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Xan’s life changed forever. He didn’t change his path; he walked on the path that was meant for him.
Everything revealed slowly and transformed him and made him aware. Xan cared for Duma, loved Duma to an extent that he started understanding him completely.
Though he accepted it only at the last moment, he somewhere always knew that Duma deserves to live a free life.
The laughs, the games, the tears, the silent talks were soon going to be nothing but shared moments stored in an old box kept somewhere in the past.
All Xan knew was that he could open that box anytime and relive those memories – memories of his late father and his lovely friend, Duma.
Xan often thought about Duma and the time they said goodbye to each other. At first, he was skeptical, he thought Duma might be upset with him for leaving, but then, he realised that it was the right thing to do.
He closed his eyes and saw Duma’s eyes –big, beautiful, and alive. Xan was hit by a gust of wind which slowly tried to calm him down and stayed with him until he smiled.
He told himself, ‘Duma must be with his friends right now, going down to the riverside or maybe already there… relaxing under the shade.’
Duma is sitting on a tree branch, one of his friends is sitting nearby and the other one is strolling in the bushes, just like that.
The sun rays are not falling on Duma, but his eyes are shining nevertheless. He can see Xan.
Watch the trailer now –
While these questions circle uneasily in our minds, “Duma” creates scenes of wonderful adventure. The stalled motorcycle is turned into a wind-driven land yacht. A raft trip on a river involves rapids and crocodiles. The cheetah itself plays a role in their survival. And the movie takes on an additional depth because Xan is not a cute one-dimensional “family movie” child, and Ripkuna is freed from the usual cliches about noble and helpful wanderers. These are characters free to hold surprises in the real world.
Roger Ebert, the film critic.
Read his review of Duma here.
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Where are my colours? [Source – Pixabay]
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I was coming back. In the bus, people sitting attuned in silence, hypnotised to the bone, were no different from me until I looked outside the window with sleepy eyes, swaying without a reason. I wasn’t asleep. Whatever was passing was in a rush and I was in a deep slow-motion, so nothing matched.
A thought came to me and I started pondering over it. Gauged a bit about the thought and would have done more, written a few lines, but I forgot; whether I just forgot the thought or to pen down the thought or both, I don’t know.
It is really funny, the party lights seem to be dancing just because they are in a party. But in that sullen room where a solitary sullen bulb glows, no one dances. Rich place for getting scolded and for discussing the future. Who listens when the elders talk? Who listens when anyone talks?
My mind keeps running a never ending tape that I have to adhere to. Yet another thought that I wanted to work on, but I didn’t because of two reasons – I couldn’t find a pen and then I simply forgot to. Hah!
Could it be that while you are walking all alone, nothing changes in you, you are naively, accidentally, mistakenly moving with tranquility and when you are a part of a loud ‘what’s up-oh that-like really?’ crowd everything changes in you, you are then surrounded by absolute confusion and fear?
Changes that crawl and form a labyrinth inside, of which you stay completely unaware.
It can happen. I completely forgot that it can.
What I remember though is that I should make a card for my uncle and auntie. There is no occasion, but then cards aren’t meant only for some special, grand celebrations alone.
“Where are my colours?” Yes, I remember that and so one day I began. I half did it; learnt a good lesson though. Here it is in parts – 1) even if you are not a 10 year old, you can still spill water and make a fabulous mess and 2) (the best one) the comfort of your bed and using water colours is not at all a good combination.
Soon million tiny things around wage a war against you without even moving and you are certainly helpless. You’ll then not find the scissors, the only clean brush, pencil or eraser and as soon as you get up to take a stand, things fall and laugh at you.
My hands… they are muddy green and bluish… am I an alien?
Using water colours mean getting your hands dirty. Oh! This didn’t bother me when I was a kid. I very often made cards for all my friends, getting my hands dirty was never a problem. I guess, I just forgot this.
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The Poster of Pierrot Le Fou, a film by Jean-Luc Godard |
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| So happy! |
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| So excited! |
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| Pierrot, busy reading. |
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| This is what he was reading. |
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I enjoy my handwriting these days. Rough, crude yet in a smooth flow is what I can term this style of handwriting. Each letter in the alphabet and every word in the sentence appear to be living to the fullest.
The ‘I’s and the ‘E’s gleefully try to tell me a funny story but cannot stop beaming. And all the ‘T’s look so tranquil as if they know everything. The ‘W’s and ‘B’s are acting fancy for some reason, they happen to be doing the twist. The ‘H’s don’t seem to be any different, they look just as happy as they always did to me.
Really, every word gives an impression of being happy with itself.
I am not reflecting on the fact that whether my words are happy every time I write or not, because I am simply very glad that it did happen. Quantity doesn’t matter, quality does.
It has also got something to do with the writer’s relationship with her words, her style of handwriting, her ideas, her life. Every little moment of connection is worth cherishing. And why not, when we all give so much attention to the little things that irk us, little things that make us smile should also be acknowledged.
Pour down your thoughts and then read them, you will get an answer. Yes, that too without knowing the question.
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There is a key ring because there is a key, there is a key because there is a cupboard, there is a cupboard because I have things to keep, and I have things to keep because I think I need them…I think I need them because I think so…I have a mountain of material things just because of the way I think.
I keep adding my possessions to this mountain, mostly trying to show off its grandeur, forgetting that I am the one who is carrying it.
These possessions are shiny and majestic in a strange way, but every time I try to talk to them, they just stare at me ambiguously, neither do they move nor do they accept that they are dead…my not-so-dead possessions don’t talk to me.
Am I complaining? I thought I’ll take umbrage at the point that my possessions are not enough and stop. I took a step further and bought another cupboard and worshiped the zillion gods online; it took days multiplied by nights subtracted by three quality thoughts and finally, I got success…a new key ring, for my new cupboard’s new key…all the shiny things beaming shamelessly at me.
Gradually, the three quality thoughts multiplied and I started feeling the weight of the mountain.
The quality thoughts then converged and I was left with only myself; it was calm and quiet then. I felt light just like a feather and I was happy. I woke up and faced the reality.
I don’t have the keys to most of my cupboards, I lost them, dropped them…it would be nice to think that I did that intentionally.
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All we need is love…really?
I feel that more than love we need to have the ability to understand the loved ones in our life…we need to stop for a moment and see the other person without our preconceived notions.
I had this thought in my mind for a long time and I wanted to write about it. Recently, my dear friend unknowingly gave voice to my thoughts…and she did it so very beautifully.
What she has written is so true and accurate and apt to my feelings that I thought of sharing it with everyone else through this blog.
Here is what she wrote-
UNDERSTANDING
There are so many dimensions to each one of us, and the combination of all these dimensions results in our PERSONALITY. It is not something which can be pre-defined.
On the contrary, it is something which keeps on getting refined with every new day we face in our lives, through our varied experiences.
We all think that ‘Understanding’ is an inherent personality trait we all are born with, that once we reach a particular age and maturity level, we automatically attain the level of understanding we ought to.
But I disagree. Understanding, according to me, is the most difficult as well as the most significant emotion we possess.
More so, it demands a certain level of effort: the effort to put one into the other person’s shoes and think the way he/she does, and not according to your own mind.
Only then would one be able to ‘Understand’ the other person’s perspective. And this equips the individual with another beautiful emotion – Empathy.
This is the kind of Understanding we all demand from people we are close to, people we depend on, people we love, and majority of the times, they let us down.
Only because they think that they know us so well that they don’t even try for a split second to come out of their own selves and use all that they know about us to grasp things from our perspective.
We all have to always remember that nothing in this world comes for free: that for all important things, we have to invest our energies, either mentally, physically or emotionally to attain or retain something or someone in our lives.
May god bless everyone with this ‘UNDERSTANDING’.
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This post is inspired by the games these two mavericks are busy playing all the time.
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It was the Wonderland, Alice’s Wonderland, but she wasn’t there.
I felt very strange and thought of looking for her, but the very next moment this thought slipped away, dancing in front of my eyes and I stood there, smiling, I even said, ‘cheers’.
The tall trees were beautifully dressed in different shades of green, all of them together, creating a heavy and velvety canopy; mossy green sky with blue flowers and pretty birds singing sweetly all the time. Wonderland!
When I wished to walk and explore the place, the earth showed a fresh path to me, it whispered to me, ‘this way’, and so I hopped ahead.
To my right, an endless celebration of lights and colours captured my mind. Every time red and green merged and sparkling yellow joined the blue, I took a halt to witness the magic.
Once, while the magical colours were reveling beautifully, I heard someone calling me from behind a huge tree. It was a talking tree and its name was ‘Alive’.
Alive gave me a green leaf and asked me to put it in my purple bag. Only then did I realise that I was carrying a small purple bag. I did what Alive told me to do and moved ahead.
After that I met ten such trees – ‘Humble’, ‘Brave’, ‘Love’, ‘Mad’, ‘Pure’, ‘Kind’, ‘Dream’, ‘Courage’, ‘Wise’, and ‘Happy’ – they all gave me leaves to put it in my purple bag. Doing as told, I kept on hopping ahead.
When I danced, the leaves in the purple bag danced along and when I sang, they played music with me.
At night when the wonderland looked silvery dark, I sometimes cried, afraid to wake up and break the magic and end the wonderland journey.
The leaves in my purple bag cried along, the leaves were just copying me and their failed attempt always made me laugh. The leaves were my best friends now.
Years passed in a day while I was looking at a lotus flower near a moon-shaped pond, under a giant mango tree. And all these years, I just kept looking at the lotus flower and kept smiling. Lovely life!
A caterpillar woke me up from meditation and asked me to take a ride with him; he said he was tired but had to offer me a tour because of the tradition of the place.
I warmly accepted and sat on him, but he refused to move until I gave him a coffee cigarette. ‘Coffee cigarette?’, I thought aloud and told him that I have never heard about such a thing.
With a smirk he asked me to check my purple bag and so I did, to my shock, I found one beautiful, golden brown looking coffee cigarette in it.
Blushing red, I gave it to him, he lighted it up and soon I could smell rich coffee in the air.
And then the roller coaster ride started.
The caterpillar took me to different countries in a flash and then to the past and future, underwater and in space, infinity and beyond, through colours and lights, and when we reached the music station, I asked him to stop.
Every music instrument was playing, the waves in the air forced everyone present to dance to the beats; from samba to jazz, ‘ring-a-ring-a-roses’ to classical dance, I did everything.
I even got drunk, who can refuse a glass full of joy anyway? The rhythm lingers, as fresh as it can be, even now. My hands sometimes do the jingles on the table and my legs do the twist while walking.
I also remember attending a carnival, but what happened there exactly can’t be expressed in words. I have images in my mind and when I try to put them into words I end up painting and when I try to speak about it I end up singing.
The images are rich in colours and also smell of geniality. You must see them.
The journey was going to end, I knew it. The caterpillar said, ‘farewell’ and shook hands with me, leaving me alone with my purple bag.
On the rough road I walked ahead, dragging my purple bag that had surprisingly become ten times heavier than its original weight.
I sat on a funny looking rock to rest and started sobbing; a single drop fell on the ground and the place slowly started flooding with water. The rock didn’t sink, instead floated, funny indeed.
The rock took me to the shore and I was glad to see someone human. It was the Hatter.
He offered me some tea, but before I could drink the tea he asked me to sit and before I could sit he asked me to pass him the spoon from the far end of the table and before I could do it, he asked me, rudely, to go back from where I came, indicating a huge mirror with cursive letters as its frame, adding that he found me very lazy.
Astonished and confused, I took a step forward, suddenly the March Hare came forward from somewhere and asked me to let Alice go free.
He tried to snatch my purple bag and the Hatter joined him; I was winning until the Dormouse came there and tickled me. ‘Hurrah, hurrah’, they ran round and round the table, leaving the purple bag behind.
Magic happens thrice every day. Did you feel it today?
The eleven leaves came out of the purple bag and swirled slowly, then quickly, beautifully, and changed in a blinks time into Alice.
My eyes were full of happy tears. I wanted to meet Alice, she was smiling at me, and I wanted to talk to her about the wonderland. But that jealous Dormouse and March Hare came running towards me and pushed me into the giant mirror.
I saw Alice holding the Hatter’s hand, she said something to me, but I couldn’t understand it clearly.
Either she said, ‘Laugh and look up-up-up’ or ‘Pancake chocolate syrup-up-up’. Does it make any sense?
I’ll have to stop and think so that I can decode it and write and paint these words again and again.
What you said Alice sounded so sweet and true… I am sure I am on the right track.
With the vibrations of Alice’s words still alive and so many green leaves around me, am I out of or still in the Wonderland? I am crazy enough to know.
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Sujata – The Voice of the Unheard
Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam – A tale of role-reversals and downfalls
Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi (That which moves is called a car)
Mrinal Sen’s Aakaler Shandhane (In Search of Famine)
La Strada And The Round-Faced Clown
Sherni – Even in the dense jungle, the tigress knows her way.
Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Essentially Gold, The Lavender Hill Mob
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Regina Spektor’s Musical World – Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V
Of Monsters and Men and This Journey
The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell, You and Me
The Answer Is Blowin’ In The Wind
The Wonderful Mr. Tambourine Man Song
Weather Forecast Says Listen to George Ezra
The Choir and Their Toads Sing ‘Double Trouble’
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
