The Colour of My Dreams

Dreams do not have colours; or so they say! Psychologists believe that dreams are colourless; they are black and white.

I disagree!

My dreams have colours. They have the colour of my joys and fears, of my aspirations and ambitions, of my friends and enemies. They are lighted by the world around me.

When disaster strikes, they are colour of smoke - grey, disturbing, suffocating. When joys abound, they are the brightest shades of the day; like those of the first rays hitting the surface of the calm lake, bringing it alive with a glitter. And when festivities arrive, they take on the magic of changing colours. Nevertheless, at all times, my dreams have colours.

You say you are too tired to dream, to think, to notice its changing moods and shades. I say may be you are right. Maybe it is because I have all the time on hand since my world lost all its colours. It is only in my dreams that my colours come alive.

He Left!

He left! He drove away, leaving her in the middle of the road. He didn't stop; not once! He did not come back for her.

She was new to this city. He was the only reason she had come to this city that she never liked. And now she stood alone, clutching her bag close to her heart, as if that was the only thing that could protect her in this dark moment.

All around she found faces of strangers; strangers who went about their lives with nothing amiss, returning home to their families. The cold air froze her insides. They had had fights but she never expected him to desert her. Invisible maybe, but he would always be around, he had promised. She was wrong; he had lied. He was nowhere.

She peered at every passing car, maybe he'd come back. She checked her mobile, maybe he'd call. She kept thinking of the only other time when he had pretended to leave her. But he had stopped, he had returned. He wasn't heartless. But this time he was really gone.

Words, days, memories came flooding back to her. "I won't be responsible for you, you're coming here of your own accord." She started walking in the only direction she could think of; knew not where she was headed. Traffic sped past her as she walked, lost to the world, alone.

Ping and Follow!

Young, enterprising, best in your batch, you are ready to take the world by storm. I’ll Facebook you and let’s keep in touch...What did you just say? I can’t Facebook you…or Tweet you. Oh my god! Google+? No! At least, Orkut...Do you even exist?

If that sounded like an exaggeration then think back to the last time you updated your Facebook Status. You might realize that it was just before you started reading this feature. And the next update would be right after you finish reading; either sharing this feature or abusing me for making you feel useless. Either ways could you be honest and tell me that amongst the n number of tabs open on your browser right now not, at least, one is a social networking site?

I rest my case!

You are not alone. I am no less guilty. What started as a fun and inexpensive way to keep in touch with family and friends has turned into an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Gone are the days when the first job of the day was to freshen up. Today we ping before we yawn. But honestly, does anyone really need to know whether my geyser is working fine or what I had for breakfast?

Living away from my family and with friends across the globe, I cannot deny that social networking sites prove to be a blessing in times when it is too late or too expensive to make that much desired call. Nevertheless, I cannot be blind to the fact that Prometheus has turned into Frankenstein’s monster.

At the age of 72, my grandmother waits for that one phone call each day. But not my father because he is on my Facebook ‘friend list’! Isn’t it a little too mechanical where I can read her updates but can’t hear her satin voice that put me to sleep, gave me courage and rid me of my nightmares?

I’m scared of the day there will be an internet meltdown; I might just cease to exist!

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On The Run...

Kolkata (West Bengal), 1972: A family shifts base to New Delhi to protect their teenage son from becoming a part of the Naxal Movement.

Raipur (Chhattisgarh), 2011: A family continues to reside in the city and operate its business, occasionally faced with the methods of the Naxal Movement.

The former was my grandfather while the latter is my uncle. Both faced the Naxal Movement in their own ways and found their own solutions. Not much has changed from 1972 to 2011. Each day, many like them, are finding their solutions in the face of this silent revolution. And yet very few know the core of this movement.

History tells us that the movement took root with the Telangana Movement (1946-51). But it was not until 1967 that it adopted its name from the remote village of Naxalbari in West Bengal. It was here that a tribal youth, Bimal Kissan obtained a judicial order to plough his land but was attacked by the local landlord and his men. The local tribes retaliated and started recapturing their lands. A rebellion followed and gained support from the existing Communist revolutionaries in West Bengal, Bihar, Orissa, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Uttar Pradesh and Jammu & Kashmir.

What has followed after nearly 40 years is a state of confusion and contradictions; an unorganized movement that began as a peasant revolution but turned into a nationalist movement. Taking hint from the guerrilla warfare, Naxal Revolutionaries today operate throughout the country through hidden locations and trenches. And yet they seem to be fighting an unending battle. Is it purely because of the contradictory demands or is it to do with the Indian Government or are they the parallel system of governance?

The last presents itself as the most likely possibility in the face of the current situation. Naxal Revolutionaries today operate their own system of governance along with the state and central government. In states where they have a strong foothold, they are at times above the ruling parties and gain complete support from the surrounding villages. They are no less than the Mafia but largely unorganized. It is due to this nature of the rebels and the movement that the ruling parties continue to escape their demands.

Nevertheless, the fact that the revolution has survived nearly 40 years of onslaught forces one to count its merits. In regions of Chhattisgarh, Orissa and West Bengal it is due to the stronghold of the rebels that the villagers continue to lead a normal life. To many it is an ‘uncivilized’ life. But to them civilization might come at the cost of their livelihood.

The tribes are rarely provided with the proper means of education and yet they are expected to show reason and rationale in their methods and demands. There are two major threads of Naxals – one who believe in armed annihilation and the other who support mass organizations. History has been witness to the fact that the ruling parties are masters of the divide-and-rule policy. For those supporting the armed annihilation, the ruling party proposes the excuse of self-defence and acts against terrorism. For groups supporting mass movements the government has stopped thinking of excuses.

40 years of struggle is not a small period of time in the history of any country. And yet they find prominence either when a Naxal member is ‘assassinated’ or an armed personnel is killed. Why is it that the government and the media have lost interest in this movement and treat it as nothing more than a fly on the wall that needs to be swatted when buzzing too much. A plausible reason seems to be the fact that these men and women are no Anna Hazare. They do not go on hunger-strikes at Pragati Maidan and garner attention. The nation is not watching their death.

Naxal revolutionaries are forced to resort to violent means of immolating buildings and killing armed soldiers because their hunger strike will not move the nation. Their conditions compel them to be on a hunger strike nearly each day. And yet they do not lose steam. Generations after generations believe in the cause and join forces; hoping that they would be able to change India, if not the world, one day.

Before taking sides, we need to step back and think, are these men and women fighting for a lost cause? Or are they the next step in political evolution of India? Looking at the state of affairs the former seems to be the case. But when recalling Prime Minister Manmohan Singh’s statement that the government has plans to strengthen the development work in the Naxal-affected areas, the latter looks like a hopeful possibility.

Does writing against the latest national hero, Anna Hazare, and supporting the biggest and longest internal challenge to the Indian Government, Naxal Movement, make me an anti-patriot? Maybe, maybe not! But what it does make me is a rationale human being who has decided to weigh both sides of the argument before blindly following one. I definitely cannot support the Naxal Movement when they put entire government buildings to fire. But neither can I support the government bodies when the men assault and use men, women and children for their own benefits and discard them in the name of patriotism.

Naxals require a unified representation of their causes and demands to fight the ‘people’s war’.

Gandhi Part II

For the last 13 days there has been a lot of talk about the Jan Lokpal Bill. Anna Hazare is the modern-day Gandhi with his demand for eradication of corruption and his fast-unto-death methodology.

I have been observing both young and old rally the streets in support of the cause. And each time I have only one question – how many of them know the exact contents of the bill? You wouldn’t be surprised to know the answer – not many! Supporting Team Anna is the latest fad and ‘India Against Corruption’ is the ‘in-thing’ to shout.

Sorry to break your illusion but this is no modern-day freedom movement. This is India v/s India!

At the risk of being stamped a non-patriot, I am forced to say that I always found hunger strike no more than an emotional blackmail. How much more obvious could it get? It is unthinkable that the ruling party; whether Britishers for Gandhi or Congress for Hazare, would be inhuman to let a man die; especially when the entire nation is watching. And God forbid the hunger strike succeeds and the man dies, the opposition will waste no time before turning it into a political issue. They are cornered, and not convinced, to accept the demands. It is a win-win situation for the man on hunger strike.

Yes, it sounds like I support the government and corruption and not the bill. But read it once again. I am not against the bill, merely against the methods of a man who claims to fight for everyone’s rights. And I am against the way millions of people took to the fad without realizing the true nature of the cause. To quote Arundhati Roy from a recent article in Jantantra (http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:1xyRoj7K6U0J:jantantra.com/2011/08/22/arundhati-roy-on-anna-hazare-fast-and-maoist-struggle/+what+does+hunger+strike+mean+in+a+country+where+49+percent+children+are+malnourished+and+perennially+hungry&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=in&source=www.google.co.in), "Deep inside the forest in a tribal village, when 500 policemen surround and burn your village and there is no TV camera, you can't go on a hunger-strike. You can only fight back. In any case, can the hungry go on a hunger strike? What does a hunger strike mean in a country where 49 percent children are malnourished and perennially hungry?"

The Bill was passed day before yesterday. Hazare is being worshipped. But do we really need one more God in order to compete with the already present 330 million deities?

Iti Mrinalini (An Unfinished Screenplay)

Back at London Film School, my professors always told me that the graduation script is to be treated as a spec script. It is meant to generate interest in order to garner more work but not to be actually shot; at least not for another five years. I never understood the depth of that statement; not until I saw Iti Mrinali.

The hype, the hoopla, the return and the damp! Iti Mrinalini was much-awaited due to a lot of different reasons – Aparna Sen’s directorial return to Bengali cinema, Konkana Sen Sharma’s return to the screen since her marriage and baby, the mother-daughter duo’s return, both portraying different ages of the same character. Speculations were ripe if this was an autobiographical film by Sen.

Note to self: Stop following media hypes!

As a dear friend would have told me, I am not a true film student. In my defence, media hype was not the only reason to watch Iti Mrinalini. Being a Konkana Sen Sharma fan, it was the most obvious film to watch this weekend. I have personally always found Aparna Sen to be a better director than an actress; she was returning to an out and out Bengali language film after a decade, since Paromita-r Ek Din (English Title: House of Memories; 2000). Of course, the entire confusion and mixed reports as to whether it is autobiographical or not added to the interest.

So there I was in the afternoon heat inside an air-conditioned movie theatre surrounded with a lot of Bengali Television faces (don’t Bengali serials shoot on weekends?) anxiously waiting for the film to begin. Iti Mrinalini is the story of an aging actress, Mrinalini Mitra who is writing her suicide note. As she goes through old memorabilia, her story unfolds.

Interesting? Yes!

Only problem – the reason for her suicide and the subsequent reason to not commit suicide!

Mrinalini, when the story begins, is a veteran of the industry. She has made a successful return to the screen and is having an affair with the director of the film, Imtiaz Chowdhury (Priyanshu Chatterjee) who is younger to her in age. All goes fine till the premiere party of the film where the lead actress of the next film is announced and it is not Mrinalini, as promised by Imtiaz. Instead it turns out to be a younger face, Hiya Majumdar (Ananya Chatterjee). Surprise, surprise! After a number of prominent roles in films and television and a National Award where was the need for Ananya Chatterjee to portray Hiya Majumdar? All she had to do was, look pretty and smile. Was the attraction of working in an Aparna Sen film that great? I wonder!

On realising that Imtiaz has not only given Hiya the role but is also having an affair with her, Mrinalini decides that it is time to draw the curtain on her life. One small question – two scenes prior to the party it is Mrinalini who insists that the next film should have a younger face and not her. In the light of that scene would the loss of the role be a strong enough for her suicide? One could say that Imtiaz’s infidelity led to the decision. In that case, it required more prominence to become a reason for the audience to sympathise with Mrinalini.

As the story unfolds, you realize that Mrinalini is one of those doomed people who never attain personal happiness. She is the biggest face of the 70s but is alone in her personal life. Her college sweetheart (Saheb Bhattacharjee) is shot dead by the cops because he’s a Naxalite, she has an affair with her director, Siddhartha Sarkar (Rajat Kapoor) who shoots her career to prominence but never leaves his family and marries her. She has a daughter out of wedlock who dies in an airplane accident just when she is about to come stay with Mrinalini and finally Imtiaz Chowdhury happens. The only true friend in all these years has been Chintan Nair (Koushik Sen) who infuses in her the maturity and patience to realize that there are different kinds of love and domestic love is not the begin all and end all of life.

At the end of 2 hours, Mrinalini has hardly matured as her attempted suicide is the result of another failed love affair. And the decision to not commit suicide is the result of a message from Chintan that informs her that he is coming to meet her. After all this, at the end of 2 hours and 10 minutes you should feel miserable for the character. All you end up feeling is miserable for yourself and for wasting 2 hours of your life.

It would be unfair to compare Sen’s recent work with other directors who have worked on similar concepts. Thus, I shall choose one of her works here. Sen has directed nine films till date and they have always given us poignant stories of women from different walks of life. These women have broken social norms and have led their lives on their own terms. The result of such a choice may or may not have been in line with their desires but they have had the courage to take that step.

Sen’s last Bengali film, Paromita-r Ek Din comes closest to Iti Mrinalini in its exploration of the dual themes of friendship and loneliness. Paromita, too flouted social norms in having an extra-marital affair, yet returning to her mother-in-laws bedside in her last moments. Nevertheless, one felt for Paromita and her situation. On the other hand, Sen does not give you enough pathos to feel for Mrinalini, except the point where she loses her daughter. That is possibly the only moment in the film when you are one with her pain and suffering.

Events happen too fast in Mrinalini’s life; too fast for the audience to connect with her. The only hint of struggle as a new actress is being turned down for a role she had been promised. There is no substantial reason or occurrence for her to fall in love with both her directors; almost like it’s a given that if you are working too closely with a person of the opposite gender, sparks are bound to fly and an affair is in the offering (wonder why I am still single!). It is Sen’s signature style to provide the lead character with that one character that provides him/her moral support and is not judgemental. Mrinalini has that person in Chintan but the exploration of Chintan is so thin that you never feel his presence until and unless pointed out. Sen made a wise decision in having Anjan Dutta dub for Rajat Kapoor’s role. I wonder why she couldn’t cast an actor with a real Malyalam accent instead of putting Koushik Sen ill-at-ease as a man from Kerala.

All seems like a forced effort to make you feel sorry for Mrinalini. A glycerine bottle, if you may!

Saying that Konkana Sen Sharma did justice to her role would be stating the obvious. Although, I quite did not understand the need to cast Ranvir Shorey as the cameraman for a few scenes and turn this into a family get-together! Was Sen’s grandson too a part of the cast?

Iti Mrinalini is most definitely an unfinished script.

BOLLYWOOD NEEDS MORE SHIT HAPPENING!

The much-awaited, much-hyped, much-talked about film from Aamir Khan Productions hit the screen on the first of this month. I finally got around to watching it by the end of this month. As they say, ‘better late than never…’

I had been hearing a lot about Delhi Belly from my friends. They all loved it; claimed it to be a total entertainer; a stress-buster. But I had my own reasons to watch this film.

a) An Aamir Khan Production

b) An Imran Khan film

c) The trailer did look confusing but intriguing

So finally on a lazy Sunday morning I decided to forsake sleep and go catch the first show of the day; not to mention the only show of the day.

To see the theatre full on a Sunday morning in Gold Class was quite encouraging. The lights went out and the film began.

Caution: this film is not meant for children and when I say that I don’t just mean that it is an adult film. I also mean that if you are planning to spend a day with your parents and treat them to a film, Delhi Belly should be an unlikely choice.

I have to confess that the film did have its light moments, at times even hilarious moments. It is not a clever comedy; it is a light entertainer. Please do not expect to find some profound insight into life while watching this film.

This is the story of three men, whom in the present day lingo we would define as losers. One is stuck in a loveless engagement, another is stuck in a mindless job and the third is just stuck! And they all land up being on the hit-list of a smuggler. Heard that story line before? Of course, you have! With all due respect Mr. Khan, as opposed to your claims, I can count a few other films that have the similar plot line – three losers running for their lives from a goon, end up realizing that they have been wasting their lives by meeting other peoples’ expectations and it is about time that they start living their own dreams.

Although it tried to be a multi-protagonist film, the focus was on Imran Khan. But the guy with the ‘delhi belly’ was Kunal Roy Kapur (remember the cry baby from Just Mohabbat!). So far so good! I don’t mind the protagonist’s friend suffering because he had tandoori chicken in a shady galli of Delhi. But I do mind when the entire act is turned into a farce and is used for nothing more than extending the humour and giving some extra time to the cute boy (read Imran Khan). The third friend, Vir Das (or the famous Indian stand-up comedian) simply seems to be stuck in the situation due to no fault of his own. Yes, you could say that it happens to all of us. We do get stuck in situations due to no fault of ours. But please, when you are watching a film that claims to be a entertainer and not a life-lesson, you don’t want to watch life happening on screen. Amongst all the mess, Poorna Jagannathan (this is her first Bollywood appearance) deserves a mention for pulling off her small screen role with a lot of style and panache.

Overall, a lot of threads started and ended without any rhyme or reason. Many characters and situations were nothing more than props. I am sure that Aamir Khan Productions could have found a better use for all those props.

Yet, I have to credit Aamir Khan Productions for two things:

1. Taking the risk to move away from family entertainers and social message films and making a youth-oriented, no-inhibitions film; and
2. Not promoting the film through Aamir Khan’s item number; instead marketing it based on the characters and the story.

In case, you are in the mood for a film that is not run-of-the-mill Bollywood, do go and watch Delhi Belly. If only we could have a few more bold films from our Hindi Film Industry and not pretentious super-heroes!

DEATHLY HALLOWS INDEED!

The hype was tremendous; the wait was long – a journey that began in 2001 was coming to an end after a decade. The Boy Who Lived was to face his arch-enemy, He Who Must Not Be Named.

I had already made the plans. I was to watch this grand finale with my brother. Calling him a Harry Potter fan would be an understatement, he is the living Harry Potter encyclopaedia. The date was set, the time was fixed, and the long queues had been tolerated and jumped to possess those two prized tickets before the screen flashed House-Full…OK! So the last bit just sounded dramatic; getting the tickets wasn’t such a task, just required an advance booking.

The moment finally arrived.

What a bummer! You are directly plonked into the middle of an on-going journey. If you have not read the books, you would have no clue what happened and why were you forced to witness a montage that was making no sense. Moreover, if you have not seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1, please do not bother to go for Part 2. The director did not feel the need to provide any introduction or connecting threads so that the parents, who had been tortured, blackmailed and threatened by their children to be taken for the final film, would not sit there in the darkness wondering why were they wasting two precious hours of their lives and spending their hard-earned money on buckets of popcorn and ice-filled cold-drinks.

A usual argument for many is that when a book gets adapted to screen, many details and parts need to be modified and edited for the visual medium. So I shall refrain from comparing the book by J.K. Rowling, which was a far more satisfying end to the series, and the film by David Yates, which left a lot to be expected.

For starters, here is a film that sends three teenagers on a life-threatening journey to track Horcruxes and destroy them in order to kill the arch-enemy of mankind, Lord Voldemort. So we have a host of characters, humans and ghosts, who are aware of the happenings and the locations and possess some secret knowledge but every one decides to stay mum till the last moment. Why? So that Harry Potter can be the hero. But was he really the hero? Neville Longbotttom, a non-entity and an unwanted side-kick to Harry through the last seven films; turns into a hero overnight. He is suddenly the leader of the group in Harry’s absence. It is Neville, not Harry, who kills Nagini, Voldemort’s pet snake and the last Horcrux.

I was always under the impression that Parseltongue (the ability to talk to snakes) was a special gift and not everyone was privy to it. Guess I was wrong! It was left to Ron to imitate Harry’s words that he had heard Harry speak in his sleep. Wonder how Ron understood Harry’s words and knew exactly what to repeat when down in the Chamber of Secrets?

Every source of film review boasted that here was finally a film that gave a lot of importance to the teachers and their individual powers. As I always felt that the teachers were grossly under-utilized in the films, this was an uplifting piece of news. Alas! Once again I was duped. The teachers had no more to do than they had in any of the other films. There is only one substantial scene where they all come together to protect Hogwarts and the scene does not last for more than two to three minutes in screen time. And suddenly the good turn in to the bad and are beyond judgement. Professor McGonagall, the ideal teacher, a guardian to the school rules, a protector of the students, sends the Slytherins to the dungeons. Ouch!

Lot of focus on Bellatrix Lestrange but a brilliant actress like Hellena Bonham Carter who was recently applauded for her performance in The King’s Speech is completely wasted in the film. She does not do much beyond looking dazed, scared and loony. The only substantial place for her to perform is when Hermione turns into Bellatrix and enters Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Rest is nothing to write home about.

Even after you have survived all of this, you possibly can’t survive the two sudden outbursts of testosterone when Ron and Hermione kiss in the Chamber of Secrets after destroying a Horcrux and Harry and Ginny kiss on the stairs when the entire school is falling apart around them. As if that was the only way to make the audience believe that these two pairs were actually couples. And if you are still not convinced then you have Ron running after Malfoy, Goyle and an unknown black boy shouting, “That’s my girlfriend you attacked, you nitiwts!” Funny, you say! Maybe, if you tickle me with hard!

What interests me most is the secret to young age that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Malfoy hold? The movie takes a 19 year leap when Ron and Hermione are sending their daughter to school and Harry and Ginny are there to see off their son. The director and the make-up artists did not feel the need to give any of these characters an older look. I wish switching from baggy jeans into a suit and from a sweat shirt into a dress really made you look 36. But the mirror on the wall does not lie. They do not look 36, no matter how hard they try. The casting director would have done better to look for mature actors to play the parts.

By now you must be wondering if there is anything uplifting about the film. There is, my dear friends! All is not lost; not yet. The film makes all possible use of technology to bring the wizard world and the mayhem alive. Ralph Fiennes as Lord Voldemort does complete justice to his role. Last but not the least, the film provides a lot of junior artists an employment opportunity.

All credit goes to the marketing team of Harry Potter for creating trailers and publicity material that actually got the film more eyeballs and mind space than it deserves.

The most awaited film of the Harry Potter series is making money based on all the hype but it fails to meet expectations. If you still want to experience the ‘saga’, a small word of advice – wait till they telecast it on Pogo or HBO (which should be soon)!

VISUALTHEQUE PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB

For all those who want to view the world through their lens, learn from the past and present masters and believe in the adage, ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’; VISUALTHEQUE has put together the VISUALTHEQUE PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB.

It is not just a place for serious photographers who want to turn their passion into their profession but also for those for whom the camera is a tool to capture timeless moments. Above all, it is a place for like-minded people to shoot, discuss, debate and agree to disagree regarding one of their favourite mediums of communication.

The first trip was to the immortal Kumortuli and the fun has just begun.

For more details, please contact VISUALTHEQUE so that you can be a part of the next heritage walk.

Write And Shoot The VISUALTHEQUE Way

Ayan Nandi (in the background) with Aditya Desai,
a participant of the Junior Photography Workshop

VISUALTHEQUE, along with SMART TREE, recently concluded a series of three workshops – two dealing in Photography and one in Creative Writing – successfully.

The series began on June 6, 2011 and concluded with a Grand Finale on June 12, 2011 at Café Mocha.

The Photography workshops were aimed at two age groups – 10-16 years and 18+; whereas the Creative Writing workshop was targeted at the young age group of 10-16 years.

The result of these workshops was a range of photographs and write-ups from a bunch of creative, intuitive and bright individuals.

Richa S. Mohta, Director, SMART TREE and also a participant of the Photography workshop said, “I had the pleasure of working with eminent experts like Ayan Nandi and Nilofer Sen as a part of the Visualtheque team. They are one of the most meticulous professionals I have come across. The opportunity to interact with them professionally and personally has helped me get an insight to photography and creative writing in a unique way. They are great teachers and the way they mould their teachings in youngsters and adults is commendable. They really germinated a great interest in the participants and instilled in them great love for photography and writing. Overall it was a great experience which will be cherished forever. I look forward to the next time we work together.”

The Photography Workshops were not limited to the technical aspects of photography and camera. The classes were structured to guide the participants to come up with better compositions and be more observant regarding the subjects of their photographs. In the words of Ayan Nandi, “No click is a random click. Something interests you and that is why you click. All you need to do is figure out what interests you.”

The participants had the opportunity of roaming the streets of the city of Kolkata and exploring different subjects through their lens. According to Aditya Shah, an enthusiastic participant of the workshop, “Ayan for me is a person who helped me understand the very fundamentals of photography in an extremely flexible way. The good part about the learning process (…) was that it was not strictly methodical in nature. It was a very spontaneous process based on the basic principles of photography (…) that set the foundation for us, on which, we eventually managed to build our own different stories through the language of photography. Such a building process was only possible because of the kind of creative freedom and artistic space that Ayan gave us (….) Overall it’s been an incredible journey to have worked under Ayan.”

Nilofer Sen (right) with the participants
of the Creative Writing Workshop

The Creative Writing Workshop encouraged young minds to express themselves in the written form – whether fiction or non-fiction. It aimed to make them more vocal about their thoughts and experiences and share the same with a large number of people. As per Nilofer Sen, “A writer is anyone who writes. So we all are born writers. The difference lies in good and bad writing.” The classes were structured around fun and innovative methods of generating ideas and turning them into short stories and write-ups. The Workshop was not limited to writing alone. It expanded to public speaking where participants were encouraged to verbally share their stories with their peers.

According to Vibhav Bhartia, a young participant of the creative writing workshop, “I did enjoy the classes a lot; the classes did help me. And I would like to attend similar workshops in the future hosted by VISUALTHEQUE.”

VISUALTHEQUE plans to host a series of creative workshops for both children and adults in the near future. For more information, keep an eye out for this space.

Raindrops Are Falling On My Head :)

When the heat becomes unbearable and the sun rays feel no less than laser beams, there is only one thing we all pray for - RAINS. Yet, when the first drop falls on our head, we run for cover.

Umbrellas atop our heads, raincoats on our backs and shelter under sheds - the one we waited for is finally here and we are playing hide and seek. Why?

Open your arms and welcome this visitor; let your soul get drenched.

With every raindrop return loads of memories. Those paper boats and the raindrop races on window panes; who cares if your mum is screaming her lungs out because you just avoided an entire street to step into that puddle, on purpose.

That lightning outside your window; hear carefully, the clouds are calling out to you, "Why so scared, why so doubtful? Break all bonds and walk into my open grounds. I am waiting - only for you!"

Kalidas made these rain clouds his messenger in Meghdoot - the messenger of hope to meet again, of that faint fragrance of love, of that memory of unforgettable moments. They carry colours in their bossom - the colour of a new beginning and that of the rainbow, the colour of the umbrellas and the raincoats. How far can you go; how long can you hide?

So no more running and hiding! Let the raindrops fall on your head and reach your soul and yearn till the next rain clouds appear.

Mon-er Maanush

From Delhi to Bombay (I still can't call the city Mumbai!) to London to Kolkata, it's been a long journey. Five years I have been willingly out of the house; five years I have been leading the life of a vagabond. Where is my home, you ask? Where my heart is, I say. Where is my heart, you ask? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...I have no answer.

The fact is that my heart longs to be in a place where every person who matters to me would be present. But let's face facts! It is next to impossible. All lead their own lives; all have their own priorities.

Since joining my friend in his dream - VISUALTHEQUE - today is possibly the second most important day in my life. The first was when VISUALTHEQUE signed its first contract. It wasn't a big project, but it was a project close to our hearts and it was a start. Today, because VISUALTHEQUE got its first cheque. And how many people do I have around me to share this and celebrate with? None; none except my friend and his mum. And the rest who make up my life are scattered. Thanks to modern technology, I have informed them all. Yet, I feel alone.

Sitting at a Cafe Coffee Day, sipping on a Mocchachillo, I have no one to share my excitement with and to see it reflected in their eyes. At the far end of the Cafe sits another man relishing a cake alone. Is he too celebrating or am I reading too much between the lines?

There are so many times when we quiz friends, "If you could ask for one thing, what would it be?" Some one please ask me that question right now; I know the answer.

Proud To Be A Woman?

Born on February 5, 1986, I am proud to be born in a progressive family that did not believe in female infanticide. I am proud to be born in a country where I have ladies like Sarojini Naidu, Rani Lakshmibai, Mother Teresa and Jhumpa Lahiri to look up to. I am proud to be born in an era where women are given equal opportunities as men. I am proud to be born a woman.

But I don't feel this pride when I walk down the road. On the contrary, I feel ashamed; ashamed of being born in a family that taught me to ignore the injustice being rendered to a woman, walk past it and have a sound sleep without any sense of guilt, ashamed of being born in a country that is addressed as 'Motherland' and yet one in every ten women walking down the road is a reported rape victim (the thought of the number of unreported rape victims makes me shudder in fear), ashamed to be born in an era that talks of equal opportunities in the same breath in which it gossips about a dowry death. I am ashamed of being born a woman.

Both I and my brother stay alone in Kolkata. Yet, my family is comparatively more worried about me because I am a girl-child.

I stopped at a shop today on my way back home. Another girl came to the shop as did two boys. In a matter of seconds, the girl became an object of sexual desire from being an absolute stranger. The only factor that stopped me from beating up the boys and reporting them to the police was the girl's refusal to lodge a complain. It seems that she did not desire trouble.

Was she entirely wrong in her approach? A legal system that makes me feel insecure instead of protected! After all, how many police-women do we encounter?

Women, for centuries, have stood at this crossroad, and continue to stand. On this side of the line they are mothers and sisters who are respected, friends who are loved and colleagues who are revered. On the other side of the line they are rape victims, dowry victims, objects of lust, use and disposal, mere bodies where the soul no longer resides.

And God save the woman who decides to break all rules on both sides of the line - she is the eternal bitch!

Why blame men alone? They are merely one side of the coin. Women, themselves, are no less responsible for their predicaments. A 'mother' teaches her son that men are born superior to women, a 'mother-in-law' immolates her daughter-in-law when she refuses to kill the goose that lays the golden egg, 'female relatives' hush up a girl's rape in fear of a scandal.

And all of this is happening all around me, every single day. But what am I doing about it, except write a few lines? Do I deserve to be proud to be a born a woman, much less a human being?

Indians At War

Living alone is an interesting state of being. One, I am forced to take care of the daily chores. And two, this enforcement gives me the privilege of experiences that would otherwise not be possible.

Collecting laundry at the end of the day, I overhear a conversation. Who brought India to freedom, who make better soldiers - Bengalis or Punjabis?

One gentleman fervently supported the brains of the Bengalis as the reason for them being better leaders. The other gentleman argued in favour of Punjabis because of their physical prowess. And a third gentleman, acting like the monkey between the warring cats, made a diplomatic case by stating that Bengalis gave the brains and the Punjabis used their strengths and both together fought wars.

Amidst all these arguments and counter-arguments, they forgot that who fought were Indians. And above all, they were human beings. But why blame these men alone? Haven't we all forgotten this small yet gigantic fact?

We didn't make the choice of being born a Hindu, a Muslim, a Jew, a Christian. Neither were we given the choice of the country, colour or race that we would be born to. But we were given the privilege of being born as human beings - apparently God's greatest creation. Are we?

With thinking brains and breathing souls each day we look for ways to create differences instead of bridging gaps. We sought ways of settling scores instead of making prayers.

I was recently watching No One Killed Jessica. Besides Rani Mukherjee's fervent use of abuses, there were two lines that stayed with me. Two soldiers being interviewed after the victory at Kargil War. One stated, "We kill by profession, not by choice." While the other confessed, "Chahe log humarein mare ya unke, afsos to hota hi hain." (Whether our people die or their's, it is always painful). Two lines of dialogue that seem extremely forgettable and yet they strike a cord of truth.

Do these soldiers choose to 'kill'? Is the pain any less in a Pakistani family than an Indian family when the dead body of a loved one arrives home wrapped in their flag? Are the tears different for a new bride, for a mother, for a child depending on their religion and caste?

Then what exactly were these men arguing about? Bengalis, Punjabis, Gujaratis did not bring us independence. Men and women with determination did. Those who joined Gandhi during the Dandi March, they did not follow a Gujarati; they followed a leader. Those who heard the call of Subhash Chandra Bose, heard the call of a revolutionary rather than a Bengali. When millions prayed for Bhagat Singh, the prayers were for a martyr and not a Sikh.

My grandfather served the nation. He was a flight engineer with the Indian Air Force. But never was he assigned to a mission because he was a Bengali; he was assigned to missions because he was a soldier.

CHAMPIONS

Last night India repeated history after 28 years. Kapil Dev brought the cup home in 1983 and after 28 years Mahendra Singh Dhoni brought back the glorious memory.

Every Indian, across the globe, felt the adrenaline rush when the Indian Cricket Team held the World Cup. But behind that victory stood hours of practice, hard work, fear, doubt, questions and ultimately self-belief and determination.

We keep calling cricket a religion in India. It isn't! Religion divides India and there have been enough examples in history to prove that point. But last night cricket was not just another game, it was a national event that brought the country together like nothing can; not even religion. It rose above gullys and field and coaching clubs and entered every Indian's body and came out as the cheering, the prayer and the celebration.

For men like Sachin Tendulkar, Virender Sehwag, Yuvraj Singh, Harbhajan Singh, Zaheer Khan and Ashish Nehra this victory was much awaited. Last time India reached the World Cup final in 2003, these men experienced what it means to have 'many a slips between the cup and the lip.' This time they fought not just for the cup but for their prestige.

And for the rest, there is no better feeling than being a part of history. Gautam Gambhir would not regret missing the century by just three runs. Neither would Virat Kohli cry over being caught and bowled. After all, these two men changed the course of a losing match before the Captain himself took centre stage and led the team to victory.

Last night what the country witnessed was not a sport, not a victory but a sense a belonging and a sense of being one nation; one entity.

I Say Potatoe, You Say Potato...

Language has always been a point of debate, literally, across the globe. And English seems to be the undisputed winner.

But does this mean that thoughts in other languages are not worth their while?

If that were true, then the world over people would not be reading literature in translation or watching films with subtitles. And this holds true not only for English literature and films, but also for World Cinema.

It is a little ironical to write in English about the importance of languages besides English. Maybe because English is widely accepted and understood. But it is not to say that other languages are not important. Any language that you think and feel in is important.

I don't know how would Albert Einstein, Fyodor Dostoevsky and Armand Peugeot fair in a TOEFL exam. Nevertheless, their contributions to their respective fields and the world cannot be thrown out of the window because their mother-tongue wasn't English.

English does not ensure a progressive thought process or genius. All it ensures is a better medium of communication.

Patricia Ryan: Don't insist on English! | Video on TED.com

Tanuja Trivedi weds Manoj Sharma

Tanuja Trivedi aka Tanu weds Manoj Sharma aka Manu...and they live happily ever after (at least we have our fingers crossed!).

Tanu weds Manu is not the most unique love story ever told on the Indian screen. Neither is it the most quintessential tale of two star-crossed lovers. Yet it is amongst the most entertaining things to hit the Indian screen in recent times.

Kangana Ranaut and R. Madhavan are the perfect choice for their characters and they do complete justice to the roles. The same can be confidently said about each performer in the film. They fit their roles to the T. The story does complete justice to the stereotypes of Delhi and U.P.

Yet, to be fair, I must say that the 'falling in love' seemed a little too forced. It felt like Tanu went through a guilt trip and fell in love with Manu. Not fair! It required a better build up to the love story. Jimmy Shergill felt contrived as did his entries and exits from the screen. And the end could have done without the melodrama. But then again we are talking Bollywood. And when did a family entertainer end without the glycerin bottle?

Having said that, I have an intense desire to meet the dialogue writer of the film. After long did a I hear lines that felt authentic and fun and not 'you better laugh because I think its funny' type. The uninhibited use of abuses and slangs made me feel that finally Indian cinema is starting to grow up.

This view would be incomplete if I do not mention the music and the audioscape of the film. There has been a brilliant use of Hindi film songs to evoke moods and emotions without the use of dialogues. I remember watching Inception and enjoying the fact that the audioscape of the film directed me to feel a certain emotion. At the same time I wondered why don't I hear more of similar work in Hindi films. Tanu weds Manu was an answer to that question.

This is what I call a slice of life tadka maar ke!

On The Road

Four months since my return to the country and life has already taken to the fast lane. From Ghaziabad to Kolkata to Bangalore and now headed to Pune. The journey with VISUALTHEQUE is proving to be one roller-coaster ride and, oh boy, am I enjoying it?

A year back all I had was my classroom and friends and a year down the line I am posting 'MY' company blog to my friends. A year that changed a lot of things in my life, personally as well as professionally.

My Mom always complained about my Dad being constantly on the move. She wished that her kids would be more 'stable'. Sorry Mom to disappoint you but I turned to be my Dad's daughter.

I have been on the road for the last five years, returning home occasionally. Not that I miss that city! If my family were to shift to any other city, I would never return to Delhi. What I do miss is a home. The need to be anchored is present in all of us and we are all on the lookout for our anchors. Some find it sooner than others.

My anchor is yet to arrive. Till then, I guess, its happy travelling!