I first heard this poem in a penny Marshal movie called the awakenings, starring De niro and Robin Williams. Williams' narration of the poem, interspersed with the brilliant visuals of the Panther in the Bronx zoo, moved me like it has moved a million before. I was reminded of the othe movie I saw starring Javier Bardem called Mar Adentro or translated in English as 'The Sea inside', where a quadriplegic sits and contemplates dying all day.
Anyways, Without further ado, here is the poem for you:
Tha Panther
From seeing the bars, his seeing is so exhausted
that it no longer holds anything anymore.
To him the world is bars, a hundred thousand
bars, and behind the bars, nothing.
The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride
which circles down to the tiniest hub
is like a dance of energy around a point
in which a great will stands stunned and numb.
Only at times the curtains of the pupil rise
without a sound . . . then a shape enters,
slips though the tightened silence of the shoulders,
reaches the heart, and dies.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
An uncanny premonition
Note: The underwritten article is reproduced here from the following site:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/books/everythingthatrises.contest50.html
Please visit the site for pictures and other information on the article.
Author: Maxim Gorky
Artcle: On a Visit to the Kingdom of Shadows.
Last night I was in the Kingdom of Shadows.
If you only knew how strange it is to be there. It is a world without sound, without colour. Every thing there—the earth, the trees, the people, the water and the air—is dipped in monotonous grey. Grey rays of the sun across the grey sky, grey eyes in grey faces, and the leaves of the trees are ashen grey. It is not life but its shadow, It is not motion but its soundless spectre.
Here I shall try to explain myself, lest I be suspected of madness or indulgence in symbolism. I was at Aumont's and saw Lumière's cinematograph—moving photography. The extraordinary impression it creates is so unique and complex that I doubt my ability to describe it with all its nuances. However, I shall try to convey its fundamentals. When the lights go out in the room in which Lumière's invention is shown, there suddenly appears on the screen a large grey picture, "A Street in Paris"—shadows of a bad engraving. As you gaze at it, you see carriages, buildings and people in various poses, all frozen into immobility.
All this is in grey, and the sky above is also grey—you anticipate nothing new in this all too familiar scene, for you have seen pictures of Paris streets more than once. But suddenly a strange flicker passes through the screen and the picture stirs to life. Carriages coming from somewhere in the perspective of the picture are moving straight at you, into the darkness in which you sit; somewhere from afar people appear and loom larger as they come closer to you; in the foreground children are playing with a dog, bicyclists tear along, and pedestrians cross the street picking their way among the carriages. All this moves, teems with life and, upon approaching the edge of the screen, vanishes somewhere beyond it.
And all this in strange silence where no rumble of the wheels is heard, no sound of footsteps or of speech. Nothing. Not a single note of the intricate symphony that always accompanies the movements of people. Noiselessly, the ashen-grey foliage of the trees sways in the wind, and the grey silhouettes of the people, as though condemned to eternal silence and cruelly punished by being deprived of all the colours of life, glide noiselessly along the grey ground.
Their smiles are lifeless, even though their movements are full of living energy and are so swift as to be almost imperceptible. Their laughter is soundless although you see the muscles contracting in their grey faces. Before you a life is surging, a life deprived of words and shorn of the living spectrum of colours—the grey, the soundless, the bleak and dismal life.
It is terrifying to see, but it is the movement of shadows, only of shadows ... Suddenly something clicks, everything vanishes and a train appears on the screen. It speeds straight at you—watch out!
It seems as though it will plunge into the darkness in which you sit, turning you into a ripped sack full of lacerated flesh and splintered bones, and crushing into dust and into broken fragments this hall and this building, so full of women, wine, music and vice.
But this, too, is but a train of shadows.
Noiselessly, the locomotive disappears beyond the edge of the screen. The train comes to a stop, and grey figures silently emerge from the cars, soundlessly greet their friends, laugh, walk, run, bustle, and ... are gone. And here is another picture. Three men seated at the table, playing cards. Their faces are tense, their hands move swiftly, The cupidity of the players is betrayed by the trembling fingers and by the twitching of their facial muscles, They play ... Suddenly, they break into laughter, and the waiter who has stopped at their table with beer, laughs too. They laugh until their sides split but not a sound is heard. It seems as if these people have died and their shadows have been condemned to play cards in silence unto eternity. Another picture. A gardener watering flowers. The light grey stream of water, issuing from a hose, breaks into a fine spray ...
This mute, grey life finally begins to disturb and depress you. It seems as though it carries a warning, fraught with a vague but sinister meaning that makes your heart grow faint. You are forgetting where you are. Strange imaginings invade your mind and your consciousness begins to wane and grow dim ...
Besides those pictures I have already mentioned, is featured "The Family Breakfast," an idyll of three. A young couple with its chubby first-born is seated at the breakfast table. The two are so much in love, and are so charming, gay and happy, and the baby is so amusing ...
I am convinced that these pictures will soon be replaced by others of a genre more suited to the general tone of the "Concert Parisien." For example, they will show a picture titled: "As She Undresses," or "Madam at Her Bath," or "A Woman in Stockings." They could also depict a sordid squabble between a husband and wife and serve it to the public under the heading of "The Blessings of Family Life."
Yes, no doubt, this is how it will be done. The bucolic and the idyll could not possibly find their place in Russia's markets thirsting for the piquant and the extravagant. I also could suggest a few themes for development by means of a cinematograph and for the amusement of the market place. For instance: to impale a fashionable parasite upon a picket fence, as is the way of the Turks, photograph him, then show it.
It is not exactly piquant but quite edifying.
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/books/everythingthatrises.contest50.html
Please visit the site for pictures and other information on the article.
Author: Maxim Gorky
Artcle: On a Visit to the Kingdom of Shadows.
Last night I was in the Kingdom of Shadows.
If you only knew how strange it is to be there. It is a world without sound, without colour. Every thing there—the earth, the trees, the people, the water and the air—is dipped in monotonous grey. Grey rays of the sun across the grey sky, grey eyes in grey faces, and the leaves of the trees are ashen grey. It is not life but its shadow, It is not motion but its soundless spectre.
Here I shall try to explain myself, lest I be suspected of madness or indulgence in symbolism. I was at Aumont's and saw Lumière's cinematograph—moving photography. The extraordinary impression it creates is so unique and complex that I doubt my ability to describe it with all its nuances. However, I shall try to convey its fundamentals. When the lights go out in the room in which Lumière's invention is shown, there suddenly appears on the screen a large grey picture, "A Street in Paris"—shadows of a bad engraving. As you gaze at it, you see carriages, buildings and people in various poses, all frozen into immobility.
All this is in grey, and the sky above is also grey—you anticipate nothing new in this all too familiar scene, for you have seen pictures of Paris streets more than once. But suddenly a strange flicker passes through the screen and the picture stirs to life. Carriages coming from somewhere in the perspective of the picture are moving straight at you, into the darkness in which you sit; somewhere from afar people appear and loom larger as they come closer to you; in the foreground children are playing with a dog, bicyclists tear along, and pedestrians cross the street picking their way among the carriages. All this moves, teems with life and, upon approaching the edge of the screen, vanishes somewhere beyond it.
And all this in strange silence where no rumble of the wheels is heard, no sound of footsteps or of speech. Nothing. Not a single note of the intricate symphony that always accompanies the movements of people. Noiselessly, the ashen-grey foliage of the trees sways in the wind, and the grey silhouettes of the people, as though condemned to eternal silence and cruelly punished by being deprived of all the colours of life, glide noiselessly along the grey ground.
Their smiles are lifeless, even though their movements are full of living energy and are so swift as to be almost imperceptible. Their laughter is soundless although you see the muscles contracting in their grey faces. Before you a life is surging, a life deprived of words and shorn of the living spectrum of colours—the grey, the soundless, the bleak and dismal life.
It is terrifying to see, but it is the movement of shadows, only of shadows ... Suddenly something clicks, everything vanishes and a train appears on the screen. It speeds straight at you—watch out!
It seems as though it will plunge into the darkness in which you sit, turning you into a ripped sack full of lacerated flesh and splintered bones, and crushing into dust and into broken fragments this hall and this building, so full of women, wine, music and vice.
But this, too, is but a train of shadows.
Noiselessly, the locomotive disappears beyond the edge of the screen. The train comes to a stop, and grey figures silently emerge from the cars, soundlessly greet their friends, laugh, walk, run, bustle, and ... are gone. And here is another picture. Three men seated at the table, playing cards. Their faces are tense, their hands move swiftly, The cupidity of the players is betrayed by the trembling fingers and by the twitching of their facial muscles, They play ... Suddenly, they break into laughter, and the waiter who has stopped at their table with beer, laughs too. They laugh until their sides split but not a sound is heard. It seems as if these people have died and their shadows have been condemned to play cards in silence unto eternity. Another picture. A gardener watering flowers. The light grey stream of water, issuing from a hose, breaks into a fine spray ...
This mute, grey life finally begins to disturb and depress you. It seems as though it carries a warning, fraught with a vague but sinister meaning that makes your heart grow faint. You are forgetting where you are. Strange imaginings invade your mind and your consciousness begins to wane and grow dim ...
Besides those pictures I have already mentioned, is featured "The Family Breakfast," an idyll of three. A young couple with its chubby first-born is seated at the breakfast table. The two are so much in love, and are so charming, gay and happy, and the baby is so amusing ...
I am convinced that these pictures will soon be replaced by others of a genre more suited to the general tone of the "Concert Parisien." For example, they will show a picture titled: "As She Undresses," or "Madam at Her Bath," or "A Woman in Stockings." They could also depict a sordid squabble between a husband and wife and serve it to the public under the heading of "The Blessings of Family Life."
Yes, no doubt, this is how it will be done. The bucolic and the idyll could not possibly find their place in Russia's markets thirsting for the piquant and the extravagant. I also could suggest a few themes for development by means of a cinematograph and for the amusement of the market place. For instance: to impale a fashionable parasite upon a picket fence, as is the way of the Turks, photograph him, then show it.
It is not exactly piquant but quite edifying.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Lament Of A Heart- Ghalib
No foreword or introduction is necessary for the ballad of a broken heart. Ghazals, too think of it, were created only to assuage just this pain, and ghalib's kalaam has more than helped lay lovers in putting words to feeling.
This Ghazal is portrayed brilliantly on Neena Gupta, in Gulzar's teleserial , Mirza Ghalib. The video can be found here: Please traverse to time, 3:30 for the ghazal.
The transliteration and the translation provided below, id from the book, Mirza Ghalib: A biographical scenario by Gulzar.
Transliteration:
Kisi ko deke dil koi navasanj-e-fughan kyun ho?
Na ho jab dil hi seene me, to phir munh me zaban kyun ho?
Yahi hai aazmana toh, satana kis ko kehte hain
adu ke ho liye jab tum, toh mera intihan kyun ho.
Qafas mein mujhe se rudad-e-chaman kehte na dar hamdum
Giri hai jis pe kal bijli, woh mera aashiyan kyun ho.
Wafa kaisi? Kahan ka ishq? jab sar phorna thehra.
To phir, ae sang-dil, tera sang-e aastan kyun ho.
Translation:
By: Gulzar
( A few changes in words is by me, and I accept the mistakes if any)
Why must you lament after you give away your heart?
If the heart is already lost, Why must the tongue wail?
If this your test, What must your torment be?
If you change your allegiance over to my rival, why this trial?
Don't be scared to tell a caged me, the state of the garden
why must the nestle be mine, where a lightning struck last night.
If I need bang my head, talk not of fate, of love.
and why must it be at your threshold, at your petrified heart.
This Ghazal is portrayed brilliantly on Neena Gupta, in Gulzar's teleserial , Mirza Ghalib. The video can be found here: Please traverse to time, 3:30 for the ghazal.
The transliteration and the translation provided below, id from the book, Mirza Ghalib: A biographical scenario by Gulzar.
Transliteration:
Kisi ko deke dil koi navasanj-e-fughan kyun ho?
Na ho jab dil hi seene me, to phir munh me zaban kyun ho?
Yahi hai aazmana toh, satana kis ko kehte hain
adu ke ho liye jab tum, toh mera intihan kyun ho.
Qafas mein mujhe se rudad-e-chaman kehte na dar hamdum
Giri hai jis pe kal bijli, woh mera aashiyan kyun ho.
Wafa kaisi? Kahan ka ishq? jab sar phorna thehra.
To phir, ae sang-dil, tera sang-e aastan kyun ho.
Translation:
By: Gulzar
( A few changes in words is by me, and I accept the mistakes if any)
Why must you lament after you give away your heart?
If the heart is already lost, Why must the tongue wail?
If this your test, What must your torment be?
If you change your allegiance over to my rival, why this trial?
Don't be scared to tell a caged me, the state of the garden
why must the nestle be mine, where a lightning struck last night.
If I need bang my head, talk not of fate, of love.
and why must it be at your threshold, at your petrified heart.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Essence in a mantra.
Original Sanskrit Text:
(Image copied from web)
The mantra, called the Prajna-paramita Hrdaya Sutram (The Heart Sutra) is the key for understaing the essential Buddhist philosophy. The sutra, originally in sanskrit, elucidates suffering and the cause of suffering as objects which itself is without form and momentary.
Listen to the rendetion of the Mantra by western scholars here. The prononciation is not how a vedic or tibetian scholar would do, but the usage of music is pleasant.
Transliteration of the original Sanskrit Sutra:
|| Namah Sarvajnyaya||
arya avalokitesvara bodhisattvo
gambhirayam prajnaparamitayam charyam charamano
vyavalokayati sma pancha skandhah. Tascha svabhavasunyam pasyati sma.
Iha sariputra, rupam sunyata, sunyata eva rupam, rupan na prithak
sunyata, sunyataya na prithak rupam.
yad rupam sa sunyata ya sunyata tad rupam.
evam eva vedana samjna samskara vijnanani.
Iha sariputra sarva dharmah sunyata laksana,
anutpanna, aniruddha amala na avimala na una na paripurnah.
Tasmat sariputra Sunyatayan na rupam,
na vedana, na samjna, na samskara, na vijnanani.
Na chaksuh srotan, na ghrana jihva kaya manansi
Na rupam sabda gandha rasa spastavya dharmah.
Na chaksu dhatuh yavan na manovijnanam dhatuh.
Na vidya na avidya na vidya ksayo, na avidya ksayo
yavan na jara-maranam, na jara-marano ksayo,
na duhkha samudaya nirdoha margah
na jnanam na praptih apraptivena.
Bodhisattvasya prajnaparamitam asritya
viharatya chittavaranah. cittavarana
nasti tvad avasto viparya asti kranto
nistha nirvanaha.
Tryadhva-vyavasthitaah sarvabuddhaah
prajnaaparamitaam aashritya anuttaraam samyak
sambodhim abhisambuddhaah.
Tasmaad jnaatavyo prajnaaparamitaa-mahaamantrah
mahaavidyaa-mantrah anuttara-mantrah asamasama-mantrah,
sarvadukha-prashamanah, satyam amithyatvaat,
prajnaaparamitaayaam ukto mantrah
tadyatha
GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASANGATE BODHI SVAAHA
||Iti prajnaparamita-hridayam samaptam.
Translation in English:
(The translation is attempted line by line, and can be compared with the transliterated sanskrit text copied above.)
|| Greetings to the Omniscent ||
When, holy boddhisattva, Avalokitsvara was in deep thought
contemplating on Transcendental wisdom, he realized the existance of the
five elements, but observed that these were devoid of the essential characteristics.
Here, Sariputra, Form is void and void itself is form. Form is no different
from emptiness, and emptiness is no different from form.
What ever has form is void and whatever is void has form.
And so it is with feeling, conception, volition, and consciousness.
So Sariputra, All things have characteristics of the voidness.
They can neither be created nor they can perish, they are neither defiled nor pure, neither deficient nor complete.
Therefore, Shaariputra, within the voidness, there is no form,
no perception, no conception, no volition, nor consciousness.
Neither is there eye, ear, nose, tongue, body or mind.
Neither is there form, sound, smell, taste, touch nor concepts
Neither is there realm of sight and so forth uptill the realm of non-existence of consciousness.
Neither is there wisdom, nor ignorance, nor extinction of wisdom, nor extinction of ignorance,
and so forth, till we come to the non-existence of old age and death and the non-extinction of old age and death.
Neither is there suffering, cause of suffering, extinction of suffering, nor the path leading to extinction of suffering.
Neither is there wisdom nor acquisition because there is no understanding.
Submitting to the bodhisattva's highest Transcendental Wisdom,
one dwells without any mental hindrance.
Because of the absence of mental hindrance, one is fearless;
freed from all distorted and delusionary thoughts, one achieves Nirvana.
All Buddhas dwelling in the three periods
realize the highest, perfect enlightenment
depending on the Perfection of Transcendent Wisdom.
For this reason, know that the Great Mantra of the perfection of transcendental wisdom
is the Great Wisdom Mantra, the unsurpassed Mantra, the unequalled Mantra.
It obliterates all suffering, and is true and real because it is not false.
It is the mantra proclaimed in the Perfection of transcendental wisdom.
Thus,
Gone, Gone, Gone Completely, Gone forever, Praise to the Buddha.
|| Thus ends the essence of the transcendental Wisdom, Heart Sutra.
Related Sites:
1.Wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Sutra
2. zen: http://www.andrew-may.com/zendynamics/heart.htm
3. Abt Om Mani Padma Hun: http://www.dharma-haven.org/tibetan/meaning-of-om-mani-padme-hung.htm#Mani
4. Buddhism, karmapa's Page: http://www.dharma-haven.org/index.htm
(Image copied from web)
The mantra, called the Prajna-paramita Hrdaya Sutram (The Heart Sutra) is the key for understaing the essential Buddhist philosophy. The sutra, originally in sanskrit, elucidates suffering and the cause of suffering as objects which itself is without form and momentary.
Listen to the rendetion of the Mantra by western scholars here. The prononciation is not how a vedic or tibetian scholar would do, but the usage of music is pleasant.
Transliteration of the original Sanskrit Sutra:
|| Namah Sarvajnyaya||
arya avalokitesvara bodhisattvo
gambhirayam prajnaparamitayam charyam charamano
vyavalokayati sma pancha skandhah. Tascha svabhavasunyam pasyati sma.
Iha sariputra, rupam sunyata, sunyata eva rupam, rupan na prithak
sunyata, sunyataya na prithak rupam.
yad rupam sa sunyata ya sunyata tad rupam.
evam eva vedana samjna samskara vijnanani.
Iha sariputra sarva dharmah sunyata laksana,
anutpanna, aniruddha amala na avimala na una na paripurnah.
Tasmat sariputra Sunyatayan na rupam,
na vedana, na samjna, na samskara, na vijnanani.
Na chaksuh srotan, na ghrana jihva kaya manansi
Na rupam sabda gandha rasa spastavya dharmah.
Na chaksu dhatuh yavan na manovijnanam dhatuh.
Na vidya na avidya na vidya ksayo, na avidya ksayo
yavan na jara-maranam, na jara-marano ksayo,
na duhkha samudaya nirdoha margah
na jnanam na praptih apraptivena.
Bodhisattvasya prajnaparamitam asritya
viharatya chittavaranah. cittavarana
nasti tvad avasto viparya asti kranto
nistha nirvanaha.
Tryadhva-vyavasthitaah sarvabuddhaah
prajnaaparamitaam aashritya anuttaraam samyak
sambodhim abhisambuddhaah.
Tasmaad jnaatavyo prajnaaparamitaa-mahaamantrah
mahaavidyaa-mantrah anuttara-mantrah asamasama-mantrah,
sarvadukha-prashamanah, satyam amithyatvaat,
prajnaaparamitaayaam ukto mantrah
tadyatha
GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASANGATE BODHI SVAAHA
||Iti prajnaparamita-hridayam samaptam.
Translation in English:
(The translation is attempted line by line, and can be compared with the transliterated sanskrit text copied above.)
|| Greetings to the Omniscent ||
When, holy boddhisattva, Avalokitsvara was in deep thought
contemplating on Transcendental wisdom, he realized the existance of the
five elements, but observed that these were devoid of the essential characteristics.
Here, Sariputra, Form is void and void itself is form. Form is no different
from emptiness, and emptiness is no different from form.
What ever has form is void and whatever is void has form.
And so it is with feeling, conception, volition, and consciousness.
So Sariputra, All things have characteristics of the voidness.
They can neither be created nor they can perish, they are neither defiled nor pure, neither deficient nor complete.
Therefore, Shaariputra, within the voidness, there is no form,
no perception, no conception, no volition, nor consciousness.
Neither is there eye, ear, nose, tongue, body or mind.
Neither is there form, sound, smell, taste, touch nor concepts
Neither is there realm of sight and so forth uptill the realm of non-existence of consciousness.
Neither is there wisdom, nor ignorance, nor extinction of wisdom, nor extinction of ignorance,
and so forth, till we come to the non-existence of old age and death and the non-extinction of old age and death.
Neither is there suffering, cause of suffering, extinction of suffering, nor the path leading to extinction of suffering.
Neither is there wisdom nor acquisition because there is no understanding.
Submitting to the bodhisattva's highest Transcendental Wisdom,
one dwells without any mental hindrance.
Because of the absence of mental hindrance, one is fearless;
freed from all distorted and delusionary thoughts, one achieves Nirvana.
All Buddhas dwelling in the three periods
realize the highest, perfect enlightenment
depending on the Perfection of Transcendent Wisdom.
For this reason, know that the Great Mantra of the perfection of transcendental wisdom
is the Great Wisdom Mantra, the unsurpassed Mantra, the unequalled Mantra.
It obliterates all suffering, and is true and real because it is not false.
It is the mantra proclaimed in the Perfection of transcendental wisdom.
Thus,
Gone, Gone, Gone Completely, Gone forever, Praise to the Buddha.
|| Thus ends the essence of the transcendental Wisdom, Heart Sutra.
Related Sites:
1.Wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Sutra
2. zen: http://www.andrew-may.com/zendynamics/heart.htm
3. Abt Om Mani Padma Hun: http://www.dharma-haven.org/tibetan/meaning-of-om-mani-padme-hung.htm#Mani
4. Buddhism, karmapa's Page: http://www.dharma-haven.org/index.htm
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Satvan Ghoda, Suraj ka: A narrative delight
Reviewed: Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda: (The Seventh Horse Of The Sun)
Director: Shyam Benegal
Story: Dharamveer Bharti
Cast: Rajat Kapoor, Raghuveer Yadav, Amrish Puri, Neena Gupta, Rajeshwari Sachdev, Illa Arun, Pallavi Joshi, Lalit Tiwari, K.K.Raina, Ravi Jhankal and others
Some movies dazzle the viewers with a tight gripping story, some with spellbinding performances of the actors and still a few others with brilliant background music, a bit of slick action, great editing and what not, but Suraj ka Satvan Ghoda dazzles with its narration, mind-boggling as it is. I will no doubt effuse with happiness when I start describing the movie and fill buckets with my profuse applaud for a movie directed by Shyam Benegal, accepted as the master craftsman by people from all over and over all strata, so let me at the outset divide the review in two, One for those not initiated to the magic of Benegal and his crew but do want to dip in the pool of brilliance, and the other for those who are a convert. With the previous long statement, longer than most I have ever written without the Microsoft word warning me with green curly wavy lines, Let me rephrase and mention now that Benegal may be brilliant but Dharamveer Bharati is no doubt a genius. The movie is no doubt the filmmaker’s vision but the novelty is only because of brilliance named Dharamveer Bharati.
For the Un-initiated:
(For the people unaware of a gem called Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda)
Fiction: Good movies are supposed to relax the senses.
Fact: Movies should no doubt be enjoyable in addition to challenge the thinking and bringing a social message to the hearts of the viewer.
Says who? Manik Mullah (The sentence being tastefully modified to suit my future ranting)
Without my fancies running abound screaming, Let me start by asserting that Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda is a movie for audiences with matured tastes and let me clarify before any brickbats come my way, I am not being judgmental or being opinionated here, and I think there should be different movies for varied tastes. Coming back to my narrative, the movie is a near accurate adaptation of the novella of the same name by Dr Bharati who tells a simple tale of the clichéd emotions like love and betrayal ranged across a period of seven afternoons. The tales are simple narratives of low middle class families adjoined in miseries in a hot and humid, nameless (Don’t remember the name, If mentioned) town in the Hindi heartland of northern India. All these tales (connected by a common thread with common characters appearing nondescript in a non-chronological random manner) are narrated by an unreliable narrator named Manik Mullah.
When I talk about narration, I should step back a bit. The movie starts in an art gallery with a short man, ordinary looking, nattily dressed in a Safari suit, peering at paintings. He stops in front of a painting with women taking bath and guys rambling around, basically a busy locality of some sort, and suddenly starts with his narrative about a nameless town of some yester years when he was a reticent guy and a friend of a ingenious storyteller named Manik mullah who used to entertain them with impromptu stories with morals (hardly so) drawn out of it.
The stories he churns out are commonplace and have similarity with Sharat Chandra’s Devdas in content, with love and separation as a permanent motif and lust, betrayal, meekness, illicit relationships, amorality and other human emotions thrown in. But describing the movie in terms of only the content of narratives is describing the sea as only a storehouse of water. This is one movie, which I can say has the maximum usage of literary techniques, The unreliable narrator is the mainstay, then the use of Chekov’s gun, author surrogate, foreshadowing, in media res, are just to name a few. In the movie, Manik mullah comments that only a person, who doesn’t have a story to tell needs techniques, maybe this was the author’s point of reminding the viewer to take notice of the paraphernalia attached to the narratives without concentrating on the commonplace unoriginal narrative inspired from the novels of Sharat Chandra and thousand others on the politics and life of a small town.
Without riveting on the story fearing that I may involuntarily divulge information, Let me shift to the acting department. The movie when released in 1994 had some seasoned actors like Amrish Puri, Raghuveer Yadav, Neena Gupta, Pallavi Joshi, K.K.Raina, Lalit Tiwari etc. and newcomers of the Benegal stable, who in no time became the who’s who of art cinema like Rajeshwari Sachdev, Ravi Jhankal and above all Rajit Kapoor to whom the movie no doubt (co-) belongs to. Having read the English translation of the novel, I had a vague picture of Manik mullah sketched and Rajit Kapoor fits in snuggly in that picture of mine and I am confident, in any picture of Manik Mullah. The nuances of the character are so very well portrayed by Rajit that he just transforms into the character displaying hurt with a twitch of his lips, and curling up his eyebrows, anger with a hasty shift of eyes and pain with a prolonged unfocussed look. Rajit Kapoor, primarily a theatre artist has never done it better and sadly will always be remembered as Byomkesh Bakshi and not as Manik Mullah (Not that I hate BB, Just that love MM better). All others have brought life to their characters and have done a commendable job. I want also to commend Amrish Puri, Neena Gupta and Lalit Tiwari for having done a wonderful job with their characters. Amrish Puri, with a crooked grin with hopes of lust marked on his face, when dressing up for the evening, is one of the best moments of Amrish for me, ever.
Coming to Shyam Benegal, applauds don’t seem enough. With a repertoire of films like Ankur, Nishanth, Manthan, Mandi etc., Benegal has proved his caliber and understanding of human pain, time and again. During the course of the movie, the screenplay changes direction, the pace sometimes race ahead and sometimes stall to a deafening silence. The sun outside sometimes is valiant like the afternoon sun while some other time pleasant like the evening. Like the sun, the characters also change colors, with Manik sometimes appearing as a naïve observer, sometimes the oppressed individual and sometimes the oppressor himself. Like the triumvirate of Hindu Mythology, Brahma Vishnu and Mahesh, he has a different role in each of the story. This I may have to take up in a separate thread for the fear of proving spoilers here. The camera movements are pleasant without induced jerks and the visuals are pleasantly placed as well without urgency.
The usage of music is one, which I would so love to describe. There is just one song, “Yeh Shaame, Yeh Sab Ki Sab Shaame ”, which is a romantic song shot with Lily (Manik’s second lover) and Manik and shot in the outdoors describing the afternoons spent together. The only other song is a folk song (Hindora, if am not wrong) sung by Neena Gupta that pierces the heart with a non-indulgent music hanging around while the loud high-pitched voice takes over. The background music is used intelligently enhancing the sketch on the celluloid and creating a human picture.
The movie should be seen without expectations and with a pinch of salt and best viewed at a time when the mind is relaxed and receptive to ideas that keep churning out like the nectar and the poison inter-twined like the first ever churning of the sea by the good and the evil combined.
For the Believers:
(People who have seen and love Suraj ka Satvan Ghoda)
Caution: Spoilers Ahead
At the outset let me set the agenda correct, the following is an interpretation of the movie according to my understanding and I take full blame or credit for the same. I would love to discuss if there is any point, someone take offense to.
For me the key to the movie lies in the title, “The seventh horse of the sun” and like the movie there can be multiple meanings to the same and all of these may be the correct explanation to it. Similar in trying to understand the meaning of life, each Individual on seeing the movie may have a different interpretation and if it suits the character of the view that’s the truth. Let me voice my varied interpretations, May be the sun is life and the seven horses together pull the existence, sometimes these horses race ahead and sometimes slow down to a standstill describing the ups and downs in life. The seventh horse, which is the slowest horse, makes everyone else slows down as it is the weakest as well but that, like Manik said, is the horse of future that later will decide the course that life would take. If we look at the movie, may be the master narrator played by Raghuveer Yadav, is a taking a biographic dig contemplating that the weakling like him, mostly snubbed and hardly given importance became a writer while fibbers and storytellers like Manik Mullah just faded away. Maybe the movie is about potential and the lack of rising to it. Manik Mullah with his impromptu story telling could have reached the level of his ideals like Flaubert, Maupassant and Chekov but in the end he failed to rise to the potential.
The second interpretation is based on the key word “Weak Horse”. Maybe the movie is about the lack of strength in character of Manik Mullah. In the first story, he is a naïve teen who enjoys the company of the childish Jamuna but fails to stand up for her. He also portrays himself as the blameless child with Jamuna taking over the primary role in their relationship. In the second romance between him and Lily, he floats over the border between friendship and romance and again fails to take a stand when Lily is forced to get married to a guy she hardly knew. In the third romance of his, Manik as a narrator, comes out as a lover forsaking his love and sacrificing it, at the alter of social correctness. From a character with a halo, he transforms to having shades of gray and finally being a villain in the piece. Like discussed earlier, Manik plays each of the triumvirate of Hindu mythology in the stories. In the first, he is the progenitor of Jamuna’s desire to continue living, in the second, he the preserver of Lily’s chastity and in the third he is the destroyer of Satti’s hopes and ambitions.
The third interpretation stems from Manik’s statement that the seventh horse is the horse of future, which holds all dreams and desires and visions that stories are made of. For me the movie was for literature what “The Dreamers” is for movies. So maybe the author (Raghuveer Yadav) intended to provide a clue to Manik Mullah being a figment of his imagination after all. All the characters cease to suffer anymore and become fictional ones and the visions that Shyam saw reminiscent of Dante’s Divine comedy all becomes lifeless visions.
This leads me to the most interesting part of the movie, the convergence of reality and fiction. The movie begins with the surmise that Manik was a storyteller par excellence, his existence never in doubt. The story begins with Jamuna as a sweet love story without much value then takes up the social context on Shyam’s mentioning dowry system as an social evil. The third story takes up Maheshwar Dalal (Amrish Puri’s Character) and talks of filial oppression and amorality in lower middle class families. While the first two stories had ended in a happy ending the third does a U-Turn to end with a violent death. The fourth story again meanders on the border of love and separation with the mood generally light and the last story begins with a violent surmise of a quick shot of Satti interspersed with lazy medium shots and end with a death and introspection. The viewer now is led to believe that Manik is a fibber who can create impromptu stories and dazzle listeners but all these fizzle out when Manik is made to face Satti with the listeners in tandem. At this point, the question is put forward as what was real? Was Manik real and everything else just fibbing, if so, then what of Sati? Or was it that all the stories were true and Manik was telling stories of his life, strange, as it may seem? The other possibility could have been that Manik himself was fictitious and thus the smile in Raghuveer Yadav’s face when he says, He became a writer. The smile may be symbolism of the viewers intelligently fooled and thus dazzled.
Whatever the case maybe, I believe the movie is a cornerstone of art-house movies, that similar to Rashomon and Ek din achanak brought narrative techniques to world cinema. I adore the movie with the reference to Devdas, with narratives taking shape with change in landscape. The cow in the beginning of the first scene, the knife in the fifth. The reference to Devsena in the 4th story when challenged by a friend and so on.
The movie should be watched and relished for one self. I saw the movie first as a kid, twelve years may be and I didn’t understand a bit. Each time I saw it, I added a little bit to it and today after 4-5 viewings my movie is far from complete. And all the afternoons I spent watching this movie, sing to me:
“ Yeh Shaame, Sab Ki Sab Shaame, Kya inka koi Arth nahin,
Ghabra ke jab inhe yaad kiya, kya un shaamon ka arth nahin “
Director: Shyam Benegal
Story: Dharamveer Bharti
Cast: Rajat Kapoor, Raghuveer Yadav, Amrish Puri, Neena Gupta, Rajeshwari Sachdev, Illa Arun, Pallavi Joshi, Lalit Tiwari, K.K.Raina, Ravi Jhankal and others
Some movies dazzle the viewers with a tight gripping story, some with spellbinding performances of the actors and still a few others with brilliant background music, a bit of slick action, great editing and what not, but Suraj ka Satvan Ghoda dazzles with its narration, mind-boggling as it is. I will no doubt effuse with happiness when I start describing the movie and fill buckets with my profuse applaud for a movie directed by Shyam Benegal, accepted as the master craftsman by people from all over and over all strata, so let me at the outset divide the review in two, One for those not initiated to the magic of Benegal and his crew but do want to dip in the pool of brilliance, and the other for those who are a convert. With the previous long statement, longer than most I have ever written without the Microsoft word warning me with green curly wavy lines, Let me rephrase and mention now that Benegal may be brilliant but Dharamveer Bharati is no doubt a genius. The movie is no doubt the filmmaker’s vision but the novelty is only because of brilliance named Dharamveer Bharati.
For the Un-initiated:
(For the people unaware of a gem called Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda)
Fiction: Good movies are supposed to relax the senses.
Fact: Movies should no doubt be enjoyable in addition to challenge the thinking and bringing a social message to the hearts of the viewer.
Says who? Manik Mullah (The sentence being tastefully modified to suit my future ranting)
Without my fancies running abound screaming, Let me start by asserting that Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda is a movie for audiences with matured tastes and let me clarify before any brickbats come my way, I am not being judgmental or being opinionated here, and I think there should be different movies for varied tastes. Coming back to my narrative, the movie is a near accurate adaptation of the novella of the same name by Dr Bharati who tells a simple tale of the clichéd emotions like love and betrayal ranged across a period of seven afternoons. The tales are simple narratives of low middle class families adjoined in miseries in a hot and humid, nameless (Don’t remember the name, If mentioned) town in the Hindi heartland of northern India. All these tales (connected by a common thread with common characters appearing nondescript in a non-chronological random manner) are narrated by an unreliable narrator named Manik Mullah.
When I talk about narration, I should step back a bit. The movie starts in an art gallery with a short man, ordinary looking, nattily dressed in a Safari suit, peering at paintings. He stops in front of a painting with women taking bath and guys rambling around, basically a busy locality of some sort, and suddenly starts with his narrative about a nameless town of some yester years when he was a reticent guy and a friend of a ingenious storyteller named Manik mullah who used to entertain them with impromptu stories with morals (hardly so) drawn out of it.
The stories he churns out are commonplace and have similarity with Sharat Chandra’s Devdas in content, with love and separation as a permanent motif and lust, betrayal, meekness, illicit relationships, amorality and other human emotions thrown in. But describing the movie in terms of only the content of narratives is describing the sea as only a storehouse of water. This is one movie, which I can say has the maximum usage of literary techniques, The unreliable narrator is the mainstay, then the use of Chekov’s gun, author surrogate, foreshadowing, in media res, are just to name a few. In the movie, Manik mullah comments that only a person, who doesn’t have a story to tell needs techniques, maybe this was the author’s point of reminding the viewer to take notice of the paraphernalia attached to the narratives without concentrating on the commonplace unoriginal narrative inspired from the novels of Sharat Chandra and thousand others on the politics and life of a small town.
Without riveting on the story fearing that I may involuntarily divulge information, Let me shift to the acting department. The movie when released in 1994 had some seasoned actors like Amrish Puri, Raghuveer Yadav, Neena Gupta, Pallavi Joshi, K.K.Raina, Lalit Tiwari etc. and newcomers of the Benegal stable, who in no time became the who’s who of art cinema like Rajeshwari Sachdev, Ravi Jhankal and above all Rajit Kapoor to whom the movie no doubt (co-) belongs to. Having read the English translation of the novel, I had a vague picture of Manik mullah sketched and Rajit Kapoor fits in snuggly in that picture of mine and I am confident, in any picture of Manik Mullah. The nuances of the character are so very well portrayed by Rajit that he just transforms into the character displaying hurt with a twitch of his lips, and curling up his eyebrows, anger with a hasty shift of eyes and pain with a prolonged unfocussed look. Rajit Kapoor, primarily a theatre artist has never done it better and sadly will always be remembered as Byomkesh Bakshi and not as Manik Mullah (Not that I hate BB, Just that love MM better). All others have brought life to their characters and have done a commendable job. I want also to commend Amrish Puri, Neena Gupta and Lalit Tiwari for having done a wonderful job with their characters. Amrish Puri, with a crooked grin with hopes of lust marked on his face, when dressing up for the evening, is one of the best moments of Amrish for me, ever.
Coming to Shyam Benegal, applauds don’t seem enough. With a repertoire of films like Ankur, Nishanth, Manthan, Mandi etc., Benegal has proved his caliber and understanding of human pain, time and again. During the course of the movie, the screenplay changes direction, the pace sometimes race ahead and sometimes stall to a deafening silence. The sun outside sometimes is valiant like the afternoon sun while some other time pleasant like the evening. Like the sun, the characters also change colors, with Manik sometimes appearing as a naïve observer, sometimes the oppressed individual and sometimes the oppressor himself. Like the triumvirate of Hindu Mythology, Brahma Vishnu and Mahesh, he has a different role in each of the story. This I may have to take up in a separate thread for the fear of proving spoilers here. The camera movements are pleasant without induced jerks and the visuals are pleasantly placed as well without urgency.
The usage of music is one, which I would so love to describe. There is just one song, “Yeh Shaame, Yeh Sab Ki Sab Shaame ”, which is a romantic song shot with Lily (Manik’s second lover) and Manik and shot in the outdoors describing the afternoons spent together. The only other song is a folk song (Hindora, if am not wrong) sung by Neena Gupta that pierces the heart with a non-indulgent music hanging around while the loud high-pitched voice takes over. The background music is used intelligently enhancing the sketch on the celluloid and creating a human picture.
The movie should be seen without expectations and with a pinch of salt and best viewed at a time when the mind is relaxed and receptive to ideas that keep churning out like the nectar and the poison inter-twined like the first ever churning of the sea by the good and the evil combined.
For the Believers:
(People who have seen and love Suraj ka Satvan Ghoda)
Caution: Spoilers Ahead
At the outset let me set the agenda correct, the following is an interpretation of the movie according to my understanding and I take full blame or credit for the same. I would love to discuss if there is any point, someone take offense to.
For me the key to the movie lies in the title, “The seventh horse of the sun” and like the movie there can be multiple meanings to the same and all of these may be the correct explanation to it. Similar in trying to understand the meaning of life, each Individual on seeing the movie may have a different interpretation and if it suits the character of the view that’s the truth. Let me voice my varied interpretations, May be the sun is life and the seven horses together pull the existence, sometimes these horses race ahead and sometimes slow down to a standstill describing the ups and downs in life. The seventh horse, which is the slowest horse, makes everyone else slows down as it is the weakest as well but that, like Manik said, is the horse of future that later will decide the course that life would take. If we look at the movie, may be the master narrator played by Raghuveer Yadav, is a taking a biographic dig contemplating that the weakling like him, mostly snubbed and hardly given importance became a writer while fibbers and storytellers like Manik Mullah just faded away. Maybe the movie is about potential and the lack of rising to it. Manik Mullah with his impromptu story telling could have reached the level of his ideals like Flaubert, Maupassant and Chekov but in the end he failed to rise to the potential.
The second interpretation is based on the key word “Weak Horse”. Maybe the movie is about the lack of strength in character of Manik Mullah. In the first story, he is a naïve teen who enjoys the company of the childish Jamuna but fails to stand up for her. He also portrays himself as the blameless child with Jamuna taking over the primary role in their relationship. In the second romance between him and Lily, he floats over the border between friendship and romance and again fails to take a stand when Lily is forced to get married to a guy she hardly knew. In the third romance of his, Manik as a narrator, comes out as a lover forsaking his love and sacrificing it, at the alter of social correctness. From a character with a halo, he transforms to having shades of gray and finally being a villain in the piece. Like discussed earlier, Manik plays each of the triumvirate of Hindu mythology in the stories. In the first, he is the progenitor of Jamuna’s desire to continue living, in the second, he the preserver of Lily’s chastity and in the third he is the destroyer of Satti’s hopes and ambitions.
The third interpretation stems from Manik’s statement that the seventh horse is the horse of future, which holds all dreams and desires and visions that stories are made of. For me the movie was for literature what “The Dreamers” is for movies. So maybe the author (Raghuveer Yadav) intended to provide a clue to Manik Mullah being a figment of his imagination after all. All the characters cease to suffer anymore and become fictional ones and the visions that Shyam saw reminiscent of Dante’s Divine comedy all becomes lifeless visions.
This leads me to the most interesting part of the movie, the convergence of reality and fiction. The movie begins with the surmise that Manik was a storyteller par excellence, his existence never in doubt. The story begins with Jamuna as a sweet love story without much value then takes up the social context on Shyam’s mentioning dowry system as an social evil. The third story takes up Maheshwar Dalal (Amrish Puri’s Character) and talks of filial oppression and amorality in lower middle class families. While the first two stories had ended in a happy ending the third does a U-Turn to end with a violent death. The fourth story again meanders on the border of love and separation with the mood generally light and the last story begins with a violent surmise of a quick shot of Satti interspersed with lazy medium shots and end with a death and introspection. The viewer now is led to believe that Manik is a fibber who can create impromptu stories and dazzle listeners but all these fizzle out when Manik is made to face Satti with the listeners in tandem. At this point, the question is put forward as what was real? Was Manik real and everything else just fibbing, if so, then what of Sati? Or was it that all the stories were true and Manik was telling stories of his life, strange, as it may seem? The other possibility could have been that Manik himself was fictitious and thus the smile in Raghuveer Yadav’s face when he says, He became a writer. The smile may be symbolism of the viewers intelligently fooled and thus dazzled.
Whatever the case maybe, I believe the movie is a cornerstone of art-house movies, that similar to Rashomon and Ek din achanak brought narrative techniques to world cinema. I adore the movie with the reference to Devdas, with narratives taking shape with change in landscape. The cow in the beginning of the first scene, the knife in the fifth. The reference to Devsena in the 4th story when challenged by a friend and so on.
The movie should be watched and relished for one self. I saw the movie first as a kid, twelve years may be and I didn’t understand a bit. Each time I saw it, I added a little bit to it and today after 4-5 viewings my movie is far from complete. And all the afternoons I spent watching this movie, sing to me:
“ Yeh Shaame, Sab Ki Sab Shaame, Kya inka koi Arth nahin,
Ghabra ke jab inhe yaad kiya, kya un shaamon ka arth nahin “
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Two for 'Zafar'
We have heard of valiant warrior poets, poet kings with the smile of eros and the body of adonis, but imagine a 60 year old prince becoming the king. With his four queens tucked along and unkept princes running around, the king, with his toothy grin and bent back, must have been an ugly sight. But what the public would have failed to see was his heart which no longer was a mughal but had turned Hindustani like the man that the king was.
Bahadur shah may have been no doubt a Mughal but Zafar was an Indian.
The following two poems by Zafar is a proof of that.
Title: Lagta Nahin Hai Dil Mera
Poet: Bahadur Shah Zafar
Performer: Mohd rafi.
Film: Lal Quila
Lagta Nahin Hai Dil Mera Ujde Dayaar Mein
Kiski Bani Hai Aalam-E-Napaydaar Mein
Dayar - City; Aalam-e-Napaidar - The Mortal World
Keh Do In Hasraton Se Kahin Aur Ja Basein
Itni Jageh Kahan Hai Dil-E-Daagdar Mein
Hasraton: Fancies/desires Dil-e-Daagdaar - Sorrowful Heart
Umr-E-Daraaz Mang Kar Laye The Chaar Din
Do Aarzoo Mein Kat Gaye Do Intezaar Mein
Umr-e-Daraz - Long Life
Kitna Hai Badnaseeb zafar Dafan Ke Liye
Do Gaz Zameen Bhi Na Mili Kuch-E-Yaar Mein
Dafn - Burial; Koo-e-Yaar - Land of the Beloved
Translation:
My heart is so very unhappy on this barren earth,
But who has ever been contended on this mortal hearth
Please ask my fancies to go dwell some place else
There remains no room enough in this sorrow filled heart
I had requested a long life all of four days
Two have passed pining and two spent in the wait
How ill-fated is zafar that for his own burial
Two yards of land was not fated in the land of his beloved.
Title: Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor Hoon
Poet: Bahadur Shah Zafar
Performed : Mohd Rafi
Film: Lal Quila
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon, na kisi ke dil ka qaraar hoon
Jo kisi ke kaam na aa sake main wo ek musht-e-Gubaar hoon
Qaraar: Ease, Satisfaction; Noor: Light; Musht: The fist/—a blow with the clenched fist/—a handful/—a few; Gubaar: Dirt/Dust
Na to main kisi ka habib hoon, no to main kisi ka raqeeb hoon
Jo bigad gaya wo naseeb hoon, jo ujaad gaya wo dayaar hoon
habib: beloved; raqeeb: enemy; naseeb: fate; dayaar= place
Mera rang-roop bigad gaya, mera yaar mujh se bichhad gaya
Jo chaman fizaan mein ujad gaya main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar hoon
chaman: garden; fizaan: environment; fasl: yield,harvest; bahaar: bloom, beuty, glory;
Paye faatehaa koi aaye kyun, koi chaar phool chadhaaye kyun
Koi aake shammaa jalaye kyun, main wo bekasi ka mazaar hoon
Fateh:Aperture, Conquest, Opening, Sucess, Victory; shamaa: lamp,candle; bekasi: despair; Mazaar: Mausoleum, Shrine, Tomb, Grave
Bahadur shah may have been no doubt a Mughal but Zafar was an Indian.
The following two poems by Zafar is a proof of that.
Title: Lagta Nahin Hai Dil Mera
Poet: Bahadur Shah Zafar
Performer: Mohd rafi.
Film: Lal Quila
Lagta Nahin Hai Dil Mera Ujde Dayaar Mein
Kiski Bani Hai Aalam-E-Napaydaar Mein
Dayar - City; Aalam-e-Napaidar - The Mortal World
Keh Do In Hasraton Se Kahin Aur Ja Basein
Itni Jageh Kahan Hai Dil-E-Daagdar Mein
Hasraton: Fancies/desires Dil-e-Daagdaar - Sorrowful Heart
Umr-E-Daraaz Mang Kar Laye The Chaar Din
Do Aarzoo Mein Kat Gaye Do Intezaar Mein
Umr-e-Daraz - Long Life
Kitna Hai Badnaseeb zafar Dafan Ke Liye
Do Gaz Zameen Bhi Na Mili Kuch-E-Yaar Mein
Dafn - Burial; Koo-e-Yaar - Land of the Beloved
Translation:
My heart is so very unhappy on this barren earth,
But who has ever been contended on this mortal hearth
Please ask my fancies to go dwell some place else
There remains no room enough in this sorrow filled heart
I had requested a long life all of four days
Two have passed pining and two spent in the wait
How ill-fated is zafar that for his own burial
Two yards of land was not fated in the land of his beloved.
Title: Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor Hoon
Poet: Bahadur Shah Zafar
Performed : Mohd Rafi
Film: Lal Quila
Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon, na kisi ke dil ka qaraar hoon
Jo kisi ke kaam na aa sake main wo ek musht-e-Gubaar hoon
Qaraar: Ease, Satisfaction; Noor: Light; Musht: The fist/—a blow with the clenched fist/—a handful/—a few; Gubaar: Dirt/Dust
Na to main kisi ka habib hoon, no to main kisi ka raqeeb hoon
Jo bigad gaya wo naseeb hoon, jo ujaad gaya wo dayaar hoon
habib: beloved; raqeeb: enemy; naseeb: fate; dayaar= place
Mera rang-roop bigad gaya, mera yaar mujh se bichhad gaya
Jo chaman fizaan mein ujad gaya main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar hoon
chaman: garden; fizaan: environment; fasl: yield,harvest; bahaar: bloom, beuty, glory;
Paye faatehaa koi aaye kyun, koi chaar phool chadhaaye kyun
Koi aake shammaa jalaye kyun, main wo bekasi ka mazaar hoon
Fateh:Aperture, Conquest, Opening, Sucess, Victory; shamaa: lamp,candle; bekasi: despair; Mazaar: Mausoleum, Shrine, Tomb, Grave
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
I am drunk
I dont consider myself a confirmed alchoholic, but I couldnt help falling in love with the poem, the moment I heard it for the first time. The pen of Meer and the silken voice of Chaya Ganguly combine uplifting the listening hearts to an ethereal plane, that can only be experienced and never spoken of. I will not attempt an clumsy translation here and will leave the reader with his own imagination and just an handout of meanings for some of the words I deemed difficult.
Lyrics: Meer Taqi Meer
Performer: Chaya Ganguli
Video:
yaaron mujhe muaaf rakho, main nashe mein hoon
ab jaam do to khali hi do, main nashe mein hoon (1)
Muaaf: Pardon, Forgve
Nasha: Addiction, Arrogance, Intoxication, Pride
Jaam: Goblet, Wineglass
ya haathon-haath lo mujhe maanind-e-jaam-e-mai
ya thodi door saath chalo, main nashe mein hoon (2)
Haathon-Haath: Hand in Hand
Maanind: Just As, Like, Similar To, Same As
Jaam-e-Mai: Glass filled with wine
maazoor hoon jo paa’on mera betaraah pare
tum sar-garaaN to mujhse na ho main nashe mein hoon (3)
Maazoor: Helpless
Paa’on: Feet, Legs
Betaraah: Unsteady
Garaan: Heavy Difficult
sar-GaraaN: Annoyed
naazuk mizaaj aap, qayaamat hain mir-ji
joon sheesha mere munh na lago, main nashe mein hoon (4)
Naazuk: Brittle, Delicate, Fragile, Light, Slender, Thin
Mizaaj: Mixture, Temperament, Humor, Pride, Nature, State Of Being
Qayaamat: Apocalypse, Resurrection, Judgement Day, Tumult
Mir: A reference to the poet, Meer Taqi Meer
ik aik furt-e-daur mein yoon hi mujhay bhi do
jaam-e-sharaab pur na karo, main nashe mein hoon (5)
Furt: Intense, Hurried
Daur: Age, Course, Cycle, Era, Orbit, Period, Phase, Race, Reign, Revolving
Furt-e-Daur: Intense Rounds
Pur: Full, Complete, Laden
masti se darhami hai meri guftagoo ke beech
jo chaaho tum bhi mujh ko kaho, main nashe mein hoon (6)
Masti: Lust, Intoxication
Dar-ham: Intermixed, confused, confounded, jumbled, angry:
Guftagoo: Conversation, Discourse, Speech, Talk
bhaagi namaaz-e-jum’a to jaati nahin hai kuchh
chalta hoon main bhi tak to raho, main nashe mein hoon. (7)
Baaghi: Enemy, Rebel
Namaaz: Prayer
Jum’a: The day of the congregation’; Friday (on which day Musalmans assemble to pray at the great mosque); a collection (of things), a handful
Tak: Up to, Until
kya janey keh gaya hoon nashe mein khabar nahin
mera na kuchh khayaal karo, main nashe mein hoon (8)
Khabar: Account, Awareness, Information, Knowledge, News, Notice, Report, Rumor, Watchfulness
Khayaal: Care, Imagination, Judgement, Opinion, Respect, Remember, Thought, Whim
gham se zara najaat mili bekhudi mein aaj
ab mera intazaar karo, main nashe main hoon (9)
Najaat: Freedom (From), Salvation
Be-khudi: Being besides Oneself, Intoxication, Rapture, Senseless
Intazaar: Await, Expectation, Lurch, Waiting (Anxiously)
Note: The performance of Chaya Ganguli is till verse 5.
Lyrics: Meer Taqi Meer
Performer: Chaya Ganguli
Video:
yaaron mujhe muaaf rakho, main nashe mein hoon
ab jaam do to khali hi do, main nashe mein hoon (1)
Muaaf: Pardon, Forgve
Nasha: Addiction, Arrogance, Intoxication, Pride
Jaam: Goblet, Wineglass
ya haathon-haath lo mujhe maanind-e-jaam-e-mai
ya thodi door saath chalo, main nashe mein hoon (2)
Haathon-Haath: Hand in Hand
Maanind: Just As, Like, Similar To, Same As
Jaam-e-Mai: Glass filled with wine
maazoor hoon jo paa’on mera betaraah pare
tum sar-garaaN to mujhse na ho main nashe mein hoon (3)
Maazoor: Helpless
Paa’on: Feet, Legs
Betaraah: Unsteady
Garaan: Heavy Difficult
sar-GaraaN: Annoyed
naazuk mizaaj aap, qayaamat hain mir-ji
joon sheesha mere munh na lago, main nashe mein hoon (4)
Naazuk: Brittle, Delicate, Fragile, Light, Slender, Thin
Mizaaj: Mixture, Temperament, Humor, Pride, Nature, State Of Being
Qayaamat: Apocalypse, Resurrection, Judgement Day, Tumult
Mir: A reference to the poet, Meer Taqi Meer
ik aik furt-e-daur mein yoon hi mujhay bhi do
jaam-e-sharaab pur na karo, main nashe mein hoon (5)
Furt: Intense, Hurried
Daur: Age, Course, Cycle, Era, Orbit, Period, Phase, Race, Reign, Revolving
Furt-e-Daur: Intense Rounds
Pur: Full, Complete, Laden
masti se darhami hai meri guftagoo ke beech
jo chaaho tum bhi mujh ko kaho, main nashe mein hoon (6)
Masti: Lust, Intoxication
Dar-ham: Intermixed, confused, confounded, jumbled, angry:
Guftagoo: Conversation, Discourse, Speech, Talk
bhaagi namaaz-e-jum’a to jaati nahin hai kuchh
chalta hoon main bhi tak to raho, main nashe mein hoon. (7)
Baaghi: Enemy, Rebel
Namaaz: Prayer
Jum’a: The day of the congregation’; Friday (on which day Musalmans assemble to pray at the great mosque); a collection (of things), a handful
Tak: Up to, Until
kya janey keh gaya hoon nashe mein khabar nahin
mera na kuchh khayaal karo, main nashe mein hoon (8)
Khabar: Account, Awareness, Information, Knowledge, News, Notice, Report, Rumor, Watchfulness
Khayaal: Care, Imagination, Judgement, Opinion, Respect, Remember, Thought, Whim
gham se zara najaat mili bekhudi mein aaj
ab mera intazaar karo, main nashe main hoon (9)
Najaat: Freedom (From), Salvation
Be-khudi: Being besides Oneself, Intoxication, Rapture, Senseless
Intazaar: Await, Expectation, Lurch, Waiting (Anxiously)
Note: The performance of Chaya Ganguli is till verse 5.
Friday, June 26, 2009
In the praise of the Lord:
-
Mere banay ki baat na poocho:
Note: This Qawwali sung for the first time in the twelfth century, written by Amir Khusro, is a song in the praise of Prophet Muhammad. The poet imagines the prophet as a bridegroom and himself as the lover and bride. The gist of Sufi with the oneness of the man and the lord, is evident and the perhaps the key of this poem.
Like any other sufi or baul music, this qawwali can be best enjoyed when singing along and clapping to the tune of the harmonium.
Album: Rung
Genre: Qawwali
Poet/Lyrics: Amir Khusrau
Performer: Manzoor Niazi & Troupe
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
(haryala: Fresh/Green)
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
Khusrave khooban sarwari aalam taj e shafaa'at wala hai
(sarwari : Leadership; aalam: world/universe/beauty; Taj: Crown/Tiara; Shafaaat: Mediation, )
Manmohan bohot tere he daikhe, aisa to dekha na bhala banna
Donon jagat ko loot ke baitha phir bhi bhola bhala hai
Us pe nazar jab jam jaati hai, phir nahi jajta koi nazar mein
Jis ne nazar paayi hai oonchi, bus japta usiki mala hai
Husn ke charchay uske dam se, ronaq e aalam uske qadam se
Noor ke saanchay mein qudrat ne usko kuch aisa dhala hai
(husn:beauty; Noor: Bright/Light; Saancha: Mould; dhala:Mould)
Nabi waali sub uske barati, kis mein uski baat hai aati
Kaamil mera raj dulhara, sub se Alfaaz o aala hai
(Nabi: A Prophet; Waali: Chief/Governor; Kaamil: Absolute/Complete/Learned; Aala: Best/greatest; Alfaaz: Words;)
Mere banay ki baat na poocho:
Note: This Qawwali sung for the first time in the twelfth century, written by Amir Khusro, is a song in the praise of Prophet Muhammad. The poet imagines the prophet as a bridegroom and himself as the lover and bride. The gist of Sufi with the oneness of the man and the lord, is evident and the perhaps the key of this poem.
Like any other sufi or baul music, this qawwali can be best enjoyed when singing along and clapping to the tune of the harmonium.
Album: Rung
Genre: Qawwali
Poet/Lyrics: Amir Khusrau
Performer: Manzoor Niazi & Troupe
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
(haryala: Fresh/Green)
Mere banay ki baat na poocho mera bana haryala hai
Khusrave khooban sarwari aalam taj e shafaa'at wala hai
(sarwari : Leadership; aalam: world/universe/beauty; Taj: Crown/Tiara; Shafaaat: Mediation, )
Manmohan bohot tere he daikhe, aisa to dekha na bhala banna
Donon jagat ko loot ke baitha phir bhi bhola bhala hai
Us pe nazar jab jam jaati hai, phir nahi jajta koi nazar mein
Jis ne nazar paayi hai oonchi, bus japta usiki mala hai
Husn ke charchay uske dam se, ronaq e aalam uske qadam se
Noor ke saanchay mein qudrat ne usko kuch aisa dhala hai
(husn:beauty; Noor: Bright/Light; Saancha: Mould; dhala:Mould)
Nabi waali sub uske barati, kis mein uski baat hai aati
Kaamil mera raj dulhara, sub se Alfaaz o aala hai
(Nabi: A Prophet; Waali: Chief/Governor; Kaamil: Absolute/Complete/Learned; Aala: Best/greatest; Alfaaz: Words;)
A Qawwali for the heart
-
Khabar-e-tahiiyyur-e-ishq sun
Khabar-e-tahiiyyur-e-ishq sun, na junoon raha na pari rahi
na to tuu rahaa, na to main rahaa, jo rahi so be-khabari rahi
(Khabar: report; tahiiyyur-e-ishq: wonders of love; junoon : frenzy/furor; pari : fairy/fantasy, be-khabari: unawareness)
Listen to the wonders of love, neither the furor nor the fancy remain
Neither you nor I exist, but a deadly unawareness is all that remain
sha’h-e-be-khudi ne ata kiya mujhe ab libas-e-barahnagi
na Khirad ki bakhyaagiri rahi, na junoon ki parda-dari rahi
(sha’h : grace; be-Khudii : ecstasy; Ata: Benefaction/Concession; libaas : dress; barahnagi: nakedness; Khirad: intellect; bakhyaagiri: stitching; parda-dari: veil)
The grace of ecstasy has adorned me with the cloths of nakedness
Neither intellect nor a stitch on me, only the veil of hysteria remain
chali simt-e-ghaib se ek hawa ke chaman surur ka jal gaya
magar ek shakh-e-nihal-e-Gham jise dil kahen so hari rahi
(simt-e-Ghaib : from the unknown; hawa: breeze/wind; chaman : garden; surur : intoxication; shaaKh-e-nihaal-e-Gham : a branch nurtured by pain; hari : green)
From the land of unknown blows a breeze, that burns the garden of intoxication,
But of all that is green, is a branch nurtured by pain, called the heart, remain
nazar-e-taghaful-e-yaar ka, gila kis zubaan se karun bayaan
ki sharaab-e-sad-qadhe arzuu, Khum-e-dil men thi so bhari rahi
(nazar-e-taGhaaful-e-yaar : heedless glances of the beloved; gilaa : complain; bayaan : explain; sharaab-e-sad-qadhe aarzuu : hundred cups of wine of desire; Khum : decanter; bharii : filled)
In which words should I complain of the heedless glances of my beloved?
When the hundred cups desire filled in the decanter called heart remain.
woh ajab ghadi thi main jis ghadi liya dars nuskha-e-ishq ka
ki kitab aql ki taaq par, jo dhari thi yun hi dhari rahi
(ajab:strange; ghadi : moment; dars : class; nuskha-e-ishq : lessons of love; taaq : shelf; aql:intellect)
Those were strange times when I had taken the lessons of love,
On the shelf that it had lain before, the book of intellect still remain
tere josh-e-hairat-e-husn ka asar is qadar se ayaan hua
ke na aaine main jila rahi, na pari ki jalwa-gari rahi
(josh : passion; hairat : bewilderment; husn : beauty; ayaan : obvious; Jila: Luster; Jalvaa-garii: Manifestation )
The passion of bewilderment of your beauty has become obvious
Neither the mirror remains lustrous nor the displays of fancy remain.
Kiya Khaak aatish-e-ishq ne dil-e-be-navaa-e-”Siraj” ko
na Khatar raha, na hazar raha, magar ek be-Khatari rahi
(Khaak : ashes; aatish-e-ishq: fire of love; dil-e-be-navaa-e-”Siraj” : desolate heart of Siraj; Khatar : fear; hazar : care; be-Khatari : fearlessness)
The fire of love has reduced the desolate heart of Siraj to ashes
Neither fear nor care exist, But a feeling of fearlessness remain.
Lyrcis: Siraj Aurangabadi
Album : Rung
Performed by: Munshi Raziuddin & Troupe
Khabar-e-tahiiyyur-e-ishq sun
Khabar-e-tahiiyyur-e-ishq sun, na junoon raha na pari rahi
na to tuu rahaa, na to main rahaa, jo rahi so be-khabari rahi
(Khabar: report; tahiiyyur-e-ishq: wonders of love; junoon : frenzy/furor; pari : fairy/fantasy, be-khabari: unawareness)
Listen to the wonders of love, neither the furor nor the fancy remain
Neither you nor I exist, but a deadly unawareness is all that remain
sha’h-e-be-khudi ne ata kiya mujhe ab libas-e-barahnagi
na Khirad ki bakhyaagiri rahi, na junoon ki parda-dari rahi
(sha’h : grace; be-Khudii : ecstasy; Ata: Benefaction/Concession; libaas : dress; barahnagi: nakedness; Khirad: intellect; bakhyaagiri: stitching; parda-dari: veil)
The grace of ecstasy has adorned me with the cloths of nakedness
Neither intellect nor a stitch on me, only the veil of hysteria remain
chali simt-e-ghaib se ek hawa ke chaman surur ka jal gaya
magar ek shakh-e-nihal-e-Gham jise dil kahen so hari rahi
(simt-e-Ghaib : from the unknown; hawa: breeze/wind; chaman : garden; surur : intoxication; shaaKh-e-nihaal-e-Gham : a branch nurtured by pain; hari : green)
From the land of unknown blows a breeze, that burns the garden of intoxication,
But of all that is green, is a branch nurtured by pain, called the heart, remain
nazar-e-taghaful-e-yaar ka, gila kis zubaan se karun bayaan
ki sharaab-e-sad-qadhe arzuu, Khum-e-dil men thi so bhari rahi
(nazar-e-taGhaaful-e-yaar : heedless glances of the beloved; gilaa : complain; bayaan : explain; sharaab-e-sad-qadhe aarzuu : hundred cups of wine of desire; Khum : decanter; bharii : filled)
In which words should I complain of the heedless glances of my beloved?
When the hundred cups desire filled in the decanter called heart remain.
woh ajab ghadi thi main jis ghadi liya dars nuskha-e-ishq ka
ki kitab aql ki taaq par, jo dhari thi yun hi dhari rahi
(ajab:strange; ghadi : moment; dars : class; nuskha-e-ishq : lessons of love; taaq : shelf; aql:intellect)
Those were strange times when I had taken the lessons of love,
On the shelf that it had lain before, the book of intellect still remain
tere josh-e-hairat-e-husn ka asar is qadar se ayaan hua
ke na aaine main jila rahi, na pari ki jalwa-gari rahi
(josh : passion; hairat : bewilderment; husn : beauty; ayaan : obvious; Jila: Luster; Jalvaa-garii: Manifestation )
The passion of bewilderment of your beauty has become obvious
Neither the mirror remains lustrous nor the displays of fancy remain.
Kiya Khaak aatish-e-ishq ne dil-e-be-navaa-e-”Siraj” ko
na Khatar raha, na hazar raha, magar ek be-Khatari rahi
(Khaak : ashes; aatish-e-ishq: fire of love; dil-e-be-navaa-e-”Siraj” : desolate heart of Siraj; Khatar : fear; hazar : care; be-Khatari : fearlessness)
The fire of love has reduced the desolate heart of Siraj to ashes
Neither fear nor care exist, But a feeling of fearlessness remain.
Lyrcis: Siraj Aurangabadi
Album : Rung
Performed by: Munshi Raziuddin & Troupe
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Perpetual Wound: Part 2-Dekalog:
(There may be spoilers ahead, but Decalogue is not about some plot, not about the visuals, not about the music but just the feel. It is like you are a silent narrator who observes without judging, maybe like the angels in “City of Angels”, being there but not involved.)
Let me set matters straight, Decalogue is not a movie in a conventional sense. It’s a series of ten separate one hour features knitted together with the thread of human suffering. Kieślowski, along with Piesiewicz, visualized this feature as his personal homage to the Ten Commandments passed on to Moses by the creator whom we so lovingly call with the three letter name, god. But the series is not a biblical account of the ten commandments it is more of a study of the various emotions that bring about grief, a rambling with the commandments as backdrop, placed just as a guide while the director and his crew paint a picture of a desolate society where each of these commandments are transgressed with a brutal candor.
The commandments are pretty straightforward but in Kieślowski’s hand it becomes something utterly profound and deep. You shall not worship other gods (Part 1) translates to a story of a father who looses his son in a freak incident at the lake. His crime, he built a computer that could predict when the ice would melt but like any device controlled by man, it can err and it did, making the son drown in the icy waters of the lake. The movie is about the guilt of a man and grief of a father on his only child's loss. The final scene with the father tumbling over the candles in the church, and the wax spilled over the virgin Mary’s eyes was poignant and tastefully done. Similar in taste is the second part (Not take god’s name in vain) about an old, grumpy doctor who observes disdainfully at a woman in his apartment whose husband is his patient and is in comma for long. The woman wants an opinion to whether her husband shall survive so that she can decide whether to keep the baby whose father is her husband’s best friend. This choice is the cause for her anxiety, her grief. She loves her husband, no doubt about it, but she wants the baby as well. It is the doctor’s answer that would make her decide and that forms the crux of this plot, the doctor being asked to play god, taking god’s name in vain.
Grief takes multiple facets in these series where people lie, kill, feel jealous, and feel roused. They get angry, they have incestuous feelings, some kidnap their kid sister and some don’t trust their brothers, they in a it create a plethora of alternative plots showcasing human folly and the resultant pain.
The fifth part, which was developed later into a full-length movie “A short film about killing”, is a take on capital punishment, with the director drawing parallels to the crime that of the killing of a cab driver to that of the punishment, society hanging the twenty one year old murderer. The movie begins brilliantly with images of some poisoned cockroaches feasting on some rotten bread. The scene moves to a dead rat, may be killed by some random cat, and then cuts to a cat hanging from the noose and boys running away with a jolly abandon. The central idea of the movie, the opposition to capital punishment, is emphasized at that particular point, Kieślowski with his violent portrayal of the act of murder and an equally despicable depiction of the hanging inside the jail barracks, likens the two and questions the morality of the acts. The sixth part, which was also developed as “A short film about love”, questions the morality in the act of love and ponders about lust and the inter-relation between the two. The movie about a small kid who spies on her beautiful neighbor is humiliated sexually by her when she finds out and he attempts to take his own life. Loneliness stands out in this feature, as well as in the previous one, as a precursor to grief, with the bleak white background, an tottering old woman and some chilling music, adding to the silent grief of all the characters, making it so very profound. This movie also shows how a perfect movie even if copied scene by scene doesn’t produce the same effect sans it soul. For the un-initiated this was copied into the disastrous “Ek choti si love story” which reduced the plot to a sleazy soft porn.
The genius of the director is shown in the seventh feature, which showcases the commandment, “thou shall not steal”. In the hands of any ordinary artist, it may have been just a clichéd enactment of a thief repenting or the like but Kieślowski makes it a bewitching performance of a young daughter who kidnaps her ‘sister’ who in reality is her daughter. The daughter(the one who kidnaps), who looks and seems eccentric, is dominated by her strong willed mother who has made the world convince that her grand daughter is actually her daughter. At that point, the viewer is wonderfully unsure of who the commandment applies to, the mother or the daughter. The fourth feature, (Thou shall respect your parents) is more shocking and brilliantly disturbing. It begins with a young pretty girl drenching an older man, may be in his forties and then the older man taking his revenge in a playful way. The keen eye can no doubt mark a spark of love and maybe a speck of sexual tension, and then suddenly out of the blue, he is introduced as the father. As the story progresses, the young lady discovers a letter in her father’s desk from her long dead mother where she mentions that, her father is actually not his birth father and all the repressed emotions suddenly comes to the hilt, swinging destructively to break their relationship. Both these features talk about grief resulting from deep-rooted passions pent up in human souls.
Guilt is an exciting vice which when comes to the surface produces a fascinating plethora of emotions. The Eight feature is about a professor of ethics who comes face to face with her past in the shape of an visiting professor who as a child was betrayed to the Nazis by the same professor. This unlikely interaction lays all their past ghosts to rest and give both a chance to survive with their trust in humanity rekindled.
The Ninth feature is about jealousy, it is about one man who, after having multiple partners, turns impotent one fine day and he requests his wife to find a lover. His wife responds that sex is just an act that she always found cumbersome but then she does take a lover. The husband, in spite of his previous statements, becomes jealous and starts spying on his wife who breaks up with him when she founds that out and he leaps over a bridge to end it all. Confused, but that is Kieślowski for you, betrayal here is two ways, the wife betrayed the trust by taking a lover, the husband betrayed her trust by questioning her love and his own faith. This feature draws a thin line and underlines the difference between love and the act of love. Dakalog three is about a cab driver who leaves his family during Christmas to help an ex lover search for his current partner. The entire feature has a sublime desire glowing in the background with the underlined tension between the ex lovers. Both the features showcase the difficulty in letting go, the grief and pain that is associated with every cease in an relationship.
Feature ten is about obsession, it is about two brothers who obsess over completing their dad’s stamp collection and in the process loose much more, one even his kidney. Bordering on comedy, this feature showcases filial differences and grief resulting from lack of trust.
The movie is a must watch with all its nuances, each beat necessary and every moment priceless. Developed primarily for ten different directors to direct, Kieślowski just couldn’t let go, like his characters he suffered from the grief of parting from his stories and he made each of them with different cinematographers trying to change the look and how he succeeded is for all to see.
There is one character that appears in each of his feature, just looking with a peering glance, not judging just observing, not a participant in the stories developing around him. There Kieślowski got us into the film, we are that man watching a movie not judging the characters but judging ourselves, hoping to become better, sometimes successful, sometimes without success. But the important thing is to at the least “try”.
Part 3: Grief from Bereavement
Let me set matters straight, Decalogue is not a movie in a conventional sense. It’s a series of ten separate one hour features knitted together with the thread of human suffering. Kieślowski, along with Piesiewicz, visualized this feature as his personal homage to the Ten Commandments passed on to Moses by the creator whom we so lovingly call with the three letter name, god. But the series is not a biblical account of the ten commandments it is more of a study of the various emotions that bring about grief, a rambling with the commandments as backdrop, placed just as a guide while the director and his crew paint a picture of a desolate society where each of these commandments are transgressed with a brutal candor.
The commandments are pretty straightforward but in Kieślowski’s hand it becomes something utterly profound and deep. You shall not worship other gods (Part 1) translates to a story of a father who looses his son in a freak incident at the lake. His crime, he built a computer that could predict when the ice would melt but like any device controlled by man, it can err and it did, making the son drown in the icy waters of the lake. The movie is about the guilt of a man and grief of a father on his only child's loss. The final scene with the father tumbling over the candles in the church, and the wax spilled over the virgin Mary’s eyes was poignant and tastefully done. Similar in taste is the second part (Not take god’s name in vain) about an old, grumpy doctor who observes disdainfully at a woman in his apartment whose husband is his patient and is in comma for long. The woman wants an opinion to whether her husband shall survive so that she can decide whether to keep the baby whose father is her husband’s best friend. This choice is the cause for her anxiety, her grief. She loves her husband, no doubt about it, but she wants the baby as well. It is the doctor’s answer that would make her decide and that forms the crux of this plot, the doctor being asked to play god, taking god’s name in vain.
Grief takes multiple facets in these series where people lie, kill, feel jealous, and feel roused. They get angry, they have incestuous feelings, some kidnap their kid sister and some don’t trust their brothers, they in a it create a plethora of alternative plots showcasing human folly and the resultant pain.
The fifth part, which was developed later into a full-length movie “A short film about killing”, is a take on capital punishment, with the director drawing parallels to the crime that of the killing of a cab driver to that of the punishment, society hanging the twenty one year old murderer. The movie begins brilliantly with images of some poisoned cockroaches feasting on some rotten bread. The scene moves to a dead rat, may be killed by some random cat, and then cuts to a cat hanging from the noose and boys running away with a jolly abandon. The central idea of the movie, the opposition to capital punishment, is emphasized at that particular point, Kieślowski with his violent portrayal of the act of murder and an equally despicable depiction of the hanging inside the jail barracks, likens the two and questions the morality of the acts. The sixth part, which was also developed as “A short film about love”, questions the morality in the act of love and ponders about lust and the inter-relation between the two. The movie about a small kid who spies on her beautiful neighbor is humiliated sexually by her when she finds out and he attempts to take his own life. Loneliness stands out in this feature, as well as in the previous one, as a precursor to grief, with the bleak white background, an tottering old woman and some chilling music, adding to the silent grief of all the characters, making it so very profound. This movie also shows how a perfect movie even if copied scene by scene doesn’t produce the same effect sans it soul. For the un-initiated this was copied into the disastrous “Ek choti si love story” which reduced the plot to a sleazy soft porn.
The genius of the director is shown in the seventh feature, which showcases the commandment, “thou shall not steal”. In the hands of any ordinary artist, it may have been just a clichéd enactment of a thief repenting or the like but Kieślowski makes it a bewitching performance of a young daughter who kidnaps her ‘sister’ who in reality is her daughter. The daughter(the one who kidnaps), who looks and seems eccentric, is dominated by her strong willed mother who has made the world convince that her grand daughter is actually her daughter. At that point, the viewer is wonderfully unsure of who the commandment applies to, the mother or the daughter. The fourth feature, (Thou shall respect your parents) is more shocking and brilliantly disturbing. It begins with a young pretty girl drenching an older man, may be in his forties and then the older man taking his revenge in a playful way. The keen eye can no doubt mark a spark of love and maybe a speck of sexual tension, and then suddenly out of the blue, he is introduced as the father. As the story progresses, the young lady discovers a letter in her father’s desk from her long dead mother where she mentions that, her father is actually not his birth father and all the repressed emotions suddenly comes to the hilt, swinging destructively to break their relationship. Both these features talk about grief resulting from deep-rooted passions pent up in human souls.
Guilt is an exciting vice which when comes to the surface produces a fascinating plethora of emotions. The Eight feature is about a professor of ethics who comes face to face with her past in the shape of an visiting professor who as a child was betrayed to the Nazis by the same professor. This unlikely interaction lays all their past ghosts to rest and give both a chance to survive with their trust in humanity rekindled.
The Ninth feature is about jealousy, it is about one man who, after having multiple partners, turns impotent one fine day and he requests his wife to find a lover. His wife responds that sex is just an act that she always found cumbersome but then she does take a lover. The husband, in spite of his previous statements, becomes jealous and starts spying on his wife who breaks up with him when she founds that out and he leaps over a bridge to end it all. Confused, but that is Kieślowski for you, betrayal here is two ways, the wife betrayed the trust by taking a lover, the husband betrayed her trust by questioning her love and his own faith. This feature draws a thin line and underlines the difference between love and the act of love. Dakalog three is about a cab driver who leaves his family during Christmas to help an ex lover search for his current partner. The entire feature has a sublime desire glowing in the background with the underlined tension between the ex lovers. Both the features showcase the difficulty in letting go, the grief and pain that is associated with every cease in an relationship.
Feature ten is about obsession, it is about two brothers who obsess over completing their dad’s stamp collection and in the process loose much more, one even his kidney. Bordering on comedy, this feature showcases filial differences and grief resulting from lack of trust.
The movie is a must watch with all its nuances, each beat necessary and every moment priceless. Developed primarily for ten different directors to direct, Kieślowski just couldn’t let go, like his characters he suffered from the grief of parting from his stories and he made each of them with different cinematographers trying to change the look and how he succeeded is for all to see.
There is one character that appears in each of his feature, just looking with a peering glance, not judging just observing, not a participant in the stories developing around him. There Kieślowski got us into the film, we are that man watching a movie not judging the characters but judging ourselves, hoping to become better, sometimes successful, sometimes without success. But the important thing is to at the least “try”.
Part 3: Grief from Bereavement
The perpetual wound : Part I
‘The pain of love is the pain of being alive; it is the perpetual wound’
I don’t remember when I heard of Maureen Duffy for the first time, even her name doesn’t register much, her times and work mean nothing to me, but this statement has remained engraved in me somewhere and peeps out with a smile, whenever I see some random movie with grief marking a character, with the old “I had told you so” smug look. You think it’s crazy that I imagine about words smiling and jeering, poking and pestering, please don’t, I am normal with some loony fascination with books and movies. But this blog is not about Maureen Duffy or “The words”, Sartre or otherwise, this blog is about grief and how movies have showcased this singular emotion in movie after movie, across time, space and language.
Grief is a potent weapon, an all-powerful one, with the power to decimate the million of opposition ahead, the power to annihilate the all-exhuming soul of one, the power to eradicate humanity as a whole. I remember watching a frail old woman spewing venom, literally spitting on the soldiers who had killed her son, destroyed her land, and made her desolate. But as promised, am not presenting an essay on grief, its about some of the movies which try to address the issue, not that it provides a solution, there cannot be any, but it shows people suffer from grief and their personal salvation and redemption.
Now that my resolve is made, my fingers dirtied, eyes twitching, brains (check the plural) racing, my mind is giving up. Coming so far I realize, I am without a structure, without any ideas of narration, without content and the more I think I am getting scared of the brick bats. Grief because of bereavement in itself can fill books, how on the earth, can I stop describing the tears of a mother who has just lost her teenaged child just because my self-imposed thousand word restriction is over. How different is this loss from that of an unmarried mother who had an abortion and is watching her four months fetus through a six inch thick glass vessel. The dead fetus, unmindful of her mother’s stare, swimming in the smelly formaldehyde, mistaking it for the womb that it was swimming in before, may have a different story altogether. If I can write about the story of that unwanted fetus, I would find myself in a completely different world linked just by the river of grief.
But this is a story I wish to tell; maybe this has to be in multiple parts covering the various types and movies that can soothe the abrasion and bring peace. Movies do have that alleviating effect; making you a voyeuristic stranger, letting you peep into the lives of others, create an impression of the omnipotent and omniscient god that we so long to become. I just hope these selections of movies help some random reader in coming to terms with their own individual ghost.
I have a self-imposed limit that I diligently follow, mostly unsuccessfully. So maybe it will be one movie in this first part and the following parts will cover all the types of grief, from bereavement to the empty nest syndrome, from trauma to the much-trivialized break ups. In accordance to my restriction, maybe will just review this one movie that is an amalgamation of all emotions fused together by a master craftsman who sadly is no more. And it is he, the Krzysztof Kieślowski that I dedicate this blog to, the man who maybe understood pain.
Part 2: Review of Movie Dekalog
I don’t remember when I heard of Maureen Duffy for the first time, even her name doesn’t register much, her times and work mean nothing to me, but this statement has remained engraved in me somewhere and peeps out with a smile, whenever I see some random movie with grief marking a character, with the old “I had told you so” smug look. You think it’s crazy that I imagine about words smiling and jeering, poking and pestering, please don’t, I am normal with some loony fascination with books and movies. But this blog is not about Maureen Duffy or “The words”, Sartre or otherwise, this blog is about grief and how movies have showcased this singular emotion in movie after movie, across time, space and language.
Grief is a potent weapon, an all-powerful one, with the power to decimate the million of opposition ahead, the power to annihilate the all-exhuming soul of one, the power to eradicate humanity as a whole. I remember watching a frail old woman spewing venom, literally spitting on the soldiers who had killed her son, destroyed her land, and made her desolate. But as promised, am not presenting an essay on grief, its about some of the movies which try to address the issue, not that it provides a solution, there cannot be any, but it shows people suffer from grief and their personal salvation and redemption.
Now that my resolve is made, my fingers dirtied, eyes twitching, brains (check the plural) racing, my mind is giving up. Coming so far I realize, I am without a structure, without any ideas of narration, without content and the more I think I am getting scared of the brick bats. Grief because of bereavement in itself can fill books, how on the earth, can I stop describing the tears of a mother who has just lost her teenaged child just because my self-imposed thousand word restriction is over. How different is this loss from that of an unmarried mother who had an abortion and is watching her four months fetus through a six inch thick glass vessel. The dead fetus, unmindful of her mother’s stare, swimming in the smelly formaldehyde, mistaking it for the womb that it was swimming in before, may have a different story altogether. If I can write about the story of that unwanted fetus, I would find myself in a completely different world linked just by the river of grief.
But this is a story I wish to tell; maybe this has to be in multiple parts covering the various types and movies that can soothe the abrasion and bring peace. Movies do have that alleviating effect; making you a voyeuristic stranger, letting you peep into the lives of others, create an impression of the omnipotent and omniscient god that we so long to become. I just hope these selections of movies help some random reader in coming to terms with their own individual ghost.
I have a self-imposed limit that I diligently follow, mostly unsuccessfully. So maybe it will be one movie in this first part and the following parts will cover all the types of grief, from bereavement to the empty nest syndrome, from trauma to the much-trivialized break ups. In accordance to my restriction, maybe will just review this one movie that is an amalgamation of all emotions fused together by a master craftsman who sadly is no more. And it is he, the Krzysztof Kieślowski that I dedicate this blog to, the man who maybe understood pain.
Part 2: Review of Movie Dekalog
Thursday, January 15, 2009
With her eyes:
Note:
This qawali sung by Aziz ahmed kahan Warsi is a cornerstone and a must hear for any qawal enthusiast. After realizing my incompetence at translating the master poetry, I take my leave by handing over the untranslated lyrics and a guide to urdu dictionary.
Do listen to Warsi singing this, and you will realize why Qawali intoxicates and makes it follower sway with rythm, with just some tabla and some claps.
Yeh Kisne Nigahon se (Qawali)
Yeh kisne nigahon se sagar pilaye,
Khudi par meri bekhudee banke chaye. (1)
Khabardar aye dil, Mecca me adab hai,
Kahin baadahnoshi pe dhabba na aaye. (2)
Kai baar ubhre, kai baar doobe
Kai baar toofan ke chakkar me aaye (3)
Kisi ki mohabbat ne aisa duboya
Bahut koshishein ki ubharne na paye. (4)
Mohabbat woh kya jisme khuddariyan ho
Ibadat woh kya jisme pabandiyan ho (5)
Hakikat me zaheer wohi bandagi hai
jahan sar jhuke aastan jhuk jaaye (6)
kai baar sahil se takrai kashti
kai baar takrake sahil pe aaye (7)
Talasho talab me woh lazzat mili hai
Dua kar raha hun ke manzil na aaye. (8)
Meanings: Urdu to English
Please use : http://www.geocities.com/urdudict/ for translating Urdu to English). Some FAQ meanings have been noted below:
Verse 1.
Be-khudee: Being besides Oneself, Intoxication, Rapture, Senseless
Verse 2.
Adab: Courtsey
Baadah noshi: Jollification, Festivity, Celebration
Verse 3.
Ubharna: Emerge, Jut
Verse 4.
Ibaadat: Prayers, Devotion
Khuddaarii: Self-Respect
Paa band : Restricted
5.
Verse 6.
Zaheer: Ally, Associate, Assistant
Aastaan: Abode, Threshold
Bandagi: Devotion, Worship, Service
Verse 7.
Sahil: river
Kashti: Boat
Verse 8.
Talaash: Look For, Inquiry, Search, Quest, Zetetic
Talab: Demand, Desire, Inquiry, Need, Pursuit, Quest, Request, Search, Want, Wish, Yen
Lazzat: Taste, Deliciousness, Joy, Pleasurable Experience, Relish, Pleasure Enjoyment, Flavour
Duaa: Blessing, Prayer, Wish
This qawali sung by Aziz ahmed kahan Warsi is a cornerstone and a must hear for any qawal enthusiast. After realizing my incompetence at translating the master poetry, I take my leave by handing over the untranslated lyrics and a guide to urdu dictionary.
Do listen to Warsi singing this, and you will realize why Qawali intoxicates and makes it follower sway with rythm, with just some tabla and some claps.
Yeh Kisne Nigahon se (Qawali)
Yeh kisne nigahon se sagar pilaye,
Khudi par meri bekhudee banke chaye. (1)
Khabardar aye dil, Mecca me adab hai,
Kahin baadahnoshi pe dhabba na aaye. (2)
Kai baar ubhre, kai baar doobe
Kai baar toofan ke chakkar me aaye (3)
Kisi ki mohabbat ne aisa duboya
Bahut koshishein ki ubharne na paye. (4)
Mohabbat woh kya jisme khuddariyan ho
Ibadat woh kya jisme pabandiyan ho (5)
Hakikat me zaheer wohi bandagi hai
jahan sar jhuke aastan jhuk jaaye (6)
kai baar sahil se takrai kashti
kai baar takrake sahil pe aaye (7)
Talasho talab me woh lazzat mili hai
Dua kar raha hun ke manzil na aaye. (8)
Meanings: Urdu to English
Please use : http://www.geocities.com/urdudict/ for translating Urdu to English). Some FAQ meanings have been noted below:
Verse 1.
Be-khudee: Being besides Oneself, Intoxication, Rapture, Senseless
Verse 2.
Adab: Courtsey
Baadah noshi: Jollification, Festivity, Celebration
Verse 3.
Ubharna: Emerge, Jut
Verse 4.
Ibaadat: Prayers, Devotion
Khuddaarii: Self-Respect
Paa band : Restricted
5.
Verse 6.
Zaheer: Ally, Associate, Assistant
Aastaan: Abode, Threshold
Bandagi: Devotion, Worship, Service
Verse 7.
Sahil: river
Kashti: Boat
Verse 8.
Talaash: Look For, Inquiry, Search, Quest, Zetetic
Talab: Demand, Desire, Inquiry, Need, Pursuit, Quest, Request, Search, Want, Wish, Yen
Lazzat: Taste, Deliciousness, Joy, Pleasurable Experience, Relish, Pleasure Enjoyment, Flavour
Duaa: Blessing, Prayer, Wish
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
