Saturday, January 28, 2006

Watch Rang de Basanti

Rang de Basanti is a good movie. A movie with a heart. A movie that will make you laugh a lot and allow you a tear or two. A movie with excellent music and great cinematography. A movie edited well. A movie where the roles of atleast 15 characters is well-developed, well-thought and well-defined. It is not without flaws, but it is the number of winners, that tilt the balance in a game. It is not a ace, but well thought Winner.

This is a coming of age movie. I love the movies and novels that open with one point of view, one life style, and then the narrative, the small events alter both the world and the person into becoming something else, someone better. A British grad-daughter comes to India to shoot a movie on revolutionaries and must work with a gang of students who have only 'fun' on their mind, and are, like most of us, totally disgusted with the system. Disgusted such that the stars of freedom struggle have started to fade in our memories, disgusted such that we keep on living our lifes cutting out our morals and ambitions to 'adjust' to the world around us. This is a movie, where such individuals discover their redemption, their lifes true meaning and agenda through the documentary being shot by a foreigner. This is most I will say in the review, without divulging anything much about the story.

Amir Khan has for nearly two decades shown a caliber that he utilizes extremely well to essay the role of DJ in the movie. His friends, Soha and Alice are all fit their roles well; former essaying her first role worth remembering; latter looks believable and must have worked hard to do her part this well. Siddarth, Sharman and Kunal are quite a revelation, Atul Kulkarni brings his celebrated fervor into the role of a saffronist, while Mahadhvan essays his short performance nicely. The presence and performance of Waheeda Rehman, Om Puri and Kiron Kher in all the screentime they have is powerful and poignant: they are really accomplished actors and each in his/her role leaves a memorable impact.

One of the most likable aspect of the movie is that the songs are woven extremely nicely, and they appear at the most appropriate moments. Lata's voice and moment it comes is bound to make many cheeks wet, and both AR Rahman and the lyricist Prasoon Joshi deserve kudos for wonderful songs that span the movie. The director, Mehra has done a good job, and Prasoon Joshi is impressive in dialogue writing as well. Uttered in very comtemporary style, the words will go well with audiences all over India.

Its a movie about the youth, for the youth. It is in some respects like Yuva, perhaps only better. The humor, especially scenes involving Aamir, are incredible. The shots of Punjab as well as Delhi are beautiful. The controversy about MiGs is an integral part of the movie, and rightly so, it must be there to emphasize how we have allowed so many brave pilots to lose their lifes in these planes that are either not maintained properly, or need to be decomissioned for the safety factor. The movie does ask some very good questions, and that I guess is the biggest strength of the movie. A movie where people clap around a dozen times during the performance and end the movie with a thundering applause, my friends, needs to enjoyed in the hall.

Go Watch it. I think I will be watching it again soon. It deserves another applause and ovation.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

A verse on skin

Under revision
Offline indefinitely

An ode to my love!

A poets dream
Paragon of innocence
A thought beyond comprehension
The Beauty's essence
Heaven my world becomes
In your divine presence.

I owe to you
My affections true
What passions pursue
Reason admires too
I love you
Please say, if you too.

Written in Summer 1999,

(Part of A Poet Gone Cuckoo,
a novel in verse I finished in July 2000)

Friday, January 20, 2006

A poet's lament

Background: You might have heard that a woman or love drives a person to poetry. In my case, I discovered my love for poetry before I found her, or love, or any woman for that matter. While all my friends tell me, that my mastery of language and my poetic skills can win the heart of anyone I pursue, I find myself cursing my ability to compose verses. Life is seriously turning out to be tangent to the curve of my expectations. Meanwhile you have fun savoring this poet's lament!

She smiles and shrugs off
my compliments and praise.
She argues she believes not
whatever a poet says.

She says, 'Your words please
for you've mastered your craft;
You can dazzle them all
but won't aflutter my heart.'

She colors red with my paeans
yet whispers, 'its about okay;
Rather sentimental for my taste (winks)
use it on another, another day.'

I presist, I insist, I swear. I sweat.
Amused she advises, "Don't be so rattled."
I could redraft words if she was unsatisfied
but her lingering doubts cannot be battled.

When I pronounce her a beauty
She quips, 'You're out of your mind.'
My most sincere comments forever
her most resolute dismissals find.

She has her doubts. But I know.
She's tacit, secretive. But I show.
I'll make her believe one day, I will
She cannot make me give in. I vow.

I say, 'You're like a mountain stream.'
She contends,' Oh! I make so much noise?'
I urge, 'Its a similie, means you're as fluid, as exciting'
She concludes, 'Ouch! I'm just water, sans taste, sans poise.'

I remark, 'Even your toes deserve a poem.'
She retorts, 'Stop, I know where its going.'
I avow, 'I meant it just as a metaphor.'
She announces, 'This flattery, is your undoing.'

I sit quiet. She probes, 'Are you on a diet?'
I make faces. She smiles and says graces.
In simplest words, I restate what I think about her
She chuckles, 'Now I am even a bigger doubter.'

What use are my words, if none are for taking
Why must I scribe verses, if its considered faking
Give me my lord, a stammer and a lack of vocabulary
Or words that to my precious, bear my meaning.

Its not my fault, if she merits my admiration
I stand by all I say, I'm ready for examination
I choose my words exactly for what they mean
Accuse me of inadequacy, but not of exaggeration!

Vivek Sharma
Jan 19, 2006
00:30 am

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Pink Floyd's Coming back to life (Division bell) TRANSLATED

Punah jeevit honay ka

kahan thi tum, jab tha mein toota, jhulsa
jab khirki se dektay huay har din gujra
kahan thi tum, jab tha mein ghayal, bebass
kyunki joe tum kehti ho, karti ho, mujhe hai ghere
jab tum kissi aur ke shabaday se thi judi hui
marti si, joe sunti, ussay maan-nay ko taiyaar
mein tukur tukur tha dekh raha tha jaltaa sooraj!

soch mein khoye, waqt mein khoye
jab jeevan aur baldao ke boye jaa rahe thay beej

bahar gir rahi thi barish, dheemi, bhyaawah
jab thi meri soch khaunaafnaak par
maine ek khamoshi ki swargik sair ki
maine jaana ki lamha aa gaya
bhoot ko maarnay, aur Punah jeevit honay ka

maine ek khamoshi ki swargik sair ki
maine jaana intezaar shuru ho chuka
aur mein jaa bhida... jalta sooraj se!

Coming back to life

Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of live and the seeds of change were planted

Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but
I took a heavenly ride through one silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride trough our silence
I knew the waiting had begin
And headed straight... into the shining sun

PS: Its sacrilage I know:(, but I wish we had similar songs in Hindi!

Monday, January 16, 2006

Random transcontinental thoughts

It just occured to me that every Indian girl that I had once thought I was in love with or could fall in love with has
a) got engaged or married
b) told me atleast a hundred times that I am a nice guy, and I will make someone really happy (dunno why but they all agree on someone else)
c) told me that I must continue writing poetry and send her a copy when I get published (all are freeloaders in this regard, though I suspect they just want to check if any poems written for them feature in the collection, just to figure if I gave my best shot I guess)
d) beautiful eyes, but a lack of singing ability (next one will be asked to sing before I look at those eyes)
e) doubted at least once that my muse for the poem composed for her must have been someone else (I guess they thought the poem was too good to be true)
f) asked me when will you graduate? (to show they care, when in fact they never cared enough)

I like American women. American women love cats and dogs. Unfortunately I belong to neither species.

In fact, thinking about american women, I have figured I always end up prefering
a) blondes over brunnettes (maybe golden hair seems more exquisite)
b) beauties with no taste for Rock Shows (American and yet they don't like any American Music I like)
c) hopeless romantics, stuck in wrong buildings doing romantically hopeless stuff!
Each one among them eventually vanishes into some well known city with periodically changing boyfriends, and I feel happy that I don't feature among their endless ex-list; which obviously does not prevent me from remembering them kindly.

I like Chinese woman, as long as they don't utter a single chinese word; most falter within minutes of my meeting them. The ones I liked, unfortunately, were either:
a) Married
b) Not chinese, but Taiwanese or Korean or Malaysian
They are not that nosy, and don't have much to frown with, but I cannot stand the historical and geometrical difference we have had with them.

Of course, I will mention European woman; they interest me immensely. They make perfect conversationalists; invariably they do so with their boyfriends hanging about in a small distance. Usually there is more than one in the vicinity.

The South Americans can set any heart abuzz; mine is no different. Thanks to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I know all about their magical realism, much of which scares me more than it fascinates me and thanks to Neruda, I cannot impress a single one with whatever poetic talents I possess!

I don't like Australian females; I have never known any. Judging from Fosters, kangaroos and their cricket team, I don't think I will ever like any.

Which brings me back to Indian females, for one among them must be sitting in some dreamy state somewhere, hoping that the guy of her dreams will be this or that, will take her here or there, will earn a lot or a lot more, will be handsome or dazzling, will be reasonable and loving. I hope she is learning to make awesome tea already, has patience to hear more verses than English Poetry Professors read in a lifetime, can survive, like me, on hopes and dreams, and most importantly loves chaos I bring with me. Else, I guess I will look myself and this time give up all hopes if she shares any qualities with the aforementioned cases.


PS: No women were hurt in writing this blog. The only hurt remains with your truly, and he is currently using that to compose love letters to impress and impersonate fools of every possible kind.

Unusual Love Letters II

Dear -----,

Do you
we can
same future
love, life

Do you
we two
all qualities
like, dislikes

Do you
flared passions
love letters
for happiness

Do you
our admirations
outlive any
we may

Do you
me to
my words
fade away,

Do you
me to
happily and
you, dear

Do you
more time,
better words,
revelations, prophecies

Do you
cherish hopes
that I
put on

Do you
feel ecstastic
afraid, shocked
by my

Do you
my love?
our choices
be together

Jan 16, 2006

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Unusual Love Letters: I

I would have really fallen
in love with you
I swear, no shit;

But my damned self, can
you believe it what the
hell I am talking about;

My damned self is too
uptight, too afraid
of another heartbreak
and eventhough your eyes
are this constant torment
and your words, aargh!
just cut through me
and I savor each moment
spent with you;

I guess I never made it
all that obvious to you
for I cannot let you
take away these joys;

for more than a knowledge
that could ruin our worlds
I prize this ignorant joy
that chokes me, kills me;

and makes me feel
like a bird that having
just learnt to fly, fears
that if she were to perch
she would lose the ability
to be in the sky again;

and I have a hole in my heart
this bleak, black hole of the past
that seeks to suck in
even my future brilliance;

and I don't know for sure
but I think passions can
really ripe and fall like mangoes;
the ripe alphonsos I do like
but thats not the point
I was trying to make;

No matter how I hide
or say it, it stays the same
bloody, damned thing
that I would have fallen
in love with you but
I guess it would not have
worked quite that well as
we both are like two migratory birds
of different species, stuck on
an island together, by these
bloody, conspiring destinies
and howsoever much we may
like each other
only our differences can hatch
and their chorus will be maddening;

our disparities will embitter
the taste of your lips,
the taste, I guess, could have
made me mad or immortal;

but as I was saying, our
spring seems short
and autumn could have been endless
though of course, love could have
changed it all or maybe
it has already altered the course
of our hitherto parallel existences;

I guess I will wear you down
with all these buts and ifs
these doubts and debates,
for I haven't asked you
if you would have fallen
in love with me;

a one sided emotion is, after all
worth not more than fifty cents
and for all that emotion, it does not
even get you a decent cup of coffee;

So could you fall in love with me
maybe if you have already, you
would be kind enough
to let me know, for
I am telling you today
in this, sort of, convulated way
for my nervousness stems from
what you'd think and do
If you really knew
how silently to this day
I have told myself
I would have really fallen
in love with you
and by oft repeating myself
I guess, I already have, yes I have;

hush, hear me whisper
I love you.

Jan 13, 2006,
This is the first in this series.
Uncut version, written in one go, without stopping to breathe or alter or even think about a single word; so don't know if I can rewrite it any better.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Untitled Poem.

Can I not bury those thoughts
In some graveyard, I can't revisit
And place no epitaphs, no flowers;
Do it without a ceremony or emotion
Just walk away without memories?

Maybe I can forget, not forgive
And my friends are archeologists
Fossils fascinate them; their thoughts
Excavate through ruins, thirsting for
Mysteries made diffuse with time.

Questions unanswered howl through the night
Those beasts, they say, cannot be tamed
They haven't yet found ciphers or words
To propound or claim the past as known
Or heal the heads with reminisces strong.

Like Hindus, I must burn my past
Scatter the ashes into the holy river
And return to life, cleanly wahsed
With shaved head, after homage to deceased
Believe all happened as my Karma conceived.

Read Gita, say: Only actions I controlled
Not results; And cry not for whats lost, for
I began with nothing to lose
I owned nothing, I deserved nothing
Nothing more than I've ended with.

Can I not be content and happy
From my pinings rescued, free
And choose dreams more purposefully
And be motivated to achieve the outcomes
My best efforts were destined to see?

Afternoon, Jan 12, 2006

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Random thoughts of a chaotic being II

A dream is after all a dream. No more, no less.

We live only once. Usually we live through our tenure on earth at a speed faster than our ability to judge and act to do things perfectly.

Make mistakes; yield to the uncertainities and vagarities of life. Acceptance of your faults is a step in the right direction; but just realization won't be enough. You need to act to get yourself in shape.

Friends are also people. Like you fail yourself, they will fail you sometimes. Judge not too severely, forgiveness will earn you more goodwill than criticism.

There is no substitute for accomplishment. Accomplish, publish, accomplish, publish.

I can and I will.

Flashes of exhilaration

Touch my heart, my dear
With your heart held close
Be my blanket, engulf me
Into a dreamful repose.

Reduce me to mish mash
And stir my senses at will
Intertwined let our delight be
Conducted by your innate skill.

Let my wild whims fill you
With melodies of new sensation
On percussion of shared moments
Experience flashes of exhilaration.

Starbucks, Tech Square

Friday, January 06, 2006


Preface: The poem expresses, as can be understood by reading it, the flashes of joy that accompany the loss of a love gone astray. This is last in the series of poems that were motivated by similar ideas, and I guess since the new year must bring joy and hope to one and all, I will pick up the threads of "A cup of tea" and serve besides those delectable experiments, a series of happier poems.

Yesterday I heard the news
and laughed till the dew fell, froze
and shouted 'et tu Brutus';
The icicles of dreams shattered
lie in a puddle outside
where I need to pour
some sand and cement to cover
the muddy remains of once beautiful;
Water, when that day you froze
Water, it was I who held you close
and you took my warmth away
and you left me weak and weak
but yesterday, you set me at ease
but yesterday, you set me free;

And yesterday, I heard the news
and laughted till dew fell, froze;
A cubicle is the house you live in;
You reflect with screens around you;
Your conflicts are killed by clicks;
Your choices, you believe, are undoable;
No surprise you lost your wits
and yet you expected only plaudits;
I should have known this before
You sail only close to the shore
And your veils hide, not protect;
Though nonsensical your life, (it is
indeed nonsensical, not whimsical dumbo)
Makes sense to me as afterthought.

So when yesterday I heard the news
I laughed till dew fell, froze
and I shouted 'et tu Brutus' and perceived
In some way, yesterday I was conceived;
For only after you were gone
I figured I wasn't forlorn;
I was a taxi-cab you owned
and rode at will, with flourish
we spent hours together in jams
I silently heard you rant away
I was so full of you, your words
that chaos seemed beautiful, inevitable;
And now I've discovered what was wrong
I stand afar, much happier and strong.

Jan 06, 2006

Wednesday, January 04, 2006