Nation’s Notion: Review – Midnight’ Children (A Deepa Mehta Film)

As a nation, we have transcended and befell before rising amidst tumultuous weathers. Freedom in 1947 is alright, but the transition was as beleaguered as the nation itself that was standing amongst perennial ruins. The sacrifices were largely destructive; the indelible impressions of such are still fighting the storms, till date.

Deepa Mehta dwells India from the darker blemishes to the brighter convoy. We, as a nation, have evolved – socially, economically, financially, and culturally. But we have never managed to rise above our inhibitions that remain to be a colossus out of pervasive root. Talking of roots, I am fond of them. But if they are a form of parasites living upon the bricks of incessant atrocities, I tend to shy away with discretion. Well, I probably, am dating back albeit numerous episodes but Midnight’s Children does have an anecdote of a marauding legacy.

It begins with the times of legions when women are morally and physically, living in captivation of human taboo. It’s more of a defining statement at a time when a nation lies embedded in its own tatters and is crawling its way out of debris to attain rejuvenation. We have always been a country with so much inside our cultures, and introspection reveals stunning facts; facts that are often so unacceptable but are immersed within and continue to wager around in inexplicable overtones. The hidden magic and their exponents of the wavered art are depicted with rustic beauty and roll over syndrome. It peddles around 2 gruesome partitions that tore the nation apart, and juggles between the immediate pre–post-independence that threw the nation in to a post traumatic celebration of freedom from known devils.

In accordance, the film is a reflection of our conjugated manifestations and the seeds that were sown amidst precarious monsters and selfish brilliance.

The performances are closely stitched with the script and sways between the eras of baffled poignancy. All play in with nuanced and restrained acts and held their own.

If freedom is what we celebrate each year, it remains unaccomplished. Yet.

Note: this has been lying in my archives for sometime now and I have been struggling to catch up with time, delayed but don’t think will disappoint my readers!!                                                                      

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When God leaves fraternity, there is an unearthed celebration within the veins of mourning.

I have to admit that his departure from the game will bring a platonic end to the childhood within myself. My passion persists for the game notwithstanding, feels like a great amount of melancholy lies within the era that saw us emerging as world champions as the Master plundered, conquered and steered us through abundant pride amidst crazy chaos.

119 in Manchester, 114 in Perth, 169 in Cape Town, 134 & 143 in Sharjah, 155 in Chennai and Bloemfontein, 141 in Dhaka, 136 in Chennai, 217 in Ahmedabad, 176 in Nagpur, 193 in Leeds, 176 in Kolkata, 241 in Sydney, 141 in Rawalpindi, 194 in Multan, 141 in Kuala Lumpur, 153 in Adelaide, 163 in Christchurch, 160 in Hamilton, 175 in Hyderabad, 203 in Colombo, 214 Bangalore.

These epics were stunning exhibition of his rhetoric dynamics and appetite for big match mantles. Not to forget, his World Cup exploits remain at the helm as he plundered oppositions at a spectacular 65+ of an innings (includes his powerhouse 90-ish against Pakistan and his menacing run in 2003 edition that took the tournament by storm).

Geographies, pitches, weather conditions and opponents bowed for his unwavering blade and wider were his array of strokes. 53 of his tons fetched India sublime victories at an average of just below 60. Stunning and staggering! Yet, our maniac ridden cricketing world asks for more as he continued to deliver with the caricature that defined Sachin-ism.

Cricket will never be the same without him.

mere me!

for people who don’t know, am a crazy movie freak with subtle variations. For people who know, it’s nothing short of a aberration.

well, to cut through the pragmatics, I am basking in my own warehouse with a collection that could pour evidence with a dent.

am too much to ask for, care a damn to get critical and get myself in the brink of a known merchandise with playful gawd.

nothing short of an adventure, watching classics and revering icons with such brutal precision.

the sound, the ambiance, the collage of characters in a dimensional beam and getting the whispers right in to your ears – the joy of such buoyant derivative is imperative.

Ah! The endeavor to last for a lifetime, till my nemesis overpowers my voices.

Blockbuster Reviews: Bhaag Milkha Bhaag

‘Dhoodh ke liye daud Milkha’ (Run for milk Milkha)..!
I have always had deep rooted fascination for biopics, and BMB is a sordid tale of heroics, survival and patriotism.
ROMP returns with a tale woven straight out of ‘Flying Sikh’s’ living room. Right till his Olympic debacle that could have otherwise been a stirring chapter in our Olympics glory, Milkha’s untold story enlivens spirit with pernicious flair. My pick is the period till intermission.
The painful past, the treacherous upbringing, reluctant remains of the family, lost love, the turnover in Indian Army and conquest of being a celebrated athlete – all well knit with a litmus test in every success, and an inevitable failure amongst larger ruins. Rakesh Omprakash Mehra is back, finally.
Post interval could have been a tad shorter and consistent flip-flaps of Milkha’s past blunts a veracious effect. A biopic of a living legend is nothing short of a Herculean, yet sequences from his personal life and depicting his unsuccessful instincts with a ray of persistence deserves applause.
Technically, it’s gifted. Prasoon Joshi’s writing is absorbing, Binod Pradhan wields magic (reminded me of his divine indulgence in ‘Delhi 6’) and Shankar Ehsaan Loy deliver dollops in pallets. Couple of songs had flavoured magic and demand a special mention, my personal addiction is ‘Zinda’ which undoubtedly carries the soul of BMB.
Farhan Akhtar as Milkha Singh is a revelation. His body language, accent, innocence and passion were reminiscent of Singh’s renaissance and surprised me by miles. Sonam Kapoor has little to do and the supporting cast is appropriate with Divya Dutta delivering yet another underrated performance.
Bhaag Milkha Bhaag will remain ROMP’s most accomplished since the cult ‘Rang De Basanti’ and I will live with that for sometime to come.

On the wheels: Lincoln

You bet, and go to jail..

Inquisitive. My take on the entire episode of the ubiquitous betting and fixing scandal notwithstanding, the buzz around makes it all so frivolous.

Way back, when the game of Cricket remained embellished in the hands of pure and fine gentleman called cricket players, a storm surfaced that threatened to uproot the face of dignity. Yet, we weathered it despite ignominy and loss of human pedigree.

What hits back is our system that belts a culture within itself. We are bondage to our own walls, and every time we confront such ugly delegations, our menace disputes us. Hapless administrators, the heads who roll than they rule and individuals who become an inevitable part of any calamity – I have only seen shame and money that takes over values in a country ruled by judicial captivity.

Can we curb human desires? If yes, how? The per capita earning doesn’t matter as greed knows no barriers and is beyond BPL concept. Cricket suffered and when we found ample justifications to invite such buoyancy, IPL disseminated our monetary inhibitions. I am afraid, it was lull before the next.

Today, investigations galore but not sure if revelations will change the system and its adequacy of perpetuating greed. Yes, greed. Insatiable human facets don’t have dimensions, they are parasites – treat them before they become immune.

I hear that we are disgusted. Well, I see it continuing lest we nab a solution to stop this impending mess. Big names and powerful people become willing victims, not sure if common man escapes mediocrity.

More to come and we will have reasons to get stunned. Impoverished intentions can’t demean a century old game but it certainly takes the sheen off it.

Well, not unless you care and our strength to commercialise every vertical continues to spell doom.

@sachin_rt

why have we made such a fuss about a mere cricket player who is just about 5 feet above the ground level, has endorsements to his name just like any other superstar celebrity world over would and tweet our heart out on his every morning siesta lasting till end of night?

well, if the cricketer in question is Sachin, then he is a far cry from our usual cricketers that hog the limelight and get swayed off it. Sheer tenacity to last and bat since 1989, plunder runs in every cricket ground of the world, carrying monumental aspirations of a nation that goes insane over cricketing overhauls and a career that has always been under the scanner for every move he makes (on and off the field), he remains our legend of a fairy tale.

for a while, lets not talk about his on field aura, for now that is. he makes news if he tows, sneezes and gulps. his personal preferences become national gimmicks. his stature provokes a coaxial movement that forces the constitution to enhance a mandate and a rival cricketing continent endows their most coveted prize upon him.

well, the story has just begun. almost re-written every batting milestone, 70% of Indian victories during 1995-2010 had his proverbial knocks of extreme bliss, his ton would hand over an Indian victory 6 out of 10 times. 55% of his tons have come on foreign soil and has given us a win-lose ratio of 4:6. we don’t keep a count of his MOMs any more and he has scored more world cup runs than anyone else who has played Cricket in this planet. comparisons with ‘The Don’ and his failure to become the most wanted leader that India kept searching in him ran in tandem veins. yet, he remains a symbol of solidarity. for the ‘Country’ and ‘Cricket’.

phew, yet his career remains scrutinized. now we ask for his head, demand him to hang up his boots as few of his shots in the (in)ceremonious IPL can give any youngster a run for his moolah!

As someone rightly stated – “legends are not born, they come screeching out of the womb with a stick in hand to rule the world and hit themselves when they are down, a-la phoenix act.”

Glad, you are 40! you deem to become wiser and one step ahead in embracing immortality.

When the ‘Garden of Eden’ called for..

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Images that speak for such beautiful moments of my life..

I have had few enormous stints at the ‘Eden’, this one proved special as it marked my comeback to the ‘City of Joy’ and then to the ‘Eden’. Significantly, it was with my sweetheart and she was ecstatic :)!
Picturesque and panting with energy, it was a live-wire to be present and experience the sheer joy!

Never mind the result, ‘Eden’ has been an amphitheater for spectacle and Cricket looks ravishing in those lush green famed plateaus!

More to come from my city, till the next arrives!

In Transit (Delayed!) Reviews: ‘Attacks of 26/11’ and ‘Inkaar’

We all saw it happen, felt the anguish and disgraced the shameful deed of audacious crime with open arms. Yet, RGV’s bio-centric recapitulation of gory chapters spits venom and reminds us of inhuman embellishment.
It isn’t a review, because it isn’t. It was bad walk down the memory lane, with events unfolding in front of us as the ‘Joint Commissioner’ runs us through his hapless credentials that were a victim of cohesive damage.
Splattered blood, screeching yet relevant background shells, hapless Mumbaikars and Kasab (as depicted in the terror sequences) – RGV recounts with pain and uncomfortable questions, yet again.
But I loved every bit of Nana. He has been a terrific actor in such intensified author backed roles and doesn’t disappoint. His baffled expressions, ferocious yet restrained was the need for a film that took one of the darkest chapters in its belly. I am sure it’s inspired well from real protagonists but reel was evidently cinematized, understandably (credits did indicate that some liberties have been incurred). His duels with Kasab was of great intrigue, shocking at times. But RGV has been kind. Kasab is still human in his adaptation, and difficult to believe that bloated individuals with utter disrespect for human life would live with weapons of a normal, very normal human being. [Read: Emotions]
An attempt to be recorded for not playing again.

A Sudhir Mishra film is always special for me. An assignment filled with intrigue, awe and perspiration, ‘Inkaar’ deals with one of the most sensitive issues in our racks with pertinent audacity.
Stylishly penned and laced with necessary humour content, it takes off from the stands. A famed moderator (Deepti Naval), usual colleague suspects and loads of ‘tu tu main main’: elements that have never ever given us the right verdict on such deterrent issues. Fair enough, Sudhir gives us drama and emotions in toasts and keeps us glued to continue battering about an issue that has long undergone human evolution, few systemic and few are iconic indulgence. Debates, have and will occur as long as men and women work together in mutual-non mutual congruence. ‘Inkaar’ gets this uncomfortable liaisons out in the park.
Impulsive, arrogance, egos – they have been hallmarks of show business for ages now, and we have been splashed with those ethos, with some sweet melodies and titillating screenplay. Arjun Rampal and Chitrangada Singh’s chemistry sizzles, both come up with terrific performances. Rest of the cast supports with flair.
Not a typical classic, yet ‘Inkaar’ has moments of breeze and pedigree.