One-night stand

Confused. That sums up my mental state. I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t know what I want to do next. I don’t know where I want to go. I don’t know what I want to be. All I know is - I don’t know. Every morning I wake up with this hope of clearing the mess off my head. But the more I clean, more it gets messy.

That night my mind was loaded with the shit generated out of all day’s information digestion (and indigestion). I wished to excrete. But didn’t know how. Standing on the railway platform at Santacruz, when the station clock was about to click “12:00” in midnight. I figured out my options. I didn’t wish to go home. I checked the listing of people I could call and spend the night with. After scrolling a few names, I stopped at Arvind. I called him up.

“Hey Ridhima, What’s up?” He almost exclaimed on the other side of the phone.

“Hey Arvind, I hope I haven’t disturbed you!”

“Of course not!!! But where are you at this hour? I can hear some noise in your back ground.”

“Ya. Am at Santacruz station… was wondering… if we can meet?”

“Now?” He exclaimed again, but with a hint of happiness this time.

“Yes.”

“Sure then. Where you wanna meet?”

“Is your place free?” I wondered if it was me who asked that. And then I wondered if I really asked that. Such a question is a social, and a more civilized, way to ask – Can we have sex?

I could figure out the expression on his face. He must have grinned and looked in the mirror, if one was near him, to ensure that he was looking good, even though he knew I could, in no way, see him, and must have screamed “YESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”

“Just be there, I shall come and pick you up in another fifteen minutes. It wont take more than that.” He lied. He knew he could not reach here from Mahim in fifteen minutes however fast he drives. But I said, “ok,”, cut the call and started walking out of the station.

I thought of him - not Arvind, but Ritesh, the guy who had not responded to my proposal a few minutes ago the way I expected him to. When I asked him if he will marry me (and this was probably hundredth time that I had asked), he had said, “Darling, why do you need to worry about that. We are happy together, aren’t we? Just relax. Everything will fall in place.” He was about to kiss my hand before I had withdrawn forcefully. I wished to see him elated with fact that a girl had shown the courage to propose a guy. He should have hugged me, kissed me deep. Probably taken me home. Made love with me. But he didn’t, and this was all my imagination. I had looked in his eyes with utter gravity, to which he had replied with a feeble smile and then had looked away. I then, collected my bag and carried myself out of the restaurant.

Now, this was the moment when I was waiting for this guy, Arvind. He was a rich guy (he had a duplex apartment in an area like Mahim, by the sea). Not some hunk, but looked decent. I had once met him in a club. Since then he was placating me to be friends, which again was a sober translation of “Please have sex with me”.

I didn’t know what forced me to call Arvind. In the moments of waiting for him I was wondering if I should wait for him or not. I double-checked with my mind. I wanted to stay and wait and I wanted to run away; exactly in the same moment. But all I did was pacing up and down the staircase of the station. During this, my mobile was flooded with Ritesh’s messages which I didn’t bother to open and read. Some twenty five minutes later it rang. It was Arvind.

“Where are you, I just reached station. Am standing outside.”

“Coming. Wait for me near the ticket counter.” And I cut the call before I could hear his confirmation.

I almost ran to the counter. I wasn’t sure if I was chasing or running away from something, but I wanted to move; move fast. Reaching at the counter, I saw him. Standing and smiling. We exchanged a quick ‘Hello’ and I moved towards the exit, forcing him to follow. I didn’t wish to be there, in open, with him. Though no one knew what we were meeting far, I felt I was standing there, naked. While driving back, we hardly spoke. He did inform me that there were some friends at home and they would be gone by the time we reach.

“Did you tell them where were you going?” I enquired.

“Ya. I told them. I have to meet a friend urgently. So they said they will pack up and leave.”

Then there was a silence till we reach home. In each moment in the car I was wondering – whether I should or should not. Will it be all right if I tell him to drop me back to station?

When he keyed in to open his door, I put my hands on in back. He turned back and raised his eyebrows that meant, “What?”

I shook my head that meant, “Nothing.”

His drawing room floor was littered with bottles of alcohol and cigarette buds. There were some cushions lying around. He smiled to me apologetically and said, “Gimme a minute. I will clean all this. Meanwhile, you can freshen up yourself in case you want to. There’s the bathroom…And its clean.” He laughed as if it was the best joke in the world and it was the best time to crack that. I smile even though I didn’t wish to, and moved towards his supposedly clean bathroom. When I came out, the room was clean and there was a glass of water on the table. He called from the kitchen, “There’s water on the table.” Then he came out with two glasses. The content within both looked same. “He handed one to me and said, “don’t worry, its plain cola… by the way, would you like to eat something?”

I thought about my dinner with Ritesh for a second and said, “No.”

“Well then, sit.”

We both sat. he had switched on “You’re beautiful” by James Blunt in his bedroom and volume was loud enough to flow in the drawing room. I wondered if he was trying to convey something through the song. But washed that thought off the very next moment.

Before it could go awkward, sitting silently there and sipping in our drinks in slow motion, I kept the glass on the table and moved towards the bedroom. The lights in were off. I reached the window and stood by its side. I could see the sea and the Bandra-Worli sea link in progress. The structure appeared as if they were building up a small hill in middle of the sea. I heard the sea falling on the shore and looked down. There were few lights on the street.

Then I felt a hand trying to reach my navel from my back. I didn’t realize when did Arvind enter the room. He slowly moved his face around my nape and kissed. Then he tightened his grip and lifted me to the bed. He kissed me where ever he could, starting from my feet. When he reached my face and was about to kiss my lips, I held his chest with my fragile hands as a signal to stop. He understood, smiled and moved down to undress me. I let him. For next few hours, he caressed and kissed my body, but I couldn’t feel him. I couldn’t make a sense of out this act. I was not there. Though he possessed my body, he too knew I wasn’t there. In each of his act, I could only imagined how Ritesh would have done that. In the moment before he was about to enter inside me, I collected myself and walked up to window. I could see a part of me naked in the light coming from outside.

He called from the bed in a low voice, “What happened?”

I replied without turning back, “ Nothing.” Then after a pause, I said, “I think sex is the most boring activity in the world.” I smiled dryly. Then I went back and sat on the bed, my feet touching the calm earth and my back straight, looking directly out of the window. The moon was a little yellowish, but full.

“Didn’t you like me”, he whispered.

“No, its not about you. Its something about me and frankly speaking, I don’t know what it is.” I replied.

When Arvind caressed my back with his fingers again, I let him. It didn’t really matter. Nothing really mattered, then.

I don’t remember far how long I was there, but when I returned home, the milkman was leaving our building on his cycle. I unlatched the door, went straight to my bedroom. My flatmate was asleep in her room. We don’t really enquire about whereabouts till we don’t need each other. And in fact in this moment, I didn’t wish to talk to anyone. When I entered my room, I saw someone standing, staring at me. Her hair was badly undone, eyes red and encircled with deep darkness. Her dress was crushed. She was trembling. I could see beyond that, beyond her physical appearance, inside her heart. It was filled with guilt, shame and fear. The problem was, she didn’t know towards whom should she feel guilty, what she should be ashamed of and why should she fear. But despite all this, I could sense a feeling of calmness. I didn’t understand if this was my own confused mental status which forced my to see her in this divided emotional state or she actually was in one. I moved my eyes away from her, took my sandals off, undressed myself and lied on my bed.

I smiled to the fact that I have a full length mirror in my bedroom in front of the entrance and closed my eyes in an attempt to sleep.

तेरे जलने के बाद...

तेरे जलने के बाद बची थी दो ही चीज़े -

राख-अस्थियों से भरा हुआ एक कलश पड़ा था,

जिन्हें विसर्जित कर आई पावन गंगा में;

और बची-खुची, कुछ कटी-कटी सी तेरी यादें,

दिन के हर एक पहर में लिपटी अलग-अलग सी,

जिन्हें बहा दिया है खून में अपने, हर एक नस में...

अब सुबह-सुबह जब भाग रही होती हूँ

तब तुम याद आते हो,

और कभी सोने के पहले आँखों में मंडरा जाते हो,

कभी बिना तौलिये स्नानघर से हाथ बढाऊ

वो हाथ वही पर थामे थामे से रो पढ़ते हैं,

कई बार यूँही मैं दरवाज़े को खोल के आऊं

इस आस में की तुम कहीँ से शायद लौट आये हो!

खाने की मेज़ सजाती कभी-कभी मैं

थाल तुम्हारे नाम सजा कर रुक जाती हूँ ,

कभी बच्चों को एक शून्य में पा स्तंभित होती

और कभी खुद शून्य में उस गुम हो जाती हूँ,

तुझे आस पास ना पा कर कई बार मरी हूँ,

पर पा कर अपने अंदर तुझको जी उठती हूँ

तेरे जलने के बाद बची हैं दो ही चीज़े,

कुछ कटे-कटे से हम हैं... और कुछ तेरी यादें!

Post Slumdog Millionaire...

A lot has been said… a lot written… a lot expressed… and to be true, I loved every bit of everything that happened post Slumdog Millionaire release.

Some people liked it for being shot well, written beautifully, conceptualized with a fresh approach, tuned with some amazing music scores and above all its from Hollywood (the last criteria does apply to some but not all people who loved it). Others hated it for showing our (shining) India in a bad light, for fictionalizing various facts, for not being a great movie and still getting all the limelight and above all its coming from Hollywood (probably because some people believe ‘when our moviemakers don’t bother to shoot Mumbai slums and rather concentrate on the Switzerlands of the world, why the hell should a foreigner do that?’). In fact, some of my friends, who are against the movie, went out to decrease the profits of the movie by promoting video piracy against going to cinema for this movie!

Well, for me the important thing is not to support or rubbish the movie. Rather I observe a few interesting things about us, the Bhartiya Janta, and our societal behavior.

One good thing that has come out is we are still an open community; we freely express whatever we think. I read feelings for and against the movie in the same newspaper. That says, our media, to some extent, has still maintained the job of reporting (I have talked about this in my previous blog, ‘setting up my morning tempo’). Then it doesn’t really matter, if I am Amitabh Bachchan or a slum dweller (had used slumdog before, but changed it keeping in mind the various sentiments); everyone is expressing opinions. On a lighter note, the movie has also provided a reason to get away from the sadness of Taj attacks on 26th NOV, 08 in Mumbai. Those who liked it happily danced to Rehman’s tunes and celebrated when he won the Golden Globe; those who didn’t had a matter to discuss over their tea, coffee, etc.

What I don’t understand, or rather is not convinced with is, the opinions expressed by the people who didn’t like it. Here are a few points put forth –

1) India has been shown is a bad light
Let’s forget for a moment that Slumdog Millionaire has been made by a Non-Indian or for that matter, the movie has an exposure to the world and let me ask, “Is Dharavi not a reality? Is it not the greatest slums in Asia?”

I guess, we all agree to this and say a mutual ‘Yes’.

Now let me ask, “What attracts us when we look at USA or Europe or Australia?... Their huge buildings, the open culture, the mega cities, right?”

The question is - when we get attracted towards what is big, bigger when compared to the same things of our own, why the same logic is not applied when these foreigners look at us? We definitely have bigger slums and smaller buildings than what they have; so is the attraction to make a movie on the bigger things.

Also, have they ever complained about the way we bitch about their openness in society, mock about their culture and disregard their traditions to glorify our own in our movies? Then why do we complain about some mere factual filming about us in theirs? Because not many people see our movies and a lot many see theirs? Now is that their problem or ours?

In fact, I see it as a positive movie where it is said that Indians are deeply spirited people and even things like poverty, hunger, pain, etc can’t lower our heads that we hold high (That’s what Zamaal Malik was). I don’t mind being shown as a poor country if I am also shown as a country which dares to dream and can fight to realize it.

2) A lot has been fictionalized
Were this movie to be a documentary, we had had every right to complain. But I understand it falls into the genre of Drama/Fiction. And when we say fiction, we must mean fiction, in bold letters. Except the base is a reality. Moreover, when an Indian (Mr. Swarup) wrote this fiction no one complained then why when a foreigner (Mr. Boyle) filmed it?

3) Rehman has given better tunes than this before, so why an award for this movie?

I agree to a part of this. Mr. Rehman has given us much better tunes than this. So what? Can we really argue on this point that Mr. Rehman should never be honored for any future work anywhere since he was not for his fantabulous works like Roja, Bombay, Dil Se et al?

C’mon people, all of the previous works by Rehman were not marketed well, were not seen. This one is. The Music for Slumdog Millionaire is not competing against other works by the composer but against the work of other composers in the same year. And it stands out in the competition it has this year. So it won. Simple.

And personally I didn’t like two things about this movie –

1) The title
Probably, the movie could have titled something more sober than Slumdog. Why to abuse someone when you don’t intend to?

2) Lack of credit to Mr. Nepali
I learnt in today’s newspaper that the song ‘Darshan do Ghansyam’ was not written by Surdas but a lyricist from 50’s, Mr. Gopal Singh Nepali for the hindi movie 'Narsi Bhagat'. Such ignorance while doing your homework is not acceptable when you plan to make a world-class cinema, in fact not even otherwise.

With or without merits, Slumdog Millionaire remains one of the most discussed movies in recent past. This in itself is an achievement, even if we leave everything else for the debates and discussions. And by the way, I loved the movie, scene-by-scene!!!

Setting up my morning tempo...

So finally some good news has arrived in our morning news papers!

News, in its essence meant ‘what’s new’ to me. But for past few months, every morning I open up my Hindustan Times with this hope that ‘What’s new, but good’. Now the second part is very important, more so after months of bad times we have lived by (in fact still living in the after effects of some).

Be it the attack on Taj in Mumbai or on the Bars in Manglore; Blasts in Assam, Malegaon or Jaipur; Christian-Hindu rift in Orissa or war of words (and at times of swords/pistols) between North-Indians and MNS (Please note I don’t call Maharashtrians, as MNS is no way a representation of real Marathi people); The ill effects of Global Recession or our very own Satyam Fiasco. And to add to all this God gave us a big, fat Floods in Bihar from which people there are still to recover.

But after this huge bad patch, finally good news has appeared. A.R. Rehman has won the Golden Glob Awards for Best Music (Though some of my fellow Indians have different opinion on this. It will be an all new debate to talk on and right now I am in celebration mood. So no such talks please) and Yuki, Mahesh and Sania have returned as winners from Australian Open Tennis Championship.

It feels good as an Indian citizen, in fact great, to be out of those painful moments of worrying about national security and job security. Even if this happiness is short, it’s sweet. Thank you, all three for giving us a reason to cheer!

I personally believe in two most important things about journalism.

First, Newspapers (and of course the Electronic media) can help create a mood for the nation’s mornings. How nice it would be if our newspersons could work a little extra and could find (not create or fictionalize) some real success stories for us, every morning! The size of the success is insignificant. It really doesn’t matter if I am reading about the Success story of Shahrukh Khan or Mumbai’s Dabbawalas. What matters to me is to be aware of the fact that we have such fellowmen (and women, of course) who have the dreams and guts to work for them. It creates and sets a positive morning tempo for me. I am in a good mood that day and even my work for the day, then, shows that.

Second, news reporting should be reporting in real sense. It should not be cooked with opinions of the reporters or the media house. Why are we, the readers, are to be taken as stupid people, who can't conclude things for themselves? Why are we to be fed with someone else’s opinions? And if it’s so very important, there are Editorial pages, Comment sections and many such columns, where the media house can express opinions. Front page news should be a Report. Period.

Hindustan Times has started this section called ‘2009 – India can, India will’ which qualifies, to a great extent, to both of the above two points. This is where they report of stories of opportunities from adversity. I just wish if they could shift it from the page eleven to page One!