hiya tuptap jiya nostal
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Autograph -- and friendships....
hiya tuptap jiya nostal
mithe kuashae bheja astin
ami bhule jai kake chaitam
r tui ka k bhalobashti....
This picture is an autograph in time. It captures a moment of our bonding between friends on a night when we became terribly alone inside after watching a film. We were afraid that our dreams may too slip away and we were sorry for all those dreams whch had already slipped ... We are friends.The three of us. Anusua, Shobhini, Amrita. I am more of Shobhini's baby and Anu's friend. Friends who participate in each other's lives and do not graze off the exterior of our daily existences. Each hour passes by and we wonder if we will lose this bonding, this trust, this faith and these moments after Presidency. Like Shubho did .... change beyond recognition. His relationship with his ideals, his principles, his friends, his girl ... all changed beyond recognition. But why did he have to change?
R evabei norom balishe,
tomar oi chokher nalishe
beche thak raat-pori der snan
thote nie beche thakar gaan.
R evabei mukher chadore,
porichito hather adorey,
The fairies dont stay forever, dreams change shape and mortify our deepest sleep into senseless coma stage. We give up our dreams to handle a reality we are not ready to face. We are scared of the world. We are scared to death by rejection and defeat. And that is normal. But is this paralysed condition normal? We have become so individualistic in the modern life that even life seems to be so strange. We have to peep in Big Boss's house to see the normal day to day home life, and the fake, purposely created problems inorder to realise that we atleast enjoy a camera-free status in the privacy of our homes. Even privacy is up for sale now. Reality show. The biggest Reality Show is life and we forget that behind some hoardings and television screens. Our lives have become a big cage now and we have entrapped ourselves by respectfully following trends and 'social norms'. Nobody remembers that society is something we build. Instead now it is something which is always already made for us. Who makes it? We dont know. Therefore Shubho-s have to get all worked up, tensed, anxious, nervous in fear of loss, rejection and make decisions which ruin them forever. The choice is always between ruins. Ruining gracefully and ruining harshly.
Orey machher lov-ey boga baka orey ural diya
phandey poriya boga kandey re.....
I could have crushed for Indraneil Sengupta, hadnt he turned out to be a loser at the end. It was just one choice. If not between wrong and right, if not between mind and soul, if not between idealism and rude practical life, then the choice was between pure common sense and stupidity. I mean, hello? who are you messing with? producer? THE producer? You are an ass enough to try to sell the candid confession of someone who is funding you? Who sells their raw private life for profit? Even the Roshans faked a Barbara-Hrithik affair for sale, it was fake!!! Could Shubho sell his girlfriends' private moments with himself for profit? Though he 'thought' about selling Arun-Srinandita affair, he was chicken enough to even go and tell Srinandita -- Hello Lady! I am your man and I love you and I dont want you seeing the producer. Simple! I guess it's difficult for all men to say that to their nymphs. Wonder why, though? Does it hurt their ego or do they feel vulnerable and exposed? Is love that unimportant for men? I was somehow hoping I could atleast be Srinandita in my imagination for Indraneil, but the very first scene and I am made to know, he smokes, he drinks (vodka, champagne,rum... bla bla... and he hates chicken). I quit Indraneil, I quit being Nandana.... As an afterthought, no wonder Shubho didnt like chicken, he was one himself and he drank his principles in a peg and smoked off his dreams in rings.
And of Srinandita and the "arshola, tiktiki, kumir couple" and my Presidency ....
Uthche jege sokal gulo
paash firey mon abar shulo
ebar tokey ador chokhe dekhbe se.
dekhbe damaal prem ki rokom
montro chharai jeleche hom
kapche alo, basbe bhalo sob seshe...
Prosenjit Chattopadhayay is unmatched. He remains as charismatic as ever. None, not even Soumitro Chattopadhyay has his reach into masses and his level of all-round appeal. This man is good at every role he does. From baatil movie to antel movie, this dude bags it all. Infact Prosenjit Chatterjee is a chapter in the bengali film industry. His role was so well played. Every bit about the man was so realistic. I loved seeing Rudraprasad Sengupta on stage. Another matchless actor. I have never seen a live theatre performance ever. If I could I would wish to see his acting onstage. Arun -- the making of Arun Chattopadhyay and the bricolage of his life. Arun the man who could never forgive himself. Can Shubho forgive himself? Can Srin forgive him ever? If relationships presuppose such rude breaking of trust and loss of a lifetime's love, I am better off single. Cant handle breakages. But again, am I really single? Dont all my friends, relations tie me in a love? Will I too,have to choose between love,ideals,happiness and great achievements? Shall I have to be lonely at the top? Shall I slip like Shubho between the should-do and the must-do? Its sad.
Tomar ei dumiyar jahpsha alo, kichu sondhyer guro howa kancher moto,
jodi urey jete jao tobey ga bhasiye dao, durbiney chokh rakhbona na na na...
Tomar rokte ache sopno joto, tara chhutche ratri din nijer moto,
kokhono somoy pele ektu bhebo, anguler fakey ami koi...
ei jahaj mastul chharkhar tobu golpo likhchi panch bar...
R chesta korchi barbar santre paar khojar....
After the film was over and we stepped out of Fame, it was almost 9. Kolkata was wet. It was a wet winter night and the dark skies were drizzling rain over the slippery roads. Wet Kolkata. Cold Kolkata. Wet dreams. Lost dreams. And three of us walking down the road in the rain towards Shobhini's home. The rain-drops wept on our heads, our shoulders and our feet. We walked through the quieter roads and silent rain. Mon kharaper bristi ....
priyo bondhur para nijjhum
chena chand chole jae rickshae,
mukhe ja khushi boluk rattir
shudu chokh theke chokhe dik shae..
pae ghum jae aka footpath
orey jochhonae mora plastic
ami bhule jai ka k chaitam
r tui ka k bhlaobashti....
Shobhini took the picture at a cosy moment and calls it her masterpiece. I call it her "autograph".