Meow Mondays

Gata took all the time in the world to snub Meow's advances. After torturing the poor guy enough, Gata seems to have said "Yes." But look how she stresses out my white-little-cupcake so much already!

Shokhiyon mein: Prem Pujari, a song translation

A man in a khaki shirt with a bright red jacket balances a butterfly net on his shoulders and flicks his muffler in place as he walks to wild yellow flowers. A red chiffon stole coyly sneaks into sugarcane bushes. With a cerebral twitch that he made into a style statement and his signature tilted hat, he continues looking for his lady love. He finds her after she hits him with a twig and jumps down to him from her perch on a haystack, skinning sugarcane with her teeth. Meet Bollywood actors Dev Anand and Waheeda Rehman as they take romance to another level in the song ‘Shokhiyon mein ghola jaaye’ from the 1970 Hindi film Prem Pujari:

Mix the youthfulness of flowers with these playful moments
And top the blend with some wine,
The intoxication that would result,
Is love.

He nods as she moves away from him and walks from haystack to haystack. Her stole falls on the golden pile and the camera zooms on it to pan to Dev Anand who waits with a smile. She hides her face behind the sensual chiffon cloth and then drops it, Dev Anand catches it. Without the drape covering her slender body, with the feeling of freedom that every young woman in new love feels, Waheeda begins to climb a haystack on a makeshift wooden ladder as she sings:


It was a laughing childhood; it’s a tempting season now,
If not dealt with carefully, it’s a ball of fire
If you touch it gently, it is dew (2)
In the village, in the fair, on the road or when you are alone:
The one you remember again and again,
Is your love.

Her beau throws the stole back to her, the fabric glides towards her, she catches it and flicks it on her shoulders with a laugh. Then she glides down the stack and is surprised that he is not in sight. He sings from his hiding place in hay and she bites a dry strand of grass while looking for him. But, she doesn’t look for long. As if she’s confident he’ll walk back to her, she rests on a stack. The camera zooms to the red heels she dangles, then we can see her man walking towards her. He comes close, she doesn’t mind the proximity. He tells her how beautiful she is:

Gold melts in your complexion,
Nectar oozes out of your body as if
A note is being softly played at night,
The one who waits for you in the sun, in the shade or in the dancing winds,
That is your love.

Butterflies fly out of the net in a whirlpool of air and flutter by the lovers. They then run in the fields. She almost stumbles once, and that adds to the romantic simplicity of the visuals. They celebrate their love again:

If I remember him, my loneliness vanishes,
It feels like someone has started playing the wedding flute in a desolate town,
The pride that doesn’t fade whether you are uphill, downhill; any time of the being,
That is love.

‘Shokhiyon mein ghola jaaye’ penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri blends innocence with longing and intense courtship with playful patience: something almost extinct in these days of speed-dating.

A diva of romance and with a career as an actor, director and producer spanning close to 60 years, Dev Anand died at the age of 88 in December 2011. He still makes hearts flutter. Kishore Kumar’s voice complements Anand’s charisma well, the playback singer had a knack for matching his voice with the persona of all the screen characters he sang for. Kumar developed his own distinctive style of yodeling, blending classical notes with the funky, the mischievous and the sensual as and when it called for. His greatest hits were with music directors Sachin Dev Burman, who also composed this song, and his son Rahul Dev Burman.

Waheeda Rehman (born 1936) has aged gracefully. She still plays character roles, the more recent performance was in a film called Delhi 6. Lata Mangeshkar (born 1929) has sung 'Shokhiyon mein.' She still sings, her next song is for a film that is expected to be released in 2012.

-Gauri Gharpure
March 26, 2012

This was for John Bennet's magazine-writing assignment. Long shot, because the Indian dancing-round-the-trees routine seems very lame to the Western audience. That said, I adore this song and went ahead with the unusual choice. Also read this book review that I submitted as a backup.

Wordless Wednesday

The unbearable randomness of being

The colours life has shown me in the past one year... From the muddled, matt, stinking colours of grime and grey, from the hopeful light green colours of a new-born leaf, from the vivacious red of a newly-married woman's sindoor, from the promise of the pink and orange of a satisfying sunset, from the bright yellow of laughter, from the white of the blank wall staring me in the face, yes, I have seen it all. White, let's talk about the white of the wall that stared back at me as I lay thinking about nothing and everything all at once. White conceives within it the entire sphere of colours and thus, emotions. As I lay thinking, blaming, hoping, loving and forgetting, that white created a thousand different possibilities that future was to bring for me. And I gave in to the unbearable randomness of being*.

Random. Life is random. When time freezes and you have no hope left, you stare at that blank white wall and cry. And as those tears sparkle in the light of the bulb, as they soil the book you are attempting to read and make the pillow uncomfortably wet, you are shaken back into a mortal existence of money and materialism in spite of all your precious, sacrosanct emotional turmoil. "O, that book cost me Rs. 395!" And "O, I hate sleeping on a soggy pillow". The triviality of such mundane worries that can find precedence in your life even in the time of some profoundly disturbing moments makes you smile. Trivia remind you to take it easy, to go with the flow and keep the faith.

Unforgiving. Life is unforgiving. Your past is etched in iron, it won't change. The person you were shall be, safely frozen in the abyss of time. It's up to you to be the person you want to be. Lock your past and lose the painful key for tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow will be better, tomorrow you will be better. Life is unforgiving for a reason: it wants you to be your best every single waking moment, every single sleeping moment.

Loving. Life is loving. No matter what past did to you and what disasters you inflicted on your past, life still loves you. It calls you ever so softly, ever so warmly, inviting you to live. As I write this, I remember a friend from college who killed self. Jumped into a river after parking his bike by the highway. His body was fished out some days later, all eaten up by fish. If I were to meet him today as a ghost in that rotten body, I would slap him tight. He had no right to go. Life was waiting. Don't go. Even if you think no one loves you (and you are grossly mistaken there if you think so) life loves you. Life is loving, don't go.

Colours. Let's get back to colours. The colours of songs, of lyrics, of those words written by strangers hundreds of miles away just for you. Let's talk about the colours of hope, of wait, of denial and of shy acceptance. Let's talk about everything in between life and death, day and night, you and me. Everything happens for a reason and it is not our business to be Sherlock Holmes to get to the bottom of that reason. Leave reason be, make your own poetry in free verse.

Woman. Let's talk about being a woman, a lover, a mother. What would this world come to if it were not for the feminine? What the world were to be if it were not for our tenacity to soak pain and indifference, digest unfairness and inequality, gulp down chauvinism and abuse with a smile that hides it all? All the violence, sex and massacre- both physical and emotional- would multiply many times over if it were not for those sacrificed women who kept on taking blow after blow for only one reason: their gender and the paramount expectation of strength that comes with their sex.

Today, I am happy. Tomorrow, I shall be so. For I have moved ahead from fantasizing the mushy colours of the rainbow to accept and respect the lovely colours of life. Matt, dull, glossy, vibrant, hopeful, mauve and pink, red and blue, beige and golden- all colours are mine today. I am sinking in the unbearable randomness of being.

-Gauri Gharpure

Title inspired by Alexander McCall Smith's book 'The Unbearable Lightness of Scones'

Dhoop Kinare--- Anji and Zoya

Dhoop Kinare is a legendary Pakistani drama. I don't know how I missed searching for this gem of a serial on the internet. There's something about this serial that haunts you long after you have stopped seeing it. The dialogues, Zoya, Dr. Ahmer, the soulful music and lyrics (can't beat 'Jaise veerane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaye, Jaise beemar ko bewajah karaar aa jaye' can you? ) Embedding some episodes.

Dhoop Kinare

Dhoop Kinare is a legendary Pakistani drama. We saw all the episodes back in the 1990s at my aunty's place. After a lot of search, she finally found a site that has put most good episodes online. Here, I embed the last and perhaps the most romantic episode. It's 30 minutes long, so see it when you have time. But see it.

Links to this post / further reading:

Zoya (Marina Khan): 1) Wikipedia 2) Interview
Dr. Ahmer (Dr. Rahat Kazmi) : 1) Interview 2) Wikipedia
Haseena Moin (Writer) : 1) Wikipedia 2) Interview 3) Another interview

Love rectangles

A friend likes another friend, but that friend hates him. Another friend likes another friend, that friend doesn't hate him, but doesn't love him either. A third friend loves one but seems to like many other friends too. A friend of a friend who patched with her bf also has a gf.

Life, did you have some fixation with screwing everything up?

LOL

At least I have a good laugh

There's a man I love

There's a man I love. He is mischeivous, he calls people names, he winks. His ancient blue kinetic survived a bad accident. He also survived, btw. Came out of the neurosurgery cracking jokes to be precise. He is eighty and he has more gusto than you and me. For my sake, and for the many others who adore him, I wish him many many more birthdays.

Mr. Crow and Ms. Dove

Read how they fell in love...