The Avalanche of Time

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone, said George Eliot, the English novelist and one of the leading writers of the Victorian era.

Time simply gushes in seldom giving an inch to be anything else but what is to be. For us to just breathe. We live at the mercy of Time. Heartaches and Happiness', joys and tragedies are entangled with the process of the journey and all the emotions appear and leave with the permission of Lady Time. I call her a Lady because it has always been the prerogative of the female of the species to not know where they are rushing and yet find it extremely important. But then our Lady here is not so vain; she knows where she is traveling. She spreads her wings and sometimes flies with her flow trailing behind her. Will she take us by her side and fly? Will she tell us her stories? No. What she does is puts us on the canvass that is her trailing flow for us to see her voyage making us a part of it forever.

Lady Time gives us a glimpse of her world through the momentous experiences in ours. She goes on forever taking us along with her to some unknown, some dark and dangerous, and some delightfully colourful places. Sometimes I wish for her to stop and let me savour this moment and not be the Rabbit of Alice in Wonderland. And just sometimes she listens and quietly smiles to leave behind 'my' piece of Time. I take a vacation from everything in life to find solace within. She loves to be embraced, to be romanced with and paid attention to. She would harbor you, fan your dreams never letting the worms of doubt be your friends. She will give you the wisdom to find your purpose and choose your friends. She will not yield until you give your best and will coax you in believing your potential when you are in doubt. She is known to be a hard task master imparting harsher lessons and yet is gentle like a mother's loving gaze.

Greg Hickman remarked that 'It is time to break through the barriers that have held you back and held you down for such a long time. It is time to reach out and indelibly etch your place in history'. Only a woman like her will allow you to break her boundaries and move beyond your own shallowness. Will you deny her that exciting finish? Or will you doubt her and yourself? She loathes such obstacles in her way, because her way is your way and you are not building the bridge to go over them or seeking a way around but stopping to admire the tiny crackes that it brings when you go ramming yourself into it. Time wants you to move on and grow to prosper and not sit with your back to her. She will not tolerate such insolence and leave you behind to be forgotten in that stopped lifeless picture. Because where Time moves is where you will see the ripples of activity and life.

With all the wondrous of the world, Time is then God and if God made man in his image...then really it would be 'her' image. Call me a feminist but it is the woman of the house who wears her heart on the sleeve, she takes the cuts and bruises and turns them into wonderful war stories. It is her that bothers when none will and it is her that gives a house its own warm fuzzy feeling. With her permission, I salute and respect Time for all the lessons she has imparted and the many more yet to come. And with that I realise that Life will follow the Time that is 'ours' and she will take us to places we never knew. We just need to look around, enjoy and live the moment to move on to another one. Time stops for none.

Demon

The bench is filled with us

Will you please talk to me? I ask of you.

I feel you turn your face towards me with empty eyes

No one at home to call my own.

Suddenly the eyes fill

With a stranger

My demon or yours?

I extend my arms towards you

Shall we connect again? I ask of you.

I feel you constricting within self

Crinching at the thought of it

In a ball of fury

My demon or yours.

I am stranded and need a line from you.

Will you throw it to me? I ask of you.

I feel you turn away from me with sagging shoulders

A wall I cannot break

Suddenly your hands lift

To fly away

My demon or yours?

Films: Reflecting the Mirror

A lazy Sunday afternoon, watching Mithun Chakrobarty dance to the tune of Bhappi Lahri in the cult-movie Disco Dancer, is perfect food for fodder. The old rich-pouncing-on-the-poor ploy always seems to work in our Indian film industry. And it was an after-movie discussion sorts responsible for this after-thought - Indian films should definitely be considered as a reflection of the changing Indian economy. And I don't mean only in terms of the business Hindi films generates and the amount spent but am referring to the depiction of the Hindi film family or characters – their affluence and of course their lifestyle.

The larger-then-life aura of films is unmistakable. Indians could very well identify themselves as epic-tellers with no story being short of all the requisite masala. After all, Indian culture is rich with the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata. With unlimited potential, Bollywood is showcasing India in all its glory and its grit. Infact, India is seen through all its years with the characters represent the common man climbing the ladder step by step. Looking at films through the years, it is much easier to understand our growth and visually more appealing. The policies and various causes of the government are truly reflected by the diaspora of subjects undertaken to be filmed, be it the cause female infanticide or the rights of homosexuals or the evolving definition of love.

India in one word is truly diverse and it is more evident through our films. It all may be a number game but it is also about history, culture and creativity. Today the stories are different and they are also told in a different manner. It is no longer lost-and – found formula but the stories too have changed. On one side we have Jodha Akbar taking us back to the quientessential grandeur of the forts and palaces and on the other hand we have the animated Roadside Romeo depiciting a simple love story. And with new heights in technology, we see the future being written on the silver screen with the antics and daredevilry of Krish and the futuristic 2050: A Love Story. No longer does the scripts carry a face of poor India but is painted on the canvass of the richer than rich businessmen. Infact, even the classic Devdas got a facelift to the suit the urban palate.

Glamour goes hand-in-hand with the hardcore businessman within each actor and the soaring packages are a testimony of the industry's rising. Not only on-screen but also off-screen the actors and behind-the-scene technicians live the glory life with hard-earned moolah. Their lifestyle in real life and the changing fashion scenario is evident of the evolving economy of India. The change is moreso demonstrated with the way films are marketed mixing the conventional and technological advantage. The affection the artists' receive can be matched to that given to our Prime Minister who is a charsimatic figure in his own rights.

Experts, or in this case, critics always cite that Bollywood is imitating real life. But can we say that it is an art-imitating-life-imitating-art cult. Would there be a village somewhere sometime in the near furture with no women as infanticide is on the rise? Would we understand the 'Kala Bandar' within each of us to realise that it is our own fears that is dividing us and not any outside force? Would there be a reporter courageous to question a minister and take his seat for a day transforming the entire definition of governance? Would dreams come true of seeing ourselves from being the underdog to stand on the pinnacle of success in sports other than cricket? Questions which can only be answered by the real people living everyday life, the reel stories appearing every Friday, keeping a watch on the changing poster space at the nearby cinema halls.

Chug Along

A friend of mine recently remarked, 'Do you write a blog? I think I saw your pseudo name, Eternal Sunhine.' With a pregnant pause, I replied, "Yes & No. Yes, I write and No, I havn't spared any words for the blog in a long time." He was surprised since he thought my words had depth. Gracias. Then another friend remarked 'I should write' after reading something I came up with in 5 minutes, those words just jumped at me out of nowhere. Just enough to prompt me to finally stop pulling my hair and start putting my mind to writing for my train of thoughts. Been a while that I moved this train, added a few more coaches, chugging along as per my moods, whims, fancies and a lot more...the hope still lives. So a little something by Rudyard Kipling, which I have liked ever since I laid my eyes on it, dedicated to all those who have always shown faith. And to myself.

IF

- By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: Hold on;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Broken Promises of the Sky

The evening sky beckons; I want to touch it.

It is inviting and yet intimidating.

Its vastness carry many secrets; good and bad.

I want to experience the promises whispered.

A beautiful day smiles and I extend my hand.

Suddenly it darkens; the light-headedness becomes heavy.
And then it showers with wet caresses and sweet smells.

The sight becomes undone; leaves me exasperated.

I am here and you are there.

No in betweens; no outbounds.

Beneath The Clock

A floral dress with a straw hat
Unlikely scene.
A foot tapping thought;
Dance or disaster.
A little walk, a little jig;
And then come back.

A flick of the hat
Fluttering heart.
And then a frown;
Anger’s abound.
A little walk, a little jig;
Patience’s been seeked.

Suddenly a sign
The watch is over,
And so is the wait.
A breath-taking smile
A little walk, a little jig;
And now no more miles.

Dashed

it clouds my mind;
these obsessive thoughts of mine.
random and abstract; making me experience the truths, the ups and downs.
i see pathos here;
for me to dissolve this abstraction
and for him to reach out further.

i laugh with him and cry for him;
emotions for reason unknown.
hovering and hyperactive; like a butterfly, ready to take off when it suits them.
i see a longing here;
for me to soar higher in the sky
and for him of a never ending hope.