PINK

Pink has always been associated with the fairer sex. Isn't that a stereotypical notion? Rightly, perfectly named 'Pink', this film is undoubtedly one of Bollywood's best outcomes, a great achievement that will be remembered for ages from now.

Pink is more than just a film; it is the true facet of today's Indian society, and maybe the same or worse for many other countries around the world.

I will not talk about a single scene enacted in this movie. Yes, no spoilers for those who haven't watched it yet. But trust me when I say this: this piece of reality-turned-movie is a masterpiece. Be it the dramatic storyline weaved intensely, or be it the amazing performance by the veteran actor Amitabh Bachchan; be it Taapsee Pannu and her two friends' heart-touching deliverance of voice and acting skills, or be it the director Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury's sheer dedication in making this movie, everything will strike a chord in your heart.

Pink makes us think about the feudal mindset people are still harboring within them. Pink makes us realize the consequences of remaining silent and in turn, empowers the woman in us. Pink gives us the courage to face the judgmental world and Pink teaches us to face even the worst of the circumstances bravely.

All the actors have done justice to their characters and strongly enacted scenes display the strength they had to gather to enact them out. Last but not the least, the concluding poem recited by Amitabh Bachchan gets you goosebumps and if you are a woman, you will surely walk out of the theater as a more empowered being.

Note: 'No' means 'No'. 'No' is a word that does not need further explanation. Learn to step back when you are denied of anything.
This is a subtle hint about what the movie revolves around and to better understand it, watch 'PINK'.

I am a Mess of the Heart's Litters

                                                                                                   

The air of realization says that

Wearing red does not make any difference.

These past few months I have bled enough

Enough for the red shawls to soak in.

My hair’s a pretty bun. Pinned.

My shoes speak of less walked soles.

The perfume that I wear carries my grace.

Yet, nothing makes a difference.

I am a mess of the heart’s litters.                                                     

 Does it upset you?

That I still walk straight into your mind?

That my memories still burn you between your thighs?

Even your upsetting does not make a difference.

I am indeed a mess of the heart’s litters

Like seashell necklaces

Worn by fisher-women

Adorning their raw fish-smelling necks.

Poetry Begins Where Tears Come to an End

Disposing the last moments before dawn
to the life-taking pain in my heart
I get a feeling that my dreams are losing their way
in darkness, and the fireflies imparting
the faintest rays of hope to them…
With no regrets but sadness
Taking the handful of life’s best memories
to be thrown into the deepest river
I realize that poetry comes to the lips
When tears come to an end.
The brightest rays of the sun are not what I need
to warm my freezing mind
But the full moon’s soothing serenity
to calm my dying mind,
Suffering from strangulation by
the handful of life’s best memories.

US..AND ALL THE BROKENNESS

His lucid verses giggle like the dancing brook,

Sometimes flow like a silent river

Figuring mysteries of the broken heart

And oftentimes, twinkles among the stars.

My verses tend to picture the dew-soft meadow

Looking at the blue infinity,

Counting birds and clouds,

Numbering the hearts that I have torn

and the many hearts

That have left their imprints on mine.

Together we are one.

The hundred words that form

a wreath of silent understanding,

Taking words to the dark infinity

Stealthily, carefully,

where dwells perfect peace!

TERRACOTTA TRANCE

Moulded beautifully into curves and edges
My dreams had their own palette of colors.
Some black, some white, some grey, some red
Some saddened, some gay, some thoughtful
And yet some shallow
My dreams had their own set of beliefs.

But each had a life of its own,
Photographic moments in them
My thoughts had their own place to dwell.

Some dawns turned into evenings
While I burned them slowly
In broad daylight, and some
Melted in my mind
Quietly into memories.
And even some remained there
Passively enough but lighting the path
That is taking me to the destination
That my earthy dreams are making since.

SILENT SCREAMS

“Hush everyone!” The English teacher of the third standard of B.H. Public School silenced the noisy class. Rimi, sitting in one corner of the classroom, oblivious of her surrounding stared through the open window, gazing at the trees. The leaves dancing in the mild breeze calmed her inside.

“Open your textbooks.” The English teacher said. And after around forty minutes the last lesson of the day was over. The last bell rang and all the children rushed to their respective buses, cheerful, shouting and laughing aloud. Rimi tip-toed towards her bus. Among her friends in the bus she felt like the marooned sailor in an island without a game to score.

After lunch she heard her uncle in the other room laughing aloud to a joke that her father cracked. The afternoon nap with her mother beside her makes her feel relaxed and protected to a great extent. And after the badminton sessions every evening she often comes tired but she is bound to study with her uncle while her mother watches her favorite TV series and her father manages his accounts or goes to the market. Deepak uncle hasn’t married yet and lives with their family as he is the closest cousin of her father and his business partner. And Deepak uncle is the one in the family who takes care of Rimi’s lessons too. Almost every evening. But the little girl has been silenced to a great extent since a few days. She does not understand that touch on her shoulders that slips down to her underwear while her uncle teaches her. His hand stops only at certain places in her body. She felt some kind of an unknown agony and her heartbeats became faster when she felt that intimidating thing between her uncle's thighs. Now her vulnerable soul was at the mercy of a dirty sensation almost every evening. Her innocence housed within her vulnerable soul was getting more and more acquainted with her own body that she had never explored before. Her uncle's hands threw her body shivering in a furnace of burning fear. She felt exposed to a merciless being, felt bare in a sense that she had never felt. If only she could cry, if only she could understand what the touch meant. If only she could ask her mother about it. Why is she stopping herself from asking her mother? She does not know any of these answers. She is terrified. She looked for god, but her god had deserted her. Like a bird that flutters when its wings are cut, she fluttered in her uncle's dirty gaze that penetrated deep down her soul. 

Years went by. She reached high school and learnt what womanhood is. She understood what it means to be a woman in the society and even today the lamp within Rimi flickers with fear, the tragic marks of a strange fire burn her still.  A gush of pain leaves her heartbroken even when she laughs. Many a times she feels haunted by a powerful stench of terror, a brutal hand and a dirty face that she loathes from her heart. The heaviness that she carries within has turned out to be the biggest burden of her life. The sobbing never helps, maybe screaming will. But after so many years? It seems like yesterday although it happened ages ago. When she was a little child. When she played with dolls and flowers. When she did not have the courage to let her mother know or when the words 'rape' and 'molestation' were not in her vocabulary. Today if Deepak uncle had been alive she would have made him answer for her tears. Maybe she would have screamed, maybe she would have lodged a police complaint or maybe she would have cut his dirty hands. As she chops vegetables she imagines what it would have been like to chop off her uncle's hands or that strange thing that penetrated her mind deep down!

Rimi is now the mother of two beautiful daughters. She has made it sure that her daughters never keep a secret from her. Her daughters are yet to be women but Rimi has made them understand how cruel the society is. She keeps them bound to her love and protection in the safest sense. Because one day they too will grow up and she does not want them to weep silently at night, under a dark canopy filled with immortals who wouldn't care much for their sadness. Rimi does not let any forbidding touch soil her daughters' smiles. She sees to it that they fly high, free from all peril under a blue sky devoid of despair.

TERABITHIA

She keeps her mind wide open, and dreams

She smiles, deep in thought, feeling

The air around her…

The endangered rope that hung from an ancient tree

She holds on to that and swings.

 And he swings too!

And they swing one by one and lands

On Terabithia!

 

She runs…and he runs…

And here they reach this battered old car

Shhh! There must be the dark lord here

And he would hear them…

“But we do not fear him!” they say.

Here is the tree house,

worn out in the sands of time.

But now it is their castle

Guarded by the dragon-fly warriors

From the giant squirrels and red-eyed vultures.

The dark lord would not hurt them,

For he is weaker than her and him,

The queen and king of Terabithia

Who freed his slaves to the songs of the wind.

Climbing high on the trees they can see the whole land…

The blue stream flowing with golden fishes

The magical mountains and the pine trees

The land of magical Terabithia

Open to their shimmering eyes and their beautiful minds!

P.S. The poem is based on the magical adventures of two children who build their own space away from the world they live in as represented in the motion picture BRIDGE TO TERABITHIA which is adapted from the novel with the same name by Katherine Paterson and published in 1977. The adventures are metaphorical but leave a deep impact in the viewer’s mind.

3:03 a.m.

November 26, 2013