That one moment!

Prologue

There is a scene in Jigarthanda that plays out like this:

The protagonist, who comes across a lot of obstacles in order to achieve his penultimate dream of becoming a filmmaker, stands outside the entry doors of a theater. It is the first screening of his debut film. He waits outside, tensed and perplexed. And after about a few minutes as he hears a particular scene ending, he starts a countdown from three. It is a scene where he expects the audience to cheer. And by the time he reaches one, there erupts a huge cheer inside the theater and the protagonist starts jumping in celebration.

His dream comes true. He becomes a filmmaker.

****

Two days back, at about 7 pm in the night, when I received a phone call from my close friend, I did not know that it would be a phone call that would result in a defining moment of my life. 

My friend had called to discuss about making a video. A video about our classmates. A tribute video to be exact. The next day (yesterday) was going to be the last working day of our college life. And my friend wanted to make it a memorable one. So had come the suggestion of making a tribute video. Excited will not be the exact description of the feeling that overcame me when I heard his statement. But I did not want to refuse his request outright and continued listening to what he had to say.

"I don't have a clear concept as to how it should proceed. But it should contain the photograph of every single person in our class. It should be ready before tomorrow noon. Most importantly, it should not be too emotional and at the same time it should not be too funny. They should be moved but they should also laugh. I don't want it to be too serious." - These were the lines that followed the request. I remained silent for a moment and said, "Please do end this call and do something else useful. What you ask for is not possible. That too within tomorrow." 

But my friend refused to listen. He told me that he would collect photographs of all the students of our class and mail me within 10 pm and ended the call. I was really angry that he had not listened to what I had said.

I started watching a film I had left halfway due to his call. But about ten minutes into the film, I couldn't concentrate on it. For some reason, my mind still seemed to be occupied with the video-making thought. I paused the film and laid back silently on my cot. I thought for a few minutes about the video. I knew that making it would be difficult, especially according to his whims but I just wanted to think about how one would possibly approach it. I visualized about 10-15 photographs of our classmates scrolling one after the other but it seemed very mundane. I squeezed my brain trying to think of an idea that would be logical and would connect the photographs. I couldn't come up with any. 

And I decided to do that thing which was/is/will be the main reason I want to become a filmmaker - research. The research that a filmmaker normally does before making a film seldom gets noticed. Though 'research' before a film is more prevalent in European and American cinema (thanks to their solid plots), certain Indian filmmakers also do do their fair bit of 'research' before starting a film. 

When 'Colorblind' became a song of friendship

I was blank for a moment as to what research I could possibly do for a simple video as the one my friend had demanded but I still wanted to see the normal format followed for such videos and I dived into Youtube's 'classmate tribute' videos and 'goodbye' videos. Most of the videos had a standard template - photos that scrolled one after the other with a melancholic song in the background, especially a song that had the words 'goodbye' or 'friend' repeated in them often. I felt that playing out a similar song would be very normal but the songs somehow seemed to be creating the required aura and so I started searching for a powerful 'Goodbye' song. And two did come my way - Goodbye my friend by Linda Ronstadt and Saying Goodbye by Karina Long. 

But it was only then that a song came to my mind which, when heard, created a similar atmosphere - Colorblind by Overtone. One of my favorites, thanks to Invictus. I immediately played it on my music player but hesitated for a moment as to how I could insert a song about the apartheid struggles and the game of rugby in South Africa into a video about friendship. As I lay thinking, listening to the song playing in my music player, I was pleasantly surprised. The lyrics seemed to, in a deeper sense, signify friendship.  

Hear me say it's time we stopped our hate
Eye to eye we see a different fate..
Yes we.. we've conquered the war
With love at the core..
I stumble, I fall, but I'll stay
Colorblind!

Moreover, college was the place where I gave up my bullshit principle of conversing only with fair-skinned and beautiful girls and in a sense, Colorblind was a tribute to my college life as well. And it was the first thing that got me interested in making a video that would instill a much required confidence in my in-a-helpless-state passion.

When photographs became more than just photographs

It was nearly 12 in the midnight when my friend mailed me the photos of our classmates requesting me to begin the video. I downloaded them but I was more than overcome by sleep that I could even take a look at them. I closed the laptop and went to sleep, deciding to give the video a try the next morning. 

As I woke up the next day - yesterday morning - by around 6 am, I opened my laptop again to give the photos a glance. I wanted to see the kind of photos that my friend had got hold of. And as I opened the folder, I was shocked to see that he had collected more than 70 photos of our class's 36 girls (which in it is a big achievement with trying to keep the entire task a secret and I need to thank two other classmates - a special thanks to you 'poet'uu' as you read this) and I copied those photos and put them together with the photos of our class boys that I had already collected. I opened the first photo in the folder and as I slowly moved on from one photo to the other, happened something I had not expected. I was beginning to experience an inexplicable feeling. I honestly don't want to even try describing it here because it was a feeling that I had never ever felt before and one that I would cherish till my last breath. And as I came to the last photograph, I couldn't even think. My mind had gone blank so contrary to my heart that was at its heaviest. 

And it was only then that I realized what my friend had meant the earlier day. The heavy feeling slowly subsided after a few minutes and I opened the photos again. This time, the inexplicable feeling did occur again but in a much more joyous way. And I decided that I had to do the video. Not for Colorblind. Not for my friend. But for that simple inexplicable feeling. 

It just couldn't be kept mine. It needed to be shared.

When 'that one moment' occurred

It was about 3 in the afternoon as my friend and I completed the video. The entire morning had been spent creating collages out of those beautiful photographs and laughing heartily between the two of us thinking about the hash-tags that were about to precede each of the photograph. 

In 15 minutes, the farewell event was about to start. And I wanted to see a preview of the video. My friend walked away saying that he did not want to see it for a personal reason of his. I tried to persuade him to watch it but he refused and I was left watching the video alone. As the video reached its end, I was once again overcome with very same feeling that had happened in the morning. And I was happy and afraid at the same time. Happy that it had come out in the very way I had imagined but afraid if it would create the same inexplicable feeling among my classmates. But it was time to start the farewell event and I accompanied my friend to the room where all the other classmates had gathered.

About thirty minutes of sincere heart-pourings later, my friend called me to connect the laptop to the projector. Projectors had been installed in all our classrooms to facilitate presentations during classes but we were going to use the projector now to screen a video, accompanied by audio as well. I was completely filled with fear - half of it as to what would happen if a faculty passing by our class heard the sound and caught us and the other half as to how it would be received by my classmates.

I had already had a disastrous experience during the screening of a 3 minute video I had made about 'Energy crisis' for an event conducted by the Mechanical Engineering department in our college during which about 30 seconds into the video, every one in the room had started chatting among themselves completely ignoring the video. 

And I decided that I would not stay in the room when the tribute video started playing out. I couldn't take in one more such ignorance. And I told my friend that I would wait outside till the video got over so as to ensure that no faculty came by our class (which was also a part of the reason, though only a part) and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

I kept pacing around the class for about a few minutes when I kept hearing constant murmur inside. And then suddenly the murmur stopped. I couldn't hear any sound and I realized that the video had started. My heart skipped a beat. 

For a moment, I wanted to open the door and step inside. I wanted to see the faces of every single person watching the video and the reactions on those faces. But I couldn't bring about myself to open the door. I controlled my emotions and waited outside. And then erupted a sudden cheer inside. A large smile spread over my face. 

I knew that the cheers would be heard frequently from that moment as my friend and I had intentionally prepared the video that way. And I was not disappointed.

But it was the end of the song Someday that I was waiting for. The end of the song marked the end of the photographs of our classmates and an intentional 5 second gap had been left before the end part of the video continued. I felt that any person watching that video would feel that the end of the photographs marked the end of the video and the reaction that followed would be the most honest reaction to the video. And as the song Someday started, I waited with bated breath. The cheers kept coming frequently but it was the end that mattered. And as the song came to its end, I stood as close to the door as possible and the moment the song ended, erupted a huge applause that quickly stopped as the video continued after the 5 second gap. But I did not care any more. 

The applause had given a new meaning to every single film that I had watched trying to analyse and learn. The applause had given a new meaning to every single article and every single book that I had read about filmmaking. The applause had given a new meaning to my in-a-helpless-state passion.

I had become 1/1000th of a filmmaker and it was more than I ever thought I would achieve in my lifetime.

****

Epilogue

As I entered my hostel room by 6 in the evening after spending one more hour at the farewell event and having a small meal at the canteen, I took out my phone from my pocket. It was filled with messages from many of my classmates, thanking me and my friend for having created the video. Some of them had added that it had meant a lot for them and had made the day an unforgettable one. 

The video had achieved its purpose. The inexplicable feeling had been shared.

But I didn't know how to reply to those messages. Everyone seemed to be thanking me when actually I had to thank them. The video had made it a memorable day for them but it had made a mark in my life like never before. 

But I knew that I had to explain a lot and so I sent a simple reply of 'My pleasure' to many. 

Some time later as one of my classmates who had missed the screening came to watch it on my laptop, I joined him. As I sat watching the video seeing him laugh at many a hash-tag, my close friend with whom I had created the video messaged me - "We just did it for fun, right?! Everyone seems to have become very emotional. Don't know what to reply to all those messages :D "

And I smiled looking at the message. Not for its content but for its sender. 

He had affected my life again.

Window

The birthplace of many a thought in my head. A support I constantly hold on to at times of happiness to gaze at the vibrant blue sky. A support I constantly hold on to at times of sadness to stare at the forlorn blue sky. The first ray of sunlight never seemed more lively than when passing through it. The thunderstorm, ably supported by the lightning, never felt more threatening than when recklessly slamming it. The culprit responsible for tempting me to steal an occasional glance at the neighboring girl. The companion responsible for constituting the wave-of-hand friendship with the neighboring old gentleman.

Many people , when away from home, miss a certain room or a certain corner of their homes. I, for reasons that go beyond the above paragraph, constantly miss the window situated at the far corner of the hallway at my home.

How can I not?

After all, the window does not just signify the entries and exits like the irksome old wooden door at my home.

It signifies something more. 

It signifies the passage.

Compromising (He)Art!

The moment I changed my 'Whatsapp' display picture - a selfie of me and my sister - I knew that I would receive quite a few angry messages from some of my friends, especially after my recent post on 'selfies' and I was not disappointed. The angry messages did come in. But I had not had an option. My sister, after having taken the picture, had requested me with a beautiful smile to upload it as my 'dp' and I had not had the heart to refuse that request. I had for a minute thought about it as I felt that the act would show me a weak person - as someone who had failed to follow his own words - but right then, I felt that making my sister happy was more important compared to sticking to my principles, or to put it more beautifully in the Tamil language - my kolgaigal.

I don't know if this act is worthy of being labeled a 'compromise' but that single minute's thought-process that had occupied my mind during the changing of my 'dp' had later haunted me bringing back thoughts about a topic that was redundant beyond redundancy in the discussions that me and my brother had often - Compromising art for art's sake (with regard to filmmaking, of course).

K.Balachander is a director I have high regard for. The very first time I watched Apoorva Raagangal, I was stunned beyond words as to how a director had had the guts to handle so delicate a subject (the hero loves the heroine's mother and the heroine loves the hero's father - the description might vary depending on whom you view as the hero and the heroine) at so early a time as 1975. The lines - Yaaruku theriyum? Innum konjam thondina Socialism kuda kedaikalaam! (Who knows? If we dig a bit further, we might even find Socialism) - uttered by the character played by Kamal Haasan as he digs up a garbage bin in a scene in Varumayin Niram Sivappu is one of my favorite lines in Tamil Cinema, perhaps even Indian cinema. But the reason I mentioned K.B. (as he is fondly known) is because the song 'Paadariyaen.. Padippariyaen..' and its prelude in Sindhu Bairavi exactly sums up the theme of this entire post.

Filmmaking, being an unmatched form of story-telling with a breathtaking blend of visuals and sounds, is seldom considered a serious business except for a very few who have had the first-hand experience of its magic. The simple fact that it took one of the greatest Indian filmmakers - Satyajit Ray - nearly three years to complete his debut (along with funds from the West Bengal government), Pather Panchali, is in itself a testament to the behind-the-scenes-bigger-story-aspect of filmmaking. The three year duration does seem justified watching every single scene of Pather Panchali and though it might feel clichéd for anyone who admires the masterpiece, the scene where Apu and Durga run across the field to have their first glimpse of a train is one of the finest moments to have been captured on the camera in Indian cinema. 
And talking about Pather Panchali, I just cannot hold myself back from mentioning Veedu and Sandhiya Raagam (two of the greatest films made in Tamil cinema) since I watched the above mentioned three films in the same week (one of the best weeks of my life, if it does not sound too 'filmy'). I sometimes wonder as to what Tamil cinema would have become without Balu Mahendra, the man behind the last two films mentioned, and the thought just sends down a chill. All the three films mentioned above have an extraordinary poetical charm about them, the stories and the characters being rooted in our soil. But the reason that many people in India remain unaware of these classics might be attributed to the slow and lackadaisical way the stories unfold. It might also be the very unsophisticated way the shots are staged and the way the camera remains static - how could one forget Hou Hsiao Hsien's A City of madness and Three Times talking about static camera shots - unlike how the camera keeps constantly moving, as if in a hurry, in most of the mainstream (I hate the word 'commercial') films.
And having laid out the reasons, come flowing the questions - why do the general audience not accept a static camera shot or a languidly paced story? Doesn't the slow pace strengthen the characterization further? Doesn't the static shot give the audience time to take in the scene and ponder over it? But why do such films don't work on a large scale? Why is it that they are sidelined only for a niché audience?

If the slow pace seems a problem, more so does abstraction. How many people would claim to have understood the final act of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey? How many people would claim to have understood every single reference to death and life in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries respectively? How many people would claim to understand the various layers embedded intricately in the three different stories of Krzysztof Kiéslowski's Three Colors trilogy or Alejandro Inarritu's Babel and 21 grams? Movies like Memento, Primer, The Fountain do make us squeeze our brains a bit but movies like Full Metal Jacket and Mulholland Drive leave us in a state of confusion as to if the scenes really imply what is being shown or do they carry a deeper meaning within. Whilst it can be argued that a film needs to be outright and simple so as to be comprehensible by the general audience, a counter-argument also can be put forth as to why a filmmaker should be stopped from filling every frame of his film with a deeper meaning of the idea that was conceived in his head.
And this again leads to a series of never-ending questions - Why do the audience not show interest in analyzing a film? Why do they get satisfied by just simple plain entertainment? Is it the fault of certain filmmakers who have been constantly lowering the standard of the general audience by producing works of low quality? Is it wrong to not want to present the facts outright but try to make them abstract? Is it wrong to want the audience to spend more than just money and time on a film?

I try to think of answers for many of the questions asked above and my mind, instead of presenting me with solutions, seems to be presenting me with a list of filmmakers - Mani Ratnam, Steven Spielberg, David Fincher, Ang Lee, Sidney Lumet. And the fog does seem to clear a bit letting the road be seen. Perhaps Nayagan and Kannathil Muthamittaal is the way to go. Perhaps Schindler's List and E.T. is the way to go. Perhaps Seven and Social Network is the way to go. Perhaps Brokeback Mountain and Lust, Caution is the way to go. Perhaps 12 Angry Men and Serpico is the way to go.

But the mind still doesn't seem to be convinced. Should art be sacrificed for a wider reach? Should abstraction be avoided for a studio's financial backing? The questions seem to linger for a while.

And they seem to settle down slowly a little later having come to terms with the fact that sometimes compromises are the best way to take our (he)art further.

Food for thought

My dear fellow Tam-Brahms (perhaps even all the Hindus),

I am deeply moved by your compassion towards animals (read cows) and birds (read crows), especially during festivals. Your treatment of cows as equal to Gods and crows as equal to your ancestors and your sincerity in feeding them prior to even the inmates of your home is something astonishing and I respect that.

But I would like to request you, very humbly indeed, to provide the same handful of rice that you feed the crows and cows with to certain less-fortunate beings of your own species. They might not have been mentioned with the same significance as crows and cows in the revered Hindu mythology but they also do walk and live on this same planet.

So, the next time an auspicious occasion falls, feed the crows and feed the cows. But also do walk a few extra steps and feed the hungry old man sitting at the end of your street.

After all, unlike from the crow and cow, you might get a grateful smile in return.

'I' on the high!

The policeman kept circling the streets
Not a man visible, walking..
144 was in motion, a court judgement the cause
But as he entered the street that led to the bus terminus
A sight at the far end angered him and the engine roared
A sight of 5 men pouring kerosene over a government bus
His 'Royal Enfield' sped but the fire had already been set
And the men had escaped, a van nearby the culprit..
As he reached the bus set aflame
His engine slowed and he stopped his vehicle..
The flames seemed to intensify by every minute
And the policeman looked at it helpless and troubled
It had happened under his watch..
He quickly got down and called his team
Patrolling nearby, informing them of the situation
When came walking a young teenager, from an adjacent street
Who after staring at the bus set on fire for a minute
Looked at the policeman and pointing to the burning bus
Uttered a statement that stunned the policeman..

None of the other ghosts understood
Why 'Scarie' was upset
"A few people cannot be scared..
Don't worry if someone stared at you silently
Without shouting or screaming..
It's just a part of a ghost's life!" said 'Creepie'
Trying to convince 'Scarie'..
But 'Scarie' was not ready to be convinced
He had had the strangest of reactions..
Continual forcing from the ghosts' side
And a stern look from his mom
'Scarie' finally told them what had happened..
When he had gone to scare a girl
Who had been standing alone on a terrace
The wind making her hair dance across her face..
It had been midnight
The most auspicious time 
And 'Scarie' had pounced upon her
Expecting a very high-pitched scream
Only to have the girl look at him in awe
And utter the most shocking statement to 'Scarie'..

The teenager on seeing the burning bus

The girl on seeing 'Scarie' ghost 

Had uttered the same statement

A statement that had shocked and stunned

Not just the brave policeman

But so also the threatening 'Scarie' ghost..

The statement had been a very simple one

One of just five words

But it had had an effect unmatched and unequaled

The statement:

Shall we take a selfie?!

****

'Selfie in our home', 'Selfie in our room', 'Selfie in our kitchen', 'Selfie in our toilet', 'Selfie with our door', 'Selfie with our window', 'Selfie with my bat','Selfie with my ball', 'Selfie with one eye closed', 'Selfie with both eyes closed', 'Selfie with my toungue out', 'Selfie with my mehandi', 'Selfie with my boyfriend/girlfriend', 'Selfie with my best friend', 'Selfie with my ordinary friend', 'Selfie with my sister', 'Selfie with my mother', 'Selfie with my grandmother', 'Selfie with my dead grandfather', 'Selfie with my puppy', 'Selfie with our maid servant', 'Selfie with our apartment security-guard', 'Selfie with the man at the supermarket counter', 'Selfie with the bus conductor', 'Selfie with a passer-by', 'Selfie with an auto-rickshaw', 'Selfie with a bicycle', 'Selfie with the road', 'Selfie with the sky', 'Selfie with a stone', 'Selfie with a leaf', 'Selfie with a dried leaf', 'Selfie with a flower', 'Selfie with a dead flower' - Finally, 'Selfie with myself' and much worse,'Selfie without myself'!

This is a very short list of the general 'selfie' terms used on the social networks. The entire list probably would be lengthier than the human genome sequence!

"Find something more important than you are and dedicate your life to it." goes a quote by Dan Dennett.

But we, on the contrary, seem to be always on the lookout to drag ourselves even into the smallest of the things that we do or rather, the things that happen because of us/the things that happen around us.

In a world dominated by social networks, in a time when 'tweets' and 'fb-statuses' seem to be given more importance than handshakes and hugs, 'selfies' only seem to be making the scenario worse - especially the 'single-person-selfies'.

These 'selfies' seem to be making us selfish.

Yes. They are definitely a boon when we are alone. They are indeed as harmless as butterflies. But they also seem to be making us more hesitant to come out of our 'cocoon' phase. And that exactly shows the reason as to why 'selfies' should not be allowed to dominate the 'self'.

'Selfies' have now become an irremovable part of our lives and I have no damn business to deny anybody the right to take a 'selfie'. I might, actually, even pose for a few.

But let's just take care that these 'selfies' come and go in our lives when we are alone and do not, actually, become a cause for us being lonely.

They are, after all, just a poor substitute for our mirrors.

Baggage - a child's play!

The definition of 'baggage' according to Oxford dictionary goes something like this:
"Noun - 1. Suitcases and bags containing personal belongings packed for travelling; luggage; 2. Past experiences or long-held attitudes perceived as burdensome encumbrances"

And the definition - with its 'encumbrances' making it complicated when it could have been simpler - reflects, exactly, the theme of this post.

Our uncontrollable urge to complicate simple things!

I still remember those days in my fourth and fifth grade when my mom would beg me to leave behind a few textbooks and notebooks at home, not being able to tolerate the lump-like bulge that my bag would assume by the presence of books pertaining to the entire syllabus inside it. I, being a very obedient and studious (surprisingly!) student then, would refuse to leave behind even a single notebook, however unimportant it may be for the day's classes. 

As the years passed and the 'private-van' journey to my school became a 'government-bus' journey by the time I reached tenth grade, I had no other go but to leave behind a few books that were unnecessary. The obedience and studiousness still remained intact but the indignant remarks from the passengers in the government buses, especially women in their forties (you would expect them to be the most compassionate, but beware, they can be the most menacing) at the sight of a fat school-bag, frightened me more than the threats of my class teacher and so were left behind a few books.

The transformation from a calm and sincere 'front-bench' boy in the tenth grade to a mischievous, troublesome 'back-bench' boy in the eleventh grade still baffles me, as it did my teachers then, but it did provide relief to my shoulders - my bag had become considerably lighter with just the main subject textbooks and a single notebook that sufficed for all the subjects as against the earlier norm. 

And now, as I am in the final year of my college, I very rarely do carry a bag to my class. A long sized notebook that serves all purposes except that of taking notes, a blue ball-point pen at the end of its life, a mostly empty or sometimes a single ten-rupee note carrying wallet and a college identity-card with one of my most horrible pictures - these are the only objects that accompany me to my class.

As I think about the gradual reduction of the baggage forced around my shoulders with my educational evolution, I just can't help thinking about the emotional baggage that seems to have kept growing with the same.

And the problem doesn't seem to be just mine. It seems to be a problem shared by almost all of my friends.

Any regular college guy would be extremely delighted when one of his friends asks him to accompany the friend to the canteen, agreeing to take care of both their expenses. And when one of my close friends at college asked me to accompany him to the canteen in a very similar way, I was more than happy and accompanied him to the canteen. But it was only at the canteen that I came to know that the 'treat' had had a deeper motive - he had wanted to talk about a very personal problem of his.
And we have had about 4 such 'treats' so far and it pained me on every one of the three occasions after the first one, for two reasons - He never allowed me to pay and took it all on himself and secondly and more importantly, I was unable to provide him with a proper solution to his problem.

His problem was not one that was unresolvable. But the one thing that he had to do to solve it was something he found the most difficult - to talk his heart out to two of the closest people in his life who had now become the cause of a problem that was handing him over sleepless nights.

And again, this problem doesn't seem to be just his. It seems to be a problem shared by almost all of us.

All of us have that one close person in life with whom we share almost everything sans any inhibitions and a few people who have problems with sharing some delicate issues even with that close person, tend to maintain a personal diary or a blog, perhaps, and spill their hearts out - like I do (but I sometimes seriously think over as to why is it that I share things so readily on a blog when I find it difficult to share them even with a close friend and the only logical explanation that makes sense seems to be a psychological disorder!).

But very little do we realize that the real explanation and the real 'pouring-out' needs to be done with people with whom we complicate things and not, as we tend to normally do, with our best friends for whom just a sheepish smile after a meaningless fight suffices or even worse, our diaries and blogs. 

About four months back, when I had stayed at one of my uncles' home during my semester vacation, unexpectedly had erupted a very huge fight between my aunt and my uncle, one evening. I had sat down on a chair silently, not knowing what to say or what to do. And as I kept fighting within my mind, trying to plot a plan as to stop their fight, my three year old cousin who had walked in from a neighbor's house came up straight to her parents and silently staring at their fight for a few seconds, pulled at her mother's saree and said bluntly - "Amma, ennaku romba pasikuthu. Vanthu dosai panni kuduthutu apram appa kuda kathu" (Mom, I feel really hungry. Make me a few dosas and then continue your shout-out with father.). Having said this, she walked away to the bathroom to wash her face. And about a few seconds of staring-at-each-other later, all the three of us burst into laughter. 
I had been breaking my head to devise a strategy for about fifteen minutes to stop their fight, but my cousin had ended it by two simple statements of hers.

This tendency of ours in our childhood to speak things out blunt and frank, for some reason, slowly seems to diminish as our life advances. The reason might be a better understanding of life. The reason might be the realization that not all our views need to be expressed. The reason might be the belief that some things are best left a secret.

But whatever be the reason, it just doesn't seem to be making things easier. 

Its probably time that we stop complicating life in the name of maturity.  

And its probably time that in addition to looking with awe at a child's ability to recite a rhyme and gaping in wonder at a child's artistic attempt at drawing a home, we start learning some of life's most important lessons from its very simple actions.

Children, if observed carefully, can teach us more about life than we can ever possibly teach them about.

Scratch. Fire. Burn. Ash.

As I sat down to type my thoughts about the old bespectacled man with a stick draped in a white khadi cloth, today being his birthday, the first image that came to my mind was the very famous 157mm X 73mm paper in India that carries his smiling face - the 100 rupee note! 

I had often wondered as to why they had put that old man, praised for his non-violence, as the face of the paper that was the root cause of all the violence and miseries that plagued this country. But then, I also have doubts as to if our nation's father could be called a non-violent man as his approach towards the British, according to me, had been the most violent - a form of cerebral violence. Anyhow, the image of the rupee note had triggered in my mind a series of thoughts about money and as I was slowly drawn into a web of those thoughts centering around one of my most hated man-made entities in this world, I couldn't come out of it without promising myself that I would type up a post about it.

For some reason, the word 'money' (henceforth mo**y) had never triggered any other emotion in me except for hatred. And it still continues to even today. There was even a time when I used to feel sad because the word 'mo**y' rhymed with one of my most favorite Indian filmmakers - Mani Ratnam. 

I had imagined many a day as to how a world without mo**y would be. Being a believer of pragmatism, the thought in itself would seem childish to me at times. But I wouldn't mind and would continue to imagine such a world as I strongly believe that if not for mo**y and an understanding of how it works, we would all probably remain children - innocent and uncorrupted, at least in our hearts, till we breathe in our last whiff of air.

Ever since I had been drawn into film-making, I had always found it difficult to understand as to how someone could view a movie/film as a mo**y-spinner and I despised/continue to despise every single filmmaker who tried/tries to compromise art for mo**y. A filmmaker need not try really hard to create a film that would celebrate life or the human spirit or probably alter one's perspective of life (though it indeed is actually the damn duty of every filmmaker). But a filmmaker could probably, at least, satisfy every single person who pays a part of his hard-earned mo**y and enters the theater with a good story. And when even that seems to be not cared about, 'making mo**y' becoming the first preference, the result becomes absolute crap and the audience made, absolute fools. 
And I hate mo**y for doing that to film-makers and film-making.

If there is an entity that could possibly stimulate the most contrasting of emotions in different people, it could only be money. Try handing out a ten rupee note to a small handicapped girl begging for alms. Try handing out a similar ten rupee note to a waiter in a five-star restaurant. And I wouldn't blame the waiter. He has, after all, been spoilt by rich men and women trying to establish their wealth and generosity in the presence of their friends. 
And I hate mo**y for doing that to waiters. And I hate mo**y for making a beggar, a beggar.

Every time I enter our college canteen to have a 'cheese pav-bhaji' or an 'aloo paratha' and the lady assigned at our canteen to pick up the leftover plates passes by me, my heart aches. My heart aches not at her plight but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the paper notes stuffed in my wallet, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to cherish a tasty meal and gives her the job of picking up the plate after it has been eaten from. 
Every time I enter our hostel restroom and see the man assigned to clean it pouring a bucket filled with water at a not properly flushed toilet, my heart aches. My heart aches not at his misfortune but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so readily available cash in my bank account, thanks to my hard-earning mom, is what gives me the right to dump my waste in a properly maintained toilet and gives him the job of cleaning it, however bad it may be.
Every time I roam around my home at Chennai and come across some instance of a child selling posters or vegetables or flowers, my heart aches. My heart aches not at their unfair labor but my heart aches by the realization that the simple shortage of the so abundant cash lying dormant in my school's and college's locker, thanks to many of the hard-earning moms and dads, is what gives me the right to have a proper education and earn a degree while they go about selling posters and vegetables and flowers.
And I hate mo**y for creating these totally unfair scenarios in life.

Being a writer, I revere and worship every single piece of paper - a blank sheet of paper becomes a story or a poem and a printed sheet of paper becomes a possible inspiration or an extra piece of knowledge. But if there is a paper I would possibly hate - a paper I would hate so much as to tear it apart to pieces and collect the heap to set fire to it - it would be the paper exchanged for buying a commodity or buying a piece of art or sometimes even buying a life. 
And I hate mo**y for making me hate a piece of paper.

Even after I shed my entire belief in an omnipresent and an omnipotent being, I liked visiting temples because they always have a sense of calm that tempts any creative person to produce a great piece of art. I liked visiting temples because I liked seeing people be completely true to, at the least, one being they trusted deeply in this world. But I have stopped the visits for more than a year now. I was fed up with seeing the aarti plates overflow with cash and the entrance of the temples, overflow with beggars.
And I hate mo**y for making man selfish, thereby making the Gods rich and the beggars, beggars.

When I started this blog, I had had only one intention in mind - to make every reader who chanced upon any random post of mine to experience an emotion - a positive one at that. I had promised myself that I would probably share a few posts filled with anger but never share a post that reeked of hatred. I had felt that the world had already been filled with enough hatred and had not wanted my blog to be filled with the same.
But now, as I finish typing this post, I hate mo**y for making me share something so hateful.

And I beg forgiveness. I sincerely do.
And if possible, along with your forgiveness, please do also bless me with a few matchboxes to burn all the papers that lie waiting in my wallet to make me their next target.

You would have, after all, triggered my redemption.

A cultural riot - II: Of chaos, bonding and the empty bottle

27th September, 2014

It was thirty minutes past ten in the morning when we came out of the auditorium where the Tamil cine quiz finals had been conducted. For the questions asked, we had known most of the answers than many of the teams that had made it through to the finals. My teammate had even tried to shout out a few answers to the competing teams much to the organizer's dismay but then he realized that it would not make any difference and had remained silent. 

As we walked out of the auditorium, my teammates who were really hungry, the three of us having not eaten our breakfast, said that it would be better to proceed to the food-court and have a brunch of sorts. I agreed and followed them but the food was the least part of my concern. My mind was filled with only two things - her twinkle and her water-dripping red shawl that had covered her head. And the food-court was one of the few places where I had a very high chance of coming across her again.

After telling my teammates to order a 'Veg Tawa roll' for me, I started roaming around the food-court. The earlier day had had me doing the same thing by mid-afternoon walking around gasping in awe at any beautiful girl who had passed by me. But this current tour of mine was different. It had a purpose. I did not care about any sleeveless t-shirt wearing girl that passed by. I did not feel any pang of jealousy at any coolers wearing guy sharing a pizza with some random pretty girl. The only thing I cared about was seeing that mascara layered eyes shrinking slowly leading to the ephemeral yet ethereal smile/dimple.

But as the day slowly passed and noon approached, the mission seemed to be becoming futile and my heart started getting heavier at the thought of not seeing her again. And it was at such a time that one of my teammates received a phone call from his father.

The chaos

As my teammate ended the phone call from his father, his face had started going pale. We realized that it had been some bad news and when he told us what his father had said, we ourselves were shocked. 

A case had been filed against our state(Tamil Nadu)'s chief minister way back in 1997 citing that she owned disproportionate assets of around 65 crores and thanks to India's swift justice system, the case had been dragging on for 18 years. But a poor honest judge had seen it fit to finally close the case and had handed out a judgement convicting our chief minister and had sentenced her to 4 years of imprisonment along with the additional gift of a 100 crore rupee fine. 

It was the first time in our country's political history that a ruling chief minister had been asked to step down from his/her post owing to a court sentence. And this historical event had decided to present itself on the very day that I had come to NIT-T in search of my under-the-tree-in-heavy-rain romance. 

As my teammates and I discussed among ourselves as to how come our chief minister had been convicted, as it is pretty rare for Indian politicians to get convicted for the crimes they commit, my mobile phone began vibrating in my pant pocket. It was my mom.

"Who the hell told you to go to NIT today?" shouted my mom as soon as I replied to her question as to where was I. I couldn't possibly tell her the real reason and frankly, I was not participating in any events held that day as well and so silence seemed the only best option. After ordering me continually for about ten minutes to take the first government bus back to college, my mother ended the call.

The reason she emphasized my leaving NIT-T was that a political event of such a magnitude in our country, especially in Tamil Nadu, has its own implications and outcomes and it sure did have those implications and outcomes that day - violence and chaos spread all over the state instigated by the chief minister's loyalists the very next minute the judgement was issued, not realizing that their mindless actions were not going to influence the judgement in any way.

But contrary to my mom's emphasis, I was hesitant to leave NIT-T. Reading this, one might wonder as to why this sudden attachment and ambition towards a girl whose name I did not even know. I myself was/am not able to answer it. There was the constant ache to see her again but the motive behind it remained ambiguous. 

And so, when a friend of my teammate who had just then drove to NIT-T from our college by bike said that there was a chaotic situation prevailing outside with a bus being set aflame a few kilometers away and convinced our Tamil lits (literature society) head that it was unsafe to travel then and made him decide to stay at NIT-T for the night, I was more than happy.

The bonding

It was about 3 in the afternoon as about six of us from our Tamil lits walked into a canteen at a far end of NIT-T. 

All of my friends, very similar to my case, had received panicked phone calls from their parents and had been scolded terribly at having admitted to be in a college about 20 kilometers from our college. And all of them had somehow managed to convince their parents that they were safe inside the campus.

About fifteen minutes later, as we positioned ourselves with our dishes around a table that had been put outside under a tree, we started talking again about the judgement that had been issued against our chief minister. And as the talk proceeded, it slowly shifted to the opposition party, corruption, ignorance of citizens, lack of intelligence, art-house cinema, commercial cinema, celebrity affairs, romantic affairs at our college and finally ended with everyone's opinion on love. Any boy would know very well that a hour's chat with another boy would very easily lay the foundation towards a solid friendship and that two and a half hour chat that we had, sitting around that table brought us closer than the three months since we had become a part of our Tamil lits had ever did.  

And we spent the next two hours together, our friendship becoming stronger with every turn we took around the college. At about 8 pm, the cultural coordinator of our college received a call from our college management saying that they would arrange a van for the entire group of students who had come from our college to NIT-T. Police patrols had been set up all around the areas covering our college and NIT-T and hence had been taken our college management's decision. And it was about ten pm as the van arrived for its third trip, having taken to our college the entire group of girls on its previous two trips.

There were about fifty of us boys who had to be transported to college but the van could carry only twenty-five students per trip. It was left to us to choose as to who would go on the third trip and who would wait for another hour before being taken to college. There were about 20 of us belonging to Tamil lits and our entire group decided to stay back.

We preferred an hour together at an outside college rather than a safe drive back to our college. And that bonding that held us together then, according to me, is something that no bloody chaos or violence could tear apart. 

The empty bottle

As all of us sat down together at a pavement before the spot where the van would come again to pick us up, one of my teammates started playing a Tamil film song from his mobile phone. It was a favorite to most of us in the group and one by one, my friends around started lying down on the pavement, side by side. And by about five minutes, all of them had lied down, with the song playing from the mobile phone being the only sound to be heard. 

I was the only one sitting. The darkness and the song began haunting me. My thoughts began taking me back to her. Along with the friendships I had formed that day, I had also been making sincere efforts to come across her again. But by evening, I had lost my hope and had decided to make do with the 'twinkle'.

As I sat thinking about this, one of my friends behind me hit me with an empty water bottle and asked me to fill it up. I refused. I was too tired emotionally to do anything. But he kept hitting me slowly and constantly with the empty bottle that I finally grabbed it from him and walked towards the nearby 'Chemistry' block to fill water. As I entered the block, a boy standing by the entrance, having seen the empty water bottle in my hand, hastily told me that there was a problem with the water-cooler . I asked him as to where else I could fill it up and he directed me towards the administrative block that lay about twenty meters away from the chemistry block. 

I walked slowly towards the administrative block trying to replay the moment that 'she' had come running to the tree along with her group in the heavy rain and had stared at me surprised. I still found it difficult to believe that such a moment had happened to me in my real life. And as my mind started getting mixed up in her thoughts again, I entered the administrative block. Asking one of the boys who walked past me the direction to the water-cooler, I walked towards it. And as I neared it, I saw a small group standing by it, filling their bottles with water. One of them kept urging the group to finish the filling process soon as their van had arrived and they were already ten minutes late. I decided to wait for the group to fill their bottles and leave as I was in no hurry and so stopped on my way and stepped into a classroom that lay open nearby. Without switching on the light, I slowly walked past the desks one by one and finally reaching the wall, I turned and started walking towards the writing-board. As I slowly walked past the second bench from the end, I could see the group passing by, in the corridor, through the doorway. I slowly kept walking towards the writing-board and it was then that I saw the last two girls of the group pass by through the doorway and it was then that my heart skipped a beat. One of the two girls that had passed by was 'her'.

I immediately ran outside the classroom and skidded to a halt. A few feet ahead of me was going the group and she was there at the end of the group in a dark-blue churidhar and a white shawl, trying to fit her bottle inside her bag and saying something to her friend while walking in a hurried manner. And in a microsecond, all the events of the previous day burst open in my head and my brain started shouting - "Do something! Do something! Call her! Shout! Do something, you fool!" but I was clueless as to what I could possibly do. And I don't know from where did the terrible idea originate, but I raised my hand up and threw down the empty bottle with a smashing force and it landed on the ground with a very mild thud. It seemed that she did not even hear it and she kept walking. "What the hell?!" screamed my brain and I started going crazy while I picked the bottle again. I could not summon my guts to shout out to her but I also couldn't tolerate her every step that kept taking her away.

She was only a few more steps away from the entrance of the building. And finally, bringing together all the courage that I had in me, I shouted out a loud "Hey!". Her friend turned immediately whilst 'she' kept walking. Her friend shook her head upwards as to ask me why I had called out. I remained silent. My mind did not appear to work. And a moment later, finally, 'she' turned. She asked her friend as to why she had stopped and as her friend pointed at me, she turned towards my direction and the moment her eyes fell on me, her eyebrows attained the upward curve again and her lips started widening slowly.

I walked towards her, with my brain screaming all along the few steps, various different things I could do - "Extend your hand", "Say your name and then extend your hand", "Don't extend your hand, just say your name and ask hers", "Say something romantic right away", "Ask her number! Ask her number!", "Say that she is the most beautiful girl you have ever seen", "Say something she would remember". But the moment I finally stopped a few inches away from her, my mind went totally blank.

"Madhu!" called out someone from the group."Hurry! There is no time to waste." 

And a cracker of joy burst inside me as the name resonated in my head. But the joy did not last even for a second as her friend answered that she was coming and asked 'her' to come along. "Say something! Say something quick!" shouted my brain and finally, came out the only two words that my brain could come up with, through my mouth - "Take care!".

Her eyes widened for a second after she heard it but they quickly narrowed again resulting in the breathtaking smile and the indescribably beautiful dimple. A moment later, she shook her head in acceptance and replied, looking at me - "You too!". I stood dumbfounded. And as her friend pulled her hand forcibly and shouted at her to come, she tilted her head in a very mild way and smiling for one more time, turned away and started running with her friend. 

I kept watching as she ran towards the van that had been parked at some distance away and finally disappeared into it. And slowly as my brain started playing again as to everything that had happened, I got really angry with myself as it came to the part of 'Take care'. "How the hell could someone think of something so lame?" I thought to myself. And I threw down the empty bottle again with a smashing force making it land with the same low thud.

I crushed it in anger and kicked it as far as I could. As I saw the bottle land at a heap of sand far away, I felt a sense of relief amidst all the anger and my mind slowly started comforting me saying that the two words I had uttered weren't really that bad and by the time I reached my friends who lay on the pavement, I had become convinced that those two words uttered had actually been good. As I sat down amidst them thinking about her final tilted smile, my friend hit me from behind and asked as to where was the bottle he had given to me.

Only then did I realize that it had been his bottle all along with which I had vented all my anger and grinning widely in reply to his question, I started breaking my head to say something believable to him other than my short-lived romance.

****

I looked all around the van from my seat. Everybody had slept and the only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of the engine and the wind. My teammate nearby had rested his head on my shoulder and had slept. As the distance to our college lessened with every minute, I stared through the window into the endless darkness of the sky. 

My eyes closed automatically and I thought about all the incidents that had happened in those 48 hours. They had not just been memorable incidents/experiences.

They had been a lifetime.

And as I slowly opened my eyes again to stare at the pitch-black sky, a distant star twinkled and looking at the twinkle, my heart brimmed with warmth and I just couldn't help myself from smiling.