Aao Saathi Sapna Dekhein

Picture this – I am standing aside looking with a smirk on my face and a hope in my eyes, as a queue of folks – an interesting ensemble indeed with the young lad and his boisterous college friends, the lady in green with the quiet intelligentsia look, the arty family et al. – enpass their internet booked, phone booked, pre-ordered tickets at Rangashankara. Probably I should have booked early – rings my mind, keeps ringing. And then, that angel of a young man comes with spare tickets and with a gleam in my eyes and a spring in my feet, I stumble forward and in a quick motion, procure the ticket from him. I am watching “Aao saathi sapna dekhein”, yes I am.

A dream – what is it? – what we see in our sleep and ponder over during day, or what we dream in the day and ponder over at night. I like to think it is both. Every waking moment is a reflection of what you dreamed of as a kid, forgot to do so as and when you got more mature, but yet it remained with you, somewhere somehow, egging you on .. that is for you – in a gist, the introduction to the play. Mumbai Cult presented a dream like musical by the name Aao Saathi Sapna Dekhein, set in Chandni Chowk, Delhi. The plot clearly etches out the cultural milieu of the cobweb of identities that is Chandni Chowk, without losing the simple human feelings and joys. The music and lyrics complement some really fantastic acting by the crew which comprises of some famous faces. All in all, the sheer energy of the actors does good justice to the premise and the smile does not die for even a second during the entire act, even in the 10 minute interval.

The narrator, Bahumukhi, is the whole-and-soul of this love story of Baiju and Gauraiya, puppets in the conniving and endearing plot of their fathers to get them married. There is the quintessential third angle with Lallan Pahalwaan – whose “oh ssit” was a hit – the local lovable gunda. The act goes along in a pacy and subtle way – etching out some latent emotions as the dream goes on. But, with it comes the harsh reality as the boy and girl face a painful separation, laced with misunderstandings and ambition. And it all ends of a fundamentally happy note !

The music is what sets it apart from your neighborhood love story. There is an uncluttered, simplistic use of the props and some fine nuances that the director subtly puts forward that make it enjoyable as ever. I am not an expert on playwrights and music – but the fullhouse and a standing ovation just said it all. A Sunday well spent, indeed.

The image is coutesy Rangashankara.org

2 States – A review

Chetan Bhagat strikes a chord with the readers at the cover page itself, with Punjab and Tamil Nadu, extending hands to each other. The struck chord is re-struck, played magnanimously, melodiously and all in tune as is evident several times in the book. And in a brave sycophantic effort, he dedicates the book to his in-laws ! – a self-proclaimed first. The novel has all elements characteristic of Chetan Bhagat – youthful modern characters, mildly abusive conversations, a messed-up relationship and a twist in the end. It says the story of Krish and Ananya, a madly-in-love IIMA couple, who being from different states go through the perplexing meandering process of convincing each-other’s parents. The always-in-trouble Hari from IITD comes of age in IIMA, sincerity and calm brimming not only from the character, but the book as well, as it begins with a not-so-whirlwind romance between the-hottest-girl-in-the-batch and our central protagonist. The courtship with parents is endearing and central to the plot – in fact that is the plot itself. The distinctive characteristics of states are well-etched out and integral to the story. Although, I felt the narrative did lack a compelling characterization, especially of Krish’s father. A pinch more of believability would have added the zing – atleast for me – to the novel.

I loved it none-the-less and read it in one go, from page 1 to page 269 without a break !

- Now onto “Anne Frank – the diary of a young girl”

2012

I had front row seats to the mass destruction of world today, as I sipped on ice cold Pepsi – and by golly I thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, I would go ahead and say – excuse moi francaise, sil vous plait (excuse my french, please) - oo la la ! If I could have the world end, I would let it end like this.

In case, you know me, I am not a big fan of sci-fi – which is ironic given that individually, I love ’sci’ which gives me money for the ‘fi’ – and I practically live for ‘fi’, in fact my own life is pure fiction – and yet, I am here praising an insane story-less debacle of an imagined end of the world. Why ?

Comprehensive, I would not say. Thorough fare, nobody would say. Acting Skill – as good as a block of wood. Story – I wrote a better one at the age of 5, while pee-ing. Logic – has holes I could fly airplanes through, and mind you not the small toy planes. And yet, it was entertainment. You see, whenever the world ends, we – the pessimists – tend to enjoy it, howsoever mindless it may seem. And if the scale is such as it was here, we enjoy it with cola, fizzy. I mean, solar flares, melting core, tectonic plate shifting, magnetic pole rearrangement, earth displacement, and massive massive destruction. Kudos to the special effects team, they have worked wonders on celluloid, and it was grandiose ! I do despise that among the saved there was no Indian, despite the discovery being made by an Indian – who curiously spoke Hindi with an accent – and the fact that all turns out well in the end with some saved in the ‘Noah’s ark’ for a new beginning. If it is the end-of-the-world story, why doesn’t the world end ?

Anyhow, I had a wonderful time and I would look forward with anticipation to 21st December, 2012.

Can I ..

Can I be a kid again ?

.. when rain meant holiday from the school, the yawn extended to the afternoon, cold lunch from the tiffin box eaten with hot tea as breakfast, a run-in with madness as we drenched our way to oblivion, loud shrieks and a free mind !

.. when I wanted to be everything, everyday and mostly would be – a pilot now, a cricketer then, a police inspector after that !

.. when I could blow bubbles back into my cold drink, uncaring of hygiene and ‘oh-what-would-she-think’ !

.. when nose-pricking or ass-scratching were not social taboo, but just frowned upon !

.. when future meant the next Sunday and the summer vacations, and was not meant to be afraid of !

.. when crisis meant a broken window, not a broken heart !

.. when I thought of pain while at the dentist’s and not the bill !

.. when every noise from the sky was an airplane, and the gaze angled its way across the sky till you hit the scooter on the road !

.. when there was no B added to the school, and engineering was just a word with a tough spelling !

.. when Recess meant taking food, playing hide and seek and that long line at the water cooler, not a financial crisis driven by bad mortgage loans leading to loss of jobs and hike freezes !

.. when percentages were only discussed after results, in a cursory way, and had no effect on the money in your pocket !

*Inspired from a modest salary ‘melt’ in the modest life of yours truly!

The dream job

He hung the puppets back on the wall, no strings attached. It had been a long hard day. Yet He longed for satisfaction. It was meant to be a stop-gap arrangement, but He never managed to move out. Sometimes, He figured, it’s not a question of options, it’s more about inertia – an innate tendency to let things stay, unruffled. A deep exhale marked the end of yet another day. He looked at the fogged window pane with a tinge of bitterness and wrote His name on the droplets with a finger. As He looked outside the window, there it was – the usual humdrum going on, a world that never slept – the lights flickering, the hum of the traffic, slow but moving, moving towards another day, at a rummaging grumpy confident pace of a giant.

It had been a long time, and yet He never got used to being a part of the usual goings on of His world. It felt strangely apprehensive to be on the top, alone, working odd hours, hours and hours of mind numbing repetitive work day in and day out. Sometimes, He wondered aloud, whether anything He did made any impact, and there was not a soul in the vicinity to hear His musings. That led Him to make indistinct maneuvers to make it interesting, subtle and yet endearing. He felt needy, mildly depressive and yet in control. Another one bites the dust .. played in His walkman. His beeper read in gold font, A.G, blinking, on the desk, signified the end of His break.

The hand written ‘Almighty God’ on the window slowly melted away as the street light lit up the room for the next shift.

P.S Even the dream job is not that dreamy after-all, playing god is tough and I bet He feels feel underpaid, and overworked !

Disclaimer: I have all creative liberty without being blasphemous. In my defense, I have used, or at-least tried to use, a capital ‘H’ for Him everywhere. And finally, I am sure I would have loved Him if I had faith.

Overkill

Last Night, 3:30 AM
I am awake, again. And I know the lyrics for why I have been unable to sleep for nights. Yes, I was searching for songs on insomnia.
It started with thinking reverse psychology would put me sleep, out of boredom. But it was interesting, and I did get the idea to listen to songs on insomnia. And I had a sound four hours of sleep, after this. Read on, and listen.

I can’t get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know I’ll be alright
Perhaps it’s just imagination

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away

Alone between the sheets
Only brings exasperation
It’s time to walk the streets
Smell the desperation

At least there’s pretty lights
And though there’s little variation
It nullifies the night from overkill

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Come back another day

I can’t get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know I’ll be alright
It’s just overkill

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away
Ghosts appear and fade away

Small Talk.

M – So, how is my best friend doing today ?
R – I don’t know, who is he or she or it ? I ll just run along and ask. *Smirk
M – Aha ! Its your dry humor that keeps this place running. *I-have-the-upper-hand smile
R – Not without your sarcasm, sir .. I am just food for its soul. *I-will-have-the-last-laugh
M – The one who understood the joke last, had the last laugh.
R – *How can he read my thoughts?* *I need to say something* *Oh something* So, anyway, what are we here for?
M – Are you married?
R – No. Not yet. *Why-does-he-ask?
M – Oh, but why? Are you gay?
R – Not yet. But tomorrow is another day. *Ah-it-rhymes and with my voice, it chimes ! And it rhymes again .. its giving me pain !
M – The dry humor again. Then, how do you bring a lunch box?
R – A hired a cook who cooks. *It really is small talk.

And it really is small talk. All characters are figment of my imagination. Any resemblance to real life is purely co-incidental, unintentional and entirely unprovoked.

Courage.

I was intimidated from the moment I entered the building. An aura of history engulfed the place, as if a wretched past was associated with it. There a mild warm breeze blowing across the street, giving a mirage-like tinge to the brownish fading walls of the building. It swayed in front of my eyes. I was desperate to go on, against the odd, against my will.

As I crept up the dusty stairs, I wail crept up from inside and echoed in my heart. I was startled and almost fell back, my determination shaken to the core. I tried to shake the fear away .. think of something calm .. and it was then, that my eyes fell at the red stains across the wall, blood red. It’s a wretched haunted place, something inside me screamed and yet against my own heart, I went on unheralded. My gaze fixated at the blood on the wall. It looked as if it was trying to warn me, someone with a past wading off my future. And yet, something tugged at me, constantly pulling me inside. I was strangely proud of having defied all odds, and worked my way through to my destiny. I am intimidated, am I at the wrong place at the wrong time, what will become of me? And yet, with steely grit and determination, I trudged forward. I have to do it today, otherwise …

And I entered the electricity department. Today was the last day to pay the bill. I have to do it. The pan stains gleamed in the sun !

3 .. 2 .. 1 ..

The drop of sweat trickled down his cheek. He could feel the trail it left behind, slow, deep and anxious. He could feel his heart beating against his ribs, hard enough to just burst out. Can they hear it too the loud thudding noises in his chest, he looked at the guy besides him and wondered. And there was just a void, an emptiness growing inside him as he tried to quieten his thoughts and concentrate.

He always did this before every race, just think of nothing. A meditative state. He had done it for years, sprint after sprint, never realizing how far he lagged in the race of his life. As she used to say – a quiet mind is quite the best. He never forgot that, or any other thing she said. The deep timbre of her voice echoed in his head. He tried to picture the amber color of her skin, the sweet aroma she exuded, the blue of her eyes, and that expressive twitch of her smile .. He could feel the drop dripping down his face, only this time it was a tear – one that tore him apart.

The train alarm sounded, he was ready to jump. 3 .. 2 .. 1 ..

And as it passed over, he wondered aloud, even if you win the race, you are still a rat !

Kyra – Paul Zerdin

I, for one, am a crude connoisseur of the fine arts, as in I appreciate, I criticize, I adore and I hate, if given a chance, but I rarely go out of my way looking for one. This time though, it was different.

Kyra Theatre, 100 ft road, Bangalore. The hours of twilight dawning upon us as the flickering light from the incense candle in front lit up the heart and mind, I looked deep into those eyes .. deep beautiful .. withdrawn .. oh .. I am not talking about that here .. lets leave that to another day and stick to ventriloquism for time being.

Ventriloquism, the art of throwing your voice .. was the performance that day, and the man in action, and when I say it, I truly mean in action, was Paul Zerdin – and Papa CJ. Papa CJ was the introductory comic – he had the crowd into splits before the action even began. I for one, popped one eye from laughing (no .. not literally). And then came the voice throwing, puppet handling, crazy as hell Paul Zerdin. Well, what followed were rounds and rounds of insults on certain sections of the crowd, embarrassing moments for many and enthralling ones for the rest. Check out this video for how the guy does it .. (This ain’t what we saw but snippets of it from another show)

Check out the site for Kyra as well, lovely place to spend an evening