Saturday, December 11, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
perceptions
PERCEPTIONS
It could not have been any other time, any other ambience, any other setting; the mise en scene had a major role to play as it connived with the weather to bring in a roaring thunder shower on a certain summer afternoon, when Raktim had seen her for the first time.
Raktim, of middle class family habits, had grown up in no unique way. Yet he cherished a mind that could think. He studied in a more than decent school, where his friends came in private cars. Raktim didn’t have a car, though he did get money for the bus fare. But he liked to walk. It took him exactly 20 minutes to reach school. During his stroll, he started to observe the pedestrians, the roads, the fast food shops; he watched himself in taxi aisle mirrors as they whizzed past. He liked his own fleeting glimpses. In that way, he thought, he looked perfect. If he would have seen his image in a mirror for long, he feared he might find a thousand defects.
It is that time of the year when winter had almost taken its leave and summer had forced in. The city is Calcutta, where winter is a mere matter of a couple of months. New leaves have started to show their innocent green faces on every branch. Sun rays have strengthened and the roads emit heat that has invited bothering for pedestrians. The days were torrid, the nights were cool; torrid days brought in grey clouds and occasional thunder showers, making the nights cooler. Raktim had seen this girl on such a summer afternoon on his way home from school; on the other side of the footpath. The girl was from a different section; he had seen her before. Grey clouds had brought in heavy winds that swam around her blue skirt and danced with it. Her hair was flowing all over her supple features; her school bag was swaying on her shoulder. The blue skirt, the flowing hair, and the swaying bag- she was in a helpless position that had a rhythm in it. Raktim watched her with blinking eyes; lest the dirt blown in by the winds got into his eyes. Soon swirling dusts filled in the air where no eye could see. Raktim guarded his eyes with his hands only to see the girl vanish around the corner. He ran in the same direction. Rain drops had already started making frequent spots on the road as he crossed the road.
Distant roar of thunder filled his ears, as the old man turned downtown. He took quick feeble steps in spite of the big black polythene bag in his right hand. He had already seen reflections of incoming grey clouds on the glass door of the grocery shop. Instead of the stifling atmosphere, a cool breeze was creating a coolness that had the forecast of a storm in its lair. With timid steps, he entered the shop. A pretty girl was standing at the cash counter, her hips pressed against a cupboard full of various pickles and jam. The old man took a few household things, salt packets, soaps, and handed them over to the counter. A sudden gush of cold air and the old man looked to the glass door. A little school boy had rushed in half drenched in the rain, that was slapping the glass door and falling incessantly. The road outside the glass door was in semi darkness; with each clash of thunder, shadows became harsher, the lighted areas burnt white. The old man shook. A cold hand had tapped his shoulder.
“Sir, your balance!” the girl replied, irritation curling at her forehead.
“Thank you”.
The old man approached the door and searched for the kid. He found him standing near a glass window viewing something minutely outside.
Is he lost? His mother might have been searching the roads to find her son lost in the wilderness.
Two more timid steps and the old man was watching the episode along with the boy. The roads were narrow streaks of flowing water; here and there, people stood under some feeble shade in clusters, trying to do away with the dashes.
Two street kids were playing with water on the opposite footpath. Jumped in mid air, they fell again with a splash! Fun played on their minds, faces and feet that in a chaotic cadence disturbed the flowing water and the falling rain.
The kid shook.
A wrinkled hand fell on his shoulder. In a moment, he ran to the cash counter and hid behind the pretty girl. The girl moved her lips, but it was hard for the old man to discern.
With timid steps, he proceeded to the exit, opened his black umbrella with a bland click, and looked back at the shop for a moment and left. Soon he was an umbrella moving through many as the crow could see, sitting on the window pane of a certain whitewashed building, waters dripping from its greasy black feathers.
It could not have been any other time, any other ambience, any other setting; the mise en scene had a major role to play as it connived with the weather to bring in a roaring thunder shower on a certain summer afternoon, when Raktim had seen her for the first time.
Raktim, of middle class family habits, had grown up in no unique way. Yet he cherished a mind that could think. He studied in a more than decent school, where his friends came in private cars. Raktim didn’t have a car, though he did get money for the bus fare. But he liked to walk. It took him exactly 20 minutes to reach school. During his stroll, he started to observe the pedestrians, the roads, the fast food shops; he watched himself in taxi aisle mirrors as they whizzed past. He liked his own fleeting glimpses. In that way, he thought, he looked perfect. If he would have seen his image in a mirror for long, he feared he might find a thousand defects.
It is that time of the year when winter had almost taken its leave and summer had forced in. The city is Calcutta, where winter is a mere matter of a couple of months. New leaves have started to show their innocent green faces on every branch. Sun rays have strengthened and the roads emit heat that has invited bothering for pedestrians. The days were torrid, the nights were cool; torrid days brought in grey clouds and occasional thunder showers, making the nights cooler. Raktim had seen this girl on such a summer afternoon on his way home from school; on the other side of the footpath. The girl was from a different section; he had seen her before. Grey clouds had brought in heavy winds that swam around her blue skirt and danced with it. Her hair was flowing all over her supple features; her school bag was swaying on her shoulder. The blue skirt, the flowing hair, and the swaying bag- she was in a helpless position that had a rhythm in it. Raktim watched her with blinking eyes; lest the dirt blown in by the winds got into his eyes. Soon swirling dusts filled in the air where no eye could see. Raktim guarded his eyes with his hands only to see the girl vanish around the corner. He ran in the same direction. Rain drops had already started making frequent spots on the road as he crossed the road.
Distant roar of thunder filled his ears, as the old man turned downtown. He took quick feeble steps in spite of the big black polythene bag in his right hand. He had already seen reflections of incoming grey clouds on the glass door of the grocery shop. Instead of the stifling atmosphere, a cool breeze was creating a coolness that had the forecast of a storm in its lair. With timid steps, he entered the shop. A pretty girl was standing at the cash counter, her hips pressed against a cupboard full of various pickles and jam. The old man took a few household things, salt packets, soaps, and handed them over to the counter. A sudden gush of cold air and the old man looked to the glass door. A little school boy had rushed in half drenched in the rain, that was slapping the glass door and falling incessantly. The road outside the glass door was in semi darkness; with each clash of thunder, shadows became harsher, the lighted areas burnt white. The old man shook. A cold hand had tapped his shoulder.
“Sir, your balance!” the girl replied, irritation curling at her forehead.
“Thank you”.
The old man approached the door and searched for the kid. He found him standing near a glass window viewing something minutely outside.
Is he lost? His mother might have been searching the roads to find her son lost in the wilderness.
Two more timid steps and the old man was watching the episode along with the boy. The roads were narrow streaks of flowing water; here and there, people stood under some feeble shade in clusters, trying to do away with the dashes.
Two street kids were playing with water on the opposite footpath. Jumped in mid air, they fell again with a splash! Fun played on their minds, faces and feet that in a chaotic cadence disturbed the flowing water and the falling rain.
The kid shook.
A wrinkled hand fell on his shoulder. In a moment, he ran to the cash counter and hid behind the pretty girl. The girl moved her lips, but it was hard for the old man to discern.
With timid steps, he proceeded to the exit, opened his black umbrella with a bland click, and looked back at the shop for a moment and left. Soon he was an umbrella moving through many as the crow could see, sitting on the window pane of a certain whitewashed building, waters dripping from its greasy black feathers.
Those were the happiest moments of her life whenever she had fallen in love. Notwithstanding its physical attributes, her hormonal ejaculations that coloured her emotion were far deeper than an ordinary person. She felt more than she could survive. One second he would see her smiling affectionately; a single change in his behavioral pattern, one word wrongly put in a righteous conversation, she might burst out in protest. She always cried when she was angry, speechless, words overflowing her meaningful eyes, falling in droplets, soaking her dress.
They sat overlooking the river.
It was dusk. Clouds carved out of the crimson sky as mountain peaks marked the horizon. Water flowed like music; like a raga it had its prelude, interlude.
They were friends for more than a year now. They had met at the university office counter where they both had come to collect admission forms. He was then thin, long haired, wearing shirts more that did not fit him; she did not notice. She wore dull casuals, her jeans wrinkled and her hair all messy, she smoked behind a tree to avoid severe eyes; he did not notice. It was when she had asked for a pen from him to fill up the admission form that she noticed him. A casual glance did notice a hint of smile at the corner of his mind.
What looked like a black piece of cloth waving with the rhythmic waves was a boat, as he saw it, when it came near. He was observing the river, the boat acutely; more acutely, her postures and movements, expressions. He was like an ardent observer who saw everything; an eye outside him, that even saw him and her, sitting in a certain typical position in front of a typically flowing river overlooking a typical sunset.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
empty...
The preproduction hassles of a certain television show led me tread paths which i had left so many years ago. The path that led to my school. It was same, the shops that i passed had changed though. The school had changed. it was painted blue. As i entered the main gate, I felt the same tension and nervousness in me, that I had felt as a student about to enter the classroom on an exam day. There i was standing near the staffroom, the whole scenario changing in front of me, revolving and going back to what it was 13 years ago. At that moment, I felt helpless. Helpless, unable to tie the loose threads of my memory of my schooldays which i have lost forever. It is awful when you forget your school memories, when someone comes up to you with inviting eyes and says that he was your classmate and that he sat beside you for two years. I don't remember any of my friends from my school. the memory is completely GONE!
DAY 2 WEDNESDAY
DAY 2
When Priya reached home, it was past midnight. It had been a long day and Priya had smiled the whole day. Three flops in a row, Priya cannot possibly afford to let herself go haywire. She hadn’t let her nerve loose for an instant except when she had met Rocky and told him the truth. After the shoot was over, she had again told Rocky the same thing inside the make up room. Priya had doubts whether Rocky had believed her story; he must have thought her drunk, as always. She was, but nevertheless, she was saying the truth.
Rocky entered his room and keeping the keys on the table let himself loose on the couch. It was a hard day and the job of an assistant is tiresome to the extreme. While he gazed at the ceiling, the words told to him by Priya lingered in his ears.
“Someone else.” “Ambalika!” But how is that possible, thought Rocky. She is an actress for God’s sake who is portraying a character, so what if the movie was based on a true story and the character she was playing was raped and murdered. For a second, Rocky thought that she was saying the truth and he had goose bumps! Rocky felt relieved to believe that she was lying as she was drunk. Maybe she was hallucinating.
Priya went to the washroom to freshen up. As she was about to get undress and enter the shower, the lights went out. She opened the bathroom doors. She heard something. “Hello”, she was nervous.
With a towel on, she came out of the bathroom and felt her way towards her bedroom. It was at that moment that she realized she wasn’t alone…
When Priya reached home, it was past midnight. It had been a long day and Priya had smiled the whole day. Three flops in a row, Priya cannot possibly afford to let herself go haywire. She hadn’t let her nerve loose for an instant except when she had met Rocky and told him the truth. After the shoot was over, she had again told Rocky the same thing inside the make up room. Priya had doubts whether Rocky had believed her story; he must have thought her drunk, as always. She was, but nevertheless, she was saying the truth.
Rocky entered his room and keeping the keys on the table let himself loose on the couch. It was a hard day and the job of an assistant is tiresome to the extreme. While he gazed at the ceiling, the words told to him by Priya lingered in his ears.
“Someone else.” “Ambalika!” But how is that possible, thought Rocky. She is an actress for God’s sake who is portraying a character, so what if the movie was based on a true story and the character she was playing was raped and murdered. For a second, Rocky thought that she was saying the truth and he had goose bumps! Rocky felt relieved to believe that she was lying as she was drunk. Maybe she was hallucinating.
Priya went to the washroom to freshen up. As she was about to get undress and enter the shower, the lights went out. She opened the bathroom doors. She heard something. “Hello”, she was nervous.
With a towel on, she came out of the bathroom and felt her way towards her bedroom. It was at that moment that she realized she wasn’t alone…
Saturday, March 20, 2010
15 Days To Oblivion
10/20/2009 TUESDAY
21:03
When Rocky reached the studio, it was raining heavily. Shooting was to start in an hour or so; he was late. His belly had already started to ache. Entering the floor felt relieving. He untied his shoes which were wet and muddy, put on the sleepers, quickened his pace, reached the washroom and took a long awaited leak. The make up room was filled with people and chaos. Mirrors glistened with an array of white lights around them, mirrors that witness the real faces behind the makeup. A certain face looked up at the mirror. Seeing Rocky’s reflection, the face smiled nervously and greeted him.
“You are late. Mr. Chatterjee was searching for you. Where were you?”
“Stuck in the goddamn rain. Have you got your costume?”
The face nodded. No.
Rocky shouted in his usual voice. A shaky young girl rushed to the makeup room with a maroon gown in her hand.
“I have to say something to you.”
“Haven’t I told you to take care of these things…”
Rocky was busy checking whether the gown was ironed or not. The shaky young girl was still holding the gown as if she were a statue, on the verge of collapsing anytime. Rocky nodded without looking up.
“I have to say something to you. It’s weird, but I’m having this weird feeling…”
“Rocky!”
The makeup room froze for a moment. Make up artists who were chatting a second ago suddenly became busy giving the finishing touches.
“Rocky, where were you. Is everyone ready? Can we start the shooting?”
“Yes, Mr. Chatterjee. Just ten more minutes for Priya to wear the gown.”
“Hurry up now!”
As Mr. Chatterjee went towards the floor, the ice melted. Priya followed Rocky to the changing room. Rocky gave her the gown and was about to close the door behind him, when Priya grabbed him by the arm.
“This weird thing…I…I feel I’m somebody else!” Priya looked nervous; her eyes trembled as she spoke.
“Later! Mr. Chatterjee will be furious, if you are a second late. Now hurry up please!”
Rocky closed the door behind him and went towards the floor. The studio floor was dimly lit with lamps of varied colours; varied lampshades added to the gravity of the ambiance. Polished mahogany table and chairs, stools, bar counter, bar maid, bottles of various contours. It was a bar counter sequence.
“Somebody give me the damn script, where are my idiot assistants?!!”
Rocky remembered that he had seen the first assistant back at the store room searching frantically for a certain prop that he had kept there a day ago.
“Are we ready Shushovon? Can we take this shot?”
Budget constraint has been a boon to Shushovon.
Straight to Director Of Photography from Camera Operator.
“Yes Sir, I’m ready, let Priya come!”
Mr.Chatterjee looked towards Rocky. It was more of a scoff that meant that hadn’t it been for his incompetent assistants Mr. Chatterjee would have won the Oscars any moment.
The studio door opened with a shudder, a single light fell on a diamond stud and burnt white, and two stilettos came and rested near the camera.
“I’m ready, sorry Prakash…” Priya was professional.
Rocky studied her now that he had time to breathe. “Somebody else”, Rocky thought, what the hell was she trying to say? She was drunk, Rocky knew; alcohol can work wonders, he thought and laughed to himself. Yet Rocky had eyes of an observer.
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