These days
two things, that happen on TV, give me real irritation. I would talk about them
in detail below.
For the
first thing: now a
days on several Hindi movie channels several Hindi- dubbed South Indian movies
are telecast round the clock. In these movies the protagonist is shown laced
with super-powers. They can redeem vows taken in their childhood. They can
complete their vengeance even if their every bone is broken. They never die
even if they have bled profusely. They never lose; they always win. And not to
mention the female leads who are only showpieces with their sultry avatars (as
any other general masala movies) sans any meaty scenes.
In the
initial stages, when the movie channels started showing Hindi dubbed south
Indian movies, I was expecting some meaningful movies from south-Indian movie
isles. As a child, I used to watch sometimes south Indian movies (that used to
have English subtitles) on Sundays on DD ONE. And I had some wonderful exposure
to the art of storytelling and display of subtle human emotions.
Films
likeAmrutham
Gamaya,Anjali,Nizhalkuthu,Desadanam sketch different hues of South
Indian cinema that have tinges of palpable and logical boundaries of human
capabilities, frailties, and flaws.
But with the
films, that have names like Daringbazz,Meri Taqat Mera Faisla, Rebel
Romeo, you miss the essence of pristine expressions of human faces. Now
the expression in such southern masala movies is limited to yelling at the
villain with high pitch of decibels , crying with faces that can be compared
only to caricatures, and laughing with hollow glee that seem utterly cosmetic.
You get a feeling watching these kinds of movies that the originality of craft
of acting seems to have become extinct.
You might
argue that why am I complaining about such films and if I don’t like them, then
I should avoid watching such films and If I am fond of other genre of South
Indian cinema then there are other platforms where such movies are available.
The reason I
am complaining is that the masala movies fail to introduce us the north-east,
north, west, and east Indians to the real magic of southern cinema that should
be easily available for our consumption. The sensitive and thoughtful cinema is
the right of every citizen(of India… of the world, who cares about human
emotions. And they should be dubbed in the languages of the other parts of the
world to reach the maximum pairs of eyes and maximum throng of brains to
introduce them to different hues of the struggles and bliss of human lives.
Yes, the
movies are available on the internet, but they are not dubbed in Hindi and they
lack English subtitles too. That is why, I am saying that the Hindi dubbing for
such south Indian movies should be done that portray human emotions with
original expressions.
And as far
as dubbing is concerned, why not dub the Marathi,
Gujraati , Bangla, Punjabi, and North-east Indian movies
and put them on national television channels for consumption of larger audience
base. I am sure that the meaningful movies from these languages will fetch more
moolah than the meaningless action movies. I bet that when the Marathi movies like Shwas and Nital
and Bengali movies like Jana
Aranya and Pratidwandi are telecast with Hindi dubbing, they will outdo
the profits of no-brainer masala movies.
The
second thing: these
days whenever TV commercials show happy family, it shows one mummy,one pappa
and one or two child(ren). And surprisingly there is no place for Dada,Dadi or Nani, Nana in the TVC for a happy family going on holidays or
munching on pizza at multinationals’ outlets.
India is a
country where despite the rant of values and respect for elderly, the old age
homes have mushroomed all over the country. The media is rife with stories,
where children abandoned their parents citing financial burden or after the
elderly bequeathed the property to their wards. It is termed as shameful in
some quarters of society but the society shuns declaring it criminal. And when
advertisement world very cozily conjures up the idea of happy family, it also
comfortably leaves grand -parents out of the TVCs. And this should also border
on committing an intellectual crime.
I think that
the ad world that boasts of brilliant brains and thinkers cannot shun their
responsibility of showing the right path to the society and act with gay
abandon ignoring the detrimental social trends.
ज़िंदगी उलझे धागों की हथेली है I ब्लॉगर साथी सचिन बइकर कृत एक छंद जो इस कविता को मानव संघर्षों(खासकर मुंबईकरों के संघर्षों ) से जोड़ती है और एक नया अर्थ देती है, निचे इस छंद का आनंद लें : ज़िंदगी हर रोज़ ट्रेन की सवारी है, ज़िंदगी शाम को घर आने की तैयारी है I
Mr. Gunasekaran is around fifty-six years of
age and works as a Sr. Marketing Manager in a potato chips company. He has
reached up to this post with his sheer determination to excel in life and his
unqualified submission to hard work. Now he is well-off financially.
He is a god
fearing man and is happy with whatever he has received in his life. He is
grateful to god for giving him a wife like Chinnamani,
he loves her more than anything else in the world. Today is her birthday so he
has bought a gold necklace for his wife. He tries to do everything that can
keep his wife happy and engaged in order to keep her mind away from the
brooding about the childless state of the couple.
During the
youthful days, Gunasekaran used to comfort
Chinnamani that God will certainly
fulfil their wish of becoming parents but as time passed by and they remained
childless, the anxiety tendency in Chinnamani
grew multifold. Once she has had a nervous breakdown also.
She keeps
thinking as to what will happen when their bodies stop supporting them, as there
is no one to take care of them! The sight of old age home scares a hell out of her.
She doesn’t want to go there. Gunasekaran
comforts her saying that: “Look even people with children have pains in life,
as the children grow wings and move out of the parental nest they seldom
comeback to take care of their parents.”
“In such
situations the parents have to be able to learn to take care of themselves on
their own. And if we keep doing ‘Yoga’, we will never feel too weak to handle
the life after sixties.”
But deep
down Gunasekaran knows that life is
full of uncertainties and the body is as fragile as glass. Anything can happen
at any time in old age. And to fight his depression, he drinks. Yes, this is
the only flaw that the gentleman Gunasekaran
has. He drinks only to go aloof for some time from the dejecting aspect of
his life i.e.: being childless.
He descends
from bus at a wine shop while returning from the jewelry shop. He buys a small
bottle of his favourite brand of whisky and sits on the table by the side of
the shop. He has his potato chips with him to go with his drink. Though he
drinks, but in limit and has never been that drunk where his legs are wobbly
and mind is oblivious to the current situation. He is a responsible drinker. He
never makes any ruckus after drinking.
He completes
the drink and chews on some mouth freshener to beguile Chinnamani of the alcohol scent.
His house
from the alcohol shop is some two hundred meters away, and he usually walks up
to his house and refrains from taking an auto. There is a stretch of path up to
his house that seems desolate for some five minutes. While He is going towards
his house he meets with that desolate stretch. He hears the noise of three-four
pairs of feet following him. His heart starts palpitating…he speeds up but the
following pairs of feet also speed up.
Now Gunasekaran
grows really anxious as he is sure that these are some goons who are after
the gold necklace that he has bought for his wife.
As he
decides to move faster to get out of the desolate stretch, a car stops
screeching before him. The people from behind pounce on him, overpower him, and
shove him into the car. They put a chloroform dunked hanky before his nose and
he loses his conscious.
When he
comes to his senses, he finds his hands tied to the arms of a chair and his
eyes blindfolded.
He hears
intermittently the voices like: Lufthansa Airlines welcome you to this part of
the world, that part of the world. The names seem utterly unfathomable to him
as he has hardly put his foot out of his state, in the years that he has spent on
the earth, leave the country.
He assumes
that he is now in an airplane.
“What do you
want? I am ready to part with the necklace…you can take it but please leave
me…my wife is alone in house and she must be crying because I am not there.
Please let me go…for god’s sake!” Gunasekaran
pleads.
“Guna, you are here?”
“Who… Chinna?”
“Yes…they
kidnapped me last night on the pretext that you have met with an accident and I
needed to go to hospital,” explains Chinnamani.
“Get up you
both!” says a female voice untying their hands and removing the blindfold.
“Make them ready
for their fall,” instructs the female voice.
Both of them
are made to change into the dresses suitable for a fall from the sky and are
loaded with some bags on their backs.
“What do you
want to do with us?” yells Gunasekara.
“If you want
to kill us… then kill us straight away…we will not resist,” cries Chinnamani frantically.
“Push them!”
says the female voice and she herself makes a plunge out of the airplane too.
Gunasekara and Chinnamani clasp the hands of each other as they tumble out of the
plane into the free falling arena of the sky. For some time they keep falling
like a rock falls from sky piercing the thick air. Suddenly the parachutes
bundled onto their backs open up with a jerk and they start dangling in the
sky.
“Enjoy the
moment!” says the female voice as she clasps the hands of Gunasekaran and Chinamani
forming a circle in the air.
Both Gunasekaran and Chinnamani are totally flabbergasted at the situation that they are
in. They are totally dumbstruck to say anything; they are just observing the
arena around them.
After
sometime, she instructs both of them to pull a set of strings down, so that they
can land on the piece of land smoothly.
They all
land safely afterwards.
It is a
beautiful island with breathtaking sea shore.
“For next
one month you will be here my dear…enjoy your stay here this is your ‘Blind
Date’ with the world... soak up the beauty of the place.”
“But who are
you and why have you brought us here?” asks a bamboozled Gunasekaran.
“I am
incarnation of Prithvi…the world and
why I have brought you here? Well, you both are the lucky winner of the ‘pure
soul’ contest held at the court of God … and you have won a free stay at this
place as a prize from that contest. So stay here for the month and spoil
yourselves. You will get here everything. This island will be at you beck and
call for a month,” explains Prithvi.
“But you
look quite young to be Prithvi…the
world?” asks a puzzled Gunasekaran.
“I also do
yoga my dear,” says Prithvi whistling
towards the sky. The Lufthansa airplane hovers lower and drops a ladder. Prithvi clasps onto it and moves up to
the plane.
Gunasekaran and Chinamani are all alone on the island but instead of fear there is
a sense of delight in their hearts. They both feel an immense sense of
exhilaration that they have never experienced in their lives so far. The nature
is so beautiful in its pristine form that all anxiety and depression has got vanished
from the minds of the couple. The feeling that God is really caring for them
from up there imbues a sense of security in them.
They see a
big bungalow nestled on the beach. They decide to go there. The door is locked.
Gunasekaran orders: “The door be open,”
and the door does open.
It is quite
a thrilling experience that in life things are moving as per their wish. They enter
the room and find a luxurious heaven waiting for them with a set of retinue
inside.
They can eat
anything that they want to eat; they can wear anything that they want to wear.
The scrumptious food, the fine finery: everything is available at their command.
Twenty days
pass by of their stay of one month. Everything is fine but still the hollowness
of living without progenies haunts Chinnamani
on and off. Sensing the dejection
of her face Gunasekaran says: “Let’s
travel to explore the far flung places of sea shore and that too barefoot.”
This brings
back Chinnamani from
her thoughts. She agrees to be part of exiting barefoot exploration.
They must
have strolled up to two kilometers on the beach but they don’t feel the fatigue.
The sand beneath the feet seems like velvet.
Suddenly,
they hear the voice of an infant crying. Both focus their attention towards the
sound. They see some ten meters away something laying and they assume the voice
to be coming from it.
They both
rush to the place.
When they
reach the place, they both look at each other in disbelief.
It is a
mermaid infant.
She is crying
continuously.
“She must be
hungry but what can we give her to satiate her hunger?” questions Chinnamani as she lifts the baby mermaid
from the sand.
As she
clasps the baby to her bosom, the intensity of the cry decreases drastically.
The baby mermaid starts nuzzling her lips against the bosom of Chinnamani and miraculously the milk
starts to spurt through her undergarment. Chinnamani
removes her blouse and let the baby mermaid latch on to her breasts. Today,
Chinnamani is experiencing the
complete sense of motherhood at the age of fifty-two. As the baby suckles on her
breasts, the tears of ecstasy trickle down her eyes.
Gunasekaran is witnessing this surreal, magical
moment with brimming eyes. Today, he is watching his wife experiencing the joy
that even several grams of gold had failed to etch on her face so far.
“Since there
seems no one to take care of this little one, I will take her with us, I will
look after her, what you say?” asks Chinnamani.
“Sure, why
not?”
They bring
the baby mermaid to their bungalow and spend rest of the days taking care of
her. The little one also develops an unbreakable bond with both of them. They all
seem to be familiar with each other since eons.
Since the
time, the little one entered their lives… time just flew by.
One morning
when they are busy playing with the little one, Prithvi appears.
“So, now
your time is up in this place…prepare to come with me to your world,” informs Prithvi.
“Could we
take the little one too with us?” asks Chinnamani.
“No…she
belongs to this place only…this is her world…now get ready to leave this place
and this little one,”Prithvi turns
down the request bluntly.
“But now she
is our world, she is our life…we cannot think of parting with her…Prithvi you are also mother of
innumerable children, please understand my situation,” pleads Chinnamani along with Gunasekaran standing with folded hands.
This scene
melts Prithvi.
“Look she
cannot survive in your world…one thing I can do but only if you agree.”
“What is
that?” asks Gunasekaran.
“Since, she cannot
go with you to your world in that case you will have to stay here if you want
to be with the little mermaid… but for that you will have to forgo claims on your
house and your bank balance in your world…would you agree to do so?” asks Prithvi.
“Yes we
would,” say the couple in unison.
“Look… the blinding
happiness that we have found in this blind date is far more precious than the
materialistic wealth stashed in bank accounts in that world,” says Gunasekaran.
“But then
all the luxury that you have had here till now will vanish in next two hours, I
will provide you only with bare minimum needed to stay at this place…do you
still agree?” asks Prithvi.
“Yes…even if
you take away all of luxury we would prefer to stay here as long as our little
one is with us,” says Chinnamani.
“Ok then, I
bless you both and the little one a wonderful familial life of a hundred years…enjoy
your stay here and contribute to keep this part of the world as flawless as your ‘pure soul’. God will be
very happy if you could do so. And yes you will get everything that you need to
stay here happily and comfortably. Oh! Now it is time to leave for me,” says Prithvi and dashes out of the bungalow
to take her Lufthansa flight like last time.
Thus Gunasekaran, Chinnamani and the little mermaid get a brand new lease of blissful
life of hundred years together and wave their goodbye to Prithvi, ensconced on the Lufthansa
plane, from their window.
It is the
time of the year when Durga Puja is just
round the corner. The Kolkata Metro trains are plastered with posters of ‘Sharod Shubhecha’ . The sweet and soft
version of winter has started to seep in and the milieu of whole city has got
drenched with intoxicating fragrance of Durga
Puja err… Pujo (to put in true Bangla
perspective).
Amid the exhilarating
excitement of Durga Pujo that has
just started to get the city under its mesmerizing thrall, I board the Metro
Train at Mahanayak Uttam Kumar
Station (aka Tollygunge) to go to my office.
I work with a private company and to attend
the office, I travel every day from ‘Mahanayak
Uttam Kumar’ Station to ‘Central’ Station. Generally, I carry an English
book with me that I pretend to read sometimes during the journey. Actually, in
the Kolkata metro, I have seen professors (teachers) checking exam papers (and
that too of statistics: which is enemy of my (this) incarnation, I hope that in
my next life I would be able to understand Binomial Distribution et al.), and others
reading English books. I have seldom seen people reading any Bangla or Hindi
Novels for that matter. Actually, the English novel creates an impression that
you are erudite and polymath that Bangla and Hindi novels fail to create. So,
to make the impression of a well- read guy, I also carry an English novel.
However, the truth is that I find it difficult to read in a moving train, I
feel giddiness. But only to create a façade of intelligence for the people,
whom I don’t even know, I carry English novels.
Anyways, as
I have already boarded the train, in a few seconds, I get a seat to sit. And I
open my book to pretend. Some minutes pass by, the metro train announcement
system blares: Poroborti Station: Rabindra Sarobar. There boards a throng.
And with this throng boards a girl. She is wearing a pink Patiala suit and a captivating smile (Of course she is not smiling
at me but at her friend, though I wish she would have smiled at me). There is
everything right about her personality. She is chubby and she is cute.
Incidentally,
our hypocrite society, that always wants things according to its rules, finds
it difficult to digest that being chubby is also about being part of the grand
nature and being chubby is by all means being beautiful as well. I remember one
incident that happened some days ago, where the society proved that its
evolution is still sketchy. One Vlogger had posted a vlog with his wife and the
still- to- be- evolved society taunted his wife for being fat. This is other
story altogether that how a befitting rejoinder the society got from the supportive
husband that shut its mouth!
Moreover,
while I was doing my post-graduation, I had seen girls, who were on chubby
side, suffer from crude and insensitive jokes from other students (who were
supposed to possess a rational ounce of grey matter, given they were doing
their PG). I had seen girls running in the morning to lose weight in the
college lawn and squeezing lemons in spoons in college canteen to shed the
flab. I mean it is okay if the doctor has advised you to lose weight for health
reasons, but to lose weight to satisfy the societal yardsticks of beauty or to get
married, shows how rotten the system of society is that takes pride in its self-
acclaimed sacrosanct canons without caring about how the jeers and jibes affect
the psyche of the girls.
Frankly
speaking, I like girls who are plump rather than girls who are skinny. So, this
girl has certainly caught my fancy. I am stealing glances at her while feigning
to read my book. The announcement system again blares: Poroborti station: Kalighat.
The station name Kalighat conjures up
the image of the fierce Goddess Kali.
When she had got furious, the male god had to be under her foot to calm her.
And here we males miss no opportunity to belittle the women. The announcement
system again blares: Prorborti station:
Park Street.
The girl in Patiyala suit with unforgettable smile
descends at Park Street. The train, again, chugs along leaving me only with
reminiscence of her cherubic smile. I bury my head in my book to pretend and to
spend some time till my destination.
Suddenly, a
whirring noise occurs and the lighting of the coach starts fluctuating. Next moment
the power supply of the train shuts down. The train stops and so does the AC of
the coach. People start complaining about the metro management. After five
minutes or so the power comes back and passengers take a sigh of relief.
After
sometime, the announcement system blares: Proroborti
Station : Dhakeshwari Mondir (Next
Station Dhakeshwari Temple)
“What? Dhakeshwari Temple…but how is it
possible? It is in Dhaka, Bangladesh,” I wonder.
The
announcement system next says: Ei shesh
metro station, ekhane niche pete, daya kore (This is the last metro
station, Please get down here!)
I am in
complete bewilderment.
Everybody in the train starts getting down as if they
had boarded the train for this destination only. There is no sense of shock or
surprise on their faces. They get down as if it is routine for them.
I also get
down as left with other choice, because the metro cleaning team has got on the
train.
I see the
board on the station building…it is exactly written Dhakeshwari Temple Station (In English and Bangla). I come out of
the station and see the same ambient and same familiar faces that I experience
in Kolkata. I hire a hand pulled rickshaw with whatever broken Bangla I know for the temple. The
rickshaw-puller reaches me to the temple in ten minutes.
The temple
is quite a site to watch. Today, it seems to have overcome the painful past of
1971 destruction. It is teeming with devotees as Pujo is round the corner. The serene environment with chirrups of birds;
the humming of mantras; the garden
with riot of flowery colours; the translucent lake: all make a soothing ambience for a spiritual refuge.
The wooden
doors with floral motifs; marble- alter for proffering worshipping articles; the
spandrel of arches of temple building decked up with lions:all are telling the story of a respect that a
national temple must have.
The Idol of
Goddess Dhakeshwari is a wonderful
replica of the power of womanhood with all ten hands spread to impart succor to
humankind.
I also offer my prayers to the Devi and savor the Prasad.
After taking
a tour around the premises of the temple, I sit at the steps of the temple. I
am not feeling as if I was in a different country. It seems completely own. The
people, the language: everything seems familiar not foreign.
“Why the Aryavrata had to be dismembered into different
pieces? Why Shaktipeeths and other Devi temples had to be divided among India,
Pakistan and Bangladesh? So many sages have been born in the land of undivided India;
couldn’t they stop the dismembering of the mother? If they were really God-sent
people, why did they allow the partition of India? Or is it the God herself
wished the partition because we don’t deserve 51 Shaktipeeths under the umbrella of one country, given we don’t hesitate
to outrage the modesty of even 6 month old babies,” several ripples of thoughts
keep undulating in my mind as I sit at the steps.
The day is
melting into evening…I become worried as to how I will go back to Kolkata?
First, I dither to ask Dhaka people about a metro train going to Kolkata as
they might make fun of me, but then I remember the normalcy on the faces of
passengers getting down the train. So, I ask the hand pulled rickshaw-wallah about the train timing and he
replies without giving me a strange look that the train to Park Street will
leave at 4’o clock from Dhakeshwari
metro station. I feel a sigh of relief. I hop on the rickshaw.
As I am
passing through the Dhaka traffic, I see a big billboard of Lufthansa Airlines’
Dhaka office. And I see a slew of people going to the office to emancipate
their dreams from the borders of their own limitations to attain towering
achievements in life. I hope someday our Shaktipeeths
and other holy places will also get emancipated from demarcated borders. But for
that we will have to evolve into a better human being (than what we are today),
only then perhaps the Goddess will relent.
The train
comes to the station and I board the train. As I am merged in the thoughts of
my visit to Dhaka the announcing system blares: Poroborti Station: Park Street!
The tour to
the Dhakeshwari Temple has been kind
of a blind date for me. What are you thinking? That I am dreaming…for your
surety, I inform you that it is 4:15 PM in the afternoon and I couldn’t go to office
today, for where, I had boarded the train in the morning.
