Happy Diwali y’all.

Everyone's Diwali

Today I worry not of the horny cars which shout on top of their digital voices, or of the birds that will die tonight (owing to their sensitivity which cannot live through the sound of crackers), or of people with doors kept open for Lakshmi’s blessings. Today I’m worried about all that chocolate that I won’t be able to eat.

I’m 19.5638 years old, blessed (not really) with a 23.0638 year old brother.

We still fight for chocolates. We are a result of early exposure to the commodity of chocolates. They made it impossible to inculcate the habit of sharing. Today as I sit here typing this post, cultivating the virus responsible for cold and cough inside my poor body, I am worried. My system does not recognise a festival without provisions of eating chocolates. And that is exactly what is forced upon me due to untimely illness. Well, I’m sure my brother will have a Happy Diwali. As they say it, it’s the times that are harder, which make us realise how much we love our family. Ah. Surprise. They were right.

My Diwali

King Of Diamonds

The pack of cards you play has an extra queen today,
But the Jack isn’t giving up tonight,
He is in no mood for chess.
Play the usual jazz, or all that you know;
No one's dancing to your tunes tonight.
And until you saw the mirror,
Did you know who you were?

Raise a glass in the melancholy of your victory,
For you shall always be the king
Of times never seen.
Dilly dialling couldn't save you,
From your own bronze, copper and ferriage.
Tick Tock, the clock's savage slap.
Flying, the birds are,
Neighs the cosmic horse.

The spades are no more rivals.
They'd conquer the hearts & clubs with your help.
Now that you've seen the mirror,
Do you see what I saw all this while?

Mirage

This raindrop is special
As it reflects the sun
As it blackmails her
As much as it predicts its own fall
As and when it suits him
As if it were unaffected
As per the laws of the universe
As for this time and space.

The epiphany of his golden locks
is unafraid of being extinguished.
The diamonds of her veil,
are still terrified of sparkling.
Queer this camouflage is,
Which they seek in each other.

Mechanical Favours

The cells trapped
in lithium
Nerves are wired too
The soul has acquired rust

Turn on the tear gear
The laughter was timed for daylight
See the stars, See the moon
See how they don't care

How can there be an end
To what never existed
Did you not time it right
Oh lord of mechanical favours

The cells trapped
in lithium
Nerves are wired too
The soul has acquired rust

Dear Girl in yellow boots

One of my closest "best friend"s, Ishita is pursuing film making from XIC, Mumbai. Yes the kinds that saves the adjacent seat for you and follows the bro code. On one of those destined prolonged moments when it rained heavily in Mumbai, as it did here in Delhi we happened to be enjoying the downpour over the phone. It was the lull which intrigued us in random conversations about our glorified laziness. We were both very hungry when we began our conversation and normal people were asleep, at around 3 A.M. We were both very hungry when people woke up. I even experienced the cock in her neighbourhood crow like a professional sound recording of an alarm clock, at around 5 A.M. We were both very hungry when people left for work, at around 9 A.M. But we were also very sleepy and decided to sleep then. During this hunger induced chit chat, we discussed several interesting topics, like we always do. But this conversation was essentially about subtext. Her teacher keeps asking her to look for subtext in all study material available in forms of films(primarily), literature, music etc. She told me how stupid film reading can be at times. Mainly because it is impossible for a film maker to bring each and every aspect of minute detail to the notice of the short attention spanned audience. For example, an apple is used as a symbol of longings/desires/everything that you should stay away from. Try and notice how it might be quietly lying out of focus while a lot of action takes place on screen.

A still from 'Darna Mana Hai' 2003

We then talked about the colour theory. She told me about a great book which covers this topic called "If it's purple, Someone's gonna die". The title itself, is an example of what many film makers follow. It's creepily accurate. Try observing in films.

If It's Purple, Someone's Gonna Die by Patti Bellantoni

The next day I saw posters of the film "That girl in yellow boots". I obviously related it with the colour theory and experienced a deeper understanding of the posters, thanks to the knowledge of the 'subtext'.

Patti Bellantoni's introductory page on 'Yellow' says-

(Click on the picture to magnify)

Needless to say, I watched the movie ASAP. (Spoiler Alert-The content posted below contains information that might spoil your movie viewing experience)
The "Bunny rabbit meets Julia Roberts" girl Kalki, plays a patient, brave and upfront young girl who is out on a turbulent journey. While she's looking for her father whose unconditional love is all she seeks, that love also serves as a bait to survive the rat hole life she has built for herself. She compromises with her dignity and gives 'happy endings' or hand jobs to people after massage to gain a few extra bucks that she needs in order to feed corrupt embassy officers/visa department/postmen/police. She does it all with a smile on her face, for her own happy ending. That which remains constant, is her feet clad in yellow boots. Whether she is waiting for her visa application to get approved, or walking down the streets, or returning home, she is grounded in the tint of innocence and signified warnings.
I personally do not like the colour yellow. It puts me off. But I do like the mustard fields of DDLJ(Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge). It's probably the controlled amount of yellow which stops me from hating them. However, shockingly, I love the use of this colour in this movie. It's not just the colour yellow, but yellow coloured boots, which make all the difference.
The last scene of the movie just steals the show away when she takes off her boots and walks with joyous music playing at the backdrop. Her journey was over.
That girl in yellow boots is a brilliant piece of cinematic pleasure which carefully uses the colour theory and crafts a visual, sonic, emotional and symbolic equilibrium.

But then again, these are the views of the girl who longs for a rainbow umbrella. You might think differently.

PhotoCredits-http://www.flickr.com/photos/yein/with/2785596455/

Thumbs Up

"मैं धारक को १० रुपए अदा करने का वचन देता हूँ "

It appears to me like the Indian one rupee coin is asking for a lift. It's a silent 'all the best' to people using it, as opposed to the two rupee coin which publicises 'peace'. But at the same time, a one rupee coin asks people to value it. To understand what it takes to be the lowest denomination that can be spent. What is the significance of Indian currency today, I wonder. No, I'm not thinking about the attributes of globalisation and trade here. The recent 'India Against Corruption' campaign has led me to to critically evaluate the value of money.

The politics of symbolism can not be side lined. That we see when Anna is compared to Gandhi today. When you raise questions about Anna's supposed 'sanctity' and try to nullify his comparison with the much celebrated 'father of the nation', does it not make you question that perhaps Gandhi too, was a result of algorithmic image building?

Then what's the use of reality and objectivity in public space when people are almost averse to it? How difficult is it for those who are mechanically trained for understanding a sugar coated language of emotions and sentiments, to percieve 'objectivity' that we talk about?

Let's not forget, Gandhi is imprinted on each and every currency note in India.
Heaps of money, We continued to build.

Anarchy

I cannot drive, Even my brother can't
He learnt twice, I never did.
Now come on, admit it.
Women can't drive.

From Sanskrit
To Hindi
We've travelled miles
From neutrality
To the living attributes of inanimate

Aeroplanes, the remarkable agents of commutation
Computers, the geniuses
And homes were men.
Trains, books and huts remained female.

Oh how men painted women
As powerful and the future of
The free country they dreamt of
Oh how women painted themselves
As caged in walls of the past

The intellect speaks in silence
About democracy and its ways
But the floating heads give it away
The rule of none, is what they want
Men and women, all alike.

Ah, they're mushrooming.
Symptoms of anarchy.
Treatment, none.