'Dum Laga Ke Haisha' review: The magic of the 90s

A good cast is the best thing that can happen to a movie. It is especially great when all of them not only look perfect for their respective roles but also individually give their best to the film. 'Dum Laga Ke Haisha' is the perfect example of this fact.

The effort that has gone in to making this sweet romantic comedy set in the small backdrop of Rishikesh and Haridwar, is apparent.

The plot is easy to predict but the performances would blow your mind. Whether it is Ayushmann Khurrana as a good-for-nothing dreamer or Bhumi Pedneker playing the strong willed educated girl with a dream of being a school teacher.

Bhumi is perhaps the best debut actress that Bollywood has seen in the past few years. She is genuinely a good actress, has a great screen presence and looks beautiful as Sandhya. Her struggles with being fat does not curb her spirit and that is what the audience will take from this movie.

The straight from the heart storyline will take you back the memory lanes. The director has taken his time to wind you in his 90s memorabilia starting with the charm of listening to cassettes – complete with how we wound them up patiently and how our favourite songs were put together in one cassette with stickers telling us the playlist. There were also the scooters which one had to carefully balance upon to get from one place to another. All in all the nostalgia of the last decade of the 20th century has been beautifully recreated in the film.

The director has kept the characters strong and the story concise. Even with the predictability of the movie the growing chemistry between Ayushmann and Bhumi is worth watching.

Sanjay Mishra, Sheeba Chadda, Alika Amin and Seema Pahwa (one who played Mishra's wife in 2014's critically acclaimed movie 'Aankhon Dekhi') are perfect supporting cast for the love story.

Sharat Kataria who is known for his quirky endeavours 'Bheja Fry' and 'Bheja Fry 2' has proved his genius once more with 'Dum Laga ke...'. While his last ventures focussed on urban characters, his now semi-urban story also is spot on.

The movie steers clear of exaggerated feelings and speaks of some real situations and real disappointments without being didactic. The fat girl, who has to overcome the prejudices her husband has about her, is not however the unimaginative loser that we have seen in Bollywood so far. She is educated and has an ambition – therefore lucrative for her in-laws. But they don't take advantage of her. Even with the usual Indian taunting by the Bua, the family mostly supports her and considers her feelings. The girl herself knows how to stand up to the world.

This modern thinking without the preachiness is refreshing. Kataria has excelled in making you feel for his characters.

The background score by the Italian composer Andrea Guerra is perfect and Anu Mallik's comeback is laudable. While 'Moh Moh Ke Dhage' (both Monali Thakur's and Papon's versions) is perhaps his best composition till date, the quirky 'Sundar Susheel... ' (Malini Awasthi, Rahul Ram) sets the mood of the film pretty nicely. The Kumar Sanu fandom has been revived in this film and he brings back the memories of his heyday..

The shots (Manu Anand) of the Rishikesh and Haridwar too are beautiful and one wonders how they found the two towns empty enough to shoot since they are thronged with tourists throughout the year.

This movie is a feel good package and a must watch for those born in the 80s and the 90s simply to relive the decade. For those who are not, go for the performances. It is rare that a Bollywood movie makes you all warm, fuzzy and gooey from the inside – the experience is a must for those who love cinema.

This review was first posted on zeenews.com

Robin Williams: The death of a clown

“Death is paying a debt to nature. The big sleep. God’s way of saying, `Slow down.`”

Journalists are a cynical lot. They are full of self importance and quote, “Bad news is good news, and good news is no news at all”, whenever they are faced with the question of morale. When wars begin, famines happen, corruption surfaces, fights ensue – they thrive. A world in order begets nothing. Not that the media doesn`t like the feel-good stories of love and goodwill, but these don`t earn the bread. People like to hear about what is wrong with the world.

The problem is comics are more cynical than journalists can ever hope to be. They see the chaos as it is. They see through the façades and bigotry of the world leaders; of what this good earth has become. They manipulate words to throw light on the manipulations of this world. They say things as they are, without the rose-coloured glasses, without justifications – laced with laughter. Comics make you laugh at your own shortcomings.

Comics see the worse side of mankind and push it to the forefront. Studies say that one of the most depressed people are comedy artists. As a leading psychologist said, humour is a response to the sadness they feel. The death of Robin Williams (his apparent suicide) has brought that dark side to the forefront. Chris Farley, John Belushi, Mitch Hedberg Richard Jeni are few of the many stand-up artists who died battling mental illnesses, leading to death by suicide or overdose.

But is it just the comics?

Remember Guru Dutt? The man who made classics like `Kagaz Ke Phool`, `Pyaasa` and `Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam`. He made cinema that has stood the test of time. The way he portrayed Vijay in `Pyaasa`, the way the character shaped up, the love he put into the movie – the irony of Vijay`s fame is something no one can replicate. The genius who battled alcoholism, died alone – of an apparent suicide while mixing sleeping pills and alcohol. The failure of `Kaagaz Ke Phool` at the box office devastated him. This would be his third suicide attempt. He was acknowledged by the world – but he was alone. `Kaagaz Ke Phool`, ironically has been listed as one of top 100 greatest movies of all times.

The same lies true for music director RD Burman. He did not commit suicide, but any Pancham buff knows that the man died of loneliness. He is considered the most versatile of all music composers in India – even today. But, in the late eighties the man had lost everyone around him. His musical genius failed while Bappi Lahiri and other disco artists thrived. His patrons were ignoring him and going on to younger composers. He shone one last time for `1942 A Love Story` and died 3 months before the movie released, 20 years ago.

Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Nick Drake, Heath Ledger, Marilyn Monroe, Amy Winehouse – the list is endless.

Robin Williams was not particularly young when he died. But he was definitely a man who was not done with his art. His audience and fans have not had their fill. He was a man who made thousands like me laugh in `Mrs Doubtfire` and cry in `Dead Poets Society`.

He made me “Seize the Day. Carpe Diem!” Made sure I knew that there was more to art, poetry and literature than to just read `about` them. I needed to experience it. Love, poetry and romance keep humans alive. He told us all about families and how they were all different, but love is the “tie that binds us all”. He enthralled, inspired and entertained. Robin Williams was Peter Pan, Genie and Lovelace... He made characters live for those who watched him on screen.

For those who watched him perform live, I have heard that he could rattle non-stop – flitting from one character to the next in seconds, while the audiences caught their breath from laughing too hard.

I have heard he went on the stage just because he wanted to. Even if amateur artists were performing – he would simply climb on and perform, get the audience to have more fun than they bargained for.

He left a motto – spoken by his character, but no one can deny the truth in his eyes when he said them: “Seize the day because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die.”

If people like him—artists, passionate performers can be lonely, there is much more that humanity needs to introspect. This tandem of war and misery, the death of innocent, sufferings of the poor – they all get noticed by the greats of this world. People like Williams, they observe – they internalise – they suffer with the sorrow of the world. They succumb. Robin Williams gave in to this isolation.

If there is anything to learn from his life and his death, then it is to `live`, hard and proper, in our own way. Make the world laugh with you – suck the marrow out of life.

This article was first published on Zeenews.India.com

Beera ke dus maathe...

Titarpur, near Rajouri Garden

While coming to office in the last one month, the highlight of everyday has been the making of the Ravan Putla that is burnt every year to mark 'Dusshera', the festival where the goodness of ram overcomes the evil of Raavan, in the epic tale of Ramayan.

However much I dont like the character of Ram, and believe that his was the worst  of all the vishnu incarnations... or the fact that I think Raavan has more character, integrity and prowess than Ram... however as i have been told recently, there is great power in mass belief...

"Ram Bas Bhakton Nahin, Shatru Ke Bhi Chintan Mein Hain

Dekh Taj Ke Paap Raavan, Ram Tere Man Mein Hain"

ibadah

आज जब मैं जागा तो तेरा हाथ रखा था मेरे हाथों पर,
गरम रजाई सा लपेटे,
अपने होठों से बस चन्द centimeter दूर|
मैंने तेरे गालों पे हाथ फेरा,
और हलके से खीछ लिया अपना हाथ,
तो नींद में ही तेरी उँगलियाँ ढूँढने में लग गयी|
मेरे हाथों को छूकर फ़िर से लिपट लिया,
इस बार ज़रा जोर से,
फ़िर धीरे से मुस्कुराते हुए,
फ़िर खो गयी अपने सपनो के बादलों में,
और मैं ताकता रहा तेरे चेहरे को,
कि दाईम इबादतों से आज नज़र आई है आज जन्नत|

चल, लौटते हैं|

Taken On Route to Manali (August 2011)
Kodak 

चल, वापस चलते हैं,
उस रास्ते के किनारे,
हम अपनी रौशनी छोड़ आएँ है शायद,


और कुछ साज़ bhi रखे होंगे,
उन्ही लिहाफ ओढ़े
पहाड़ों की पगडंडियों पर।

उसी बारिश की छींटों में भीगी सी माया,
वहीं बैठी है,
सड़क के किनारे टूटती सी bench पे...

कहीं किसी तरफ से ही आ कर,
किसी पुरानी train का फ़ालतू सा किस्सा सुनाते हुए,
मेरे पास बैठे तू,
आँखों से मेरे बाल हटाते हुए,
कोई बेहूदा सा ठट्टा करे,
मेरे ज़हन के लफ्ज़ गुनगुनाये...

चल लौटते हैं?
जहाँ रेतों पर अभी भी,
सिर्फ़ हमारा आशियाना बना है...
चल, अब वही चलके रहते हैं।

image (C) copyright: aparna mudi

chaand aur barish

बारिश आज झगड़ रही है मुझसे खूब, 

rain on my lense, just very strong drizzle

रंग लगाना है मेरे चेहरे पर,

कुछ make -up सा लगाना है, 

के कोई न पहचाने, 

बस धुंधली सी आँखें ही दिखे सबको मेरी!

कुछ जल सी जाती है, 

उन सारे romeo 's  के प्यार भरे ख़त में 

मेरा ज़िक्र देख देख कर,

सोचती है की सारे मेरे लिए ही लिखे गए है | 

और मैं उसके सामने खड़ा हो जाता हूँ, 

के उसके आँचल में, 

धुंधला के खो जाना अच्छा लगता है

इस झूठ को मैं टाल जाता हूँ,

और जकड लेता हूँ उसे अपने चारो ओर, 

के हर romeo अपनी juliet को रात के अँधेरे में मिल लेगा|

आढ़ में उसकी जलन के, 

उसी के आंसुओ के कुछ बूंदों में भीगते हुए

धुंधली रात में पहली बार चूमेंगे एक दुसरे को|

changing times

The view outside my house in delhi these days is superb, after the rains the skies have cleared up revealing colours that i thought were no longer possible to see in delhi. While the Skies outside are changing into vivid shades of orange, Pink, purple, gold and silver, life as ever remains a drab. dissapointment reigns supreme and the only bits of excitement that occasionally mark my otherwise boring existence is my love life, which seems to be going smoothly and happily. But, despite tall claims from philosophers over many centuries, love can take you only so far. while many will claim that it is so fulfilling that their is nothing else you need. it seems that they were only blatant lies. 

I find myself wishing many times that I was back in college, the failures their atleast added to some sort of adventure. 

"this again was written long back found it in my drafts folder... so publishing it now...

image (C) copyright: aparna mudi

Nokia 7210, Supernova

subah

Kausani, early morning at 5:30 am 2009

सोया है तु और तेरे आँखों से 

शब् गिरा है मेरे हाथों में.

जाने क्यों सोचता है बार बार

के बिना लब चूमें ही चला जाऊँगा मैं इस रोज़...

तेरी हर नफ़स मेरी मुट्ठी में बंद करके,

ले जाता हूँ मेरे ही कोट के जेब में |

बसों के सीटों में, ट्रेनों के भीड़ में, हर जगह 

फैलती जाती है तेरी खुशबू...

बस उसी खुशबू का पीछा करते करते 

लौट आया करता हूँ शाम को |

जाने क्यों घबराता है तु सपनो में भी,

कि इस रोज़ लब चूमके नहीं जाऊँगा |

शॉल कि तरह लपेटे रहता हूँ दिनभर इनको होठों से.

दिन भर गुनगुनी सी रहती है धूप |

image (C) copyright: aparna mudi

Canon Digital A550

suraj

हर रात रुक जाती हूँ मैं यही आके,
हर रात बैठती हूँ इसी पेड़ के नीचे,

Right outside my house in Delhi, Dec 2010

कापते पत्ते मेरे पैरों के आस पास आके,
गरम होने कि कोशिश करते हैं|

हर रात उनसे मैं दिन भर का दुखड़ा कहती हूँ,
और वह जाड़े की शिकायत करते हैं,
थोड़ी सी धुंध खाते हैं, थोडा शब् पीते हैं,
फ़िर रुकते हैं, राह देखतें हैं उसका|

वह आये, तो नज़र भर देखके ही,
आँख मूंदु...
के रूठ के बैठा है जाने कब से,
कल आये न आये|

मेरे दोस्त बैठके अपने में,
मेरा ठट्ठा उड़ाते हैं|
मैं वही लेट जाती हूँ... समुन्दर ओढ़ के...

कल तड़के ही उठाना है,
नहीं तो सारा दिन बादल कुछ नहीं करने देगा,
मेरा मज़ाक बनाएगा...
के चाँद बस अब नींद में ही चूमता है मुझे...

image (C) copyright: aparna mudi

nokia 7210 , supernova

Fairy tales IN trunks too

She made one for herself...
Where she rode the winged Pegasus,

Robed and armed with swords
And slayed mighty dragons,

She fought fire with her bare hands,

She became the knight,

Who she always thought would rescue her.

They never actually came,

To her tower at all,

Nor riding on white steeds,

Nor braving monsters, and storms...

She counted days and months,

In the lines on her fair skin,

Drew them herself,

With nails that had grown wild,

She wrapped the bloodied hands,

With her golden hair,

All thorns and matted,

Her only crown,

The flowers, had dried away,
the petals - crushed...

Even the magic mirror refused to speak to her anymore,

She wasn’t the chosen one for the fairy tale…

She waited… For she aspired to be,

In clichéd phoenix tales,

Be a phoenix herself.
To turn life around.

With magic wands and likes,

And crumbled and vanished in those very ashes. 

NOTE: I often like writing poems in continuation to a previous poem, or in the same theme,

Here is a link to Fairy Tales in Trunks the original one.

You might enjoy it

Walk

Ranikhet 2009

A magical misty night,

Up in the hills,

A couple walks hand in hand,  only out of habit…

Both remembering the love they shared,

Even a few years ago.

Now as they fight,
With their own lives,
catching up on them,

Their dreams lie back home on their pillows,

Fading away in love letters

Folded and locked away in boxes.

A magical misty night,

Getting colder as the night falls,

Each wishing the stars would start falling,

So the lover’s eyes would twinkle again

With the wishes they made in secret,

Even a few years ago.

The wishes that came true,

At the cost of love,

Love which was stored in piggy banks,

For years,

So they could be spent little by little,

On magical misty walks like this. 

Paulo and me

रेत से घर नहीं बनते,
बस ख्वाब बनते है,
औत उचकते समुंदर में खो जाते है रात में|

उसमें सूखे पत्तो के दरवाज़े,
जागते सूरज में रंग भरते हैं|

Ice cream के wrapper से बना रास्ता
सिर्फ एक कुचला हुआ
पल बनके रह जाता है |

हर शाम,
तेरे मेरे पैरो के निशान,
और काई निशानियों के बीच खो जाते है|

फिर भी अगली शाम,
हम दोनों बैठते है,
उसी दुश्मन समुन्दर के किनारे|
उसे challenge  करके कहते है
"आज और बड़ा घर बनाएँगे,
इतना बड़ा कि,
उसकी देहलीज़ न छू सकेगा तू" ...
और जुट जाते है,
अपने नन्हे हाथों में,
एक लकड़ी का टुकड़ा लिए |
एक नया सा कोई ख्वाब,
एक नयी याद बनाने |

Kaayi

सावन आ आकर

छत के दरवाज़े खट-खाटाते हैं बस|

थोडा सा गन्दा पानी 

सीढियों पर छोर जाते हैं|

मुंडेरों पर बरसो से जमी हुई काई को

थोडा और काला कर जाते हैं |

जो सूखती नहीं,

इस शुष्क, तेज़ दोपहरी में भी|

फ़िर बस acid डालना पड़ता है,

पुराने चेहरों पर

सब पुराने धब्बे मिटाने पड़ते हैं,

हाथ जला कर ...

थोडा पीकर

gopal

बहुत साल पहले,

वृन्दावन की गलियों में,

एक दुकान के  ताक पर,

चढा बैठा था!

ठीक उसही तरह ताक-झांक करता,

जैसे माखन चुराने के लिए,

वो औरो को sentry duty पर

लगाया करता था, बरसो पहले|

मैंने कहा, 

"मुझे चाहिए,

खूब ख्याल रखूँगी इसका,

अपने बच्चे सा!"

"रोज़ सुबह उठाऊंगी, नहालाउंगी, बताशे खिलाऊँगी,

हर साल नए कपड़े दूँगी,

इतना प्यार तो शायद

यशोदा ने भी न किया होगा |"

एक सिंघासन लिया,

कुछ कपड़े,

सोने के लिए 

एक छोटा सा,

गोटे वाला सिरहाना|

अपनी आँखों से तब बोलता था,

नए घर में जाने कि ख़ुशी, 

छलक के गिरती थी|

शाम को बाती और धूप की सुगंध में,

सूरज के साथ वो भी सो जाता,

अपने नन्हे से बिछोने में,

सुबह उठता था,

शंख कि आवाज़ के साथ |

नखरे सहती थी इसके,

कभी नए कपड़े, 

तो कभी सर्दी में रात को चादर ओढ़ाना,

कभी  चॉकलेट, मिठाईयों कि फरमाईश |

आज दस साल हो गए इस बात को!

अब रात दर रात, 

इंतज़ार करता रहता है |

कभी तो देखूं इसकी तरफ,

कभी पूछ लूं कि सब कैसा है |

कभी रोऊँ इसके पास बैठकर, 

बार बार पूछूं कि कब मुझको भी,

अपने नन्हे हाथों से लिपट लेगा |

कब थामेगा मेरा हाथ भी अपने जादू भरे प्यार से |

अब उसके नखरे मुझे 

अपने बनाये हुए illusions लगते हैं |

उसके लिए मेरा प्यार एक व्यर्थ चेष्टा |

उसकी वो रोशन आँखें,

बस वृन्दावन कि रौशनी का खेल |

शायद बहुत देर हो गयी है,

शायद अब मुझे आस नहीं,

यशोदा सा,

वो मुझे भी 'माँ' कहे,

शायद मैं उसे कभी इतना प्यार कर ही न पायी |

पर जब किया था,

पूरे मन से किया था,

सबसे ज्यादा,

एक छोटे बच्चे सा |

बस ये नहीं समझी थी,

कि वो मुझसे भी छोटा है |

अभी तक अपनी जिद पे अड़ा  है |

onion rings and more(part of the chand series)

एक अकेला चाँद ढूंढता रहा,

घंटो...

इस उस गली में, 

किसी बादल के पीछे से झांकता,

तो कभी किसी तारे से पूछता...

किसी न किसी गली में तो बैठी होगी वो,

गुस्से में सिस्किया लेती| 

झगड़के दूर नहीं गयी होगी,

वहीँ कहीं इंतज़ार कर रही होगी,

कि अब आके बैठेगा चाँद उसके पास,

और दुनिया भर कि चांदनी

उसके गोद में डाल देगा,

उसे मनाने की खातिर|

love stories

Stand,

Here by the side,

And look away, 

And not just into the sunset,

Which you say looks like my eyes,

But into the burning edge of the earth...

Watch it burning black, turning into a sillhoutte...

Sillhoutte,

That you claim to be, 

Wholesome,

Complete, with your outlines defined...

Look into the mirror 

And all you will see is darkness,

Darkness within the defined outline of you...

Break. 

Your absolute is by me...

And i walk out...

Stand right there, 

And dont reach out...

I am the sunset,

I am beautiful,

And as all beautiful things are...

i destroy.

picture (C) aparnamudi, aparnamudi@gmail.com

hrishikesh, march 2009

currently listening to: radiohead, pearl jam, coldplay, sinead o' connor

currently reading: blah
current mood : pretty darn good

recently watched :samurai champloo, eli stone(tv series), jersey girl

just go away

whisps of my body, 

saw them walking ahead of me today,

in the fogs,

densed in smoke

prize posessions left behind

morning mist, smog some call,

absolved into mockery,

no one dares to listen, 

not even walls, 

they prod scars and prick them open

the dead rises again,

dark as the onyx,

the onyx lies dead,

sometimes moaning.

torn diaries... deleted memories...

i wish i had a pensieve....

to keep my memories locked in...

to keep mt love locked in too

what else do i say?

I'm choking on my own silences.

There is, but, little hope of a CPR.

There is no good man around.

There is nothing left,

But the voice box.

And crackled pretentious voices are heard.

Like old broken radios.

There is calling out.

Now that im full,

While every one is gay,

I just ate silences,

Handfulls gobbled down in hurry,

The table was full,

Of silenced images, 

And a box of pickled love.

and now i choke...

on silences and shadows..

Fairy Tales in Trunks

Pages which turn moldy, slimy,

And crumble into white ash,

Were once enameled,

And then mites came over and over,

Gnawing the enamel coated years away.

They ate through the skin,

Then started on the flesh,

Not once did that hurt,

No pain that the facade showed,

They just gnawed the memories away.

And one day ants ate the mites away,

They bit and snapped,

Hurt and pained,

They pinched and clawed,

Some mites remained…

And sprays didn’t work,

On these mites or on the ants,

The pages turned yellow and then green,

When the book was taken out,

It fell apart,

With the relics of some ants and mites,

None of the pages flew,

Just parts,

Unreadable words that vapourised.

The story ends right here,

Never got to know what fable it told,

There were no silver armoured princes,

Who rode white stallions,

Rode like the wind…

To sleeping princesses

currently listening to: radiohead, tokyo police club, the fray

currently reading: pukhraj (gulzar)
current mood : pathetic

recently watched : rab ne bana de jodi (yeah i know i have sunk to a new low), balls of fury, bill and ted (adventures and bogus journey),andaaz apna apna 

moments of happiness

It’s the weird moments of happiness that I’m clinging on to these days. Just a little moment. Why does love do this to you? Make you such a complete loser. If it wasn’t for being in love, I would live my other moments too, nahi? Your smiles depend on someone so completely unaware of it, that it hurts… everything hurts anyway. The pain of it is “sweet” some say. And in hindsight that seems like such a completely ridiculous idea. Some said “don’t cry for me” and I don’t know to correct him… the fact that I don’t cry for him, I just cry. It hurts so much not to be with him.
I seem to be like a pathetic cry baby… it’s not too good. It’s not a very good symptom to behave like a loser all the time… I should follow my own advice… be in love and enjoy it… the only problem being.. I don’t have too much choice. I haven’t been given the choice of being in love and not wanting him. Though it is not imposed, or so I have heard, but it is required. The pining hurts and no one knows that better than me.

The curtains shall be drawn,
Not on you my love, not on you,
Just me, so don’t you fear…

Don’t fear I shall not go away,
Only from you my love, only from you,
I shall not show you my pathetic pains…

My pathetic pains that sear,
Not with hurt my love, not with hurt,
Just with this overbearing longing for you…

This longing for you that burns,
Not your memories my love, not your memories,
Just the skin on my flesh, melting down all beauty around me…

The beauty that reflects that playful smile on your lips,
Oh! the “need” my love, oh! the need,
If only I knew how to live without it, I would.

I just live, my love, in this paradise,
Waiting for you to fall, my love,
While the angels tie me,
And then reveal their demonic faces…
And I, my love, unable to break free,
Wait in vain, for you...
For you, my love,
Must have ascended to your heaven,
And the mere shadow of me
must have been vanquished
by the over bearing light of the gods