The two of them walked in the mystery of the twilight, holding a promise in their handclasp. Wordlessly, they seemed to know where one's footfall was going to be. They seemed synchronized, as if they were both a part of some magic spell that bound them together. Perhaps, there was a magic spell!
She stole a look at him. With blatant disregard for societal norms, she was one to express what she felt. Yet, how much can a person look at another and not creep them out with the hunger of one more vision?! So after a while, she had to satisfy herself with these stolen sidelong glances, noticing the bridge of his nose once, looking at that sparkle in his eyes or seeing how his mouth crinkled up when he smiled.
He always noticed those sidelong glances, and turned around to see her eyes sprinting across his face. He loved it that she did this, as it gave him one more reason to look at her. See the calmness and excitement taking alternate hold of her features. That quest in her eyes, the steady nature of her gaze and the loyalty of her smile. Her face was a promise he wanted to hold.
It had been some days since they went on these trysts. Every evening, he would come home, and she would accompany him. They would walk, sometimes wordlessly, other times, throwing in a word or two. Mostly, words seemed unwanted. They spoke through some unworded language that only the two of them understood. A bat of an eyelid, a fleck of a hand, a suppressed smile and one knew what the other was saying.
Today had been the day when they had finally confessed what one meant to the other. It is not like they gave it a tag or began building airy castles of marbleburst and glass. It was yet again a kind of acknowledgment- now in words- that life was meaningful in certain ways because they had found in one another something undefinable yet deep. It was not as if an unbreakable seal had been formed, but more like a hope of something beautiful had fluttered for the first time.
They had suddenly found beauty in life together, and they wanted to see where this journey would lead. There were no conclusions, it wasn't even a beginning. It was just an understanding, and probably far more beautiful than any of those verbose promises and grand declarations that the world had seen.
Raindrops falling all over the earth trespassing with a kind of arrogance raising a faint muddy smell as it slakes the earth's thirst.
With a roar the rain unleashes its yearning lust flashing in its eyes like lightening.
The sea rises and tumbles as the breeze and the rain attack it with all their inner strength
Heavens exchange melodies with the sea rains and wave-splash encounter mid-air in a raucous play of light sight and sound.
As the skies lock lips with the dancing waves as it reaches out for an embrace in an orgy of sinful passion a burning fire within is roused and some molten passion bursts forth in golden lava spewing out its anger pleading a reason for its heartbreak!
The more films I watch, the more I seem to be looking at them from the audience's perspective instead of a director's. Yes, all I want to be, in my life, as of now(and probably for the rest of my life) is a director who makes interesting films out of interesting stories. But somehow, I still seem to be trapped as part of an audience, still thinking out of their shoes.
And every time I watch an Indian film(and here I'm using it in terms of Tamil and Hindi that I predominantly watch), it saddens my heart that 8 times out of 10, I end up being disappointed.
As an audience, I feel cheated out of my three hour worth time and as an Indian, I feel that most of our films pay meagre interest in the rich possibilities that our country's culture offers.
A few questions, invariably keep popping in my head time and again, after watching these so-called 'formula films'.
I totally understand that the Indian film industry is the busiest and churns out a phenomenal amount of work for around 750 crores per year- this money being equivalent to what one man swindled off through the Satyam scam!
But I don't understand why directors have to resort to doing the same kind of films over and over again, with just a change of star cast and location and probably other things like costumes, crew etc, repeating the same story again and again!
Our folk tales offer a rich source of inspiration, everyday occurences kindle a lot of situations and more than anything else, we have such a talented bunch of actors, technicians and other facilities that remain to be tapped.
The same story gets repeated in half-a-million different ways year in and year out. It ANNOYS me that the audience is treated like an idiot that asks for such things on screen. The blame game between audience and the industry can only be resolved by the industry. How can we decide that the audience likes formula films only, when we have barely exposed them to any other kind of films!?
If Subramaniapuram won the audience hearts, if an Eeram provided a sensible supernatural thriller, why can't such audience reactions ever be considered the next time anyone ever makes a film?
Why do we keep getting just one kind of film? Agreed that there has never been a better phase for young filmmakers to bring out their ideas on silverscreen than now. But such films are so few and far between.
One really wishes, as a part of the audience, that we don't get repetitive cliched characters. It irks me to see women portrayed time and again as mere dolls on screen. It is high time the actors take a stand and demand a scope for acting rather than just paste make-up on their faces, stand in the sideline, make a guest appearance and get reduced to glorified extras!
Even the heroes are time and again, larger than life, can-kill-anyone-with-a-mere-blow demigods, celebrated by their community. Villains are dummy caricatures who mouth uncouth dialogues and have thugs following them to probably even the toilets.
Why does a country that produces such brilliant cameramen, editors etc fail to make solid scripts? Yes, languages are plenty and probably a course in scriptwriting does become a tad difficult. But it is definitely not impossible!
I'm sick of hearing the Tamil parallel of "We have a situation here"- "Naan oru kudumbastan" time and again in every goddamn film!
When people can figure out fancy locales and stunning stunts, where does the creativity get stoppered when it comes to sensible plots and interesting dialogues?
I hate to accept that we watch more 'foreign' films than Indian films in our class when it comes to learning about any wing of filmmaking. There are a few Indian films that we end up watching as exemplary ones.
In a country that is so rich in every aspect, it really pains me to see no variety being offered to the Indian film audience.
I'm tired of watching the same old thing. I want something different from normal, films for kids, supernatural thrillers, film noir, drama, MUSICALS!
The star power probably does have a role to play, forcing directors to resort to time-tested plots. But it saddens me that if we watch a random muted song sequence of many actors, it is so difficult to figure out which film it is from, since they are all so alike!
Yes, we have such a song-dance subculture in India that we SO don't utilize. Songs and dances could be beautifully woven into the plot than having them as a breather in between the drama.
This is an immediate reaction after watching a recent formula Tamil film.
I hope we get to see something different soon. And yes, I also hope I'd someday soon be given a chance to attempt something different on the big screen!
Somewhere, by the sea, Krishna laments, playing his flute. I can hear its faint notes. For all the games he has played- with minds, hearts, lives... he laments.
"I too am a mere toy of fate," his song claims. A plaintive note arises. A struggling breath, choked with tears he dare not shed in front of those who worship him, finds its way through bamboo shoot and musical voids and begs for forgiveness!
The sky. The sea. The earth. Early stars standing testimony for the cosmos. And the dying embers of a smouldering sun lining the horizon. He prays to the Panchabhootams through his music, pleading to be relieved from his bounden duty of playing his crafty game- turning kin against kin, twirling destiny between his thumbs.
The faint sounds still visit on rainy days like this one... Between the patter of the drops, I almost hear Krishna's sobs. In the breeze, I still can hear the lull of his flute and when the raindrop touches me, I feel a love so pure, so gentle and so trusting. Who else, but Krishna could touch that way?
1) When something goes right, something wrong usually follows. 2) Volatile is my new middle name 3) Figuring things out makes me lonely and not figuring things out makes me claustrophobic. 4) Wish there was an undo-redo-delete-home-end-pg dn-pg up button in life. 5) Ghajini's Sanjay Ramaswami/Singhania's short term memory loss could be used at will-on myself and others. 6) NID could be shifted to Chennai. 7) Wish shopping was the single biggest meaning making substance in life and I desired nothing beyond that! 8) Wish I did not have so many expectations out of my own life! 9) People were a lot simpler, thoughts could be read and hatred erased from all of the universe. 10) a+b=c (but heck, no... it HAD to be a complex equation!) 11) I could put things back in their place and not live in a messy pig-sty-ish style. 12) I could colour my life when I found it drab, like walls and switchboards! 13) Wish growing up was easier and childhood had less fancies about adulthood. 14) I could travel when I blink. 15) Machines were reasonable beings to whom you could talk and get them self-heal or self-destruct! 16) Food was always good EVERYWHERE! 17) That you could allow family in baggage. 18) Thoughts and ideas could be beckoned at will and brilliance was on speed dial. 19) Memories could be altered and obliviated. 20) All my life could be spent in watching films, reading, writing and painting. 21) Intentions were visible in comic stylized thought bubbles. 22) Mood swings did not exist!(sigh!) 23) Life was not such a complex game, or I was not so simple in the head. 24) More focus, more strength, more I-don't-cares! 25) The little butterfly that is fluttering within could be let out to soar to great heights. 26) Happiness was an over-the-counter medicine. 27) Certain things in life were not mutually exclusive and certain others were not mutually dependent! 28) I had sturdy wings to fly away from everything and soar awhile for some self-discovery. 29) I could talk less, think more and be more independent. 30) I could actually cheer the world and myself easily. *sigh*
Beginning stages of homesickness. Unrest. Cramming for time. Searching for inspiration. Wanting more meaning. No heart to go anywhere or do anything. Beginning of the blah. Desperately wanting Mysterious Mentor for whom I wish for every-goddamn-day ringing my doorbell!
Probable solutions: Endless mugs of tang. Shopaholicism(being followed to a 'T'), self-motivation(urghh! I detest the word), a trip to the mountains, new Rahman album like one of the really old ones, a little more meaning, one single rain, a bit of indifference, a slice of maturity and some more home time!