Cinema ‘Interno’

I am back to writing after a sabbatical of 8 months, a time off as intentional as ad lib. I would count these 8 months as the most important in my otherwise unimportant life. A lot of introspection and retrospection occurred during this short period and I am ‘herenow’ ( a bit oshoistic to start with) in its true sense. I have changed from a crazy movie buff to a watcher of the inner cinema in these 8 months.

Movies have always fascinated me (fascination would be a lesser word to describe my penchant for movie viewing). Mohanlal and Rajnikanth were my childhood heroes, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jean Paul Van Dame replaced them in the adolescence , Robert De Niro and Al pacino fired my imagination in the intellectually marooned college days. There was a gradual growth from Priyan to Bharathan to Mani Ratnam to Spielberg , Cameron and Lucas to Sergio Leone to Scorsese and finally to the ultra modern Chan Wook Park and Quentin Tarantino, in my film viewing sensibilities. Favourites kept on changing and idols gave up the ghost for newer ones. But in the silver jubilee year of my existence in this planet, a thought ripped my alter ego of a movie buff into bits and pieces beyond recovery.

Increment

Our company is going to sink, its in very big trouble, Tata or Mittal may take over it, the investors may sell the equities with them, negativity was filling the air in dolvi complex for the last 3 or 4 months. The worst thing about the transmission of negativity is, it transmits itself with a velocity higher than light and with positive attenuation. So negativity and its patrons(LBDN’s(look busy do nothing)) were spitting their venom with unprecedented panache(for them or nauseating arrogance for the opposite bunch of people(may be few in number, but still this species is not extinct)).
So last week I decided to ask my boss(the most positive man I ve seen in my life) about our increment, bonus and future. He answered in his typical Chulbul Pandeyish style with an inevitable frown, ‘kya re bhenchodh’ why you are taking so much tension, achhaa milega sabko, I have been working here for the last 15 years and I have seen worse than this(he was slowly transferring in to his natural self appraisal mode). I have never asked my boss about increment, and look where I am now, work as if you don’t want your salary and then you will be happy, what have you learnt form me man?, learn these things from me and you will climb the higher rungs of management like a cake walk. He said in single breath.
‘Sir but, paisa’ it was our ‘aand bakshak’ Madhur.
‘Kya bhenchod, paisa is not every thing’
‘Toh aap mere ko 50000 rupya udhaar doh sahab’
‘Are raja, you remain with me for 2 years, let me become the GM,I will show you the heights you have never even imagined of’
‘Theek hai sahab’
We are not concerned about the heights of professional achievements or technical brilliance dear sir, we are working for that paper, printed with the ‘taklu’ image of the father of our nation(the only thing that makes him famous in post globalisation india), as you might have known by now.So, like all other Ispatians we are also creeping in to the depressing pit of technical and professional trauma, for want of that ‘taklu’ paper.
Coming to the company in the morning seemed like a task as tedious as rolling up a thousand building bricks to the top floor of a 20 storeyed building, manually and sitting in the office for eight hours was like watching ‘Pazhassiraja’ 10 times nonstop at gunpoint. Depression was capturing my soul and self, the only panacea to revamp my soul was that magic paper and the only heaven that I can wander in was that orgasm that ‘giffen good’ can provide.

The atmosphere being so weary and humid, I never expected such a message in my blackberry and as always it was Pandeyji, the messenger with a golden tongue and magnetic smile.
That message read exactly like this
‘Are kal paper milne wala hai, despatch ho gaya HR se, Satyaprakash ne mail bheja caster walo ko, paper collect karne keliye’
‘Oasis in a desert or just another mirage’.
Any way I didnt take it seriously till I saw the mail in our very own Nambiar’s blackberry.
That orgasm is back, that heaven is there in my courtyard and that ‘taklu’ paper is again firing my imagination.
The only thing my boss asked me while collecting the paper was ‘idhar rahega na abhi’
I returned a close up smile collecting the paper and turned back elated.

Identity regained

I have never seen her, but she is my best friend. The telepathic feelings of love and care I get from her are more than what I have ever got in my life. Now I am enjoying the warmth of sunrise, the beauty of dewdrops falling like gems from the morning leaf, the love of gentle breeze caressing my rough face , now I am enjoying life. I am getting back my identity through my roots, the identity which was burned by a wild fire, the fire which had left half burnt branches and brown leaves in my tree.

The Dummy Boy – Part 3

His first college day was spoiled by the encounter with the ‘inglorious rascals’, so he was determined to enjoy his virtual first day in the college. The Government Polytechnic  campus was beautiful with ‘Asoka’ trees decorating the banks of the pathways that lead to the main building. There was a lush green playground on the right side of the entrance gate and an old canteen on the left side. Students from lower middle class families(their dresses suggests that) were roaming here and there in the campus. The class timing was from 9 to 4 with a one hour lunch break from 12pm to 1pm. Being a government college, there was always a shortage of staff and seldom does the classes go beyond a good 2 hours, so the Government Polytechnic College was a centre of extra curricular activities ranging from small time criminal proceedings like robbery to dummy exam writing. There was a mafia group in the college for every politician and business man in the city, nurtured to protect the interests of these biggies. The college was a factory producing edgy criminals, hundreds in number every year, the major raw materials being desperate young boys of the age group 16 to 21 and the dirty mind of wily politicians and money centric ‘marwaadi’ businessmen controlling the entire financial transactions in the city.

Kanhaiyya entered the college with Hemant and Jitender(a local boy from the outskirts of Kolhapur city. Hemant introduced him to Kanhaiyya).

“Yesterday was a bad day man, there was not even a single hour of class and the ragging was intolerable”, Jitender said with a sigh.
Jitender was a tall dark boy with a good physique and a very slight stammer in his voice.

“……..so, what were you telling about the ‘Inglourious Rascals”, Hemant asked with untainted enthusiasm.

“Aah, they are notorious throughout the city, they are from the Baliram Patil group, you have not heard his name, Baliram Patil, Guruji.”
“No”
“Oh my god, you must learn about him man, he is one of the biggest dons in the city, he controls more than half of the cannabis business in the city and he is a corporator”

“Oh my God” Hemant frowned with the child like innocence that always prevailed his almost ugly face.

“Guruji is the pioneer of dummy exam writing in our city and his network covers the entire Konkan area also”

“Dummy exam writing?” Kanhaiyya and Hemant asked almost at the same time.

Their conversation came to a halt when they saw a crowd near the far end of the canteen.

The ‘Inglourious Rascals’ were beating the hell out of a man, presumably a canteen staff.

“Kill that cock sucker” Vikram Mhatre screamed while taking a broken piece of wood from the canteen verandah.

Swapnil and Rakesh were holding the man, with his hands tied back in a tangle and Kailas was unremittingly targeting his face with a sharp stone piece.

Blood was pumping out of his nose like water gushing out from a garden hose, his right eye faltered out from its sockets resembling interweaven petals of white and red jasmine flowers and his legs were wavering in the air like yarns in gentle breeze.

“How the fuck you dared to betray us?, you mother fucker.” Vikram started hitting him with the piece of wood.

“Strip the bastard”

Kailas started to strip the man with his ‘chaku’
Vikram put his hand in the man’s underwear and seized three packets of cannabis.
He handed over the packets to Kailas and seized the man’s head with both his hands. He started hitting the head in to a large piece of stone near to the entrance of the canteen like breaking a coconut in Vinayak chathurthi. The man was thrown in to the nearby weeds after making sure that he was unconscious.

The crowd assembly dispersed without a notice as if after watching the ‘The End’ insignia in a ‘tadka’ movie.

Kanhaiyya, Rakesh and Jitender were glued to the ground with shock.

Kailas came to Kanhaiyya and started watching him from knee to head.

“Now you will learn, how a hero can be transformed into a victim in a split second?, you mother fucker” Vikram shrieked at Kanhaiyya in his Gabbar Singhish smile.

Terror danced in the eyes of Kanhaiyya as he watched them move away from him.

………….to be continued

The Kanhaiyya Song

This is not a eulogy. This is the song of a chaotic soul in search of his light, his Tejaswini…..
Written by Amit Raj Lakra who is a close spectator of their eternal love.

Har raat ko karde savera,
Tere chehre ki chamak,
Tanhai ko karde mela,
Teri choodi ki khanak,

Tu mera khuda hai,
Tuje dhoondthi nigahe,
Bhool jaye jahaan ko,
Bhahoon mein bharke bhaahen,

Kabhi lagti anjaani si,
Kabhi lagti pehchaani si,
Woh hai Tejaswini,
Jaise suraj ki ek roshni,

Tu paas mere nahi hai,
Phir bhi tera saath hai,
Jo milke mil naa paaye,
Tu aisi talaash hai,

Tere khaas hone kaa,
Har waqt ehsaas hai,
In doorion mein bhi tu,
Har waqt mere paas hai,

Kabhi lagti anjaani si,
Kabhi lagti pehchaani si,
Woh hai Tejaswini,
Jaise suraj ki ek roshni.

Sach a character

Loads of words have been written about Sachin Tendulkar, his style of batting, his records, his back foot punches and comparisons with Don Bradman. But seldom do we think or write about his character.21years into the game, the man is still in top gear in all formats of the game. He always comes to the field with the weight of the expectations of one billion people.Still he is performing, performing better than players who were not even born at the time he had started playing international cricket(we can’t fathom his talent and genius with the yardstick we use for others).
I was just thinking about the sacrifices he would have made, the devotion he has for his profession and the fire he keeps flaming in him, truly amazing. Detractors(I would like to call them unadulterated garbages basking in the glory(they think so)of their inferiority complex) had questioned his abilities in many occassions, but we have never seen him reacting.A godliness prevails in all his movements, in all his activies and even in the way he speaks.There has not been a single day in my life, as far as I can remember, without his presence in some form or the other, like all indians of our generation. He has inspired a whole generation with his inspiring exploits on the field and the humbleness he keeps off the field. Take a bow, master, your name will always be there in the top not as a great cricketer, but as one of the greatest sportsmen in the history of mankind, with the likes of the Peles, the Lewises, the Jordans and the Armstrongs.

The Dummy Boy – Part 2

To read ‘The dummy boy’-part1 Click here
3

‘Hi, Kanhaiyyaji, I am your room mate. My name is Hemant Vishwanath Kothekar and I am from Gadab, a small village near Pen.Shall we move to our room, its in the second floor, room no 204.’
‘Don’t call me ji, I am not of your fathers age’ Kanhaiyya replied sarcastically.
‘Sorry Kanhaiyyaji, I mean Mr.Kanhaiyya!’
Hemant was a lean fair boy with a childish face and curly hair.
There was an aura of innocence surrounding him and he had that ability to connect with any stranger without a moment of hesitation.
They entered the room with his trunk suitcase.
It was an old room with yellowish broken walls and unplastered floors. Two cots were arranged at the left and right of the entrance and a table was placed oppossite to the door. There was an old Khaitan fan, an incandescent lamp and a broken tube holder with abundance of cob webs in designs beyond the imagination of human brains.
‘Welcome to our room Mr.Kanhaiyya, this will be our home for the next three years.’ Hemant looked at Kanhaiyya with a big smile flashing his extra white teeth right into the eyes of Kanhaiyya.
It was already 7 in the evening. After his showdown in room no 101 Kanhaiyya had went to the town to buy some essential stationary. By that time words about his heroics in room number 101 reached every nook and corner of the hostel.
Kanhaiyya took his suitcase and kept it on his cot. He opened the suitcase and took his most valuable items, an old copy of Don Quixote and a Sony Walkman player(audio cassette type). He placed the book in his hands and started carrassing its pages one by one. He loved Don Quixote, he loved adventure and he had always lived dangerously.
The yellow light from that sixty watts bulb augmented the yellowishness of the pages of that old book. He stopped turning the pages when his hands felt her face. She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the world, she was an angel.The enthralling radiance of that black and white photo glowed that yellow room with the exuberant whiteness that no fluroscent lamp can ever provide. He loved her more than his life. She was his light, the light which always radiates in the darkness of his life. She was Tejaswini, his Teju, his light.
‘Kanhaiyyaji, Sorry, Mr.Kanhaiyya are you coming to the mess to have your dinner’.
Hemant’s voice pulled him back to the darkness of the real world.
‘No, I had a heavy naashta in the evening, please have your dinner’

Kanhaiyya was already in the flashback mode as Hemant went out of the room to have his dinner.
The song ‘Jalte hai jiske liye…..’filled the voids in the dusty air of room no 204 romantiscising it.

to be continued…………

The Dummy Boy – Part 1

This is the extra ordinary and heart touching tale of a boy, a diploma student, who became a racketeer. I decided to write his story the moment I heard it from him. Like all masala potboilers this story also has a spoilt boy, his lover girl, crime, a college and his enthralling Don Quoxotian adventures. I may not be able to do justice to his story to the fullest, but I will be doing a great injustice to him if I don’t write it.
1

A thousand oceans snarled in his dreamy eyes when he first walked through the corridors of his college verandah. He was disturbed, he was completely broken, he didn’t know what to do. He entered the college with 500 rupees and an old trunk suitcase which contained his dresses and some books. He had no acquaintances in the city of Kolhapur and his mind was preoccupied with his father’s illness. A lot of things flashed through his mind randomly, the day a scholarship was awarded to him by his gaavwaalahs for getting a distinction in the 10 standard, his fathers heart attack and paralysis, the face of his childhood sweetheart, his mothers struggles as a house maid to make both ends meet and the thought about his own future, it was too much for a 20 year old to bear. ‘Kya re behnchodh!’, he felt a pair of hands falling on his shoulders. They were the rogue group in the college, final year students. There were five of them, all dressed up in complete ‘charra’ attires. The leader of the group, Vikram Mhatre was a tall green eyed boy with well toned body and a Hrithik Roshanisque hair style. ‘Kailas, get the bastard to the hostel room’, he screamed to his most obedient subordinate.
2

The Men’s Hostel was an old building which in its appearance had a close resembalance with the ‘bhoot’ houses shown in bollywood films. Room No 101 in the first floor were the camp of the ‘charra’ group. The hostel was their underworld and they controlled all its functions from that room. The major source of their income was from the smuggling of food materials from mess and commissions for contract of food items. The haftas they recieved from the hostel inmates were another source of revenue. They were notoriously called as the ‘Inglorious Rascals’. Vikram their leader and the 4 others Kailas, Satish, Swapnil and Rakesh were the uncrowned king and his warriors in the underworld of Government Polytechnic Kolhapur. ‘What is your name?’ Kailas screamed with arrogance, like all cowards usually do. Kanhaiya Lal…….. ‘Full name’, asked Vikram. Kanhaiya Lal Gupta….. Kainhaiya Laaaal………Vikram started laughing in a manner which would have made Gabbar Singh proud and his subordinates mimicked him with panache.
The worst thing about being in a group is that, you never know your limits and even your trueself when you are involved with it. ‘Where is your Radha Mr.Kanhaiya’ it was Swapnil, a short dark boy resembling a pigmy. ‘Your Radha is there in the wall’, Vikram pointed his finger to a b grade actress poster in the wall. ‘Start making love with her’
‘Aaah remove your pants before that’
Kanhaiya removed his shirt, pants and undies without a moment of thought only to give the rascals a shock, the first one of its kind for them. He started making love with her with all its intensity and vigour. The rascals were embarssed, as if they were publicly watching a pornographic film.
‘Are, remove this lunatic out of our room, other wise he will spoil our floor and walls’ Vikram shouted in a startled tone.
Kanhaiyya came out of the room with the same naughty smile that young ‘Lord Krishna’ wears in his face.
Kanhaiyya Lal, 20 years old 5 feets 8 inches, 72Kg, the hero of this story, a bipolar personality, who can jump from the depths of depression to the heights of ecstacy in seconds, who writes his own rules, who is illogical, contradictory and inconsistent and what not, the almighty had created him with all emotions in excess………. He turned back to look at that number 101 which later became the head quarters of his empire.

to be continued…………….
To read ‘The Dummy boy’-part2
Click here

I loved her……..

She came into my life,  like a lightning.

She went from my life,  like a dew drop.

I loved her when she was in my life.

Now I hate her.

Then, why did I love her?

I am loving her by hating her.

I am punishing myself by loving her.

Now I love her.

I loved her

Dance Bar

There is a famous(infamous) John Donneian quotation on nudity “Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys”. There is something enigmatic about nudity, nudity of our self or of another. Freud might have elucidated the connection of nudity with sexual frustrations or may be sexual fantasies, I don’t know. But I know that the sexual fantasies(frustrations) of a man(boy) swivels around a woman’s(girl’s) nudity. Nudity and sex is deemed as the greatest sin in our society guided by moral policing of all sorts from religious to political to spiritual. Osho says that human beings’ have only one energy in them and that is the sexual energy’, and no energy can be tied down, it needs to flow smoothly, any hindrance to the smooth flow of that energy may turn into frustration. Unfortunately in our society the sex surge of an individual is obstructed and dampened to the utmost. The only pornographic animal in this planet earth is human being and he takes it as a credit. The most dreadful thing for a man is to withstand the nudity of a woman without being frustrated. How can he?, he is not accustomed to it. The commodity which should paddle his fantasies, has been converted into his biggest frustration, over the course of human history. Every man yearns to experience that frustration like there is nothing else in the world. He strives to get a glimpse of that nudity, that nude woman body part anywhere and everywhere. When I say every man I literally mean it. Categorisation can be made within like men interested in full nudity, interested in thighs, interested in boobs and navels and some interested in a bikini body(frequent Goa visits of some socialites accounts for this). We can see his frustration on display in railway stations, in buses, in shopping malls, in theatres etc etc. Here comes the significance of dance bars. The wikipedia definition of a dance bar is ‘ The term dance bar is used in India to refer to bars in which adult entertainment in the form of dances by relatively well covered women are performed for male patrons in exchange for cash’. But I would like to define a dance bar as a holy centre were men rinses his sexual frustrations and returns anew with a fresh spirit, so that the public display of his frustrations are blocked. There are hundreds of dance bars in our beloved Mumbai. The ladies showcasing their assets in these bars colours the fantasies and erases the frustrations of men. We can see men from 20 to 70 in these pilgrim centres enjoying themselves with aiyaashi of all kind and the erotica of beautiful women, wavering all around them. Our modern dance bars may be compared to the mujras of yore where women would dance to live classical indian music. But the modern day versions of Umrao Jaan are lusty and seductive than beautiful and charming. The mujras were always presented as an epitome of beauty and class by our literature and bollywood(bollywood has now matured from Umrao Jaan to Chandni Bar) rather than whore houses or brothels. But the modern mujras are converged more to the Chandni Bar image in the modern social projections. The social institutions which goes on devising ‘Labyrinths of Sanctity’ to puzzle its members have completely rejected the existence of these modern mujras. If we plot a graph between the moral policing and decades, it will be a plot with a positive slop. The reason may be the totalitarian tendencies emerging in the social institutions with the passing of years. We are becoming more and more conservative in issues like sex and nudity, its a sad reality. This may be the reason for the steep increase of public display of frustration(as I would like to call it) in recent years. The dance bar system we have is as private as it is public, it is viewed with utmost disapproval by all social institutions. We celebrate ‘in aankhon ki masti’ with stupendous delight, but we tend to reprimand the dance bar system with noxious vigour. It seems paradoxical to me, can anyone give me an answer. These are random thoughts which came to my mind when I thought about the dance bars in Mumbai.