Haan haan main paapi hoon!

With the same creepy smile and a nonchalant attitude, Ajmal Aamir Kasab has confessed his role in the 26/11 Mumbai attacks. But with many changes in his statement that he had given earlier. Somehow, borrowing from the hindi potboilers ala Abbas Mustan cheap thrillers, I suspect that it might be a ploy and defendent lawyer kazmi might be one of the masterminds in employing this sudden shocker that has has (humorously) prompted even the judge to ask the dramatic, "Kya aapko kubul hai?" I can just so imaginr the judge's face in disbelief and the sudden excitement which transcends even the pleasure in stealing a glance at cleavage of his kaamwaali bai. Also note the way he pounced back at the public prosecutor barking at him to shut up when he protested that the time has lapsed and kasab could not confess any longer.(with all due regards to the reverent Mr. Justice) Coming back to the point, I find it very fishy, the way Kasab called Kazmi and whispered something to his ears and then before the latter could spell anything, Kasab blurts out I did it. I still remember how taken aback I was when I found that Aajy Devgan-the poor, stuttering minstrel in deewanapan was putting up his best performance on the screen of a down market Calcutta theatre-a role for which he deserved the Rajiv Gandhi award (If Shahid Kapur can win the award....Its a shame and might be a sham...i mean, last year Salman Khan was conferred the honour. And Shahid is just a kid in the industry) So that role of Ajay's made me contemplate on a number of suspense stories, cheap all of them but smart and imagined to be well directed into a movie, the promos of which still adorn the ruled pages of a diary neatly laid on my study table in my home in Salt lake. Now I hear that Kazmi has said that all Kasab did was plead guilty and not confess. These lawyers can spin a web of words, putting logic into something illogical. If i dont think deeply, I cant find any difference between confessing a guilt and pleading guilty. Kasab and Kazmi might be together in the next big plan, for all you might know! Anyways, my father feels that India, being sentimental by nature (or tradition or through a result of the Ekta kapoors and the Barjatyas), the judge will pardon Kasab and send him to pakistan. Personally, I am not in favour of corporal punishment but it seems a little chilly when I try to picturise a scene in front of my eyes of terror, raw and blood, innocent. Why are the papers screaming that from where did kasab come to know that pakistan has refused him as a Paki? Are they so insecure about their publication's reach or Arthur road jail doesnt allow super duper criminals to read papers? (For details watch Madhur Bhandarkar's Jail...and girls and endorsers of Art 377 watch Neil nude in the movie)I can imagine Kasab lurking in a dark corner of his cell and talking in his khufiya satellite phone, guiding some more perpetrators holding hostage some captain of a ship on the choppy seas of the Arabian, to the Mumbai coastland. Well, I am not the only one, dishing out cheap thriller stories.

Salman in an ad? dobaara mat poochna!

I was thrilled to see Salman Khan endorsing a brand, this time a popular breath fresher, after a long time. he was last seen doing some unimaginative jig in white on a ramp for a shoe brand which got an image makeover but never got the response, expected.
This time, Salman has shed his earlier image of the brash and brazen buffalo in the thums up ad and tried to refurbish himself in a more audience friendly manner, which the people have suddenly realized him to be after he portrayed himself in dus ka dum, a game show gaining high TRPs in the second season, thanks to the presence of Salman and his effort of not to act.
The girl who plays the air hostess in the ad is stunning and I would like to see the ad only because of her. good choice, prasoon.
Though I find the story to be very lame. and coming from a person like prasoon joshi who has earlier churned out witties like the coke commercials, this is a disaster. I guess the star value of the brawny khan doing a role reversal to be an adorable aadarsh vidyarthi has been loved by all. Sohail provides the perfect camaraderie as the adoloscent horny brat.
Among the scene stealing moments, its hilarious to look at salman neck bobbing up and down, unable to sustain the air jet when the plane door opens. and the way he steals a naughty smile when the air hostess scoffs at sohail. bravo! wonder whether it came naturally or it took a great deal of rehearsals before finally giving an 'ok'. Even the way he pipes up 'dobara mat poochna' at the end is a spectacular moment. Most of the charm of the ad is retained due to sallu bhai's histronics. A thought about the aligning background score as well.
The added punchline of 'bina taiyaari ke...' is apt and is drummed up well in the story.
A fun ad. I would go with 7 out of 10 and a pat on salman's back.

Head n shoulders

Tragedies are personal in nature. No matter how you try to share it with others, or unburden yourself with a sob that leaves you all mushy and self sympathizing (note: self) its for you to bear your own cross. The most people might do is to shake a few heads, voluntarily nowadays, or shed a few tears with you. But can you pass on the pain? maybe you wouldn't want to. can you make them understand? well, you might in some cases. But largely, I believe, it should be dealt with introspection, with contemplation and meditation, not brooding though. How does it help you? well, in most cases, you tend to find an answer, which might not be the solution, but a consolation, if you prefer and a strength to move on and face your infirmities. positive thinking help you a lot. i know, readers might jest at me. Readers who have seen pain enough and wants to give me an earful for being insensitive and callous in my remark. But, in some cases, in cases-adjustable and thought to be adjustable, it helps. it fills you with an energy which the tarot card readers write about in newspapers. That energy is a spurt which makes us practical and kicks us to an action, rather than stopping us on our track (stopping is fine, only in a nearby tea-stall under a shade). Some people should be private in pains.some, not all. the others can resort to the shoulder. But in most situations, the former prevails over the latter and find real consolation. We all try to find consolation and dig out a positive angle from our tragedies. Which can be best dealt with in personal. but unfortunately, we are not so brave and succumb to a display of our sorrow to anchor sympathy. Those who doesn't, triumphs and find solace and a few laughs at their cost.

Hothath

Boye cholechi koshter srote

aadhkaapore, aadhshorir ey

jeerno aami jeernotaa theke aaschi

bhenge churmar aadhpagol, aadhmaatal

dourochhi haatrachhi roktote bhaaste bhaaste

aaj aamar nei thikana nei keu baari feraar 

faanpa aami beche aachi
bechei aachi, osthir, chur chur

kompito panjor ey

shihorito chaamrae

koshto pele hoyto bhaalo laagto

eta ki?

shunyo bukey shukno chokhe

jolche dau dau kore mon aamar

mathaae baari thanda rokto upchhe pore

kul kul kore boe

kothaae janina kul nei taar

pipashito kontho aar khudito kaanta

gilte hoe chire naame 

chachaale keu shonena ondhokaar ondhokaar

taao chachaai gola chire jaae

rokto gulo je kaalo aamar

bibhotsho bhoy tomaake shonaar por

shob i kaalo

ato taratari je aami jete parbona

ki hobe taader?

ki hobe tomaar?

aar kota kaaj please...

kintu firey gele bhaalo hoto ki?

na 

akla raastae pichhol kheye thokor kheye

ylte pore ramdhonu aar khuje paaina

shopner shei diya nibhe galo ak jhaaptaae

nil shikhaa taao nei

hoeto aar paarbona shira gulo klaanto

hridoy ta shorirey khuje paaina taake

dhongsho aami bibhotsho ak byaapar

aaj bhenge gelaam

aar nei aami aamaate

jei tukui baachie rekhechhilam

aar nei

aar nei

niye cholo aamaye din er sheshey

tomaar koley tomaar haathey

haath bukiye daao mathaae ektu

rokto gulo haathe na laage...

5 gram bojha

Thakur,

koshto to tumio peyecho

koshto ta besh khaarap jinish

aamar koshto kirom hoe jaano?

darao boli

maane...ki bolbo

aadh ghonta boshe aachi...bhaabchi

je ki bolbo

parchina

na....aajo parbona

bujbe ektu? chotto ektu

5 gram.

The Black Hole

Impregnated by silent words

I stare blankly at the computer screen

words still reverberating

dashing to and fro

melting, burning...piercing

am i weak or am i not

body i have and a hollow soul

memories i wish to avoid

filtered memories are burnt again

I gather the ashes to survive

planting the saplings of my desire, of yours

only to watch it trampled and crushed

some insignificant brambles, with thorns I failed to see

I pick up the ashes everytime and stare at the blank hollow

inside

only to realize an understanding

and work accordingly

swallowing my pains bitter, sour...rancid

sweet were they a moment ago

sweet they will be a moment after

this intermission is dry and black

I lose my strength and tear apart

falling falling in a bottomless crevass

trying to grope and clutch your hands

My dreams are not mine

My desires are not mine

nor are my actions, nor my thoughts

I am one who cannot be one

explaining in my dreams to you

still in the dark black of abysmal nullity

suffering, squinting, unable to move my limbs

sunlight waits, but I cant reach it

I have lost all my ability to function on my own

Neither do I work on reserve power

a nobody with a shattered soul

no drops of pity left for myself

but a quaint ray of hope glimmering at a distance

Only if I can reach it

hold my hands...

Footsteps

I hear footsteps behind me

Seizure grips me with its chilly paws

biting into the nerves, sinking into the heart(s)

A plunge beneath the below 

takes me to those olden days...

when the sun was bright, dazzling and shining on me

when from the rusted painted grills of the seperating window

I could see the honks of the cars and 

hear the sun reflecting on the nauseating

dull windows of the ambassador

A constricted view, small in height I was.

The early morning scenes of the marwari on his cycle

chanting "Hare Ram"

making his way, slicing the cool breeze of the summer morning

the newspaper boy fighting against time to 

have an early brunch at 10 o clock

when the chilly sun of the afternoon 

dries the moist shreds of pickle

aroma attracting flies

a pillow to rest your head on and doze off 

away from the trials of the day...

I turn back to look

6 o clock

6 o clock

light fading in the reddening sky

waking up to the dim embers of some leftover sun

dragging toward a violet evening

dazzling streets and watered avenues

artificial

of a soulless existence of an evening

battered by the waiting for a glimpse

waiting for the bus on an empty street full of people

alien faces, disturbed soul

of those midnights when a lurch interrupts a devastating sleep

full of black blacks and black whites

shadows crawling  tickling 

the inner recesses of the mind

and bruising the hearts

the sun is lost in a profound haze

tried to be solved by many a guru

There is nobody

I return, I return, I RETURN, I return...