yours ways, words, thoughts are so pure.
F : Love for you is deep inside my heart
Words for them are hard to come by
River doesn’t know how to reach the sea … U know ..
M : Don’t worry lady … the Jupiter and Mars are not far away.
F : The lady … u saw, is like a thorn
It will hurt in all four seasons
M : Oh my lovely lady, You are the Jasmine
You wear the smell of a virgin and
Hold that light in your heart and keep it glowing
F : You always want to play and fool with … me
Thursday, September 06, 2007
A New Day has come
Written By: A. Nova, S. Moccio Lyrics: A new day
A new day
I was waiting for so long
For a miracle to come
Everyone told me to be strong
Hold on, and don't shed a tear
Through the darkness and good times
I knew I'd make it through
And the world thought I had it all
But I was waiting for you
Hush, now
I see a light in the sky
Oh, it's almost blinding me
I can't believe, I've been touched by an angel with love
Let the rain come down and wash away my tears
Let it fill my soul and drown my fears
Let it shatter the walls for a new sun
A new day has come
Where it was dark now there's light
Where there was pain now there's joy
Where there was weakness I found my strength
All in the eyes of a boy
Hush, now
I see the light in the sky
Oh, it's almost blinding me
I can't believe, I've been touched by an angel with love
Let the rain come down and wash away my tears
Let it fill my soul and drown my fears
Let it shatter the walls for a new sun
A new day has come
Let the rain come down and wash away my tears
Let it fill my soul and drown my fears
Let it shatter the walls for a new sun
A new day has come
Hush now, I see the light in your eyes
All in the eyes of a boy
I can't believe, I've been touched by an angel with love
I can't believe, I've been touched by an angel with love
Hush now
A new day
Hush now
A new day
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Hope Pooja Narayan is reading this!
Bored that I am nowadays, I researched what guys of my age are doing
Atlast after lots of time wasting ... I thought 'I am badly in need of a Girlfriend' ...
I became so desperate that I wanted to publish an advertisement in leading magazine
"Wanted Girl Friend for a Handsome, Smart , Young athletic Karthee Please contact kartshy@gmail.com"
But realised later that its to much for me. I had to spend some 50-100 dollars on it and I dont think I can make a successfull investment here.
Also the "Handsome, Smart , Young athletic " is too much :-)
Anyway whats next ...
whats the first step ... in finding anything for a "Sophisticated Software Engineer"
Google
So I searched "karthee needs girlfriend" ... Yes I am completely mad :-)
came across the following link http://ramp.torontopubliclibrary.ca/pdfs/young_voices_2001.pdf
Atlast after lots of time wasting ... I thought 'I am badly in need of a Girlfriend' ...
I became so desperate that I wanted to publish an advertisement in leading magazine
"Wanted Girl Friend for a Handsome, Smart , Young athletic Karthee Please contact kartshy@gmail.com"
But realised later that its to much for me. I had to spend some 50-100 dollars on it and I dont think I can make a successfull investment here.
Also the "Handsome, Smart , Young athletic " is too much :-)
Anyway whats next ...
whats the first step ... in finding anything for a "Sophisticated Software Engineer"
So I searched "karthee needs girlfriend" ... Yes I am completely mad :-)
came across the following link http://ramp.torontopubliclibrary.ca/pdfs/young_voices_2001.pdf
seems someone by name Pooja Narayan (Young voices .... yeah very much excited) was searching for me.
here goes what she has to say (She seems to dream a lot like me)
Beyond My Dreams
I wake up to the sound of camel dung being spattered
against the wall. My mother has managed to collect some and
is drying it, so we can have fuel for the fire. I remember her
whispering to my father last night, as I lay on my tattered straw
mat.They are worried that we will lose even this hut, if Dalalji is
not repaid in time. I always wish I could do more, but I am just
a chit of a girl.
Our tiny village, Kollengode, in the middle of the vast deserts
of Rajasthan, is probably unknown to the rest of the world.
Nothing ever changes here. Everyone is still under the control of
the moneylender. He owns the entire village, and his fancy
teashop. He even has a magical box with pictures of beautiful
girls with the most dazzling clothes. Sometimes, instead of running
an errand, I hide outside the tea-shop and peep at the TV.
I wish I were one of those girls in the magic box. I often look
at my pretty face in a little, broken piece of mirror, hidden in the
folds of my skirt. I can just hear my mother's scolding voice.
"Kya karthee hai ladkee? Soorath kis kaam ka? Ghar ka kaam
seekh!" ("What are you doing girl! What use is your pretty face?
Learn housework!") My mother never tires of saying this.With a
little money, a big house and even a motor car in the city! But
Gauri's parents are treated like outcasts, despite her success. I
wonder why!
Maybe I can borrow the money from Dalalji. He always
smiles at me and seems to like me. I feel a spring in my step,
as I walk with my water pot balanced on my head."Shoba?" I
hear my name and walk towards the sound to the abandoned
shack. Suddenly, in the dark, hands grab me and tear violently
at my clothes. I stumble, screaming, still holding the heavy pot
in my hands. I never thought Dalalji could do this.With one
powerful swing, I smash my pot against his head. He reels back,
stunned and I hit him again. He drops to the ground, unconscious.
I seize the pot and run home, sobbing, pushing my
weary legs. How naïve I have been.This is what a man wants
from a girl. No one wants to help you, really. Poor Gauri!
40
In the dark,my mother starts shouting at me, "Paani kidher
hai? Kidher gayi thi?" ("Where is the water? Where have you
been?") With tears streaming down my face, hiding my ripped
blouse, I silently pick up the basket to gather the dried camel
dung. At least we will have enough fuel for the next month.
Pooja Narayan
Yes Eureka !!! Pooja seems to know me. So hoping that she will find me .... I am writing this blog.
Note : Found out that the search text "karthee" in her article is not me but a hindi word meaning "doing" :-( .
Hindi language is also against ... me ... and my Girlfriend.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Hmmm I dont know
Can you feel pain after a Dream?
A fine day was over ...The sun was setting ... I never understood the nature's signal.
She speaks a lot but she laughs a bit more.
Do I love her? I dont know.
I hate her when
she laughs on someone's joke
She speaks to someone else
She listens to someone else
She looks at someone else
I wanted to hate her. May be I have gone Mad.
She was there sitting next to me ...
always laughing ... always hurting me.
I went to her. My mind had rehearsed it thousand times
"I love you" this is what I had to say ... but couldnt say
She turned towards me ... I forgot everything ...
I looked away for a while
She asked "why did you call me?"
I thought "Why cant you undertand anything?" Is she so dump.
"So ... " I said.
She asked "Do you think he loves me!?."
I was speechless.
You rehearse a lot for all the answers and Questions
but you always fail. Your brain is too smart ...
Victory is sweet. Defeat is bitter.
But what do you say about Defeat under the jaws of victory.
May be everything was just Dream. May be there was no victory.
Why I had such a Dream is quite questionable?
It was quite a big dream as I had slept for a long time.
May be ... I should sleep less!
Whats the difference between Dream and reality?
May be I am in Dream now ... All this writing ... is a Dream
Do you think,when you are reading this ... you are in real world and not dreaming
May be she was real. may be I am still sleeping ...
Dreaming of writing about her.
No ... I dont know.
What if ... I am a Dream?
A fine day was over ...The sun was setting ... I never understood the nature's signal.
She speaks a lot but she laughs a bit more.
Do I love her? I dont know.
I hate her when
she laughs on someone's joke
She speaks to someone else
She listens to someone else
She looks at someone else
I wanted to hate her. May be I have gone Mad.
She was there sitting next to me ...
always laughing ... always hurting me.
I went to her. My mind had rehearsed it thousand times
"I love you" this is what I had to say ... but couldnt say
She turned towards me ... I forgot everything ...
I looked away for a while
She asked "why did you call me?"
I thought "Why cant you undertand anything?" Is she so dump.
"So ... " I said.
She asked "Do you think he loves me!?."
I was speechless.
You rehearse a lot for all the answers and Questions
but you always fail. Your brain is too smart ...
Victory is sweet. Defeat is bitter.
But what do you say about Defeat under the jaws of victory.
May be everything was just Dream. May be there was no victory.
Why I had such a Dream is quite questionable?
It was quite a big dream as I had slept for a long time.
May be ... I should sleep less!
Whats the difference between Dream and reality?
May be I am in Dream now ... All this writing ... is a Dream
Do you think,when you are reading this ... you are in real world and not dreaming
May be she was real. may be I am still sleeping ...
Dreaming of writing about her.
No ... I dont know.
What if ... I am a Dream?
Saturday, July 28, 2007
My Silence speaks
Slowly ... bit slowly ... girl
Did you pinch my heart?
With you eye ... swords
Did you cut my little heart?
Is pain, my only mate? or
Did I make the mistake of loving you?
Love is a sin
Girls are all illusions
I came to know truth through you
All Men who fell for a woman
are due to their poor fate
I came to know truth through you
When love was a cloud
You came down like a torrid rain
When I wanted to drench in that rain
You became a fire.
I was like a words
You made music out of me
You are into my Life
then you disappeared like a Dream
My silence spoke
Cant you hear it?
Did your eyes
couldnt listen to my words of love
I went alone without you
You followed me like a shadow
A student looking for answers
and you are my only answer
You came in my way
gave me Love ... your way
I loved you ...
I told my love
When you loved someone ...
Love will live till eyes have life
Men wont win till women are there.
The above is a translation of a song "Chinna Chinnathai" from "Mounam Pesiathe". Hope you enjoyed it. A brilliant piece of Art (I mean the original :-) )
Did you pinch my heart?
With you eye ... swords
Did you cut my little heart?
Is pain, my only mate? or
Did I make the mistake of loving you?
Love is a sin
Girls are all illusions
I came to know truth through you
All Men who fell for a woman
are due to their poor fate
I came to know truth through you
When love was a cloud
You came down like a torrid rain
When I wanted to drench in that rain
You became a fire.
I was like a words
You made music out of me
You are into my Life
then you disappeared like a Dream
My silence spoke
Cant you hear it?
Did your eyes
couldnt listen to my words of love
I went alone without you
You followed me like a shadow
A student looking for answers
and you are my only answer
You came in my way
gave me Love ... your way
I loved you ...
I told my love
When you loved someone ...
Love will live till eyes have life
Men wont win till women are there.
The above is a translation of a song "Chinna Chinnathai" from "Mounam Pesiathe". Hope you enjoyed it. A brilliant piece of Art (I mean the original :-) )
Monday, December 11, 2006
Eyes & Girls
Do you know the relationship between two eyes..?
They blink together,
They move together,
They cry together,
They see things together and
They sleep together BUT THEY NEVER SEE EACH OTHER.. that's what's friendship is...
But when a beautiful girl comes in front, one eye goes blink and the other remains open........................................
Moral of the story : Girls can break even the best of friendships.
They blink together,
They move together,
They cry together,
They see things together and
They sleep together BUT THEY NEVER SEE EACH OTHER.. that's what's friendship is...
But when a beautiful girl comes in front, one eye goes blink and the other remains open........................................
Moral of the story : Girls can break even the best of friendships.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
INDIA
What is India?
When I was in college, I stayed in the hostel. Though it was a very unpleasant experince, it made me realise what is more important in Life. I understood that my mother cooked the best food i had ever eaten. My father is the best person who can take care of me(though in his own rude way). My mother is the most lovely thing that the God has ever created.
I used to wonder how will God define my mother. Its very complex with one motive ..... "My child, My family". I thinl all men have commited sin. They dont know what "mother" is.
After some great experience in US soil for a month, I found out lots of things..........
-> I cannot stop my car anywhere I want and (have a tea) and ask for directions.
-> I have to wait for a week to visit a doctor to for my Fever (by that time it would be self cured or i am dead)
-> I can never touch my friend(boy) in public.
-> I have to use that fork and spoon everytime I want to eat
-> I have to use paper ............... (I hate this)
"Sorghamme endrallum athu nam naadu pol aguma" (Even if its a heaven, its not as wonderfull as our homeland).
India doent have a beautiful roads, beautiful buildings, great infrasturcture ........... those six lane roads.............
but,
India has onething ........ the people. Yes , i used to wonder whats the problem is with india when i was a kid and all my people around me told "its it population". Even i preached this till yesterday, but not now.
Those annoying grand people asking you all sort of queations,
Those not so beautiful girls acting as if they are Aiswarya Rai(Even she looks worse by day)
Those kids whose lighten up the whole surrondings
Those annoying big queues for everything
Those ugly roads full of patholes and .....
Those dogs who keep a tight check on the street security.
I Love my country and it no less than any any other country. We may not be rich, but money isnt everything.
Friday, November 10, 2006
MFVP: Chapter 9: Lies ……. More Lies
I always believe in the truth. So here is some truth for you people. I am finding it difficult to continue this story in a third person mode. Last chapter that I wrote(some 6 months back), I had this difficulty in telling you what Raj, karthi and arthi thought and spoke each time. So whom I am who knew what all my characters thought. So this whole concept looks flawed. So I decided to become part of this drama. So I have decided to write the rest of the chapters in first person mode.
“you know one thing ….. you love Arthi!”
I was shocked, I know this is where it will end, and probably all drama will start.
I kept myself cool, I wanted know everything. I was jealous, I had never dated a girl. Though I keep on saying that I don’t care about these dating and …. There was a internal desire.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I 'm Back
Hi all It has been a long long wait for everyone. But the good news is that the big wait is over. I am back and back with a bang(?). I am gonna blog a lot. By the way a big change happened in my life and I was working on that all that time. Now that’s over, and I think should be able to concentrate on other things.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
If Indian XI plays football
Football fever at its peak in
The playing eleven
Yuvraj Dhoni
Kaif sachin Sehwag
Ganguly
harbhajan Laxman Kumble Munaf
Dravid (GK)...
Friday, June 23, 2006
My Mother's 22 Rooms. A good read & happens to be true.
I cannot sing the old songs, or dream those dreams
again - Charlotte Barnard
There it is. Huddled among other dolls and a few
shreds of cloth. It is wearing a blue dress. I don’t
remember what mine wore, for it has been sixteen years
since I saw it. It might not be there anymore, but I
would like to believe that it is there, invisible to
the new occupants of my house. It is a dancing girl
made of earth, decorating a corner of my friend’s
drawing room. Touch it a little and it will start
dancing, moving her neck gracefully. My dancing girl,
mother bought it, when I was a child, from a potter
selling his stuff on a pavement in Lal Chowk.
And sixteen years later, as I speak to you, there is
no significant noise outside my room. No guttural
voice and no sound of my mother’s U-shaped walker
making its presence felt through the small corridor of
my house. Mother fell down from her bed again this
morning.
23 years ago, in Srinagar, a team of health officials
was to arrive at our school. Their aim was to
administer cholera vaccines to children. But for that
we were supposed to take the written permission of our
parents. Back home I told my father and as expected he
wrote ‘No’ on my home task diary. I found it very
insulting. Tomorrow all my classmates would take the
vaccine and sing laurels of their bravery. And me, I
would be hidden in some corner, red-faced with shame.
It was not acceptable to me. So I erased father’s nay
and wrote ‘Yes’ on the diary. Next morning as the
needle of the syringe pierced my left arm, I did not
even flinch once. I became an instant hero. But as it
is with most acts of heroism, I had to pay a price for
mine as well. By late afternoon, a lump had formed in
my arm. By the time I reached home I was feverish and
drenched in sweat. As I pulled off my shoes, mother
saw me and in one instant she knew what had happened.
It was August and even by Kashmir valley’s standard,
it was hot. I flung myself on the bed. Mother came and
sat next to me. She gave me a glass of milk and kept
her fair arm on my forehead. It felt very soothing and
cold; like a spring. I went off to sleep. Next morning
as I opened my eyes, the fever was gone.
Mother handled the affairs of the house like a
seasoned ascetic would control his senses. She knew
what was kept where. Rice, coal powder, woollen socks
and gloves, soap – she kept a tab on everything. Her
daily routine was more or less defined. She would wake
up in the wee hours of the morning, wash clothes in
the bathroom, sweep and mop the floor of every room
and corridor, put burning coal dust in Kangris in
winters and ultimately take stock of the kitchen. She
did not believe much in spending time in worship. She
was not an atheist but her belief was restricted to
occasionally folding hands in front of the Shivalinga.
Her God was her home and hearth.
But mother was in awe of nature. She feared its fury.
Sometimes, when a storm blew, she would close all
doors and windows and sit in one corner. When she no
longer could face it, she would ask my father, “Will
this storm stop?” Father would usually try to pacify
her, but ultimately he also lost his patience. “What
do you think? Would this storm last till the doom’s
day?” he would snap at her. But the same meek heart
turned into brave heart when any family member
struggled with adversity.
It was in the mid of 1988 that my father had a mild
heart attack. Actually father had a pain in the
stomach and an injection prescribed by a
gastroenterologist reacted, which led to the attack.
Everyone in the family was too shocked to react. But
not my mother. She single-handedly took my father to
the hospital in an auto rickshaw. At the hospital,
mother recalls, a doctor appeared like an angel. He
had a black mark on his forehead, a result of praying
five times a day. The moment the doctor started
examining him, my father vomited. Mother says it was
so intense that it went right into the doctor’s shoes.
But not once did he raise his brow. He kept on
treating my father.
By the end of 1989, men like that doctor somehow
became rare in Kashmir. One day mother came back from
office and she was crying. In the bus someone had
tried to help an old Hindu lady in getting down from
the bus. Another woman, who was a Muslim, criticised
that man saying that the woman he helped was a Hindu
and she should have been kicked out of the bus. Mother
didn’t know whether what she heard was true or whether
it was a nightmare. But what she had heard and seen
with her naked eyes was what seemed like holding a
mirror in front of Kashmir in a few months time. The
time had come, once again, to leave our homeland. The
migration began. Salvaging whatever little we could,
essentially a few utensils and educational degrees of
my college-going sister, we reached Jammu.
After spending a couple of nights in a hotel, father
hired a room in a marriage house. It was situated in
the old city, amidst a bristling market of saris and
dupattas. Every now and then marriage ceremonies were
solemnised in the marriage house. When the crude
ovens, laced with mud and gas cylinders arrived at the
house, we would understand that a marriage was taking
place that evening.
In the ten by ten feet room, ants held a sway. No
matter what you put outside, it would be swarmed by
ants in a matter of minutes. They appeared in hordes,
hundreds of them, attacking every edible item. It was
similar to how people would come out on streets in
Srinagar, few months before we were forced into exile.
Mother obviously could not put up a fight with them,
but she always managed to save a bowl of curd from the
marauding ants, by keeping it in a basin of water. I
always felt that whenever mother took out that bowl of
curd, a secret smile would pass her lips. It was like
a symbolic victory for her or so I thought.
And one night, that smile was also snatched from my
mother’s lips.
I remember that evening. Somebody was getting married
in the marriage house. The entire compound was filled
with men, women and children, dressed in shimmering
clothes. The stereo with huge speakers played popular
Bollywood numbers as some of the guests danced on the
tunes. And a few metres away, we had closed ourselves
in the room.
When the bride was taken away and the noise had eased,
there was a knock on our door. Mother opened the door
and found a young man standing there. He was holding a
plate in his hand. He said that he had been told that
there were refugees living here and so he came to
offer us some food. Before mother could say something,
he handed over the plate and turned back. Mother
lifted the cover and I caught a glimpse of the food
inside. There was rice, dal and some vegetables.
Mother kept on staring at it for some time and then
she cried.
After this incident, Mother developed a strange habit.
She would tell all, whether they cared to listen or
not, “ Our house in Kashmir had 22 rooms”.
For the next few years, we would keep on shuttling
from one place to place, becoming victim of the whims
and fancies of landlords. We stayed at various places.
After the marriage house, we stayed in a window-less
room in a dilapidated lodge, where the number of
mosquitoes was probably more than the cells
constituting our bodies. Then we rented a single room
where we ate, studied, slept, cooked and ate our food
as well. Then there was another house. The bathroom
there had no door and we had to keep on coughing for
obvious reasons. Amidst these episodes of Greek
tragedy, mother kept her struggle on. Everyday was a
battle. From filling water from a leaking tap to
bathing under the tap of an adjacent vacant plot, life
threw numerous challenges at us.
It was years later that I completed my education
somehow and came to Delhi. Few years ago, we bought a
2-bedroom flat in Delhi. But the struggle of Jammu has
left a mark on mother. She cannot walk now. Her left
leg is paralysed. Sometimes she falls down as she
tries to drag her leg. As it happened this morning.
She cannot even speak now. Degenerative neurosis,
whatever that means. With each passing day, her
condition is worsening.
I walk on the road. There is a sea of vehicles moving;
endless. Sometimes I feel that there are more vehicles
than humans in Delhi. And when I cannot bear the noise
any longer, I feel like shouting, “Our house in
Kashmir had 22 rooms.”
by Rahul Pandita www.sanitysucks.blogspot.com
again - Charlotte Barnard
There it is. Huddled among other dolls and a few
shreds of cloth. It is wearing a blue dress. I don’t
remember what mine wore, for it has been sixteen years
since I saw it. It might not be there anymore, but I
would like to believe that it is there, invisible to
the new occupants of my house. It is a dancing girl
made of earth, decorating a corner of my friend’s
drawing room. Touch it a little and it will start
dancing, moving her neck gracefully. My dancing girl,
mother bought it, when I was a child, from a potter
selling his stuff on a pavement in Lal Chowk.
And sixteen years later, as I speak to you, there is
no significant noise outside my room. No guttural
voice and no sound of my mother’s U-shaped walker
making its presence felt through the small corridor of
my house. Mother fell down from her bed again this
morning.
23 years ago, in Srinagar, a team of health officials
was to arrive at our school. Their aim was to
administer cholera vaccines to children. But for that
we were supposed to take the written permission of our
parents. Back home I told my father and as expected he
wrote ‘No’ on my home task diary. I found it very
insulting. Tomorrow all my classmates would take the
vaccine and sing laurels of their bravery. And me, I
would be hidden in some corner, red-faced with shame.
It was not acceptable to me. So I erased father’s nay
and wrote ‘Yes’ on the diary. Next morning as the
needle of the syringe pierced my left arm, I did not
even flinch once. I became an instant hero. But as it
is with most acts of heroism, I had to pay a price for
mine as well. By late afternoon, a lump had formed in
my arm. By the time I reached home I was feverish and
drenched in sweat. As I pulled off my shoes, mother
saw me and in one instant she knew what had happened.
It was August and even by Kashmir valley’s standard,
it was hot. I flung myself on the bed. Mother came and
sat next to me. She gave me a glass of milk and kept
her fair arm on my forehead. It felt very soothing and
cold; like a spring. I went off to sleep. Next morning
as I opened my eyes, the fever was gone.
Mother handled the affairs of the house like a
seasoned ascetic would control his senses. She knew
what was kept where. Rice, coal powder, woollen socks
and gloves, soap – she kept a tab on everything. Her
daily routine was more or less defined. She would wake
up in the wee hours of the morning, wash clothes in
the bathroom, sweep and mop the floor of every room
and corridor, put burning coal dust in Kangris in
winters and ultimately take stock of the kitchen. She
did not believe much in spending time in worship. She
was not an atheist but her belief was restricted to
occasionally folding hands in front of the Shivalinga.
Her God was her home and hearth.
But mother was in awe of nature. She feared its fury.
Sometimes, when a storm blew, she would close all
doors and windows and sit in one corner. When she no
longer could face it, she would ask my father, “Will
this storm stop?” Father would usually try to pacify
her, but ultimately he also lost his patience. “What
do you think? Would this storm last till the doom’s
day?” he would snap at her. But the same meek heart
turned into brave heart when any family member
struggled with adversity.
It was in the mid of 1988 that my father had a mild
heart attack. Actually father had a pain in the
stomach and an injection prescribed by a
gastroenterologist reacted, which led to the attack.
Everyone in the family was too shocked to react. But
not my mother. She single-handedly took my father to
the hospital in an auto rickshaw. At the hospital,
mother recalls, a doctor appeared like an angel. He
had a black mark on his forehead, a result of praying
five times a day. The moment the doctor started
examining him, my father vomited. Mother says it was
so intense that it went right into the doctor’s shoes.
But not once did he raise his brow. He kept on
treating my father.
By the end of 1989, men like that doctor somehow
became rare in Kashmir. One day mother came back from
office and she was crying. In the bus someone had
tried to help an old Hindu lady in getting down from
the bus. Another woman, who was a Muslim, criticised
that man saying that the woman he helped was a Hindu
and she should have been kicked out of the bus. Mother
didn’t know whether what she heard was true or whether
it was a nightmare. But what she had heard and seen
with her naked eyes was what seemed like holding a
mirror in front of Kashmir in a few months time. The
time had come, once again, to leave our homeland. The
migration began. Salvaging whatever little we could,
essentially a few utensils and educational degrees of
my college-going sister, we reached Jammu.
After spending a couple of nights in a hotel, father
hired a room in a marriage house. It was situated in
the old city, amidst a bristling market of saris and
dupattas. Every now and then marriage ceremonies were
solemnised in the marriage house. When the crude
ovens, laced with mud and gas cylinders arrived at the
house, we would understand that a marriage was taking
place that evening.
In the ten by ten feet room, ants held a sway. No
matter what you put outside, it would be swarmed by
ants in a matter of minutes. They appeared in hordes,
hundreds of them, attacking every edible item. It was
similar to how people would come out on streets in
Srinagar, few months before we were forced into exile.
Mother obviously could not put up a fight with them,
but she always managed to save a bowl of curd from the
marauding ants, by keeping it in a basin of water. I
always felt that whenever mother took out that bowl of
curd, a secret smile would pass her lips. It was like
a symbolic victory for her or so I thought.
And one night, that smile was also snatched from my
mother’s lips.
I remember that evening. Somebody was getting married
in the marriage house. The entire compound was filled
with men, women and children, dressed in shimmering
clothes. The stereo with huge speakers played popular
Bollywood numbers as some of the guests danced on the
tunes. And a few metres away, we had closed ourselves
in the room.
When the bride was taken away and the noise had eased,
there was a knock on our door. Mother opened the door
and found a young man standing there. He was holding a
plate in his hand. He said that he had been told that
there were refugees living here and so he came to
offer us some food. Before mother could say something,
he handed over the plate and turned back. Mother
lifted the cover and I caught a glimpse of the food
inside. There was rice, dal and some vegetables.
Mother kept on staring at it for some time and then
she cried.
After this incident, Mother developed a strange habit.
She would tell all, whether they cared to listen or
not, “ Our house in Kashmir had 22 rooms”.
For the next few years, we would keep on shuttling
from one place to place, becoming victim of the whims
and fancies of landlords. We stayed at various places.
After the marriage house, we stayed in a window-less
room in a dilapidated lodge, where the number of
mosquitoes was probably more than the cells
constituting our bodies. Then we rented a single room
where we ate, studied, slept, cooked and ate our food
as well. Then there was another house. The bathroom
there had no door and we had to keep on coughing for
obvious reasons. Amidst these episodes of Greek
tragedy, mother kept her struggle on. Everyday was a
battle. From filling water from a leaking tap to
bathing under the tap of an adjacent vacant plot, life
threw numerous challenges at us.
It was years later that I completed my education
somehow and came to Delhi. Few years ago, we bought a
2-bedroom flat in Delhi. But the struggle of Jammu has
left a mark on mother. She cannot walk now. Her left
leg is paralysed. Sometimes she falls down as she
tries to drag her leg. As it happened this morning.
She cannot even speak now. Degenerative neurosis,
whatever that means. With each passing day, her
condition is worsening.
I walk on the road. There is a sea of vehicles moving;
endless. Sometimes I feel that there are more vehicles
than humans in Delhi. And when I cannot bear the noise
any longer, I feel like shouting, “Our house in
Kashmir had 22 rooms.”
by Rahul Pandita www.sanitysucks.blogspot.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)