Good movies and moviemakers

While we have lost many a film personality this year, the loss of Sachi the movie maker seems to weigh heavily on my mind today especially since I recently got smitten by his latest and (greatest?) – Ayappanum Koshi…

A movie par excellence, a movie without faults and a movie that has a balanced head and heart – a rare feat that movies can boast of. And the intelligence of this movie maker is so evident in the fine balance he strikes between the blacks, whites and greys that there is never a decisive moment when we the audience can decide who is the ‘good man’ amongst them all?

Ultimately it is a simple movie of conflict between two men; but talks so much more and extends to such boundaries that only a smart movie maker can do without preaching or moralizing the characters. A lesson on how entertainment and humanity can be packaged together into crispy dialogues and stellar performances, a lesson that comedy doesn’t really need to be mindless and a lesson that simple stories with a good heart can touch the audience far deeper than computer graphics and ‘super stars’.

And I can’t but touch upon the generosity with which the filmmaker has finally lent a ‘voice’ and ‘character’ to its lady actors – finally a movie where the woman has a mind of her own and can stand there in sunshine and not under the shade of the male characters (which is the norm?). During trying times of inequality, here is a movie that breathes justice – whether it is the equal weightage for all characters, the strength given to the ‘lesser mortals’ on screen and the vulnerability that is portrayed by the ‘lead’ characters – truly a democratic movie that shines light on the greys of the people, the power of the powerful and the flaws in the upbringing of men..

It is a loss for movie lovers, a loss for humanity and perhaps a cue for film makers to shirk that need for ‘super star-struck’ characters, the need for ‘macho tones’ for men and take to earthy characters, sincere portrayals and movies that simply have a ‘good heart’.

All lives matter

The rot lies within us and the symptoms tumble out in our daily news – a choke here, a rope there, a mob here and a monstrosity there – all telling us a tale – a tale of lost lives and lost causes and a tale of the history that we have crushed to pulp.

We were the fortunate generation which came into life after the carnage and bloodshed, the generation that was born into a life of equality and nondiscrimination – cocooned from the revolts and revolutions that changed mankind. But what did we do with the silver platter – we ate out of it with unabashed gluttony, we ensured that we never looked into the eyes of the starving soul who peered into the platter and we finally hid that platter away from the eyes of the ‘others’ – it is after all for our ‘selfish consumption’.

The slavery, the misogyny, the partitions, the walls and the apartheid that took lives but hoped to establish a sense of justice and ‘fairness’ to the world just seems like a rather good waste of human lives - we still practice these ‘honourable’ traditions but it is packaged with finesse and powdered with rouge and sometimes masquerade itself as policy and practice. But the disguise doesn’t do its job as the person at the receiving end will feel it all – the injustice, the bias, the untold words and visible signs break hearts, end journeys and choke lives.

We all are party to the pandemic around us – not the physiological one, but the silent and mental one that is floating around the globe – sometimes unchecked, sometimes asymptomatic and sometimes fatal. We are the generation of ‘tolerators’- we tolerate if it doesn’t affect us, we tolerate if it is not a ‘big deal’ and before we know it the insults have turned into slaps, the grope has turned into assault, and the bias turned into murder – will we still tolerate? An answer which time or struggle will tell.

The Bangalore Breeze

The breeze of Bangalore – that one seductive temptation that I can never deny - is back …brushing through my hair a moment and fondling my cheeks another..it is an allurement that indulges my senses and a vice that I never break away from..

So the breeze has successfully chased the demons of summer away from the city and sweat and swearing that comes with the sweat seems to have vanished at least for the moment. The sticky sweltering beads of sweat finally waved goodbye and left me to peaceful existence – the violence of summer seems to have finally left the home.

The breeze takes me to the greener memories of Cubbon Park – of walks in the parks, of the bubbles floating through the greenest grass, of family outings, of the crunchy peanuts that a determined vendor thrusts into your hands, of a father who loved the exertion of long walks. And not long after, Lalbagh beckons me with the breezy mornings that we spent in its august company, the ghee dipped dosas that we ravished at the legendary MTR, the floral patterns that baffled me with its odd angles and patterns, the squirrels that bravely touched the bread crumbs left behind.

How easy for things to whirr past into memories, how difficult to now comprehend the ‘lockedness’ of our existence – how we never used the space we always took for granted, how we never socialized while we had all the chances thrown at us, how we never hugged as much as we could. A simple trip to the park now looks complex, ridden with fear and paranoia. And the grass, flowers and the squirrels reign undisturbed by humanity.

But you can’t lock down the Bangalore breeze- it flutters, teases and rejuvenates at its free will. You can’t shut out the Bangalore breeze for it is a phenomenon that must be experienced, loved and savored – some good things still live in the city after all.

The Child in the house, the Child in me

Sometimes, we adults are so engrossed in the world that we have created for ourselves and the world that we have built in our minds that we miss the very obvious. So when the child in my house throws questions at me- I get irked, provoked, discomforted and sometimes simply stunned into silence.

My usual day at ‘work at home’ as they call it - is a blend of sheer labour peppered with exasperating interactions and sometimes ending with bloody corporate volleys. But as the job and the self blurs into oblivion, she interjects with innocent queries that bombard me as philosophical bombs that shake the very premise of my ‘usual workday’. Questions like what do I do..what is a team..who becomes a boss..why is it called a boss – questions that I never sat down to evaluate in ages, questions that make my conscience squirm and questions that make me rethink my existence.

A child in the house is worth having a thousand therapists, guides, moralists, fitness gurus and one large alarm bell in hand  - she makes me jump start the day the ‘healthy’ way as I fulfill the ‘righteous mother’ role, she ensures that I eat the food that I have labelled as ‘good’ for her (and errr me too now without a choice) and she ensures that I keep my feet in motion in strict adherence to the 20-20-20 principle – wonder how children learnt this in the first place -  for every 20 seconds of your legs on the couch, there will definitely be a shout for something to make you move your legs!!

And as you try to break through the adult stresses of work, health, money and material things  - the child in the home suddenly sprinkles you with magical dust- the magical dust of simple joys and simpler desires -  so you will realize the therapeutic power of cutting, rolling and colouring paper strips and appreciate the soothing effect of crayons and paints that colour your fingertips. She will teach you a lesson or two of the magical beauty of fulfilling small desires , of breaking your adult ego, of the freedom that frog jumps give you and of succumbing to humility when you cannot touch your toes as lithe as her!

Slowly and steadily the child in the house brings out the child in you too – and you start enjoying the curiosity of how a home-cooked dish will turn out, you start looking forward with feverish anticipation for the rains and you start to lick the remnants of an ice cream out of a bowl as the last drop of liquid paradise melts in your mouth! Childhood never looked so close and easy!

Saudade

Each person has a certain yearning, an element that fires her up and it would have to be the mountains for me. The longing is more acute as I live, walk and now lock down myself within walls of a city that smells of concrete and steel.

My journeys through the small hillocks, valleys and the mighty mountains keep breaking at my mind as waves of the past, the murmur of the mountain breeze crisp in my ears, the scent of the evenings in a valley enlivening my senses. The mountains never leave you – they stay where they are but keep calling out to you from up above and keeps you wanting for more.

And here is where ‘might’ might matter but a small hillock is no less superior and can bring wafts of freshness and breezy pleasures to you, a small winding path to the valley brings much more than better views. A valley and a small hill town cleanses you of your material greed, it teaches you to love the air, to enjoy the warmth of a hot tea and to immerse into the sunset and dewy sunrises of the valley!

But there is something about might  - the mightier than the mightiest – the Himalayas- it reigns supreme as the emperor of the clouds. A sight to behold, a sight to experience and a sight that will remain a part of you. No matter which profile, which side and which view, the sight of the Himalayas evokes an emotion that I am yet to encapsulate into a word. Whether covered with mist, embroidered with snow or cascaded with rain – its bewitching beauty never fades and in the company of pristine clouds, it stays there in all its royalty and glory.

So the feeling of Saudade – the deepest longing for the mountains, for the Himalayas or maybe just the little hill town next door. So today I am on a winding journey through the memories of trips to the mountains, of the coldest shivers in the snow, of the piping sweetness of masala chai and the rainbow of shades that embraces the mountains every evening.