Mirror...Mirror

It is strange that the person who wants to act in movies doesn't watch as many movies as other people do.. i used to find it rather awkward and some-other-word that i can't quite place right now.. 

I thought myself to death and then realised  the difference between the audience and the character n a film.. if it wasn't for a handfull of authors , the world would have been deprived of a brilliant reading habit..similarly, if it wasn't for a number of directors, producers, actors, writers...the world would have been deprived of an almost obsessive addiction of watching movies..

a "watcher" is prime..

The fact that he can watch a dozen movies in a day calling it "the movie marathon" is the reason why the difference exists..

Its a li'lle difficult to articulately put in words but its he who makes our industry survive..with his constant flipping through the net for new "weed".. movies that release and are not affordable in the daily routine of a "commoner" (as shakespeare refers to the underprivileged society in Julius Caesar)..

It is them that keep us alive, the strugglers, the A-listers, and the veterans.. we turn audience to our own films knowing where the director said "cut" and where he let the camera rolling for the emotion must have seemed real enough in spite of the glycerine warming up to a tear stained face.. 

The curse of being an actor is the knowledge of what was real and what was unreal in a film.. the million dollar sets were real , yes, but only for a tight scheduled budget line, which when expired, so did the million dollar dream of the perfect mansion, the perfect waterfall and the perfect bed on which we made love..

The realisation of the unreal is such an ache that it ceases all other sensation, those of adventure, of wishes and dreams and callous beliefs in a certain red-coated, white-bearded man called Santa.. The tooth fairy seems nothing more than a fellow actor out of work trying to live up to the so very lived-in lavish lifestyle..

The flaws stand out more for an actor with every new film when her favourite contemporary actress seems to look a li'lle more beautiful on the screen-palate.. she blames not her age or the worries of the world that has lent the tired scratches on her face but the color-correction and the technical disadvantages of a small-budget meaningful movie where she was not meant to look beautiful, but real..

The audience.. the common man only sees the glorious her..lost n the lust for the woman whose his fantasy come true.. the last surviving unicorn for which he keeps yearning everyday and misses not one wrong footing.. the actor slowly becomes god.. an then desire to achieve that god.. then the sudden realisation of her favours to another man whom the commoner cannot harm in jealousy..makes her nothing more than a conniving little whore who betrayed his undying love..

We are merely pawns to our own kind..pawns to their stories built up in their heads.. a character from the film which becomes their reality.. they accomplish relationships with those make believe characters without really knowing the person..

But thats allright.. where would we be if they didn't lust for us?? 

How else would we be saved if we weren't "playing" the "damsels in distress"??

its all fair..

And for us??

cinema remains the magic mirror before which , each day, a forgotten yesteryear actress stands in her best velvet and silk.. and commands,"MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL...WHO IS THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL???"

and the answer's always someone else...

Letter to Ignorance

Dear IGNORANCE,

                          How have you been?? Quite active it seems to me.. everyone keeps talking about you.. you are the star..aren' you now, my little devil... how come you do not visit Grandma anymore????

I worry about you.. i think at times that you are taking up too much space in people's lives.. 

You seem to have grown rich and powerful enough to buy more and more land.. more than anyone can acquire in one miserly lifetime..

But my son... don't you think you should slow down the pace in which you seem to be growing...

But then.. success makes you hungry, doesn't it?

Even as a kid.. you were always greedy for more.. more peanut butter.. more chocolate chip cookies...

But you are a grown up now my baby..

And i feel like i do not know you anymore..

i wish i had not indulged your wants for more... as a child..

then perhaps.. you would come home once in a while... to rekindle the forgotten memories of my warm lap.. the peanut butter.. the roasted marshmallows.. 

But you've already had so much of all that already.. haven't you???

I miss you..

The child of my thoughts... you are still bliss.. only not for me anymore..

                                                                                                        love,

                                                                                                        Grandma memory.

Bombay Blues

When i first came to Bombay.. like any other young actress looking for the big break, it all seemed dreamy and beautiful.. the endless roads with just enough traffic..the numerous coffee shops , affordable yet expensive because they became a daily luxury..the known faces primarily famous on a small scale sitting in the limelight of the offspring of the evening blaze with a glass of wine at WTF or conversing over coffee at Costa or Bru was just a routine event like taking a shower or brushing my teeth every morning..oh so common.. no one here looks at them in awe.. no one cares.. because everyone is important here.. or I guess they like feeling that they are.. but thats not wrong.. not entirely untrue.. for whatever work they did.. they would always get to go back home and eat "ghar ka khana" and make wild passionate love to one..two..or maybe many..

I began timid.. very unaware of the disguises.. 

I still remember being on the streets.. spending a night and an exceptionally beautiful dawn at Oshiwada bus-depot.. sittng on my travel trolley placed upright and rocking myself to sleep.. one of the many experiences that makes us realize important stuff.. makes us stronger in so many ways that are unknown to the sheltered.. the stench of the stained side walls because of frequent hurried urination is what kept me from falling off to a dreamless sleep that would tug on my eye lids as i struggled to stay awake.. The empty busses like giants waiting for the liaisons of war to command them forward made me feel secure as if they would protect me from everything real and unreal.. I wouldn't lie.. I felt disgusted at first and missed if not beautiful porcelain plates and clean linen but definitely my bed back home..the varnished wooden floors of the library and most of all... Ma..

But gradually when i grew stronger with the stench, the security of the formidable busses, i started feeling at peace.. such peace that i have never known.. What was making me happy? the slow movement of the wind that would at times expose my face to the darkness by lifting away the veil of unruly..unwashed hair or the sudden grins of the metal on the sidewalks that would chuckle light as if they were mocking me.. ? 

Why indeed was i happy? 

i realized late but i did eventually.. the thought that something was achieved.. the feeling of accomplishment.. the tired attempts to gather my life together breaking into dawn.. the solace of being safe.. and the immense pride of a 20 year old surviving the vengeance of an alien city... thats what made me happy.. i had won... the war was over..

Maybe i didn't make any material gains.. no deals signed..no agreements agreed to.. but i was free.. with more conviction in my stride as i looked Bombay in the eye and said in my mind," Someday you shall be tamed.." 

And she smiled..

I have learnt a lot from this magical city.. She's taken a part of my soul everyday and tended her wounds.. she has stolen a stray bit of my fragrance and whispered it away to the sea.. She has injured me just to take away a vial of my tears to water the trees.. I feel broken at times..

But what keeps me alive in this mad mad world????

A part of me that lives on ...in the trees..the breeze..the sea.. the wounds of Bombay.................

Vexed

loving the unknown..

at times all of us wonder and often wander around things that are inevitable and often out of imagination.. why didn't he turn back? maybe coz i didn't remind him of women he loved all this while or maybe there was no marigold on my feet.. i have often felt like the wrong cinderella .. the glass shoe didn't fit my otherwise beautiful and delicate feet.. 

or maybe i didn't remind him of all those beautiful women in red sarees that have often caught his eyes.. i had always adorned the simple never the extravagant.. but is that a flaw? my mind thinks not.. but my heart still corrects the unknown..

or maybe the scent of my hair doesn't lure him to feel intoxicated... 

or maybe.. he has loved enough..

and i have just begun..

And she fell...

why the beginning?

she has often wondered why everything in the end is called the "beginning".. she has often wondered who wrote all those words that she always wanted to hear? she often wondered when was it that she realised that she felt all those words she wanted to hear.. she often wondered how she always managed tears and laughter at the same instance when she recalled those words over and over again....

it had been difficult to embark on realisation but it had been so easy.. painfully easy to feel happy... she had imagined someone beautiful, someone clever and funny and someone she could own.. almost like some character whom she had read about in books.. stories.. evidence of the unreal.. but she still dreamt on.. for someone perfect..all that in her mind remained untrue.. spoke out loud in her heart.. and she thought not of age.. of kind.. of caste.. of differences... she just embraced what seemed closest to her reality.. she closed her eyes and felt her heart squeeze in pain and she smiled.. for she felt human... she felt pain so deep inside that it could not be untrue.. and she glowed..

For she fell in love.........

The Preface

for the time being...

as more and more time has been spent on growing up.. I have often wondered how i have evolved as a being.. not much I assume but I can be wrong.. as I have been for so many years. To be honest, it took an enormous amount of courage and an overdose of the very popular and very famous American series "SEX and the CITY" to get me to start writing this blog.. inspired by age old gossip about men, men and more men, it wasn't very easy to just start stating facts about how I feel about relationships or gender equality being a myth but yes someone wise advised," writing helps you understand better!" 

and so I started writing as did Carrie Bradshaw.. though it was very honourably for the NEW YORKER, I am happy writing for myself and for all young women who care to read and vouce their opinions..

A child is either born a boy or a "woman".. yes , you read pretty well, a "woman".. there is no childhood neither are there brown paper packages tied up in  strings or blue satin sashes.. its all a dream dreamt long ago and an illusion which comes to a quick end as soon as puberty strikes.. especially menstruation..

but all said and done.. we hate, we cry , we curse, we lie.. and we love....... murderously...

Raindrops and Panes

I was sitting by the window..the window which has a red pane..and everything outside it seems like a green lake with lots of blue and gold fishes swimming across the blur..I’m talking about the lake..it reflects the sky like pieces of broken glass splattered with mud..tinged brown..old..I look through that pane many a times a day.. I don’t really enjoy..its all part of the game..the game I named “error”..

The error is factious..blue in parts and pale yellow, the colour of molten gold at the end. I love caressing her and calling her beautiful..She never leaves me alone..almost like this solitude that I’ve surrendered to. She’s nice too..though sometimes a bit cruel.She makes me smile at tears and cry with

laughter..Now, isn’t that strange??

I know the raindrops by their pitter patter on my roof..They annoy me because they annoy my solitude and Error too at times..They like staying quiet and those cold drops of endless tears raining from the strips of blue above disturb them.. those droplets touched me sometimes..and whispered to my heart..and it sang in joy..I felt the reigning dance of the mists on the hidden palls of eve..drenching them in peace..I was afraid of the raindrops..they awoke in me warmth dat I had given away to the dark world..they made me feel different almost human again..I was scared Solitude might be irked..and Error sad at my abandonment..They had been friends so long..I was scared of losing them while trying to gather some idle fancies..raindrops..mists..hail..

I shut the window..the same..with the red pane..with the green lake outside gleaming under the risen sun as it shook its moist cloak in bronze light..the raindrops were no more..I had driven them away..brushing their fragrance from my soul..did I have one?? Solitude was happy..so was Error.. And me…???

I tried to be…