Spark窶認ebruary 2013 | Romance
05 February 2013
Vol 4 Issue 2 February 2013
Dear Reader, It’s the month of February, and like it or not, love is literally in the air! The world screams of shades of red and pink, and roses and hearts meet the eye more often than not. Spark too celebrates the spirit of Romance this month and presents to you an intriguing line-up of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art and photography that reflect on the concept of ‘Romance’. In fact, this issue has turned out to be a poetry special and that isn’t surprising, for, don’t love and poetry thrive together? We also have a guest column that talks about some popular works of fiction based on romance and relationships that came out in 2012— those that you shouldn’t miss reading. Plus, our special section for non-fiction lovers, The Lounge, has something on books, movies and spirituality this month! We hope you enjoy the issue and look forward to your feedback! We will see you again in March. Till then, celebrate the month of love! - Editors
Contributors Amrita Sarkar Annie Philip Anupama Krishnakumar Arun Anantharaman Gauri Trivedi Loreto M Madhuri Yelamanchili Parth Pandya Raju Rhee Saranyan BV
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Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Inside this Issue POETRY Phantom by Loreto M The Elements by Parth Pandya Departure at Midnight by Saranyan BV Waking Up by Arun Anantharaman Lost Love (Three Poems) by Vinita Agrawal FICTION From a Fleeting Image by Madhuri Yelamanchili From Me to You by Anupama Krishnakumar NON-FICTION Love Aaj Kal by Gauri Trivedi GUEST COLUMN The Best of Romance in the Written World: 2012 by Itchingtowrite, Blogger THE LOUNGE STORYBOARD Twist in the Tale by Annie Philip TURN OF THE PAGE Review of The Siege of Warwan by Vinita Agrawal STORYBOARD| FILM FREAK American Sequels Work, Ours Don’t by Yayaati Joshi INNER JOURNEY| Understanding Consciousness by Viswanathan Subramanian PHOTOGRAPHY Romance, Everywhere by Raju Rhee ART Love Blossoms by Amrita Sarkar
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Poetry Phantom
by Loreto M
Loreto M captures the spirit of romance in a poem that beautifully brings about the comfort zones existing in the most unexpected of places. Read on.
You are the space between the raindrops; That corner in the umbrella’s canopy Which has never known moisture; The dry patches in the snail’s slimy trail; The root of the swan’s feather Where water has never been; The pebble trail on a muddy path; The sunshine that sometimes fades Loreto is a Copywriter at an ad agency. She used to be an MBA student, and before that a Botanist at an orthodox Christian college. Thankfully, neither could break nor contain her odd streak. Her poems are confessions - of the alternate lives that she would have loved to live, and of emotions that cannot be expressed other than in verses. Most of them are written in a manic-depressed or unrealistically elated state.
But always comes back. Someday, when you aren’t looking And resting, unawares, At the end of a rainbow, I will trap you, like a memory, Between the pages Of my favourite book. 4
Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Fiction by Madhuri Yelamanchili
From a Fleeting Image
A cardiac surgeon who can miraculously see into people’s past catches a fleeting image in front of his eyes when he is about to perform a surgery on a patient. The image takes him on a journey with a purpose. What would that be? Madhuri Yelamanchili’s intriguing story gives the answer. Tahir Bhanjee would never know how close his heart had come to being brought to a standstill. A single flashing image was all that had stood between his evil life and death.
I have to do is look at their living, breathing face with a certain focus and I see images flash behind my eyes. I can even catch their emotions. When I stand ready for surgery, these had never disturbed me in That I saved his life should the past. have been on account of my duty. But it came about because But, today, when I stood over of the miracle I possessed, the the large, crude body of Tahir same miracle that showed me Bhanjee with my soaped, the evilness of his life and in a rinsed, gloved hands held aloft moment of righteous anger and and entered my zone as I usualdisgust at such a life, I almost ly do, I froze for long seconds. used the scalpel to give him Image after image of Bhanjee’s deliverance through death ra- treacherous life whipped past ther than through life. my eyes. You couldn’t see the stuff he had done and not have I can see into people’s past. All your blood boiling. My grip on 5
the scalpel tightened. I was sure later that my arm had begun its descent when I saw a split second image of someone I knew, Hridaynath kaka. Standing by him – oh God – was Shruti, his daughter, our neighbours when I had been in the 12th. Suddenly, I knew where I had seen Bhanjee before. *** A week after they had moved in upstairs, father invited them to dinner. I have had this miracle insight into the past ever since I can remember. I was reaching a point where all I saw with my Spark—February 2013 | Romance
miracle was the fear, greed and anger in people. It made me miserable, but what showed on my face was my anger at the world. Deep, my name, seemed a misnomer. At dinner, kaka must have seen this anger when father discussed a rude neighbour. He responded to father, but was looking at me, “Goodness is in everyone, it is for us to see it.” I looked at him with mutiny written over my face. But when kaka invited me to learn the piano in their house, I was happy to. Their house was sparse, but this was their one luxury and it turned out to be my comfort. Along with the piano, kaka taught me how to look at the world without judgment. A day came when I looked at him and I could see the goodness that shone despite the misery surrounding him in the form of his greedy sisters and brothers-in-law. I looked at Shruti and I saw the same goodness in her. And the life and energy that she cast around. She joined our conversations, teasing kaka. I loved being with them. I loved kaka and yes, I loved Shruti. They turned me around.
One morning, I woke up to find a note slid beneath our door. Kaka’s note, saying goodbye, said that they had to leave in a hurry and since it wasn’t safe, they weren’t leaving their whereabouts behind.
I shifted my schedule a bit, took a week off and made it from Bombay to Parasrampuri. The best part about being a cardiac surgeon was that patients’ families are more than ready to help. From the looks of Shruti in that flashing image, she was about The landlord informed the the same age when they left our brothers-in-law who sent some neighbourhood. So I began my goons, Bhanjee among them. search with schools. The place was ransacked and with it the piano. I pleaded with I knew a higher-up in the police dad, he spoke to the landlord who gave me access to the local and had the piano repaired for schools. I skipped the Handime. I have it to this day. crafts Training School, but I checked St.Edmunds, Seedling As I grew older, I found that I Public School, and Saraswati couldn’t love a woman with any Vidya Mandir. There were less goodness than I had seen in many more and it seemed an Shruti. Psychiatrists say we impossible task. choose our wives by our mothers. I seemed to be gunning for I didn’t have any luck until I someone the likes of Shruti. stopped at a small restaurant around the corner from Saras*** wati Vidya Mandir. A man in Today, in Tahir Bhanjee’s past, his 40s walked in, school books I saw a glimpse of kaka with a in hand and he looked like a house and a road behind him. teacher. The tables were full. I The name that came to me with caught his eye, smiled and indiit was Parasrampuri in Jaipur. cated the seat opposite mine. Now, I had a place to begin my search. This was the reason Tahir Bhanjee lived on my operating table. Don’t get me wrong, I am relieved I saved his life – those moments had caught me unawares and it won’t happen again.
I spoke to this stranger of my search and my frustration. He listened patiently, sipping his tea. I spoke of Shruti and how she topped her class. I recounted how I had barely made the admission cut-off for the Science stream at school. Shruti
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had said, “I guess I won’t miss back late evening to catch the back the next morning and the cut off.” leaving crowd. asked her about Shruti and kaka. She looked at me with sus“There you have it,” the man I sat up when the lecturers picion until I showed my hospilaughed. “Harmless as you look, started moving out, but I couldtal ID. I shouldn’t be telling you a n’t see Shruti or kaka in their thing. But I could tell you to try past. Then came a lady in her She nodded after reading it the coaching centres. There’s 50s. I thought idly that she was carefully. “Hridaynath kaka?” more than a chance I nodded and my throat she’s taken science, closed up. isn’t it? Could save “She was bright.” you time or lead you nowhere.” I looked up the centres in the vicinity of Parasrampuri on my phone and had a choice of four. I could always expand the search. I zeroed in on a couple. With the address on the phone, I arrived at Akash Institute late afternoon. Lecturers were trickling in, they were easy to identify and I remained in about the right age when, to my my rented car. dumb luck, Shruti’s image I watched them, my miracle showed up. working, sifting through their I was itching to go after the past. I didn’t find a trace of lady, but she wouldn’t take Shruti but I couldn’t have kindly to questions about a girl caught them all. I would try in the night. I followed her again tomorrow. I decided to sputtering kinetic to her house. try my luck at Dr.Bhatia’s. I had I wasn’t about to lose her. I was dinner at a McDonald’s and was 7
“Did she get in? Did she get into medicine? Was it engineering?” I asked. Her look of contempt could have withered me if I were a rose. “Of course she did. In medicine.” “Where? lege?”
Which
col-
She couldn’t remember. “She had a choice in a few.” “Anybody who would know?” “Not anyone here. I had taught her at the Medical Launcher. When it closed, we scattered.” I thanked her and gave her my card in case, God forbid, she needed my services. On my way back to Bombay, I ran a search for Shruti on the Medical Council of India registry and Spark—February 2013 | Romance
came up with nothing. But that didn’t mean a thing. I tried each state medical council in turn until I struck pay dirt with Karnataka.
must speak to Dr.Anju.”
“Psychiatry?” He shook his head. “Whatever that’s for, she’s out at the Psychiatric conference in Delhi. Took the senShe had done her MD but I ior team with her. But if you get came up short after that. I did- to the OR now, I promise to n’t know her field, her college have whatever you want from or where she was. the new doc who’s stepped in this week.” I saved her registration number and got hold of my friend at the He saw my hand hover over the MCI. He took a couple of long phone. days to tell me that she was MD “OR 3,” he said sternly, hands in Psychiatry, Karnataka again. crossed across his chest. “Nurse The permanent address was in Ninan will get the answer by Bangalore. I had a friend check the time you are out.” the place, but there were new I had to be satisfied with that. tenants who didn’t know her. I checked the Indian Psychiatry Society, but I needed to be a member. That was when the Head of Cardiology barged in without a knock, followed by a senior nurse.
familiar. I was so sure I would know Shruti when I saw her. But dammit, I didn’t. My miracle deserted me at the moment. She smiled, coming around the table. “Shruti?” “I got to you before you did, didn’t I?” “You too were following?” I was feeling stupid with the sudden bounty.
She nodded. “To be fair to you, we didn’t leave a trail. But I had yours. First time doctor, 2000. MD 2007. DM Cardiology Once I was out of OR, the 2011. Smooth sail.” nurse walked up to me. “The doc wants to see you. Might “In squally weather,” I said and have a way to get the info, but in long strides I was with her. wants the detail. Third to right. “All that search for nothing. You were headed this way.” You know the floor.”
“You’re scheduled in 20 I took the stairs three at a time. “Your search makes me feel minutes doc and you need to be I knocked and entered. The sure that I did the right thing coming here.” out there.” doc, a lady, stood at the win“Couple of minutes,” I said. “I dow. The eyes! They looked
Madhuri.Y was a reluctant marketer who had wanted to write since her daughter was two years old. Now that her daughter is an adult, Madhuri’s turned to writing fulltime with ghost writing non-fiction books. She tries to create a world of fantasy and adventure for children through her children’s stories, hoping to help them navigate the real world. Madhuri’s website is at http://ymadhuri.com. 8
Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Poetry by Parth Pandya
The Elements
Two people deeply in love, merge and transform into the five elements of nature namely Wind, Earth, Fire, Water and Ether. Parth Pandya's poetry marries romance to the five elements.
You and I are the Wind Whistling songs of love unchained Teasing flowers on harsh mountains Cascading fragrance far and wide.
You and I are the Earth Always giving, always receiving Rising up to break free From our own obstinate roots.
You and I are Fire Candles waving arms in a dark room Flames burning bright in unison Devouring, creating, in this dance of life. 9
Spark窶認ebruary 2013 | Romance
You and I are Water Drenched and parched in equal measure Awash in the limpid pools of your marine eyes I journey to mirages of horizons close.
You and I are Ether, Amorphous presences merging Your hand in mine, my lips on yours Filling the vast void from here to eternity.
Parth Pandya is a passionate Tendulkar fan, diligent minion of the ‘evil empire’, persistent writer at http://parthp.blogspot.com, self-confessed Hindi movie geek, avid quizzer, awesome husband (for lack of a humbler adjective) and a thrilled father of two. He grew up in Mumbai and spent the last eleven years really growing up in the U.S. and is always looking to brighten up his day through good coffee and great puns.
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Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Guest Column The Best of Romance in the Written World : 2012 by itchingtowrite, Blogger @ The Reading Corner Blogger itchingtowrite @ The Reading Corner lists her favourite works of Ro-
mance from the written world, most of them works of fiction that were released in 2012. Have you read these books yet?
Love makes the world go round. It manifests itself in many forms and places, and none of us fail to be touched by this one emotion that can make one see magic in a simple everyday situation. Love makes one do strange things which one wouldn't have otherwise done. It is love that makes one give up that last bit of chocolate or share an ice cream or wait for ages for the beloved to turn up even though it is beyond the appointed hour or even makes one attend a boring lecture just so that one can feast upon the
object of affection for the entire lecture hour. People have been fooled by promises of love. Yet this is one emotion that never fails to move the mightiest. As an avid reader of fiction, I have come across various expressions of love and romance in books. Some of my favourites would be these books from 2012. However, I also would like to cheat and put the legendary Gone with the Wind as my top favourite as nothing surpasses that.
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Spark窶認ebruary 2013 | Romance
Gone with the Wind
she is an oddity and she is a girl after my own heart. Why me? Remove me from here and put Tomorrow I will think of some way to get him back. yourself in this place and you will feel the same After all, tomorrow is another day. way. When Margaret Mitchell ended her book with these words, she intended them to become famous last words in the true sense. She intended to keep the readers guessing and tearing their hair out in trying to reconcile within themselves as to what became of the lovers after the hero left the scene.
She misses the obvious. She is in love with an idea or a habit and she doesn’t see what we readers can see. And then there is the most foolish act of hers – she refuses to fall in love with the handsome, suave, dependable rouge – Rhett Butler – the stuff dreams are made of. Scarlett believes she loves Ashley Wilkes and she continues to love him in spite of the fact that he loves Melanie, marries her and becomes a father and is very, very boring.
Scarlett marries twice, becomes a widow twice and ultimately, Rhett, who intended to have her This epic novel tells the tale of the coming of one way or another, marries her. They have a age of Scarlett O’ Hara, the girl who was not baby named Bonnie. Rhett dotes on Bonnie and beautiful but had an effect on men when she spoils her silly. took notice of them. Under unfortunate circumstances, baby Bonnie The story is written in the backdrop of civil war dies. A great rift forms between Scarlett and in America. On the one hand there are soldiers Rhett that widens further following Melanie’s enlisting to save their country, on the other hand death. Rhett believes that Scarlett would no we have speculators like Rhett making a fortune longer want him now that Ashley was available, out of others; misfortune. Scarlett is the girl who and leaves his home. despite all odds continues to fight her way to survive. From a little girl of sixteen when every- The book ends with Scarlett dreaming of love thing can become all right with a nice dress and that eluded her for so long and promises to hersome make up, she becomes a woman of pur- self that she will find a way to get Rhett back pose. She saves her family from death; she sur- tomorrow. vives by fair means and foul and emerges the The ending left readers wondering what would strongest of all. The story is long, vivid and happen to Scarlett and Rhett. poignant and a definite page-turner. This anniversary edition brought back memories of the Title - Gone with the Wind first time when I read it many years ago, in a Author - Margaret Mitchell very vivid and nostalgic fashion. Publisher - Pan (celebrating 75 years) Scarlett is fiery, she is annoying, she is foolish, 12
Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake
to reconcile the Samir she was dating with the Samir she got married to. Surprising but not imDoes life give second chances? possible. And it would touch the core of those According to me it does give second and more people who are grappling with the same probchances. It is only a matter of grabbing them lems in their life – a husband who is indifferent when you should and making the most of the and totally different from what he was before little that it offers. marriage. Nisha is at that stage of life where the world seems to revolve around her kids. When her husband of eight years, Samir, walks out of her life, she is determined not to fall apart. She refuses all offers of money and walks out of her comfortable martial home to settle in her father's flat.
I admire the grit Nisha showed and her devotion to her kids in spite of all odds. A lesson to be learnt here for all those who are feeling despair in their life.
Title - Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake
She tackles her immediate problems one step at Author - Preeti Shenoy a time and when her old friend Akash appears at her doorstep one day, life seems to take a turn Price - Rs 125 for the better. Publisher - Randomhouse Using his business acumen, he gifts her a catering business and generates enough word of mouth leads for her to earn a sizeable profit by the end of three months. Nisha's life seems to be back on track until Akash gets a transfer to Pondicherry. At this juncture, Akash proposes to her and Nisha is in a dilemma. Marriage is something she has done before and is probably done with. Will she shed that baggage and face her new life head on? On what terms? The story is divided into two parts, before Nisha's divorce and after. It opens with that phone call which shatters her world and then moves in flashback with the aid of her journal. The story flows smoothly and I found it difficult 13
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Urban Shots : The Love Collection Love collection Is a collection of 31 magical stories with a common thread of love, strung together by Sneh Thakur, based on the initiative of Grey Oak with Landmark. Twenty seven authors write about various aspects of love in this collection.
‘Love is Blind’: A strange sort of love which no one believes in. ‘You're Mine”: A poignant tale of love that believes in the moment, despite the uncertainty of the future, or rather the certainty of the future.
A lovely collection worth reading, especially since one can identify with the stories because The stories encompass the navrasas of love if I they are all set in the present times. were to paint a lyrical picture of them. They covTitle—Urban Shots The Love Collection er excitement, anticipation, pertinent questions, betrayal, coquettery, star-struck love, love that Price—Rs 199 just happens by chance, separation, finding lost Publisher—Grey Oak Westland love and other such emotions of love. Some of the stories that affected me deeply are, ‘Strangers’: He is deeply drawn towards the stranger. He cannot believe his luck when she invites him over to her home one day and then many more days. Where will it all end? A very haunting tale of the supernatural. ‘High Time’: Hilarious play of words and expressions that turn the tables over the aunt who was pestering the family for the hand of the eligible son for her extremely eligible daughter. ‘A Simple Question’: The story starts with a simple question...when was the last time you felt that? It is not often that a story becomes reality. All depends on the storyteller. ‘32 B’: The girl plays the ancient game of leading on the lover. The twist in the end is funny and unexpected. ‘Closure’: A very practical end to a relationship that was heading nowhere. In the days of social media and mobile phone, unfriending and deleting the contact number signifies everything.
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You Never Know When You'll Get Lucky
floods.
A fast paced romantic chick-lit comedy, the Kajal returns to Delhi with a brilliantly thought types you get only in the books that are not pub- out campaign for the condom and gets imlished in India. mersed into her work, her relationship with Dhir receding to a long distance one. The language and the use of slangs were what I could identify with, and not too far removed Will this star crossed pair survive the travails of from what we normally use (read those of the long distance relationship, using just emails and baby boomers) to make me feel alienated and phone calls? most importantly, old. Let us find out and as we do, we will also come The book opens on a hilarious setting with Kajal across a variety of characters that make this a trying hard to escape from her childhood friend completely hilarious and fast-paced tale...like (sic) who is the potential husband for her match- Debu the famous lech, her set of friends, and of making mom and her best friend. course the notorious Bunty. In a desperate bid to escape from Bunty, she hides under the table and encounters a pair of legs belonging to a dashing man (she hopes) with a rich baritone voice. As luck would have it, a fork falls and Baritone bends and she finds herself gazing into the eyes of this handsome and delicious looking man...Dhir, she later comes to know.
Title - You Never Know When You'll Get Lucky Author - Priya Narendra Price - Rs 150 Publisher - Fingerprint
Kajal works for an ad agency and is mentally sick of doing minor POPs for seedy clients like Mishraji who launches one product after another using the face of a chori (a girl) irrespective of the product category. Kajal has taken a strong decision that she needs to make it in her career and for that she needs to take a bold step and first ask for a better role. In a first of its kind, she gets to pitch for a new condom brand. Just her luck that she needs to go to Mumbai and just her luck that she bumps into Dhir yet again, leading to a few memorably spent days in his apartment stranded due to the Mumbai 15
Spark窶認ebruary 2013 | Romance
Just Married Please Excuse
check. Learning to manage a decent meal. Check. Ultimately settling for a decent home A very sweet account of married life, this story within their meagre budget, check. left me wistful and sentimental and longing for more. So that was in a nutshell the story of their lives until Vijay unexpectedly gets transferred to The best aspect is that it could Mumbai. All of a sudden Y feels uphave been anyone's story. rooted, yet she sacrifices for the sake Yours, mine, Yashodhara's. I of the greater good. In herown wise was nodding all the way and words...sacrifice was what marriage feeling happy that there are othwas about. And it sucked! ers whose life looks like mine full of crazy and baseless quarOut of the blue, Y finds herself pregrels and funny incidents like the nant one fine day in her office loo discovery of the exorbitant price of the land they and rushes to Vijay's cabin to inform him, as of wanted to buy which prompted them to beat a course, it was his fault after all! And she also hasty retreat. Sounds very familiar! thinks often later that perhaps he had some vile intentions that made him impregnate her! That there are other women who think that the only person to blame is the husband....’Yes, it is Once the baby arrives, Y feels totally depressed always his fault’ left me giggling and happy. and left out as Vijay bonds wholly and obsesWow! I am not the only one who thinks like this! sively with the baby. Expert that he is in tending to others, he proves to be efficient and quick Yashodhara, also known as Y, is a quick temwith the baby, unlike Y, who on one occasion pered lady who gets married too soon, in her left the soiled diaper wrapped up in the baby's opinion, to Vijay who is a nice guy but suffers blanket! from foot-in-the-mouth disease and Florence Nightingale instincts. In fact that very talent ac- Yashodhara expertly writes about the various tually made Y take the final step of marriage in incidents that shaped their life and marriage totheir relationship. gether and weaves a hilarious portrayal of marriage that is built on a foundation of love, underAdd to the general mix their friend Vivi and her standing and compromise, conveyed aptly by her husband who rather totally comprised their somother–in-law as....kabhi main man jaati hoon, cial circle in Mumbai, who were neither much kabhi woh maan jaate hain... (sometimes I give older than Y nor were having kids – hence they up, sometime the husband!) were the ideal match for Y and Vijay’s social life needs. Unputdownable. Both live in Bangalore and work for the same Title - Just Married Please Excuse company and soon go through the motions of Author - Yashodhara Lal what every couple goes. Rental home setting up, check. House hunting, check. Land buying, Price - Rs 199 Publisher- Harper Collins 16
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Love Stories #1 to 14
about to die. In some way this knowledge liberates them as they break inhibitions and demonIf love were to be summarised or described in strate their love in a public setting. one word, it would be almost impossible to do so. Because, there are so many aspects to love, Title - Love Stories #1 to 14 so many kinds of love, so many expressions of Author - Annie Zaidi love and a multiple forms in which love comes Price - Rs 350 in our life. Annie Zaidi makes an attempt to cover 14 forms Publisher - Harper Collins of love summarised in one interesting sentence of her title, like, the one that was announced, the one that tumbled out of the balcony, the one that went up in smoke, the one that climbed out of the bucket and more such sentences that ignite the curiosity of the reader. The stories cover facets of love like obsession, separation by impending death, two people thrown together in a situation and their discovery of love, or a woman's envisaging a life without a man and accepting the little that he had to offer. A woman close to retirement thinks of a life without her daily routine. One would think the thought foremost on her mind would be the life without the general distraction of a work place and colleagues, but her thoughts dwell on the fact that she would no longer be taking the daily train to her office. Because it meant she would no longer be able to hear the voice of the mysterious announcer who fascinated her. Such was her desperation and obsession that she almost began stalking him. She took different trains and arrived at a conclusion as to which trains the announcer announced for and even begin to have hopes of finding his identity. The story that touched me most was ‘The one that ended’. A man discovers that his wife is 17
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It's Your Move, Wordfreak
expected more word plays and was looking forward to some entertaining Scrabble games. What happens when a divorce lawyer Alisha However Scrabble is just a backdrop much to Menon with the handle Worddiva meet over my disappointment. Srabbulous on the net with the tree hugger, planet saviour architect Aryan Chawla who goes by Title - It's Your Move Wordfreak the handle Wordfreak? Author - Falguni Kothari They get to know each other over challenging Price - Rs 250 games of Scrabble and decide to meet on a blind date with great trepidation, expecting the worst Publisher - Rupa from the other side. What they did not expect was that Aryan would be a handsome catch and Alisha would be as captivating in person as she was in the virtual world. The two realise that the easy friendship they had in the virtual world was manifested in the real world too and both found each other's company enchanting and addictive. However, both of them have a history of broken families and therefore are extremely wary of commitment. They tiptoe around each other's feelings, wary of making the wrong move and scaring the other party forever. However family and friends conspire in the right direction and they coax them to arrange family introductions. We have Alisha's friend Diya the fashionista who is coaching her on date attire and Uncle Sam and Granny who love Alisha, and Alisha's mom and her boss who are quite charmed by Aryan. Everything goes smoothly, but the two are still holding back. They need to desperately break free from their prejudices and hang-ups before learning to love and trust freely. Written in a Mills & Boon manner, with all the interesting parts to boot but with an Indian context, the book is entertaining and keeps one engrossed to the very end. A good light treat but I 18
Blogger Itchingtowrite of The Reading Corner is a mother of twins, wife of jet setting workaholic, gossip queen, bookworm, all in one, apart from holding a regular day job of selecting fragrances.
Spark窶認ebruary 2013 | Romance
Poetry by Saranyan BV
Departure at Midnight
Saranyan BV pens a poem around the emotions experienced by a couple and the sadness that lingers after a separation that follows a departure at midnight.
Was it last night I dropped you at the airport For the late flight You took by the wee hours?
Did we fool ourselves By choosing the schedule Merely for the low fare?
Did we raise our heads on cue To check the flickering monitors If the departure’s on time And shared the grief it was?
The security-check at the terminal was brisk, 19
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The traffic less, there were fewer passengers, I thought our silence was louder Than the noise other farewells made.
Those lovely lines all the poets in the world said About parting, Which I fervently read to you Faded like the squids in the dark sea.
We nodded again Through the panel of glistening glass, You waved the boarding card.
I sent an SMS, ‘Come soon’ For which you replied at once, It was blank.
The parking lot was empty, The attendant let me go without a check; Inside the car, I played the Beetles, It was, ‘Let it be, let it be’. Saranyan BV is a Mumbaibased writer who came into the realm of literature by mistake but loves dwelling here. His poems and short stories have been published in many magazines in India and abroad.
Pressing the button For ‘pause’, I heard my sinking heart say “My life already has….” 20
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Fiction by Anupama Krishnakumar
From Me to You
A letter arrives bringing within it the deepest feelings of the one who writes it. Anupama Krishnakumar writes a short story that stresses on the joys of expressing love to a dear one. My dearest, I listen to Yanni’s ‘Nostalgia’ as I write this. What a coincidence, isn’t it? I feel so nostalgic today and I seem to be going back in loops to different instances of time in our lives together all these years. I vividly remember the tree under which we stood and conversed for not more than a minute, after our parents had nearly finalised our marriage. That large banyan tree outside your grandfather’s ancestral house, the house that was a pale yellow on the outside, rustic, charming and majestic - a home that I would die to go back to with you today. To live there forever. If only.
I have always prided myself in being a ‘rational’ human being, logic and reasoning are what I would base anything on. Nothing else has convinced me more. And on the other side I have had you, technically and figuratively, diametrically opposite – in views and nature, basing everything almost on emotions. They say complementary personalities are fun, but did we have enough fun? You have to tell me. I haven’t thought about it all these years. Until now. There is this little worm of a change that has been wriggling around inside my head for some days now and making me rethink my stance. I am not 21
able to exactly describe this feeling I have – I feel the want for something – the want to be the centre of somebody’s attention, the want to be heard patiently, the want to be understood, the want to be ‘loved’. Loved? Loved and all the rest, yes, but with a small difference – now, I am ready to feel truly what I had once taken for granted. Unlike all these years when I was literally an opaque object that never let any light of love permeate my being. Selfish of me, isn’t it? I admit. What has caused this change in me? Why am I looking beyond reason and logic? It is because of you. I see you are no longer Spark—February 2013 | Romance
your usual, cherubic self. I see you are withdrawn. I see you don’t speak much anymore. I see you don’t see me the way you used to before. I see that forlorn look in your eyes. I see you and then I think I see a little, blue fish forced to the ground, twitching back and forth painfully – grappling with a reality it can no longer cope with. Are you tired? Have you given up on me? This change has perhaps got something to do with me too – the fact that I am ageing and my work years are behind me. I am now waking up to the startling revelation that I have invested my most energetic years into just one thing, letting the rest fade into the background, adamant enough to not notice small gestures of life-propelling love that you filled those very years with. And now, while I look ahead, I see time is running out. In many ways.
and some Valentine’s Day cards too. I pulled out little notes that you had written for me (but eventually never gave, I discovered) and I saw that this was your most beautiful and unique way of ‘expressing love’. Of telling a dear one what he or she means to you in your life. And then I started realising
with a deep sadness that I had missed enjoying these little moments. And soon I had a barrage of questions for you which I ask now with this assumption – that with all the talk of love being purest when it is unconditional, I know you are human too and you looked forward to certain things from me.
So, last Sunday, while you were fast asleep in the afternoon, I dug through our cupboard and pulled out the bundle of greeting cards you had carefully made out of your own hand for Tell me, did you weep into your me – birthdays, anniversaries, pillow in the nights when I re22
fused to put my arm around you at the end of a tired day? Did you really sulk inside when you asked me how you looked in this saree or that and I would just nod in return? Did you feel bad when I didn’t even ask you how your day went? Did you really enjoy the quiet I used to mask myself with when we would sit together and drink our early morning coffee? Have you ever thought with bitterness if I understood the pains of delivering a child? I ask you all this because you used to hold my hand furtively in the night lest our daughter would wake up and oh, it must have been such a pleasure to have shared the moment with you, for, love shown in secrecy has such a depth, I now think. But then I didn’t. I ask you all this because I remember how you would let me know if I looked good in one of the shirts I would wear to work. I don’t even know if I acknowledged that comment well with a smile. I should have. I ask you all this because till recently, every single morning you would chatter away about the previous day’s happenings in your little world and I would just sit quietly. I should have quietly listened but I was only lost in thought. Spark—February 2013 | Romance
I ask you all this because you would often question me how things at work went. I would respond enthusiastically, but only because it concerned work. I ask you all this because the day our daughter was born, I did see your tired face, but logic and reason took me under their wings and told me to reason it thus, ‘but, such is life, isn’t it?’. I shouldn’t have. I know you aren’t an angel to accept my idiosyncrasies and therefore, you did flare up often and we fought like bitter enemies. But the next day we woke up and went on with our businesses – you left the previous day behind and accepted me because of your emotional strength and I moved on because rationality doesn’t let the task at hand slip easily. Yet, after all this, seeing the way you are now, I remembered what you told me once. At least let me sleep enough – when I do, you are what I want you to be, in my dreams. That stings me now. My dear, I did care for you, but in a different way, but I admit, nothing beats the joy of expressing your love to someone in little ways. And today, I want to make a beginning by writing this letter
(it’s plain I know, unlike the ones you have written for me but it’s heartfelt as much as yours were) and posting it to you. It’s a little surprise.
But please bounce back. I miss you.
It has taken me 30 whole years to write such a letter to you and I least imagined that it would be such a simple task – how didn’t I know that speaking your heart out to your beloved and expressing your deepest of feelings to her could take this little effort? It all flows, like tension ceaselessly ebbing out of an utterly tired body, weighed down by physical fatigue and mental disgust. I know this is what you had always wanted to hear from me in all these years one of the simple yet beautiful gifts of expression which I denied unreasonably to you. And with a helpless shrug and a pale face, I seek refuge in one of those mindless clichés that people often quote (never my way of doing things, you will know) but well here it is : ‘Better late than never.’ My dear Radhika, I can’t tell you how much I love you, I can never fit the feeling enough into words, how much ever or how little of those I use. But I just want to tell you this – I am glad you are here for me. I will gift you flowers and a poem and more. Soon. I so want to.
****
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Affectionately, You-know-who.
Inside the well-furnished bedroom that glowed with a dim yellow light thanks to the sunlight filtering through the yellow curtains fluttering lazily in the evening breeze, a woman with greying hair coiled into a bun and a brown pashmina shawl wrapped around her notso-broad shoulders finished reading the letter that arrived by the afternoon post. The man who stood at the door could see her frame shaking a little and her hands trembling. Taking slow but resolute steps, he walked up to where she was and sat next to her. The next moment, without a second thought, he wrapped his ageing yet steady arm around her shoulder. She leaned gently on his shoulder and sighed and sniffed. He took her right hand into his and held it tight. Heartfelt tears stung her eyes; he knew it even without looking at her. And for the first time in many years, his vision grew cloudy too and she knew it without looking at him. Even once. Spark—February 2013 | Romance
Anupama Krishnakumar loves Physics and English and sort of managed to get degrees in both – studying Engineering and then Journalism. Yet, as she discovered a few years ago, it is the written word that delights her soul and so here she is, doing what she loves to do – spinning tales for her small audience and for her little son, bringing together a lovely team of creative people and spearheading Spark. She loves books, music, notebooks and colour pens and truly admires simplicity in anything!
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Poetry Waking Up
by Arun Anantharaman
Sometimes all it takes is a moment to experience the magic of romance, so much so that even priorities can change. Like what Arun Anantharaman captures in this poem.
The dim traces of bright lights burning in the corridor And street lights fading outside in the morning's first rays Come slowly into view as he steps gingerly out of their bed, Squints at the clock in the living room, and knows time Is not on his side, but reasons to himself, his friends At the court can jog around, gossiping an office tale or two.
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So he lingers just that bit, long enough to return silently To hug an unseen angel, holding on to a cosy blanket for dear life, Pretending to hold off an intruder trespassing her dream, Moaning and cussing underneath in that disturbed fashion, Peculiar to sleep interrupted, twice, by an alarm set to ring For a duffer who thinks an hour of tennis beats waking together.
Arun Anantharaman works with a management consulting firm in Bangalore. He’s always wanted to write a novel, but it’s taken him a while to figure out that it takes more than just wanting, to actually write one. Start with several short stories, for instance. And put it out there. So, that’s where he is at now – trying hard to dedicate enough time every week to write, rewrite, shred, write, rewrite. So on and so forth. He is inspired by Jamil Ahmad, the Pakistani author who wrote his first novel at 79. While he certainly hopes it won’t take him that long, it is nevertheless, a possibility.
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Non-fiction by Gauri Trivedi
Love Aaj Kal
Married for a decade and more, a wife-and-a-mother mulls over the lack of romance in her life these days. Annoyed with the hype surrounding Valentine’s Day, she is not so enthused about what the month of February has to offer, until she takes a trip down the memory lane. The lady in question could be anybody, it could be me, it could be you, says Gauri Trivedi. Picture by Gauri Trivedi.
February is particularly a hard month to get by, at least for me. For one, it is bitterly cold and utterly cloudy (in that order) this time of the year, in this part of the world and even the officially labeled day for romance falling in the middle of the month does nothing to take the gloom away.
thing special for that day, my husband would play along but on his own, he would never come up with anything special to do on the coveted ‘Day’. If truth be told, I shouldn’t even be complaining because he never misled me on this one. “Why confine your romantic urges to just one single day in the whole year?” He would joke whenever The fact that your spouse never I whined. believes in such ‘days’ while all your friends’ husbands do, Adding to this, come February, probably makes it worse. I still love is literally in the air with haven’t figured out what upsets heart-shaped balloons ready to me more, the former or the take flight out of every store latter. If I happen to plan some- that one passes by. Frankly, 27
although a little bit of romance at this point in my life would be highly appreciated, this overdose of crimson is downright annoying. Red has never been my colour, so come February, I do everything in my power to avoid it, not that I succeed! Naturally, the absence of visible romance in my own life puts me at a greater risk of being cynical when it comes to expression of love. But thinking back, I realise this wasn’t the case, always.
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Once upon a time (now, doesn’t every fairy tale begin like this?), the cold weather was a catalyst, a reason to snuggle even closer and I could see colour even in the grey of the skies. Those were the days of blossoming love, carefree fun and unreal promises.
cook on this earth. We ate from veyed. He shrugs off my apolothe same plate and he always gy and looks for ways to fed me the last bite saying it was amend. for the beloved. THEN, my tears moved him in NOW, he leaves in a hurry, an instant and to the core. Sibarely making it out of the lently, he wept with me as I house on time. “I will eat at the wailed my heart out on his office cafeteria, darling, don’t shoulder on matters as petty as you worry”. a pebble. NOW my despair THEN, the day began with a refuses to melt him down. As I THEN, our conversations on cuddle and a kiss, sweet words sob beside my toddler, unable the phone lasted forever,
whispered beneath a cloud of sheets. NOW, my day starts later than before. His presence is usually heard below, a few stairs away. He tells the kids to be quiet as they get ready for school. Carefully, he has slipped out of bed as noiselessly as one can, just so that I can get that little extra sleep. THEN, I cooked his favourites, fretting over the smallest of things. He would kiss my hands and declare that I was the best
enough for the battery to die. We lived together and still there was so much to talk about. On our way to work, during lunch breaks and at the tiniest opportunity available, I talked and he listened, never too tired of the babble.
to see her in pain and tucked in a hospital bed, he stands by my side and holds my hand tight, his gaze unflinching and strong, as solid as a rock.
Of all the surreal pledges that we made, one has stood the test of time. THEN, he said he will NOW, the tête-à-tête is short always be there for me, NOW, I and very much to the point. can close my eyes and count on Half the messages are lost in him. the childish ruckus that remains a constant background. Amidst That was kal (yesterday) as I all chaos of the day, I forget knew it and this is Aaj (today) important things to be con- as I live it. THEN and NOW 28
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seem worlds apart, different in what counts the most. every possible way they could The evolution from being a be. But as I take a closer look, carefree couple to concerned the dissimilarities pale. parents has not been without its As I go back and forth, a mil- share of hiccups, but the desire lion instances surface. to connect now runs deeper than just me and him. It is with Real life met responsibility and a happy smile I recognise, the took away a bit of romance care and the concern still prewith it. As the years added up, sides. The maneuvers may have so did we! Those two precious changed but the ambitions reextensions of us arrived and
Whoever said true love never changes, certainly got it all wrong. I have come to believe that truer the love, more inclined to change it is! Amorphous like water which assumes the shape of whatever it is poured into, love too grows with the relationship and the people involved, filling in the spaces and being what it needs to be.
altered the course of life. But main intact. our love grew with us and that’s
Gauri Trivedi is a former business law professional who makes the law at home these days. A mom to two lovely daughters, her days are filled with constant learning and non-stop fun. All of her “mommy time” goes into writing and finds itself on her blog pages htt p:/ / me ssy hom e love ly kid s.blogsp ot.co m / and http:/ / pastaandparatha.blogspot.com/ and if she is not writing she is definitely reading something!
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Art Love Blossoms
by Amrita Sarkar
Amrita Sarkar is an English literature graduate from Kolkata. She has also completed her Post graduation Diploma from the Asian College of Journalism, Chennai. As for her interests, her love for cartoons, drawing, painting and stories began from childhood and continues till date. When her imagination could not be held any longer within the scarce recesses, she decided to cast them in moving shapes. This led to her completing a graduate diploma in animation and film making. 30
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Poetry Lost Love
by Vinita Agrawal
In three small poems, Vinita Agrawal brings out the sadness and pain that someone who has lost their love experiences.
Warmth The sun should have stayed with me last night For I needed its warmth. The stars were as cold as snowflakes And the moon Was a cold sheet lining my bed.
At dusk, the sun did what it always does It slipped on the banana skin of darkness And fell over to the other side of the world. The other side always wins.
I have scratched the names Of your children on the walls of my womb; Have thus quietened my restless heart. 31
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Now if blood spills out of the aortas and valves Into my eyes, I shall not mind.
The night, the stars, the moon Are surrogate lovers; Their seduction does not have the magic of your touch. No other touch feels the same, I wonder what it is about your fingertips... I wonder what it is about the sun and its warmth.
Soot of Pain The night passes like a slow thread Through the eyes Leaving behind a soot of pain.
Don't you know that if You hold my hand, I shall walk with you To the ends of the earth And beyond...?
Yet you leave me alone To spend nights Whose soot darkens my eyes And my heart.
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Gone I am still standing against the pillar At the corner of the courtyard That overlooks the mud road, Where your footprints lie embedded.
I have not left this vantage point Not for an instant. Yet the neighbours vouch that They saw me at the vegetable market yesterday.
Today The hot afternoon air lifts a layer Of dust from the road Paling your footprints and me.
Vinita Agrawal is a Delhi-based writer and poet and has been published in international print and online journals.
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Photography by Raju Rhee
Romance, Everywhere
High up in the sky 34
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Caged in each other's eyes
Sharing a tale or two over chai 35
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The many hues of love
Snuggling up, watching the rain fall 36
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Raju Rhee is a Doctor by profession and loves travelling, music and photography. He is currently a Post-graduate student at the School of Management, Tata Institute of Social Sciences. He likes street photography and taking candid shots of his friends.
Do you own a copy of our anthology, ‘Sparkling Thoughts’?
Order it now at http://pothi.com/pothi/book/anupamakrishnakumar-sparkling-thoughts 37
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The Lounge
February 2013 38
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Turn of the Page
G.D. Bakshi’s The Siege of Warwan by Vinita Agrawal
The Siege of Warwan, written by war veteran, G.D. Bakshi, is a work that combines war action in Kashmir, a social message and a gentle love story, says Vinita Agrawal. Here’s a book review.
The Siege of Warwan
is clear: children are the worst victims of the wars waged by men. To quote a line from the book - "They lost not only their lives, but also their illusions."
by Major General G.D. Bakshi (retd) Harper Collins Price Rs. 299
As Brigadier Sibal Roychodury, one of the characters in the novel, writes in his journal one evening:
Published 2011 "He melted me like snow, Leaving me to course down Like mountain streams and rivulets For he has forsaken me" Habba Khatoon The Siege of Warwan is a war novel with a difference. Yes it is about action, combat and the business of bravado but there is a strong underlying social message in the novel. The message
"For those of us who get to see it close range, the reality of Jihad in Kashmir is heartrending. Its leitmotif, its theme song is the endless wailing of women raising their voices in the traditional funeral lament. Those wails rise like an indictment of all mankind and its maker. They hover like a cloud over the ravaged landscape of Kashmir. ...We pray fervently that it will change, that the laughter of the children will be heard once more on the hills. But before that, scores of men will have to die..."
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The novel is set in the traumatic decades when terrorism in Kashmir was at its peak. The world of Warwan is a world of AK-47s, AK-56s, Kalashnikovs, Night Vision Devices, explosive experts, radio technicians, intelligence breakthroughs, hard interrogations, Mi-17 helicopter rescues and raw verbal and physical exchanges between the army and the terrorists. At the same time, it is also the world of subtly brewing emotions, home to a pious peer who curses the town when he breathes his last and of deeply inspired souls like Ayesha and the heroic Major Dusty Bharadwaj.
novel runs the risk of becoming too soft. For a story that has a clear and strong anti-war message, such a softening would defeat the purpose of writing it. The novel remains undeterred from its depiction of stark, jaw-clenching army manoeuvres; the attraction brewing between Dusty and Ayesha only adds a beautiful and valuable dimension to the story.
The story travels from the youthful corridors of the National Defence Academy (NDA) and the streets of Pune to the majestic snowbound valley of Warwan hemmed in on three sides by the majestic Hindukush mountains. The storyline revolves ostensibly around Warwan Valley which is a coveted jihadi base of militants because of its strategic location. Major Dusty, the shy but determined protagonist of the novel, commands the lone Indian Army outpost there. Reeling under the angst of an unsuccessful love affair, he opts to enrol in the Rashtriya Rifles - a light-infantry equivalent of a division tailor-made for counter insurgency operations. In Warwan, Dusty meets the heart-stirringly beautiful Ayesha, a doctor with a troubled past of her own. The exchanges between Dusty and Ayesha are rife with undercurrents and subtle passion. But the characters act with reserve and restraint, bound as they are by their unique situations.
Ayesha is fiercely loyal to the memories of her lover, Javed, though he is now a jihadi. She even names her son after him. However she is repeatedly traumatised by Kari Hanzala, a barbaric terrorist who slakes his baser appetites with her. Dusty - the hero inevitably rescues her. He is an admirable officer - passionate, fearless and couThe author, Gen. Bakshi does well to space out rageous to the core. The novel has subtle psythe confrontations between the leads else the chological plots which lead to cleverly crafted 40
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circumstances. Genuine army-style plotting to Readers are likely to feel fortunate that by readdupe the enemy described in the novel lends ing about the siege of Warwan, they discover tremendous reading excitement. how innocent Kashmiri civilians are made victims of their own faith, how even the remotest The book also gives a close-up view of terrorist districts like NunKhun and Marud Valley have activities. From the recruitment of young boys been shattered by terrorism. to the social demeaning of women to families ravaged by terrorists, the novel brings it all into The author's military writing is interspersed with focus. It is apparent that only a war veteran, moving descriptions of nature, for which the who has actually endured these bitter realities, land of Kashmir is so renowned. He begins can bring them alive in such minute detail. many chapters with soul-stirring translations of Kashmiri poetry. These insertions lend a degree Gen. Bakshi shares with the reader that in the of authenticity and grace to the novel, and uplift winters, terrorists dig bunkers underground, it from being action-from-the-shoulder type of store upto a thousand kilos of food and hiberstory-telling to something more sensitive and nate. Yet, when necessary (as does infact happen liberating. in the novel) they can and do stage major battle action in the bitter winter months as well. "With the summer steadily on the wane, The book reveals that terrorists have astounding networks across the globe - with countries like Russia, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Algeria and Pakistan. They use sophisticated GPS guidance kits. They live in harsh mountain caves, hardly ever wash or bathe and have poor personal hygiene. They are shrewd and conniving and treat people like pawns; a man is kept alive as long as it is expedient, else he is brutally killed even if he is a Muslim. As a war veteran, Gen. Bakshi successfully exposes the real extent of the terrorists' 'stomach' for gruesome acts. Torture and exploitation are rampant in the name of jihad. Such revelations elevate this war novel to a book that provides an insight into the mind of a terrorist. Thankfully, it is done without sympathy.
Like the moon poised on the mountaintops I too shall be gone" Habba Khatoon Though the book is dramatic and intense, the characters in the novel could have been better developed, their individual depths better explored. But every time such an opportunity arises, mid-battle action comes in the way! The Siege of Warwan is worth reading because it highlights the sensitive side of war. Gen. Bakshi dedicates the book to all ranks of the Rashtria Rifles, past and present, and to the child warriors of the world. Gen. Bakshi's wide-ranging and first-hand experience of live combat shines through in his writing.
Vinita Agrawal is a Delhi-based writer and poet and has been published in international print and online journals. 41
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Storyboard
Twist in the Tale by Annie Philip
After a rather lackluster phase that lasted nearly a decade from the late 90s, Malayalam cinema is now back with a bang, signaling the arrival of new generation cinema. Many interesting themes have been explored and urban Kerala is now a prominent feature in these movies. Annie Philip analyses interesting trends in Malayalam cinema and describes what it has to showcase today.
“F***k you,” he said. “Not anymore,” she retorted. To say the least, the exchange of words from Malayalam film 22 Female Kottayam stunned me. For years, if I was asked to describe a visual from mainstream Malayalam cinema, I would have probably said green paddy fields, blue sky and a smiling girl in pavada-blouse. That had now changed. 22 Female Kottayam, released in 2012, is among a crop of Malayalam films that have been labelled new generation cinema. These films, over the course of the last couple of years, have made their mark with fresh story lines, unconventional
characters and improved production values. At the forefront is a bunch of filmmakers, producers and actors who made the leap of faith from formulaic fare that proved to be the bane of Malayalam cinema. It is not that novel subjects or filmmaking techniques are new in the land of avant-garde masters like Adoor Gopalakrishnan and John Abraham. The Malayalam film industry has an enviable list of firsts to its credit, including India’s first 3-D film, My Dear Kuttichathan. The late 1980s to early 1990s, referred to as the golden age of Malayalam cinema, shone with its lovea-
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ble characters and social dramas. Many films bridged the gap between commercial and parallel cinema. It also established superstars Mohanlal and Mammootty. Somewhere along the way, though, the plot was lost. Much of the late 1990s and early part of this century saw films that looked like poor cousins of Hindi and Tamil commercial grossers. Strong script-based characters gave way to one-dimensional heroes who beat up villains at will, and rich narratives were replaced with wafer-thin story lines. Brilliant comic timing, once a highlight of Malayalam films, had been sadly swapped with farce. Garish costumes and average music added to the viewer’s woes. With the exception of a handful, critics and the audience shunned most films. Traffic, released in January 2011, is widely acknowledged as the film that ushered in change. It experimented with a non-linear narrative, interconnected sub plots and strong characters that tied up neatly to create an engaging film. It did well at the box office and marked the arrival of new generation cinema. Films that followed explored newer themes and varied narrative techniques. Salt N’ Pepper, for instance, is a refreshing take on mature romance. The middleaged lead characters share their love for the culinary arts through phone conversations. It is not till much later that they meet each other in person. And almost in perfect contrast, the film presents two younger characters in what can be said as being in the throes of puppy love.
of meaningful roles like Maya in Salt N’ Pepper and Zarina in Thalsamayam Oru Penkutty. Actor Anoop Menon has emerged nothing short of a poster boy for new generation cinema. From playing a cop in Traffic to a musician in Beautiful, he is also the man behind scripts for movies like Cocktail, Beautiful and the rather bold Trivandrum Lodge. Many of these characters are not painted just black or white. They are shown with their vulnerabilities and shades of grey. The protagonist of Ustad Hotel is honest when he voices his fear that his grandfather may use emotional blackmail to make him stay back, while he wishes to pursue a career abroad. Some youngsters who have benefitted from this wave include actors Fahadh Faasil, Vineeth Sreenivasan (actor and director), Dulquer Salmaan, Asif Ali, Rima Kallingal, Remya Nabeeshan, Mythili and Nithya Menen. Seasoned actors Biju Menon Kunchako Boban and siblings Prithviraj and Indrajith
These films have also provided the platform for a variety of actors to perform. Shweta Menon, a Sukumaran have also taken on different roles in former Miss India runner-up, struggled in Bolly- this period. As far as direction and screenplay wood before finding her calling with a bouquet are concerned, there have been some new voices 43
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like Aashiq Abu, Rajesh Pillai, Anjali Menon, Sameer Thahir, Murali Gopy and Arun Kumar, while veterans like Ranjith and Lal Jose too have found success in their last few ventures. While each of these films has dealt with different subjects, a common factor has been the urban theme, which has so far been largely unexplored. Drive around Kerala and you will realise the dividing line between rural and urban is not so welldefined. But the landscape of Kerala’s cities and towns has been transforming and these films have attempted to capture the changing dynamics. Ee Aaduthu Kalathe shows how the worlds of characters from different strata of society collide in the city of Trivandrum. It lays bare the frustrations and trials of a doctor, police commissioner and journalist with as much ease as it does of a migrant worker and rag-picker. Chaappa Kurish, set in Cochin, pits a successful rich brat working in real estate against a nervous, bumbling, insecure guy working in a supermarket. The director in an interview has said the characters are two sides of a coin. (The title translates as heads or tails). A misplaced mobile phone turns the tables and the film explores the frailties of human nature in an urban environment. Thalsamayam Oru Penkutty shows the growing obsession with reality television and its influence on the audience and those behind it.
The urban theme can be seen through the use of location, costumes, music and the characterisation of women. While Trivandrum, Cochin and Calicut have featured prominently in these films, they have also looked at the life of the Malayali outside his home state. The well-crafted T. D. Dasan Std. VI B (2010), released before the wave of new generation cinema, features a father and daughter staying in Bangalore. While the film raises questions on several levels, it portrays an accurate picture of the Malayali who has blended in with the urban crowd of India. The lead protagonists of 22 Female Kottayam are professionals in Bangalore, while Diamond Necklace exposes the trappings of a fast-paced lifestyle in Dubai. Cinematography has made considerable progress, resulting in films that look slick, considering they do not have much scope to showcase the beauty of rural Kerala. Salt N’ Pepper and Ustad Hotel did commendable work to make food an integral character, making them a real treat for foodies. The Malayali hero has always been most comfortable flicking his mundu or lungi. During the late 90s he experimented with some rather disastrous-looking Western apparel. In a welcome change, professional costume designers and stylists have entered the scene, making sure actors appear in clothes that fit well, look contemporary and suit the character, whether these are Western or ethnic clothes. The leading ladies now look smart and stylish, a far cry from the mismatched clothes a decade back. In fact, go-
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ing by his last few movies, it would be safe to Njangal Santhushtaranu (1999) which shows a say that Fahadh Faasil has appropriated the box- modern woman as one who needs to be tamed er shorts! by the hero. Music has also seen a sea change. Cochin-based rock band Motherjane recorded a single for Anwar as early as 2010, while popular alternative Malayalam rock band Avial has worked on songs that have featured in Salt N’ Pepper and Second Show. Avial’s lead guitarist Rex Vijayan has also composed the music for 22 Female Kottayam and Chaappa Kurish. Ustad Hotel features a fictional band called Kallumakai and one of its songs ‘Appangal embadum’ was among th most popular in 2012. Melodies have made a strong comeback too. The portrayal of women characters has seen some positive changes, becoming more authentic. The female protagonist in Salt N’ Pepper shares her woe with her friends over a drink and this is not shown as something unusual. The women are seen as confident, independent and unafraid of making mistakes. Films have not been shy of showing their negative traits either, like the female lead in Beautiful. Thalsamayam Oru Penkutty features a female TV producer who is just as ambitious and career-oriented as her male colleagues. In 22 Female Kottayam, the female protagonist uses her sexuality to take revenge. All of this is a step forward from movies like
Not all the so-called new generation films have found success at the box office or have found favour with the audience and critics. City of God, released in early 2011, could not capitalise on the trend despite an interesting narrative structure, believable characters and its highlight of a pertinent issue like the condition of migrant labourers. Some of the disapproval seems to be directed at calling films ‘new generation’ on the basis that there isn’t anything essentially ‘new’ about them. Others have criticised the liberal use of profanity and the introduction of the ‘item number’ to Malayalam films. The more damaging of the accusations has been plagiarism with viewers pointing out similarities with films in other languages. Some have called these films nothing more than a passing fad. Putting aside the cynicism though, many of these films have a made a genuine attempt at capturing modern day realities. The emphasis on plausible narrative and characterisation aided by some fantastic actors is also a welcome change. If anything, the success of many of these films indicates a growing appetite for something ‘different’ and that is good news!
Annie Philip is an independent journalist based in Mumbai. Having just moved there after stints in different places, she is trying hard to make sense of the metropolis. Her day starts with a cup of tea and she loves cheese.
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Storyboard | Film Freak American Sequels Work, Ours Don’t! by Yayaati Joshi
The sequels of Die Hard, Rocky, Rambo, and other American movies work but ours don’t, opines Yayaati Joshi in his monthly column on movies, Film Freak.
The American dream may be long over, but the American heroes are here to stay. Right from the Civil war to the 9/11 attacks, incidents have given enough fodder to filmmakers to churn heroes out of them. One of them, in particular, is a tad too angry, and as his wife says, on seeing a very angry and frustrated terrorist, “Only John can do that to someone”. She’s right. John McClane, who for years to come will be a part of the league of macho men, which has mesmerised audiences not only in America, but throughout the world. If John’s short biography were to be written, it’d read something like this: cop, beer drinker, trigger-happy, short-tempered, determined to oust the criminal masterminds, and getting better with age. Compare him to the war hardened Rambo, who shares the same first name as the
cop, and you have another likeable character. For another viewpoint, add the pugilist Rocky Balboa to the mix, and a veritable array of ideals, in which these heroes are rooted, comes to mind. These ideals are those that the nation of America can relate to — its heroes, with all their flaws, have kept the stars and stripes flying high, and free of any discernible wrongdoing. The primary function of cinema is to engage with the audience — to entertain, and at times, to teach a moral lesson. Despite all his chinks in the armour, the American hero has a tendency to find a way to penetrate the masses either through his manliness, or through his impeccable character that refuses to budge in the presence of tantalising temptations. That is one major reason, why sequels of already successful films are made — a turnout of audience is guar-
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anteed, and so is the tradition of film franchises which was a rip-off of a Hollywood film, was running up to five or even six sequels of the ‘continued’ not in plot, but in premise, by alloworiginal. (The Die Hard ing the same actor to play the series is reported to be lead in the second movie, made at least twice more, which was named Murder2. because both the protagoThe first film, which was nist, Bruce Willis, and the about a wife in love with an producers think that there old paramour, saw its end is enough material in with the wife’s morality being McClane to entertain his restored, amidst events that followers). included a possible murder, and treachery. The “sequel” Move away from Hollyhad none of the characters of wood to the land where a the original film — perhaps film is supposedly incomthe only similarity here with plete without song and Hollywood sequels was that of dance sequences, and you intent: banking on a successful can hardly spot a sequel idea and recreating it to reprowhich ran successfully. duce the financial gains. The Apu Triology by noted filmmaker Satyajit Ray might be an excep- For a particular reason, I’ve not included science tion, but the recent trend of successful movies fiction sequels such as The Terminator, The being reproduced Matrix or the less with the same name, serious Back to the albeit with different future: Indian cinecharacters and even ma is quite antiquatdifferent setups, is ed as far as special hardly as successful effects go, and atan effort as its Holtempts to make scilywood counterpart. ence fiction films in Indian filmmakers India have been aphave treated the first palling at best. Case movie as a premise in point: the recently for launching anothreleased Ra.One, er one, with the which before its characters being different, and the second movie release promised to be one of the costliest Indimade as a mere glimpse of the first one. Not an films, primarily because of money spend on surprisingly, box office success has eluded such special effects. The result was a badly made film, films in many cases. A few examples: Murder, and far from thinking of a sequel, the film had 47
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its producers shaking their heads in disappoint- long running series. As this is being written, a ment due to its poor reception. reportedly direct sequel of an Indian film, Ab Tak Chappan (“56 So Far”—a reference to the Whilst Hollywood can boast of sequels that number of criminals killed by a cop), is being have become iconic, its eastern counterpart has made. Will its release be the path breaking mono cards up its sleeve to put on the table. The ment that Bollywood needs? Time will tell. best shot that Indian filmmakers get for some international recognition are through indie films, which are shown to a niche audience in film festivals, and the indie filmmakers are left pining for its release in India (an example: an Indie film called ‘That Girl in Yellow Boots’). But indie films are hardly remake-able. Rich as the Indian film industry is, it is yet to produce, for its audience, a long running sequel like Die Hard; merely renaming films is a half-hearted effort, not suited to satisfy the appetite of fans who want a
Yayaati Joshi is a man with simple tastes and intense beliefs. Contrary to the bling associated with the capital city, he prefers the company of close friends, an engaging book or an Alfred Hitchcock movie. His placid demeanour is often mistaken for reticence; Yayaati is a self-proclaimed loner, whose recent pursuits include his foray as a budding writer. Yayaati blogs at http://rantingsofadelusionalmind.wordpress.com.
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The Inner Journey Understanding Consciousness
Over the last few months, Viswanathan Subramanian has been exploring various questions with respect to the theme, ‘Ego’, based on Ramana Maharishi’s “Ulladhu Narpadhu” or Forty Verses on Reality. In this piece, he summarises the discussion.
ULLADHU NARPADU’s central theme on Reality is the non-existence of the ego. When the body is taken to be the observer ‘I’, the world, which is mere names and forms appear. As the subject ‘I’ who looks at them is unreal, knowledge of the world is only ignorance. There is only consciousness. This consciousness gets interpreted as the knower and the known.
Then, there is yet another trinity, which is again, the ego’s creation - the concept of Time as past, present and future. Time is a conceptual flow created by the mind. Can you catch hold of a single moment as present? If you choose to call such a minute portion as ‘present’, it co-exists with past and present and not otherwise. Hence, there is timeless consciousness only, with the concept of time being nothing but a play of imLike the English Grammar conceptualizing the agination. First Person, the Second Person and the Third Person, there is the ego which comes as First Same is the case with a place or location. A Person and visualizes ‘you’, the Second Person place can be talked about only from a fixed noand ‘he, she, it, they’, the Third Person. The ego, tion of the body taken to be ‘I’. Our existence when examined, does not stand such a scrutiny without the body is perfectly established as in and drops off, and the unreality of the ego is deep sleep where our real consciousness is there established. Hence, there is neither First Person and is self-evident. When the source of ego/ nor Second or Third Person, but only con- mind is sought, there is only the consciousnesss sciousness. and nothing else remains. When we are experientially one with the all49
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-knowing consciousness, all actions happen on conflict.If at all, this is what is harmony, intellitheir own without egoistic intervention and any gence, bliss.
Viswanathan Subramanian was a banker for over 35 years. In his new retired life, he loves poring over business newspapers and journals and making notes. Spirituality also interests him, and so a good number of Sri Ramana Maharishi’s and Jiddu Krishnamurthy’s books find space in his bookshelf. He is extremely passionate about movies and music too. You are sure to find some good old English movie DVDs and an enormous collection of old mp3 Hindi and Tamil songs at his place!
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