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I Was Born But…

Short Review

Keiji and Ryoichi.
[Source – UCL Film Blog]

Keiji comes running to his elder brother Ryoichi and tells him about the bullies. Ryoichi, a great son of a great father, stands up and assures his brother not to worry. Keiji trusts Ryoichi. They can handle the bullies, they are confident. The next morning their father walks with them half way to the school and then leaves for office. Keiji and Ryoichi, near the school gate, find the biggest boy amongst the bullies challenging them. They then look at each other, deciding with a nod what they should do. They run away and don’t attend the school that day.

Yasujiro Ozu’s ‘I Was Born But…’, a 1932 silent film, will remind you of your childhood, the challenges you faced as a child – winning some and losing some, the faith you had in someone great and the dream of becoming someone great. Children’s world comes in contact with the adult’s world. The innocent child doesn’t understand hierarchy or hypocrisy, though he understands power as he finds it in his world as well; power to not to be bullied, power to bully the bully, power to be the group leader.

How in the adult’s world dreams become unreal, fantasies die and realities are numbered, given a name, a social status and bit by bit life is compromised, is what we see in the film, but from the children’s point of view. Children are lively and so is the film. Its comical timing is fantastically perfect. Slowly with the shifts from this to that world, the tone changes, yet maintaining the rhythm throughout.

Keiji, Ryoichi and their father, Mr Yoshii.
[Source – IMDB]

Understanding anything, anyone is a tough job, some fail to and some refuse to do it altogether. This film takes up this job and finishes it successfully, understanding the child’s dilemmas, beliefs, hopes and displeasure, understanding the adult’s demeanor and how they accept a denouement, understanding the familial ties and the need of tuning it, understanding the melodies of life and how it makes everyone laugh all the time.

Ryoichi, Taro and Keiji.
[Source – Wikipedia]

An amazingly marvelous film, it must be watched by all those who want to feel the magic of cinema. ‘I Was Born But…’ is one of my favourite films of all time. It is introduced as ‘a picture book for grownups’ and rightly so. The fact that it’s a silent, black and white film doesn’t make it a difficult watch at any point rather this masterpiece flows so wonderfully that colour or sound seems redundant.

All you have to do now is to watch this film, appreciate and thank Yasujiro Ozu for making this superlative work of art.

[Source – IMDB & The Criterion Collection]

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In This Infinite Moment

Posted on September 13, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Breathlessness End For Now In This Infinite Moment Quiet Running Voices

Flash Fiction

Running… Heavy rain has made it more fulfilling. Only the breathlessness accompanies. Running like there is an end.

Running… I throw the jacket away. Running in the woods, hoping to escape somewhere in this infinite moment.

Running… Eyes shine bright, but nothing is clear. Slowly, the speed becomes visible. Running fast I hear the voices within.

Running… The voices overpower me effortlessly. I rub my eyes only to make it worse. I fall down. I cry, shout loudly as I remember.

Earth is cold, but I rarely feel so.

Sitting, I look all around. Loneliness seeps inside.

Who said I understand it better now, no, I don’t. I have just agreed to be quiet. For now.

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Abracadabra On This Independence Day

Posted on August 15, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Abracadabra On This Independence Day Booker of Bookers' Prize Winner Folklores India Magic Realism Midnight's Children Salman Rushdie Storytelling

Book Review

Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I’ve gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each ‘I’, every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you’ll have to swallow a world.
Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie

A deluge of emotions, of past eras, of destined ends, of old knots, of shared hopes, of what is remembered and forgotten, of the less and the more, Midnight’s Children is a fantastically chronicled piece of magnificent writing.

It’s indeed like swallowing a whole world, with all its shades very much alive, which then settles and dwells within.

Nothing is left unnoticed, not even the dust, which covers everything, every surface, smooth or quiet, elegant or wasted; a glance that speaks volumes in seconds, a sweet fragrance that reminds of childhood holidays, a dream that knows no boundaries, a feeling of connection with history, with past present and future, an immortal bond, no, nothing is missed out.

Or is there? If it is then this makes it nothing but more human. From the very beginning, it’s not a book, but Saleem Sinai, the person that you get to know closely, brazenly, truly.

Midnight’s Children is as magical as reality is and as real as history tells magic is and historical in a magically real manner that truly shows the reality as magically as possible keeping in mind and yet breaking the rules of history.

Indian folklore, the oral tradition allow one to fully believe in this midnight’s magical tale. Born in a momentous time period, Saleem’s future gets tied to his country, to history.

And right here, we get ready for, by default, a dramatic turn of events – it is all implausible, but nothing that our Mahabharata and Ramayana aware mind cannot follow. An epic journey heightened by allegorical twists and unprecedented turns is delightfully accepted by us.

Midnight’s Children is surely a unique experience that could be matched only if you meet Rani of Cooch Naheen holding a silver spittoon, inlaid with lapis lazuli, who then asks you to try the paan-eating and spittoon-hittery or if you get a chance to talk to any of the midnight’s children or if you hear Jamila Singer singing or of course, if lucky, you meet the Buddha.

I have a second-hand print of Midnight’s Children that my brother bought in Kolkata; it has the appearance of a lone traveller, with a green tin trunk, that now wants to tell the tale of its travels. I’ll keep returning to it, for it is magical.

With Midnight’s Children, the Booker of Bookers’ prize winner (1993), said the critic VS Pritchett in the New Yorker, “India has produced a great novelist… a master of perpetual storytelling.” Absolutely true!

On this Independence Day, I think of the magnificent Salman Rushdie and the wonderful Midnight’s Children and that why Salman Rushdie faced life threats and had to leave India and settle abroad…

For how long will the celebrations of Independence go on? After the freedom from British Raj, what about the freedom from inequality? Inequality, thanks to the establishment, has been established everywhere in the world – the black versus the white, the book versus the idol, the rich versus the poor with the middle ones playing seesaw – still it doesn’t mean that it should continue.

Respected Salman Rushdie Sir, you, writing in a foreign land is far better than you in India in doubt. The fantasy and macabre lovers that we earthlings are, stories will alone survive; it is definitely the most needed art form in every century.

Your stories, much-awaited, have and will cross boundaries that physically might not be possible for you.

Thank you in general. And if you happen to meet the Midnight’s Children anytime soon, please ask them to do some abracadabra.

The one eyed magician won!

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Friend Anything For You Except The Green Umbrella

Posted on August 7, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Fog Laughing My Friend Rain Raincoat Spooky Umbrella Walk Ahead Together

Flash Fiction

**My funky umbrella that I forgot in a bus and so I had to buy a silly raincoat.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

It’s a foggy day and I am walking to somewhere all alone, carrying a green umbrella pendulum-like. Rain shower won’t stop me. The blinding whiteness won’t scare me. I check my watch, it assures me time is good.

Hearing footsteps following me, I try to hasten, only then I realise it is no one, but me. These gumboots I tell you. It is all very funny, but still I cannot take a chance to laugh aloud.

Never knew the fog could trick. The fresh green plants and giant trees that till now looked painting-like, now seem spooky.

Suddenly I hear fresh footsteps running from a direction towards me. Numbly I tell myself don’t move, still I turn and find someone in a funny raincoat running towards me.

Then a voice, “Smarty pants, give me back my umbrella, don’t want this silly raincoat of yours’. It is my friend Marcia. I smile and say, “But you look good in it.”

We fight and then laughing aloud walk ahead together.

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Nataraja

Posted on July 20, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi All Bliss Cosmos Journey Life Maya Perfection Shiva Nataraja the Lord of Dance The Cosmic Power Time Universe

Coverage

**The Nataraja!**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

A static symbol of the dynamic universe, an illusion, Maya, moving rhythmically, revealing in an instant the unfathomable divine, the perfect balance that creates, preserves, destroys, incarnates and liberates, the Nataraja, performing the ultimate dance, is a magnificent work of art that reflects the cosmos – the beginning and the end of the cosmos, the music of the cosmos and the soul of the cosmos.

The Nataraja sculpture represents all – the destined journey, the tragic fall, the glorious victory, the dance in time and timelessness, the poise and elegance, overwhelming stillness, reverberating brightness, brilliance, power and enlightenment. In a single spectacle, it shows what was, what is and what will be.

**Blissful perfection.**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

Shiva Nataraja, the King of Dance, dances on Apasmara, a dwarf, crushing not him, but his ignorance, forgetfulness and limited vision of self, hence freeing his soul from bondage. Four armed – with Agni (flame) to demolish in one, with Damru (drum) playing the tune of time in second, making the Abhaya Mudra (the sign of fearlessness) in the third, thus bestowing power to be without fear, and the fourth in the Gahahasta (elephant trunk) Mudra signifying supremacy over ignorance – Nataraja is the embodiment of all the vigorous flux in the outer world and the serenity in the inner world as he dances the dance of bliss, Ananda Tandava, continuing the harmony of life and death in the cosmos.

Prahabhamandala, the arch of flames within which Nataraja dances, is the manifest universe, making the cycle of birth and death, burning with sufferings and illusions, apparent.

Also, a ring of consciousness that is in agony as it’s blinded by temporary ideas, unaware about the permanent dance of bliss. Oblivious of the Kundalini Shakti (the cosmic power) – that the cobra around Nataraja’s waist represents and is believed to reside in all – the unconscious mind walks cyclically.

Lotus flower, representing the creative power of the universe, forms the pedestal on which the Nataraja dances, celebrating in full zest the dance of true freedom.

Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, the Nataraja does a dance that occurs ceaselessly in every atom, sending waves in the cosmos, waking everyone from the dream world to witness reality and truth, destroying the phantom world full of phantom pains.

Neutrality and peace on Nataraja’s face – the One dancing in frenzy – mirrors the magic of the master who dances within the universe of illusion, but stays beyond that universe. In a palpable language, the Nataraja declares the way the soul can rise from its bonded life and with equality seeping within, can see and participate in the cosmic dance.

**Wall relief of dancing Shiva at cave temple no.1 in Badami, Karnataka, India.**
**[Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

This marvellous sculpture amalgamates supreme power and action with absolute bliss and beauty, radiates the delicate balance of the cosmos and magnifies the close connection between the One and the many. Nataraja, Mahakala (the Lord of Time), with continuity and change flowing throughout becomes an opportunity to understand the sublimity of Maya and work a way out to reach the immutable Presence.

The Nataraja is excellence. Meditating on it is achieving its essence. Its essence is pure excellence.

**Shiva Nataraja, the Lord of Dance at CERN, the European Center for Research in Particle Physics in Geneva.**
**[Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created visual images of dancing Shivas in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.

Fritjof Capra

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Now Is Forever

Posted on July 4, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi At Least Till I am Breathe Humming Mountains Now Is Forever Question Stone Steps Truly Walking Ahead

Observation

**Breathe and know the now.**
[Image by Jonathan Reichel from Pixabay]

Walking ahead, though the past was slightly askew, she unlearned many things for good, sighing and laughing at her funny plans, she heard the silence completely and asked herself to stop feigning.

Tiresome, but still hopeful, she accepted the confusion. Forgetting fear on the way, she dreamed about the mountains with her eyes wide open. Dense fog passed by, saying nothing, approving nothing, just making her smile a little.

The tall pine trees reverberated with continuity and change, thus affecting her. Rocks, stones, pebbles all are very jolly, she wrote in her notebook.

And now she sees the stairs. The question arises… not whether she will or will not, but how truly. Walking, but how truly?

This is to be realised on the way, she tells herself.

Stopping, as her mind was moving too fast, she breathed… the air deftly hushed her talkative self and so she listened… listened truly, completely.

Now is the time to live, now is the time to act, now is forever, at least till I am.

Point taken, she walked ahead humming a soft tune.

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Opposite the Nadir

Posted on May 28, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Faint I Igneous Journey Mind Opposite the Nadir Shadow Sound Walking Whimsical Wind

Short Lyrical Prose

**White cloudy raga plays… and I am still walking.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The igneous surface I am walking on has a tremendous sound stored in it, but in a dense state so that the land appears dead.

The colour is thick black; it stains me anew with every step that I take, entering breath by breath within.

Smog-heavy mood, like heavy chains, has made me hunchbacked. Hollow quietude stays along, walking next to my faint shadow.

I utter nothing, nothing at all – all noise is of the wind; the wind ruffles around greasily, overwhelming me with dullness.

The mind is whimsical, I tell myself after some days’ journey; I continue ahead.

Where to, I ask, am I going?

That was the last I heard from myself.

But I am still walking, walking towards what lies opposite the nadir.

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Nazo’s Simple Magic Trick

Posted on April 14, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Believe Clouds Cute Dog Fabricated Flowers Kohl Eyes Life Magic Nazo Simple Stories Trick

Flash Fiction

**Nazo, busy reading the flowers (she loved this exercise, it made her “fuller”, that is what she said).**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Nazo believed in magic. While the stories about djinns and fairies and magic potions made her wonder, the everyday sundry experiences also left her mesmerized. She was a simple person who felt special about simple things like the sun peeping out from behind the dark rainy clouds.

I told her once a sad story, intentionally, I wanted her to cry. It was a made-up tale about a little dog that lost its way home and died of starvation. Before I could make it sound more pathetic, I saw tears in Nazo’s eyes. Mission accomplished, thought I, until Nazo did something magical.

She asked me about the dog and I fabricated the cute brown dog, with black ears and kohl eyes. Suddenly, Nazo jumped up and started clapping. She told me to follow her and we both ran down to old Mr Tolkien’s house. What I saw there was as mysterious and as astonishing as a miracle.

Nazo went ahead right into Mr Tolkien’s garden and brought a cute brown dog in her arms, it had black coloured ears and kohl eyes. She announced that Mr Tolkien found the starved dog yesterday near the abandoned park and brought him home.

While coming back, I, filled with a concoction of emotions (specifically foolishness), told Nazo the truth; that it was a fake story and I meant only to make her cry because of her utter belief in magic in life suffocated me. Nazo laughed at me and didn’t say a word. She then hugged me, if I remember correctly.

After a few days, Nazo gave me a card (she loved making cards), a lovely one with colourful flowers and bright butterflies. She had written a few lines inside, apart from wishing me a happy day, that I can never forget; it read, “Magic is real for me, maybe because I try to see things from the earth’s point of view – a beautiful blue-green lonely planet – something magical is happening for sure”.

Since then, I too have started to believe in magic.

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There’s a Zebra Who Calls Me Kevin

Posted on March 29, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Crowd Mutual Help My World Paradoxes Punditry There's a Zebra who calls me Kevin

Literary Nonsense

Hello Kevin!

You refuse to follow the crowd and you avowedly disregard the art of punditry, the rancour and anger veiled, disappears when you see it with your inner eye, the contradictions choose not an easy hyperbolic, but a converging simple route and the paradoxes recognise their nature whenever you sit in absolute bliss, and renunciation takes you from the known to unknown, inexplicable, irrefragable, immutable.

Kevin, I think you can, but you will not act directly. Otherwise, what is the point of my journey?

Farewell Kevin. I’ll memorise what you said to me that day, ‘it is a world of mutual help and struggle’. And in my world, I am to engage myself totally.

**The Zebra who calls me Kevin** **looks just like this one.**
**Image by Erich Röthlisberger from Pixabay**

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Deconstruct What Is Repeated

Posted on March 22, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Deconstruct What Is Repeated Dreaming Forgetfulness Good Luck Ideas Life Mind Story Vibrant Wallflower

Introspective Prose

Phenomena Endless Quest 1992 by Paul Jenkins
acrylic on canvas 66 x 74 inches 167.6 x 188 cm
Private collection, Taipei. [Source – pauljenkins.net]

And I almost always forget. Sigh! Not that whether I am going forward or backward, is it the oblate spheroid earth or vertical me, the flowing time or the following life, the dream within dream or the dreamy me… but the funny fact that I have gone through all this before, in different measures, small degrees, little proportions and reflected on quite often.

Still, I simply, pleasingly forget.

Then things repeat, without my knowledge. Lucid ideas shine through and bring sense back to this life. Life! Surely very confident of itself, life is. Just look at the way it is happening.

Living an usherette’s life, I watch my story playing in every other story. A happy wallflower, that’s how confident I am. Dashingly, entering the stage in my mind, I take over. The glee moment, ideas collected elegantly.

Reality is not a plain horror story, it depends… just like senility is not only for aged, but it depends.

Oh! I mean, let us pick five memories and analyze all very humbly. Then watch a classic black and white movie and read a ‘must-read-before-you-die’ book, all very scrupulously.

Also, travel to a place never been before, pick it directly from your bucket list. Great!

After doing all this, surely vicariously for now, a tremendous clarity falls on the point I have been trying to make.

Life and the happenings, routine feelings and memories, hard hitting failures and mild successes, dreaming-trying-acting-dreaming and in the end, facing the underlying theme vibrant in every direction, almost deafening once observed, right?

No! What! No? Fine, am sorry, then forget it.

But, please, at least, try to deconstruct what is repeated in your life. That is all.

Good luck!

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