Malaise

Disclaimer; any kind of judgment being passed on me based on my innermost thoughts will be incredibly unfair…on second thoughts go ahead judge me whatdoicare…hmmmph…

Its one of those days when u discover your fecundness (I wanted to use the word "prolificness" but this annoying MS word insists that there is no such word and innumerable embarrassing incidents have taught me that MS word is almost always right when it comes to spelling and words)…little failures make u think and ponder over your abilities, but if u are me they take u to this incredible pall of malicious gloom where you questions the ability of those around you and make you dismiss them without even giving them a flicker of a chance (oh he is this upstart wannabe who shamelessly sucks up to the boss, she isn’t even from a proper college… she is after all, ridiculously ugly and has to let her work speak for her)…. am hoping penning this down will help me come in terms with that very malaise of mine….

Desire des yeux

A rain swept office afternoon
And my glare stained eyes
Pines
For a splash of ciefl
Will you? Shall you? Can you?
Asks my weathered mind
As I gather the strength
To revert to a state of indecision
From a state of decaying status quo

The other day (people like me are infinitely grateful for such phrases as “other day”, makes our inability to remember dates seem so …philosophical) a friend of mine (well she is not exactly a friend, its just that a bunch of us got along very well when we met in Pune when we went there for an interview about 3 yrs ago and have bothered to keep in touch ever since) emailed me (well it was more of a group mail) saying how happy she was with her husband attached a few “hum saath saath hai” snaps of her family (she also very significantly and disturbingly attached a disclaimer to the mail which said that she knows that her husband is better looking than her and she is all the more happier for it)… this particular email was the latest in the series of Latvia ‘s (that’s obviously not her name but I love the ring of it, and yes I know it’s the name of a Balkan country, so I wanna pseudonym my friend after a country…kill me for it) “Great Indian Wedding” series…this particular series started about a year ago when Latvia (tee hee) suddenly out of blue, mailed announcing(much to our dismay) that she is getting married in a weeks time and will not continue with her mass comm. degree from a perfectly respectable institute (I specify the respectability of the institute coz its important for me) …much to the annoyance of the feminists in us she went on to say she obviously wont work after her marriage and will keep house for her “wonderful” husband….this mail was followed by other mails at regular intervals which kept us updated with each and every significant event of her married life…the stress was always on/ in (?) the happiness factor…she would never forget to mention how happy she was …now the cynic in me drew my own morbid conclusions-unhappy, unfulfilled life tantamount to a superficial show of happiness…add to that her “my husband better looking than me comment” and you have a minor tragedy in your hand ( my eyes actually did well up after reading that particular statement) but then is saw the snaps …and she did actually seem ….happy…and her husband really was…better looking (this may seem horrendously politically incorrect but he really was )…

So why then the need to constantly establish her happiness??? I decided to read through our exchanges…and found the answer…it was me...I made her do that (and maybe many other “so called” liberated friends of hers)…my cynicism was so palpable in my mails that its not funny…she was only trying to reassure us that she neednt live up to our definition of happiness to be happy …she has found happiness in what we may think to be a constricting life…who am I /we to question that…
Here is to u and your better-looking husband Latvia …may u always be “happy”….

well...i work now...let me rephrase that... i write...
am supposedly a travel writer...
but i write about paintings...
surprised ???
well dont be...life is full of lil mishaps like me...
this is one of the sadder pieces i wrote ...but i like it coz its about an art form i was quite happy to discover...i wont go on about constrictive nature of writin for website (the repetitive use of certain keywords)

Thangka Paintings

Thangka Paintings are composite three-dimensional products of art, which derive their themes from Buddhist philosophies. They are essentially religious objects and are of great significance to the Tibetan Buddhists. These beautifully crafted banners are generally hung on monastery walls; they are also an integral part of Buddhist religious processions.

The Tibetan word “ Thang” means a flat surface, which when suffixed with “ ka ”( painting) means “a flat painting” or a “painting on a flat surface”. These paintings are generally done on flat surfaces but they offer the option of being rolled up when not being displayed, a la scroll paintings.

Thangka-the structure

A Thangka comprises a painted or embroidered picture panel, a mounting, which is further embellished with a silk cover, wooden dowels at the top and bottom, leather corners and beautiful metal or wooden decorative knobs on the bottom dowel.

The Philosophy behind the Thangka Paintings

Most art forms, specially the religious ones hardly ever follow the doctrine of artistic intent, rarely, if ever, do they display personal vision and creativity. The overwhelming Buddhist Philosophy dominates the theme and execution of these paintings. Little wonder that most Thangka Painters have remained anonymous, as have the tailors who have made the mountings.
Essentially, Thangkas are records or pictorial depictions of contemplative experiences. Buddhist monks when instructed by their teachers to imagine themselves in specific situation for meditations, use the Thangkas as their reference point.

The themes of Thangka Paintings

Most Thangka Paintings have the tri-dimensional Mandala as the centerpiece. A geometrical representation of the universe, the Mandalas, depicts the enlightened minds and souls of revered Buddhist monks. Most Mandalas have the venerated deity Vajrakaliya or Vajrakumara as the focal point. This fearful deity has the power to transform acts of cowardice and selfishness into acts of wisdom and compassion. He is considered to be a great source of will power for the monks who have to lead ascetic lives. Other religious deities and iconographies too find their place in this complex yet geometrically flawless mode of art.
Some Thangkas represent the deity Shakyamuni in different imaginary places like palaces and secluded monasteries.
Most of these paintings have a complex web of minor figures that signify different aspects of the dominant philosophy. One has to cross various levels of earthly temptations, spiritual redundancy and physical moorings, to reach the center of perfection, which is represented by the deity Shakyamuni. The colors and style of Thangka Paintings
Thangkas, primarily have black, gold and red backgrounds. Some however use multicolored backgrounds too, but they are a rarity. They are mostly painted on cotton canvases and the canvas is tempered with herbal solutions before the painting. The colors used are natural water-soluble pigments. Most Thangkas employ the mathematics of geometry to create systematic grids of angles and lines. These lines are embellished with colorful figures of monks, flora and fauna. The vast palate of colors is used but the dominant ones certainly has to be red, gold, orange and blue. Blue is the color to represent certain deities. The brushstrokes are delicate yet confident and these paintings are characterized by their fluidity.

Thangka Paintings in India

The ancient art of Thangka Paintings is practiced in Buddhist dominated areas of India. Dharmashala , which has a sizable settlement of Tibetans, can be called the hotbed of Thangka Painting in India.
The west has seen Thangka as nothing more than a decorative art piece for all these years this perception is thankfully changing as the west is gradually being sensitized to the Buddhist Philosophy.

It's a traffic jam when you're already late…

Things do go wrong …and boy does that bug you…just when u hope everything will work out …things go woefully wrong…like timing your journey to the last second so that u don’t have to face the dreadful perpetually belching, bowel- movement -discussing Calcutta suburban railway crowd…and the train u take happens to be the most crowded one coz the previous two have been cancelled…

It’s a good advice that u just didn’t take…

U scamper in unsure, scared and extremely vulnerable…but u decide to put up a brave front…u wont be a sitting duck, u tell urself…u will give it back to them, these hardened local train veterans, so as they go about their card playing huddles and vendor harassing sessions, u tentatively try to get a toehold…and then u look around…only to catch a burly man staring at u and then u look away and then again u look up and *gasp* he beckons to u …SEXUAL HARASSMENT u want to scream …but keeping in mind the homophobic nature of the suburbs u try and restrain urself and look away muttering abuses under ur breath…the train comes to a halt and the burly man brushes past u telling u “arre bhai bhalai ka toh zamaana hi nahi raha , seat de rahe they aapko” ( seeing my discomfiture he was offering me his seat as he was anyway disembarking in the next stop) …sigh…

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on youLife has a funny, funny way of helping you outHelping you out…

U reconcile to the idea of being hustled and bustled all through the 2 hour long journey and begin to take some kinda perverse pleasure from bodily contact (who am I kiddin u hate it )…u begin to take notice of the delightful samples of humanity and gleefully mindmark them …a vendor offering a “world famous in India” deal catches ur attention …he is offerin a comb, a set of 10 ballpoint pens and an issue of cosmopolitan for all of 10 bucks …a steal by any standards… as u try and connect his wares and draw up an endearing mental picture of a suburban long tressed Bengali housewife combing her hair while jottin down recipes with a pen from the issue of cosmopolitan …and u wake up from ur reverie to find an almost empty compartment, u blink ur eyes in disbelief and then seat urself in a comfortable corner saying to urself-

It is ironic …
I really do think…

Threptin Dadu…

Sometimes people tend to be associated with things…this holds specially true for people whose idiosyncrasies overtake their persona…
My grandfather meant a lot of things to me …but even today when I close my eyes and think about him I can smell the wonderful scent of cigarettes mixed with brylcreem and Johnson baby lotion…
Of his weird habits which were supplemented with weird things…the capstan cigarette papers that he always used…the blue packet of tobacco that he made me rush to the neighbourhood pan shops for…his aversion to certain spices (garam masala and coconut) which he insisted he was allergic to but my grandma persistently put them in her delightful curries (for she could never compromise on taste) without his knowledge…and surprise of surprises, he never was affected…his packet of threptin biscuits which he believed were the only safe biscuits to eat in this spurious goods infested market (we wud never touch that saw -dust tasting things despite of his repeated cajoling) and of course that grotesque tasting toothpaste called emoform which so much looked like a tube of shaving cream that even today I have my doubts whether my grandpa has been using shaving cream as a tooth paste all his life (that wud explain his yellowing teeth )…his firm belief that all these electronic water purifying gadgets were hogwash and the only way to get pure water was to use the contraption called zero b…

Nirmalendu Bhattacharya, my grandfather was 74 yrs old when he breathed his last breath…I didn’t get to see him alive after I bid him goodbye two years ago…
Come back Dadu, this time I will have the threptin biscuits… I promise…

The Seventh Seal

The other Bergman film which has really moved me is, of course his eternal classic “The Seventh Seal”…I talk about it in one of my assignments …here is an excerpt…

When I sit down to write this assignment after having sampled the work of both Bergman and Tarkovsky, I can’t help but put my feelings in words… While Tarkovsky’s films are characterized by what I call “meditative plodding”, Bergman's films are tighter - he is able to more effectively advance his own doubts and speculations to a dramatic end - and also, his body of work more diverse. Bergman's films are disturbing, funny, eerie, tragic, and always well-paced, no matter how introspective the subject matter.
The Seventh Seal is the first film that comes to ones mind (at least mine) when one talks about his effective way of giving a resolution to dramatic tension.
Towards the end of the film, after the storm has blown over and Joff and his family are shown to have survived it, Joff is witness to the eerie dance of death-one of the best…no probably the best silhouette shot I have ever seen- and he doesn’t seem to be horrified or shocked by it, on the contrary, he obviously is mesmerized by it.
And that is the true resolution of the film for me, the same visionary Joff who was so intimidated by Deaths presenc’e, that he had to escape the group (one could also attribute this decision to his good sense), seems to be the ideal audience of this dance…for he has learnt the most valuable lesson of his life, that death is a perpetually around but the gift given to mankind is his ability to live as though he is immortal.
Joff and Mia (one can’t help but draw parallels with Joseph and Mary) are the quintessential survivors; because they are blessed with the innocence of a well rounded domestic life…they will form communities. But the Squire and the Knight are the peripheral figures: they can never be a part of communities, because they have been tainted by knowledge…which is why the scene where Mia offers him strawberry and milk, is so poignant, the Knight who is initially reluctant to accept, eventually gives in to the warmth of the domestic scene, only to realize that Death and a game of chess is waiting for him.
The Knight, in The Seventh Seal, seems to me more of a Tarkovskian character, because he seems to be philosophizing as much as the director…many a times in the movie one feels that , the Knight has reached his philosophical limit and can now only gaze into the unknown…
The Squire, who is as much of a thinker as the Knight, seems to be less challenged (probably because he does not have death hovering over his shoulder), he is someone who seems to think without philosophizing…
Bergman like Tarkovsky, produces brilliant visual metaphors, but unlike Tarkovsky they are not self generating, they are conscious and cryptically are so…the dance of death metaphor in The Seventh Seal is a recurrent one, through frescos and other little pointers, Bergman leads us to the climactic spectacle.
His other, more obvious visual metaphors, like death playing chess, are more subjective…to me it means that life is like a game of chess where everything is leading to one inevitable resolution, death…
One might wonder why am I copy pasting my assignments in my blog …well firstly because I want to talk about these things(don’t roll ur eyes I really do) and secondly and more importantly coz I have been giving my blog link to my interviewers…impression ka sawaal hai…

After a particularly bitter argument with my mother today, I sought solace in a Bergman movie (not a very good idea as anyone who has seen anything by Bergman will tell you)…the film I chose to watch was, not very surprisingly, Autumn Sonata…now before I go on to discuss the movie I need to give a background, in other words a detailed account of my love affair with European Cinema ( regulars will remember the almost rejected Tarkovsky assignment…sigh , who am I kidding there are no regulars)…In my last semester as a MA student I had taken a course on European cinema in which in between dozing off in a comfortable air conditioned room and being told off for bunking classes I had managed to catch a few life changing films (ok am not very comfortable with this sentence, but u get the point right?)…a diary of Bergman films was to be maintained as an assignment , but I did not include Autumn Sonata in it , mainly because of two reasons, firstly I wanted to discuss other movies more urgently and secondly(is there any such word as secondly??? Ummm …whateva) secondly…I cant for the life of me remember the second reason…ok lets not digress here…the point being, I didn’t get to discuss Autumn Sonata in my assignment so I have tried to discuss it here , in my blog…Jesus!!! I used to take pride in being comprehensive and concise…higher education na….
Autumn Sonata, happened to be my first Bergman film in colour, and what struck me was his generous use of it.
For a director who had used Black & White with such resolute understatement, he sure did go overboard with colour, or so I felt.
Autumn, is, I presume, a season of violent colours in Europe…the over ripened atmosphere which is waiting to be muted by the dullness of winter, dazzles before it flickers out…
And so is the story of Eva and Charlotte, their relationship is at the last leg of alienation, but yet there are so many things which have been left unsaid…
Bergman is relentlessly despairing in this chamber drama about a daughter and her love story with her mother. Hs worlds were characterized by a sense of hope in his earlier film; in Autumn Sonata he creates a world of unspoken guilt and incredible tension.
And the colours seem to add to the tension…when Charlotte walks in a resplendent red dress, and is automatically contrasted with the drab Eva, one feels the confrontation coming…
The piano scene, where ingrid and Liv ullman react to each others interludes, is a very important one, because Bergman is one of the few directors who can make his actors live their roles, the gamut of emotions that their faces register says volumes about their troubled relationship…
Though Bergman does not give his characters the place or the liberty of “inner breathing” that Tarkovsky does, he ironically manages to flesh out more poignant characters.
Music in Autumn Sonata is an inseparable element of the story…Chopins interludes are used to the best possible effect, rightly encompassing in its folds the pain and the violence of the relationships that we see crumble in the screen.
Strangely even the most uplifting interludes which are in a warped way, in harmony with the visuals, fail to rescue us from the feeling of gloom that envelopes us along with the characters.
Helenas character is introduced as a trigger by Bergman but she ends up being more, for she in her heart has nurtured a love which will make her a survivor. Charlotte who refuses to see things as they are has to gaze at her own reflection in the train to finally surrender to her fate.
Eva will continue to live a life of denial, for she has been denied what she has wanted most in life, love.
Autumn Sonata left me wondering, why should we be subjected to such despair in the grabs of such deceptive beauty…

Have been home exactly for 96 hours now…and haven’t unpacked yet…not only because I was busy doing things I had to do, but probably because home is no longer home now…stifling kolkata heat remains the same and so does my mothers need to control each and every aspect of my life and yet I am not home…
Does that mean I was more at home in Hyderabad, amongst likeminded ppl??? Not necessarily…for there was an intense need to escape that set up too…
(yaa I know this is dangerously turning out to be one of those angst ridden self introspective pieces so lets shift gear)…
what am I sayin …am home and am happy…yay…I guess…: (
umm…here is the lyrics of the song I have been listnin to in loop for the last 4 days…its dido and am sure half of the world knows all about her…but then the other half is just getting to discover her…indulge us…

Sand in my shoes

Two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed
but I'm home now and things still look the sameI think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack, try to forget for one more night that I'm back in my flat
on the road where the cars never stop going through the night
to a life where I can't watch the sunset, I don't have time, I don't have time
I've still got sand in my shoes and I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you but why would I want to
I know we said goodbye, anything else would've been confused
but I want to see you againtomorrow's back to work and down to sanity
should run a bath and then clear up the mess I made before I left here
try to remind myself that I was happy here before I knew that I could get on a plane and fly away
from the road where the cars never stop going through the night
to a life where I can watch the sunset and take my time, take all our time
I've still got sand in my shoes and I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on forget you but why would I want to
I know we said goodbye, anything else would've been confused
but I want to see you again
two weeks away, all it takes, to change and turn me around I've fallen
I walked away, and never said, that I wanted to see you again...

Remains of a life…
As I scrape down the last shirt off my wardrobe(for that’s how I pack), It dawns upon me that this probably the last time I will see the insides of this room…smell myself in it…
And as I look out of the window to wipe away a tear (yes I indulge in a lot of drama…) I see the clothesline where I used to hang my frantically washed clothes twice a day ( for am an obsessive washer)…
We tend to sentimentalise everything don’t we...sigh…
The comp which connected me to u all now has to be safely cushioned in its cardboard box so that it can withstand (along with me) a 27 hour long journey across the Andhra Coast, Orissa and then rain swept, lush Bengal…
And then of course there are the remains…little things that I can’t bring myself to discard…a bunch of 10 downing street coasters (which a giggling Ug and I flicked from the hallowed pub, what I, a teetotaler was doin in a pub is a different question altogether)…
Catalogues of various art exhibitions we visited for our incredibly lame Modern Indian Art course…stupid withdrawn magazines from the British council library that I never read but took just coz they were for free (I mean why would I ever read Science today…)
Brochures of plays that I went to…gift wrappers which I always neatly fold and keep under my mattress…Film Club posters which I so passionately made (what a fool I was to think that they will ever be appreciated)…
things that I will not need…
For they are the remains of a life I am leaving behind…
p.s.the pic is that of a sunset as viewed from our terrace...it was captured by the myriad minded "myriadmind"...

Solan said...hummm Shyamalee said... hi.. so nice reflection. I too feel Happiness is something to be found... not to be searched myriadmind said... hey ...that rhymed so nicelyAjay said... Pehla Nasha is d best . Immortal :) Anonymous said... earlier it looked like you could only bullshit…you have variety too reality check said..hey anonymous! don't you dare trouble serend.. beas hyphasis said... beautiful! Comment Deleted uglygirl said...hullo!!! miss you!!come back quickL>T said... That's all well & good, but what is the name of the movie? arunima said... Accha, is this a sketch of a court room proceedings during the days of the Raj? the white man and the moslem , gave me this impression. and ur description was wonderfuly graphic. the fool on the hill said...
look in the sky..its a bird, its a plane, a ballistic missile....aiiiiieeeeeee...no, no, its Loverboy to the rescue!he's here to save serendipiduous. weep not, child. weep not. muaaaaaaah

i love comments

juhi is lookin cute no...

Happiness is a grossly overrated and, a mythical state of being…
All my life like any other normal human being I have aspired for that elusive state of being…
But to no avail…
In retrospect I think in between moments of peace and contentment, with family and friends, happiness began and ended…
Ironically , I couldn’t recognize it…

We rarely feel it.I would buy it, beg it, steal it,Pay in coins of dripping bloodFor this one transcendent good…

Would u believe me
If I told you
In my fifth birthday
Life gifted love to me
Wrapped in pain
Tied with humiliation
Love has come to mean
Much more than a rosy vision…

Anyone who has anything to do with me, knows by now how this incredibly popular search engine wronged me by not offering me a job…
But what they don’t know (and I didn’t either, till I replayed the whole interview over and over again in my mind) is how I managed to muck up everything…
All I remember are the good bits- this incredible and finely balanced combination of apprehension (overconfidence will put them off, a lil bit of nervousness and apprehension is good, it shows earnestness) and confidence that I apparently exude, the doctored honesty ( “I was disillusioned with my graduation results, I can probably blame it on lack of hard work, but I personally feel I was punished for being overtly creative”…read- I sleepwalked my way through my graduation years and thank god I can blame my poor show on Calcutta University’s notorious rigidity…) and of course the ever disarming smile…
But the not so good patches will and has answered all my questions and doubts…
Sample this-
Interviewer: why this incredibly popular search engine???
Me: I knew this was coming…well …maybe coz of the freebies that you offer…*nervous laugh*…no just kidding *damage control*…

Interviewer: how will all your cultural studies courses (feminism today, modern western thinkers etc) help you in your job?

Me: ummm this is where I say something wonderfully impressive and bowl you over don’t I… but I am really drawing blanks…*trying to melt the interviewer with my 100 watt smile, who seems suitably amused* am sorry but am still drawing blanks…

I managed a semblance of an answer only after a minute or so (but boy did it seem like eternity)

So the next time i come to any of u for any kind of sympathy regarding this particular failure, u know what to say…

I was born in Kohima and have spent the first 8 years of my life there; therefore I would like to believe that, my understanding of the Naga identity will be better rounded than the popular stereotypical one. For I, at least will refrain from attributing the most ridiculous stereotypes to the Naga Identity…or will I???
“Oh, they eat dogs there don’t they”…”are there still head hunters there???”…”where is Nagaland???” …these are the frequent questions I have to encounter when I reveal my Nagaland connection…
My answers to them are obviously not important, but what is important is the fact that these questions are asked, not out of curiosity, but with a touch of disdain and mockery…

My stay in Nagaland was very fruitful one and was during the most impressionable years of my life…for even at that young age, through my interaction with my Naga neighbours and friends I realized that we might share a common space but we live in different worlds… For me they will always be these wonderfully colourful race which I admire and in a way exoticise ,but never can be a part of, and for them I will always be the plain manu (people from the plains) who can be befriended but never be trusted…
Never have I mad a conscious effort to see the world through their “chinky” eyes. Never have I questioned my understanding of their difference…
The Naga Identity has been always been a topical one , mainly because of the ethnic clashes which has brought almost 50 years of unrest in this incredibly picturesque state…
In fact it would appear that any determined young man of any of the region’s numerous ethnic groups can proclaim the birth of a new national liberation organisation, raise funds to buy weapons or procure them by aligning with other militant groups and quickly become an important political player.
The sheer number of militant organisations in the region is extraordinary. But what interests me as a fence sitter, (for I like to believe that my unique history gives me a more or less unbiased viewpoint) is the implication of this cultural militancy, that has coloured the pan India perception of the Naga Identity…
An ethnic groups which cannot be pinned down to a conventional structure ,is always problematic…For historians always need to label ethnicity… and unfortunately Indian policy discourse on the region has gone little beyond the colonial cliches of tribals and non-tribals…
Ever since independence Nagas have been asking for something which I think is incredibly unfeasible…to be seen as not a part of India…for they never see themselves as Indians, (nor do we)…but I consider it unfeasible because of the fact that their ethnicity should not be a reason for their alienation…the topography of their state can be a reason …but will it not be a shame on me if I fail to see my Naga friend as a fellow Indian…
But then you may ask why should that stop them from seeing themselves as different and wanting to be granted that difference …maybe because perceptions shapes identity and vice versa…
I don’t know if I make any sense at all , but my understanding of the Naga identity is that its Naga, nothing more nothing less (or so I wud like to believe)…

1992
A year full of painful realizations and pleasurable discoveries (if you know what I mean)…the 10th year of my life was eventful in many ways, but a single event (or should I call it a phenomenon) coloured my view of life that year. A movie which affected me like no other, not because it was a brilliant piece of movie making, but because it was... the enunciation of my preadolescent emotions…
Some things in life take on a entirely new meaning without meaning to, they begin to stand for your personal stories, crushes, tragedies…
Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikander was one such thing...
And yet now some 13 years after I sneaked out for a first day first show of it in Hind theatre (Kolkata), I relate to it, but very differently…an incredible feeling of loss that most people call nostalgia overwhelms me and I am left pining for those horrible painful yet beautiful years…
This post, like most of my other posts, is not so much about Jo jeeta Wohi Sikander as it is about me…I amaze myself with my insularity…
But for the uninitiated Jo Jeeta wohi Sikander is a cult Bollywood classic,which the incredibly promising Mansoor Khan (why,why,why did he make Josh???) made right after his incredibly successful (and another personal favourite) Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988)…
Since I love this movie so much and I am in an incredibly JJWS mood I will provide you stupid unJJWSed guys with a synopsis too…
Sporting rivalry has always existed between the three main schools, namely the one for the rich and wealthy, Rajput; St. Xavier's (boys); St. Anne's (girls); and for the not-so-wealthy, Model School. Ratanlal Verma (Mamik), from Model School, is the prime candidate for the cycling championship, with his main rival being Shekhar Malhotra (Deepak Tijori) from Rajput. As the day for the competition draws to a close, the rivalry gets intense and personal. With Ratanlal's easy-going brother, Sanjaylal (Aamir Khan), getting involved with one of rich girls, Devika (Pooja Bedi), he lies to her that he is a student at St. Xavier's, much to the chargin of Shekhar. Sanjaylal gets exposed and dumped by Devika and is thrown out of the house by his father, Ramlal Verma (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), for stealing money. Then Ratanlal is in an accident that may leave him incapable of participating in the competition. It looks like Shekhar is all set to win the race without much competition from anyone from St. Xavier's College and Model School…
Sigh…pehla nasha pehla khumaar…

The ordeal of the undecidable

Decision is the ability to form firm opinions and stick by them.
Decision in the world of justice is something that “cuts”, “divides”, it is supposed have in its fold the “initiative” to read understand and interpret the rule .
But what do I mean when I say “it cuts it divides”? It cuts because it’s supposed to be equitable and proportional.
This decision which cuts and divides also gives birth to the concept of the undecidable which is not merely an “oscillation” between two contradictory and valid rules it is also an experience which forces us to take account of the various dynamics involved in the process (e.g. in a particularly difficult trial one takes into consideration various dynamics of a situation and then comes to, if not a correct, the most valid decision).
A decision which doesn’t suffer the ordeal of undecision is not an autonomous decision at all its just a natural unfolding of an ongoing process, it s not just and fair, because if you don’t think and debate over any decision then you are only going with the flow (e.g. if I want to buy a pair Nike shoes I need to debate with myself about the viability of the purchase, if I don’t I am just falling for the Capitalist dream).
Even if we do arrive to a seemingly correct and just decision, the decision doesn’t remain the same it is engaged in a dynamic process and is reinventing itself and is therefore no longer just according to the context, decision in fact was never at all completely just, either it was never according to any rule and even if it was the rule could have been colored by other factors and was therefore not “guaranteed”. Coming back to my Nike example, even if I do argue myself into buying the Nike shoes (bringing in the durability, comfort factors) it will be because of a predecision , i.e. I will argue with myself only to convince myself and not otherwise.
Therefore the unbearable agony of undecision is not just a process to come to a conclusive decision it’s the only way to engage in a discussion involving the pros and cons of a given situation, so what if its end product (the decision) is still tainted by discrepancies it would at least be less tainted and coloured than an undebated one.

Sometimes I flatter myself by saying that I will capture those incredible things that eyes almost sees and the soul feels…the relief of summer evenings, the nip of the first winter draught, the flaming flowers that burn against the green of the grass, the feeling of incredible helplessness that overwhelms me when the first tear is dispelled from my obstinate eyes…
But then I am no Vincent and I cant paint eloquent…

"Until one morning in mid-November of 1959, few Americans - in fact, few Kansans - had ever heard of Holcomb. Like the waters of river, like the motorists on the highway, and like the yellow trains streaking down the Santa Fe tracks, drama, in the shape of exceptional happenings, had never stopped there."

Bennet Miller’s Capote is a story about two men who could have been each other but weren’t…its also about love found in most incredibly dismal surroundings …but more than anything else,its about the pain of not being understood, of alienation…
Truman Capote found immortal fame with his “non-fictional novel” In Cold blood…Capote tries to trace the story behind ‘genre creating novel’, but in the process also manages to bring forward the angst of not being seen for what one is, or maybe not knowing what one is…the existential crisis that is a recurrent theme in so many of effective biopics seems to be its theme too, but the sub conscious of the movie has different tales to tell…it leads the audience to the problematic position of judging ones own sense of right and wrong ...
Truman Capote tries to justify his fondness for Perry Smith (one of the killers of the infamous Kansas murder case) by saying “its like we were brought up in the same house…I took the front door out and he took the back door…”
I wonder what if I had taken the back door out??? Or horror of horrors, what if I HAVE taken the back door out…