CLIPPED WINGS

He's kinda cute and angelic. Cherubic, cuddly, with an endearing smile and warm eyes which tear right through your heart ingratiating him immediately. You swear to love him all your life and protect him from the big bad world. He needs your care, guidance and support. You resolve not to fail him ever. You are his mother after all and he is your flesh n blood. 

From the feeding and burping days to nappy changing and lullaby rituals, he is the centre of your universe as you are his. You adore him and he idolises you. Every one else takes a backseat.You see him through his toddling stage, adolescence, the rebellious teenage years and the excruciating slog years when he is at the threshold of starting a career. He blooms into a fine young man in no time. From Noddy to Friends, from Gajar Halwa to Panacotas, from Shaan to Justin Bieber, his tastes evolve, mature and diversify. You come to terms with this gruelling phenomenon rather reluctantly. You are unwilling to untie the apron strings but let him loose just a little so that he learns to stand on his own feet. He makes your heart swell with unbridled pride and love. You want to make choices for him; he indulges you occasionally. You relish the power of love and control.

If you are enormously lucky you even get to select a wife for him. You sift, scan and finalise a demure simpleton for him. But behold! In just a few weeks and she transforms into a femme fatale, twisting your dear boy around her delicate finger. You abhor this intruder but are helpless. You are infact asked to grin and welcome this interpolar. You do so grudgingly with a plastic smile. You put up a charade of warmth while secretly resenting her. You are determined not to let a 'stranger' usurp your dearest and most precious possession.

You swear to stamp your authority in their lives in the most aggressive manner possible.
Thus starts your interference and control of your son's life. You are the Mommy and Mommy always know best, or so it is claimed. Hence your conception of 'best' imposes and infringes upon the personal life and space of your son. You never learn to take a back seat. Privacy and independence are alien terms to you. So you continue with your controlling act and the tussle for 'power base' - with you holding it back and the children pulling it with all their might - continues unabated lifelong. That unfortunately is the sorry state of affairs in many a household in India.

This dominance of the Queen Mother is nowhere more defined and established as it's in India. From Shravan Kumar who carried his blind parents on his shoulders to Ramji who abdicated his rightful inheritance to do his stepmother's unjustified bidding, the mum-son equation is paramount in the scheme of things that make the family-structure function seamlessly.
The birth of a son is a major achievement in a woman's life, across all classes of indian society. It is a trophy or a distinction which accords a superior status to women automatically. Naturally enough, they are most reluctant to hand over this trophy to the next generation. Fortunately for Generation X, the influx of globalisation and the emergence of nuclear families as a natural corollary of the same, is facilitating a less acrimonious change of guard. The most pious relationship in the world is getting redefined and realigned in sync with the shift in new age thinking and philosophy of "Love me? Let me loose!!"
You mommy dearest are learning to accept the flight of your baby bird from the nest. Well, as long as he remembers to fly back home once in a while and doesn't forget the route, you can make an effort to unclip his wings. Umbilical cord has to be cut finally and you'll find that there's a little pain but much greater joy of delivering.

THY NAME IS MOTHER

Warm meal for everyone,

Cold one for yourself,

Ironed clothes for all,

While the wrinkled ones will do for you,

SELFLESSNESS, thy name is MOTHER.

Running around the house whole day,

Having no time to stop and breathe,

Rushing to and from office,

Not pausing a minute to ease..

DILIGENCE, thy name is MOTHER.

Cooking,cleaning, washing, driving,

Endless chores and everlasting duties,

Done with a smile and a kind heart,

Seldom complaining, never regretting,

SERVITUDE, thy name is MOTHER.

Absorbing troubles and problems,

Reflecting joy and hope,

Holding the family together,

And binding it into a whole,

STRENGTH, thy name is MOTHER.

You are the Agony Aunt and

You are the Angel Mary,

You are the preacher- teacher, and,

You are the support,

FAITH, thy name is MOTHER.

You are the essence of a family,

You are the soul,

You are the spirit,

And you are the prayer,

DIVINITY, thy name is MOTHER.

FAN-TASTIC DOUBLE DELIGHT BY SRK

No one can do deranged better than SRK and he smacks it hard in his latest flick Fan, a self-indulgent, self-obssessed saga of superstardom laced with a self-depricating tone to offset the halo built around the Badshah of Bollywood.

SRK plays himself on screen, albeit adopting a tame Aryan Khanna nametag to deflect any pointers at himself. Real life shots of his stupendous fame and humungous fan-following are interspersed throughout the movie, lending credibility to the aura of his onscreen persona.

Primarily, the film focuses on Aryan Khanna's biggest 'fan' Gaurav, SRK again in a prosthetics-aided, younger, smoother and a tad artificial look. He is gawky but endearing with a single minded devotion towards his hero. Upon being rebuffed by his idol for his foolhardiness, Gaurav turns his reverence into revulsion. This transformation forms the crux of the plot where the crazed love of a fan for his hero turns into hatred causing turbulence in the latter's life.

Shahrukh is impeccable in both the roles. He is suave, controlled, dynamic and supremely arrogant as the reigning superstar of the country. To his credit, he has taken enough potshots at himself to negate his cockiness. The fragile public image, the dancing at weddings for a 'bomb'(the moolah kind) and the deference to a sour Mr. Moneybag are snippets of the chinks in the armour of any aging superstar.

SRK as his own fan is even better. His energy is contagious and you don't mind going overboard with him in his passionate zeal to meet his idol and indulge his crazy antics. You even condone the unbelievable limits he goes to impress Aryan, his hero. He is after-all a lovable rogue which was SRK's forte in his initial movies. There has been no other universally accepted anti-hero like SRK in the Indian celluloid history and the credit must go to his ability to strike a chord with his audience who take the merry-go-round ride of incredulity and absurdity with him, cheering him loudly along the way. The long drawn chase sequences do get tedious after a while and one wishes for crisper and tauter editing to avoid the yawns which creep in surreptitiously at times.

Can too much of good things be bad? If you take 2 SRks , both antithesis of each other, do you get a via media? Pertinent point is, is it needed? Probably yes, to give a decent ending to the moot point the movie raises but fails to answer. Can a celebrity, no matter how self-assured and detached to the feelings of his fans, be in any way held responsible for the disillusionment and the consequent mental depravity of a fan? Just short of glorifying the gory end, the movie never really addresses the key issue it unwittingly highlights. Perhaps the intent was only to showcase the histrionics of an actor who was losing his sheen in his recent movies. Predictably, the double dose of sheer talent shines luminously in 'fan', enthralling us to the core.

What it does spell out is a relevant statement and not just in cinematic context; Be a fan, not a fanatic!

Today ought to be special too !

March 8th.
It began as an ordinary day....till I got roses and bed tea served to me. A few minutes later, my phone started beeping with sweet, powerful, prophetic and inspiring messages. All my gal pals were jubilant and excited.

It was "International Women's Day" after all. The excitement was tangible and the euphoria palpable. I couldn't help but be blown away by the positivity and good vibes floating in the 'virtual' world. Everyone that I met or talked to, wished me profusely and I returned the favours with equal gusto. The talk shows, the discussions and articles, news, all heralded the coming of age of women empowerment and 'nari-shakti'. I nodded mentally in tandem with every chant of "nari-zindabad".
Suddenly feeling invincible, I charged up to tackle my domestic problems, and the world issues too. I was on TOP of the world!!!

Unfortunately, my maid got an inkling of the special day and started acting hoity-toity. Giving her a temporary leverage, I granted her a few tantrums. It was her day too, afterall. A glance at my mobile revealed a dozen odd offers from apparel companies who wanted me to dress well on women's day, a leading salon which tempted me for a complete makeover on 'my special day', eateries and restaurants offering discounts on this day. Boy, was I blessed!!! I wished that my mother was here to see how far women have travelled from the days they were taken for granted and their wishes ignored. Now there was a whole machinery in place, geared to tackle her sundry feminine cares and concerns. The world cared for its women to look and act beautiful. Or so it seemed.  

That my kids' exams prevented me from availing the generous offers all around is something I hope won't be held against womankind. After all, there's no dearth of women craving good looks and good food,and those equipped to provide both.

Sadly, I also saw a few cynics being spiteful and disdainful about this great 'women's rights day' and brushing it off as a one-day affair not to be taken seriously at all! It's cruelty of the first order to deny a woman the joy and thrill of celebrating one full day/24 hours/ 1,440 minutes/ 86,400 seconds of unadulterated bliss when no one dares to offend her, ridicule her, or worse, ignore her. Her 'acche din' were about to begin; the ball had been set rolling.
Or so it appeared.

March 9.

The morning after, I woke up to a shrill alarm bell. Waking up to meet the demands of the morning tea and tiffins, I felt a hollowness inside and a vague, weird feeling. Working through the mundane as an automaton, I sat down to rummage through the newspaper and flick on the TV hoping to find one big difference in the world's perception of the fairer sex. None too wiser, I muttered 'not fair' under my breath. Life had gone back to being 'normal', where normal implied tending to the abnormal expectations of the people in your life.

It seemed like a daydream had shattered. That 'special' day ended yesterday.  
Today is just another (ordinary) day. 

DEDICATED To all the extraordinary women who make the ordinary seem so special.

NEERJA- story of India's Braveheart

The much-acclaimed and much-appreciated movie, 'Neerja', based on the true story of the courageous 23 year old air hostess Neerja Bhanot, who died on duty trying to save the lives of hundreds of her passengers during a hijack - is simply beyond any critique or review.

Stories like these when retold and re-enacted for cinematic viewing, cannot be judged using the usual parameters employed for movie reviews. Yet any story has to be well told to leave a worthwhile impact. And this one succeeds to the hilt. The direction, cinematography, acting, and other departments have excelled in bringing alive an otherwise forgotten story of a real-life heroine making it a compelling viewing. Sonam and Shabana Azmi do ample justice to their roles and give restrained performances which stop the movie from degenerating into a shallow melodrama. Sonam's father's angst and pain are so understated yet so tangible! The in-flight ordeal of the passengers and crew at the hands of four hyper and agitated terrorists transports you back into those tortuous hours of uncertainty and impending gloom. The ending wasn't really a surprise but still brought tears to the eyes. 

One can only salute the young lady who displayed such a remarkable presence of mind, an exemplary agility, quick thinking, selflessness and spirited valor in those crucial, trying hours. In this age where the media focus is more on silver screen stars' shenanigans and politicians' tug-of-war, not much attention is paid to real life heroes who mostly go unsung except for a sporadic loud applause which dies down soon after the gallantry award felicitation. 

It is in this context that 'Neerja' comes like a much-needed shot-in-the-arm to revive the jaded and cynical public mindset and infuse a hearty respect for those who in their, unfortunately, short mortal lives, lived a lifetime. Always hoping that the youth of the nation emulate worthy role-models like Neerja who went down stoically while saving human lives (irrespective of their religion and nationality), rather than perennially attack the nation guns blazing and sully the spirits of all those who lost their lives in their line of duty, at the borders and beyond.

Blusters And Blisters

There is a marked difference between expressing general dissent on state policies and deliberate and pre-meditated efforts towards disgracing the nation publicly. As also between being anti-establishment and being anti-national. You can espouse anti-government slogans, lambast corruption, slow economic growth, regressive social policies, even go ballistic on intolerance charge but for heaven's sake how can these 'youth' (most in their late 20's and 30's ) be allowed to chant 'India murdabad' and similar diatribe with media in full attendance and not expect some sort of backlash. If this doesn't call for universal condemnation in the strongest terms I wonder what provocation is required to awaken one's dormant patriotic instincts. I say dormant because most of the educated middle-class and upper-class populace tread on caution and neutral grounds in such matters. We leave the dramatics to the other half which occupies the political centre stage either by holding offices of power or the huge number of wannabes and no-gooders jostling all their lives for five minutes of fame translating into a 5-year stint in politics if they are lucky. They are the ones calling the shots in our democracy by being its visible face. Generally, the sensible reaction is to mostly ignore or generously condone unsavoury public demonstrations which make us uncomfortable. However at times, diplomacy and complacency ought to give way to a more serious and systematic approach to tackling distastefully provocative actions by youthful minds which should ideally be brimming with positive outlook and hopes for the nation. 

Even if the JNU students are given a benefit of the doubt that they do not actually mean or stand by all of their dramatic outbursts that fateful day. Then that in itself is a grievous pathetic commentary on student politics in India; sloganeering for cheap titillation and not any genuine passion for the cause in hand. And is India's pride so cheap and marketable that it can be prostituted by a bunch of buffoons? Did the government overreact by arresting and pressing sedition charges on them? Maybe. Did the students cross the line of tolerance (that dreaded word again)? Most definitely YES! Freedom of speech and expression ( misused blatantly and ever-so-often) is a salient feature of a democracy. But every freedom brings an equal amount of responsibility along with it. Both go in tandem and can only then create a peaceful symphony of a civilised society and a responsible state.  

"Sedition charges are ridiculous", "hot-headed youths treated like terrorists" etc are the baffling responses by the self-anointed saints of India. Equally uncalled for is the right wing's demands to crucify the 'traitors' publicly. Extremely polarised views are being expressed with equal intensity. Quite clearly, the hardliners and liberals are walking a tight-rope in India, battling out the rights and wrongs based on their subjective interpretations and individual preferences. The moot point is that no matter who wins the battle, the idea of India and the spirit enveloping it cannot be compromised. That, my dear friends, is utterly non-negotiable. 

AIRLIFT....lifts your spirits up

A gripping, taut and realistic recreation of a true event makes Airlift a cut above in the thriller genre. The massive air evacuation undertaken by the Indian government in 1990 to bring back approximately 1,70,000 of its citizens stranded in Kuwait after the Iraqi invasion was a story waiting to be told. The director, Raja Menon has done it quite capably through Akshay Kumar, our new age Manoj Kumar (minus his jingoism), vis-a-vis his recent spate of patriotic movies told stylishly in a mainstream cinematic context. 

Akshay is spot on as Ranjit Katiyal, the hard core businessman who is forced to remember his roots in times of crisis. Initially planning to flee Kuwait with his family, he is compelled to rise above his self-centeredness and help his fellow citizens after witnessing how helpless ordinary people are in the face of the tyranny unleashed upon them by Saddam Hussein.
His persistence, doggedness and resources help him set up a temporary camp and give shelter to a motley group of Indians, carrying along their distinctive problems and idiosyncrasies. Nimrat Kaur as Akshay's trophy wife complements his strength of character with her own when the occasion demands. She is a welcome change from the usual bimbettes routinely seen in Akshay's movies.

The narrative has a dark, sinister feel to it; the havoc created by war and a rogue nation creates palpable terror and an innate sympathy for the victims regardless of their nationality. The waiflike Kuwaiti lady hidden in the camp by her Indian maid is symbolic of this. Notable performances are by Kumud Misra as the dedicated Indian bureaucrat who facilitates the evacuation process by cutting through red tapes and dithering politicians. The talented Inaamulhaq portraying the shrewd, crafty Iraqi major evokes more guffaws than fear, majorly due to his quaint accent. A minor flaw in an otherwise riveting tale of a man's perseverance against all odds.

The movie does stray towards repetitive sequences at times and is low on entertainment quotient but then stark reality is seldom entertaining. However, after all the hard work that goes towards building it up, the climax in itself is a tad underwhelming. The accelerated homecoming process makes one feel relieved that the long drawn ordeal is over for the fellow Indians, but a bit shortchanged that the actual 'airlift' manoeuvres are swept in the air. 

Minor irritants apart, the movie is an ideal republic day flavour meant to be savoured by those looking for soaring stories of patriotism in times when the word 'Indian' and all that it encompasses is being redefined.