Journal of a Rock Angel

It's the Blog Swap time at 20 Something Bloggers and I and Hannah are tagged together. Guys - It means I write one post for her and she writes one for me. So here she is, give a warm welcome :)


This week I'm away at the youth group residential. We're staying at a campsite near Epping Forest. The plan is today that we head into London and do the tourist thing. Today is also Lambkin's Birthday (for those who don't read my blog the people around me go by nicknames rather than their own names) he turns 8 today so at breakfast we had present opening.

When I started this post we were waiting in South Kensington tube station trying to sort out our tickets - we needed a group ticket because its our youth group but we couldn't get the ticket at the first station. We were somehow allowed to board the train and organise the tickets at the other end.

Anyway so now here we are in the queue for the Science Museum. I do love the museum but there are so many people here I'm not sure its going to be worth it.

One of the guys in my group is serenading one of the girls (actually I think he was singing and she was stood in front of him)

Later today we are heading to Camden Market. I'll see if I can add pictures and bits later.

Thank you for having me. More Hannah-ness can be found at http://www.rockangel.co.uk

Hannah :)

Thanks Hannah. It's a pleasure :) I love girl journals.

Daddy's Little Girl

Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.

I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.

I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.

It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.

We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.

My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.

Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.

About Love and its Legalities

I’m so over-the-top happy that, the Delhi High Court decriminalized homosexuality by reading down section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The Delhi Gay and Lesbian Parade went very well and had a great turnout, I’m happy about that, but also sad that I coudn’t be there. For great pictures of the same, head over here. There was this crazy news reporter there going around questioning all of them and asking extremely annoying questions like, Is he your boyfriend? Do you guys kiss? Do you think this disrupts Indian Culture? And provoking physical expressions between them, so that he can take pictures and then sell them, or who knows run it on India TV for a good one week. I get so annoyed when people say this is abnormal, or can be treated. For one, Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common. Hence, forms NO benchmark for normality. Two, it’s unfair; Love and Marriage is human right not a Heterosexual Right. And please about the Indian Culture, sometimes I think India is a country of tolerance and diversity of landscapes, colour, languages, gods and festivals, everything but people.

The Backseat

I never do book reviews, merely because I never read book reviews. I hate it when people segment books by genre. Or typecast books by sad, mad, bad or ugly. For that matter, I don’t like flashy covers either. They make me want to keep the book down and switch it. I like stories not described before, or a book without it’s back page filled by words “thrilling”, “enticing”, “extra-ordinaire”,”masterpiece” et cetera, for really do they really think my choice is in-sync with the columnist of The Suntimes? I like books with aged yellow pages and that lost smell of handmade papers. So lovely.

Anyhoodle, this isn’t about me this is about Aditya and his book. The Backseat. It’s the perfect book for the Mumbai Monsoon. You know those books which keep you engrossed on those rainy days ... curled up in a blanket. Nikita’s story is, well, really for her to tell. But as for Aditya, you can tell by reading it’s a film-maker writing the story. There are ups and downs and quick recoveries, it’s not those typical books (read: all books) when the tragedy goes so excruciatingly slow you almost suffocate in the pain, and if you’re like me, skillfully skip pages. This can be cast into a movie, or made a sequel of (off the point: Aditya, you did think of a sequel right?) (devilish smile).

What I loved about this book is Aditya’s way of storytelling. His little stories, which seem disjointed, come together in the end, tactfully. Moreover, his writing has a visual sense to it which I have rarely come across. It’s been sometime since I’ve read the book and I can still so vividly remember the portrayal of the little girl, the Ganpati Visarjan and her father at the beach. Although, to me it seemed at the end, there were a few strings un-sewn and some emotions undealt with, but then again, he shows what he wants to show, it’s his story and it’s only fair that he leaves us asking for more.

It’s a simple read and a no-frills book. Anyone who likes chick-lit, inter-cultural portrayal, Mumbai, drama, storytelling, storyreading, bonding, hope and Aditya would love it. I enjoyed it. Give it a shot!

PS: Thank you for the nice note on the book, Aditya. And Manish, Thankyou for bringing it to me.

For the love of God, God…

…we need some H2O here. Like really, it’s not even funny anymore. Ever since I have moved to Indore, I haven’t showered. I mean, we have that balti and mug and all, but flowing water with bubbles and pressure remains a distant dream. So does using conditioners. And bleep bleep, after bleep after bleep, has happened to my swimming pool plan. Due to acute shortage of Water, our club people, which FYI is supposed to be the nicest club of the city has closed all the showers but two in each Mens and Womens locker rooms and the two so called active showers have had some more than passive turnout with water pressure, so much so, that there is a queue to it. It’s not a fun scene there, I especially loathe the flabby auntyjis chit chatter of Bridge while they shrug their shoulders and flip their receding hair in black skirty swimsuits in the shower queues.Thanks, but no thanks. I utilize less clothes, I utilize less utensils and get frustrated all day thinking of how much water we used to have in New Bombay! Oh also, there is no warm water. You’re smart, you know why.

I don’t freakin give a shit anymore if its Taai, Taaya, Mamu, Chote Bhaiya, Chacha Sasur or whoever jagat bhaiya wants to run my city. But I want the damn water for my hair oil days.

Meri Ma

When I meet new people, which is a lot, I love meeting people. In my opinion they’re the only original non-spoilt-by-brands-and-advertisements and non-plagiarized source of ideas left in our Ctrl-C Ctrl-V world-o-rama.

Topic deviation, shit, ADD, now back. So when I meet new people, I was saying, I always ask about their families. Their parents, siblings, the way they’re bought up, home culture and the like. It interests me a lot. And I always end up feeling a little lost. On – what is –really- the right way to bring up children? The way my parents bought me up? Or the way everyone else is? I’m aware this is a massive generalization, but that is exactly what I intend.

My parents had very few rules, and the ones they did enforce had nothing to do with discipline. The one rule I’ve known and followed all my life, till today, is that we eat together. No matter what. You didn’t have to agree with anyone, if you don’t really accept the idea in your heart. Even if it’s the-dad or the-mom. You’re open to argue, at all levels, at all times. Every advice is well, just an advice. No one expects you to fully follow it. I was told “you shouldn’t be out so late”, as opposed to, “you cannot be out so late”. And I had the right to not follow it.

My mom always let me make my own mistakes. And they let me pay for it. I cant even fathom how hard that must have been. To know in your heart that your little daughter is being such a fool but not lose her by saying it to her face, and let her fall in front of your eyes, sit down-spirited, with a broken heart. And again, still not show a face of I-told-you-so. When I look back today, I know, there could not have been a better way.

No topic in my parents’ house is off limits. Really, I have spoken of condoms on my dinner table. And I can swear in my parents’ presence. Yes, in Hindi too. I must also add here, that if any of you think I’m from a super rich bollywood family, you got it all wrong. I come from a typical middle class family, my mom’s a housewife, she comes from a small town in Maharashtra and my Dad’s an engineer, and my little brother is well, annoying and goofy, to say the least. So what really stood them apart from all the others trying to be friends parents is that they as individuals were the most receptive to change. Changes around them , in ways of the world and in their children.

I had my first beer with my Dad, and the next 30 following it too, before I started going out with my friends. It’s not that they encouraged Alcohol. It’s just that they respected and treated us as adults, when we needed to be. Respected my choices. I think it was that freedom given to me, which makes me feel responsible as an adult till today.

This post is not about how lucky I am to save my money for alcohol and just drink from my home’s refrigerator, or how I can make dirty jokes on dinner table and my parents don’t even blink. It’s more about how I’m NOT two different people when I’m home and otherwise. It’s about how amazing I feel to be accepted just the way I am, just the way I’ve chosen to be and make of myself. There is an infinite amount of reassurance you get when you’re accepted lovingly by the people who know your shortcomings the most.

I plan to get married soon, and I want to have kids one day. I just hope that when my kids grow up they look back and feel the same about their parents as I do for my Mom and Dad.

_________________________________________________________________________________
ON A VERY-VERY DIFFERENT NOTE
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m no hurry to have kids yet. Shaadi tak theek hain yaar, bachche jyaada ho jayegi mazaak mazaak main. Aur ye bhavna main khaasi tarah se vyakt bhi kar chuki hun. Ab haal hi ki baat le lijiye.

Meri Ma ne Naani ban ne ki mannat maangi hain, mujhe kal hi pata chala. Mera vichaar ye tha is par ki ‘Maa, Naani ban ne ke liye shaadi ki kya aavashyakta hain, who toh aap yun bhi ban sakti ho’ :P

Is par, ek atyant hi Punjabi tone main ‘badtameez’ kehke Maa ne phone kaat diya. Hehe.. Maze hi aa gaye.

Ab itna senti diya hain, toh nahi ruk paungi, sun hi lo.

“..Ye Zindagi Hain Mom Ki,
Tu Mom Pe Lutaaye Ja.. “

Aap sabhi ka din sukhad ho. Vote karna na bhuliyega.
Jai Raam Ji Ki.

Film Flair

About The Reader

It’s been more than three weeks since I saw The Reader, but there have been less movies or less books which have had any impact on me since then, as much as The Reader’s. Which are by the way a lot of movies and books gone by. These are a few things I absolutely loved in the film.

- I liked the details to which the characters were etched out in it. Especially, Hana’s.
- I also liked how Michael found it so difficult to be heroic and save her. It is difficult to be heroic, thankyou very much to acknowledge it.
- The discomfort of being around someone so ruthless was portrayed so beautifully in the end sequence when Michael sums up the courage to go meet Hana.
- The burn of loving that person who is capable of hurting you so much and abandon you, the vulnerability and naiveté of the first love.
- The sick guilt of revenge which almost kills you was magnificent in the court room trials’ scenes.
- The lady and the dog. I want to get my copy.

About Gulaal

I had been on a permanent speechlessness after I saw Gulaal. To begin with I was determined to love it anyway. My ears rang of the tunes. And Gulaal didn’t disappoint me even in one bit. It’s one of the most moving work in Indian Cinema in a long time. I think the last time that I was in such awe of a hindi movie was with Omkara. DevD was nice too, but in a very different way. Here are some things I liked about Gulaal.

- Just like The Reader, the film is successful in carving very strong characters, of Rananjay’s, of the brother-sister duo, Bhaati, of Dilip, Duki Bana.
- Piyush Mishra’s mid movie poetry, I mean really where have you been?

"Oh re Bismil kaash aate aaj tum Hindustaan
Dekhte ki mulk saara kya tashan, kya chill mein hai
Aaj ka launda yeh kehta hum to bismil thak gaye
Apni aazaadi to bhaiya laundiya ke til mein hai."

“Aaj ke jalso main bismil ek gunga ga r aha
Aur behro ka who rela naachta mehfil main hian
Haath ki khaadi banane ka zamana lad gaya
Aaj toh chaddi bhi silti ingliso ke mill main hian”

- The colour schemes in each and every frame.
- The scene when KayKay Menon’s wife enters the bathroom and Dilip’s just in trousers. I still don’t know why was this discomfort created, but it bore such a brunt of uneasiness, it comes to life in you when you watch it.
- “Hello There – Democracy Beer” ! “Hell Here – Democracy Beer”
- “Saraabor ho gayo sehar aur saraabor ho gayi dhara,
saraabor ho gayo re jattha insaano ka pada pada
sabhi jagat ye puche tha jab itna sab kuch ho riyo tho,
toh sehar hamaare kaahe bhai sa aankh moond ke so riyo tho
Sehar ye boliyo neend gajab ki aisi aai re,
jis raat gagan se khoon ki baarish aayi re”
- Beedo.. Duji Thaali Ka Lage Bada Masaaledaar
- Aarambh Hain Prachand
- “Is mulk main har shaqs ko jo kaam tha saunpa, us shaqs se us kaam ki maachis jala ke chod di”
- Jaise har ik baat main Democracy main lagne lag gayo ban
- The way Maahi Gill treats KayKay Menon.
- He asks for Liquor and says “ek Republic dena!”
- The fighter’s helmet instead of a regular one
- The followers, who follow the saner ones, get killed first, just how the emasculated ardh-naari is. From where I saw it was a bluntly honest satire of the wrath of politics on the common man.

I can probably go on listing these; the truth is I can’t have enough of it. Anurag Kashyap has done a commendable job with the script, the irony of freedom from the system, to make a similarly suffocating new system comes on screen with an amazing blow to you when Kiran stares in disbelief in the end shot. Great acting, great screenplay, moving music and stunning camera work.

Rest later; I have an exam in two days. (But I had to get this off my chest)
Yours truly, with much love, respect, concern and all such insincerities,
-Me