ScriBBles: oF DreAms & Th'OuGht's

Indian Cinema recently completed it's 100 years and present day actors paid tribute to all the legendary actors who graced the silver screen. From birth, these actors and actresses are the trend setters. What they wear, the thinking of the characters they portray, the message they give have had a strong impact not only on the youth but has proven as a strong adrenaline for older souls as well. From Mother India to PK , through the lanes of Guide, village of Sholay , fields of DDLJ and The attack of 26/11 ; Indian cinema has captured the change of society way too perfectly. Portrayal of pre-interdependence scenarios somehow tried to show the ones born independently, the so called 'developing' India as a colony. The immortal love stories have been vividly engraved in memories, often phrased along with Shakespeare's Romeo-Juliet in a manner of speaking. Cinemas like Ra-One , which deserves a special mention, brought in the use of VFX to the extent that incorporated ani

Memories, a thing of the past, the moments once spent that never return but remain as an integral part of someone who has been there. Through the entire span from cradle to pyre, every soul has tonnes of memories, that slowly tend to fade like an old movie yet the thing that helps these memories to be one with the carrier is nothing but the emotions involved. Like every other movie, there are some movies that are evergreen and then there are some which are very forgettable. There are some which brought out the best in us ans there are some that sought out the Satan. Good or bad, light or dark, even or odd; the mind never seem to break away from the crystal chains of memories. There are moments in everyday life when the memories seem to hit back causing momentary concussion that eventually leads to distortion in the on going activity. Few are able to cope up instantly while a lot more than few transit into temporary monk-like stature trying to live out or black out from those recollecti

A great author once quoted, "The opposite of love is not hate; hate is just love gone bad. The actual opposite of love is apathy: when you don't care a damn as to what happens to the other" There's no point of denying or obscuring the fact that most of us have gone through a period of heart break and lost love. But today even though we live; we had spoken to our mate, "I can't live without you." Feeling nostalgic? Theoretically it sounds absurd, unless she happens to be the only doctor who knows about your illness. But how are you alive? Or how have you gotten over the completely. Some part of the lost love still resides within your heart. And each of those memory still incite a shivering pain through your soul. In fact, the pain never goes away; with time it just gets easier to mask the pain and carry on with a straight face. Time doesn't heal everything, it's just that time gives one the strength to face the world with all the pain buried dee

Across the kingdom of dream Lies the ground of suffering Reality, a distant canvas Love, beauty, fame and all that jazz. Hammer of life strikes a blow Picture sinks a bit slow Peaks one, seeps at strike Lament who grace, sinks to dike. Might not who stand a hill That who at strike, sheet alike frill Free, frank; open at large They beat with mock at darge. Cruel as may truth portray It's black or white, no shade of grey Rise, fall, build & crumble Naked truth, barefaced lie: so much subtle.

This date marks 3 years of that day. The day when my life changed forever. Without doubt or fail, I was supposed to meet her today. We would talk and she would patiently listen to all my mindless blabber with that same old cute smile,without losing its charm, the same smile that stole my heart, the very first time I saw her at the Smile Café. What a day it was; cloudy sky, cool weather and the monetary hide and seek playing sun, smiling with all his galore. She was in all pink, literally from head to toe. Those pink hair bands, pink dress and those pink sandals seems to be made just for her. I dint know her name, so I named her Pinky. Till date I call her that. Time went by and somehow a common link grew to connect us up. It was as if the entire cosmos conspiring to bind us eternally. 3 months, 12 days, 1 hour, 20 minutes and 11 seconds, from the first-sight-attraction; I proposed. She took her time but 12 days and 1 hour later, she said, "Yes". Fortunately we both were past

Part IV So what really happened to Rita & Zeyan in the end. Spending nights drowned in tears and sniffles, neither of them realised the consequence put down by past in their path of future. An incident that brought them together for a day became the reason for another drought, the worst of all, that seemed to go till eternity. Some scandalous people had opted to disturb a few good ones, and she being one of the victims. He never understood that situations often squeeze out the worst face of people and more often than always they are not the way they temporarily portray. She blames him of all the recent tragedies she faced the the immediate past. And He never gave a thought to patience, eventually ending up going far-far away. A month later, she turned 17. He had lots of plans and presumed everything would be as kiss-and-make-up on her birthday. Alas! He never saw her, She din't even pick his call. He spent the entire day calling, even spending a few hours near her apartment;

Out of the hundred different times she came and thousand other times I forgot the way she came to meet me, hiding from the eyes; in a world of our own. A world which is obscured from scrutiny and fenced by thoughts, she came over to meet me in my dreams. Each time she came, she left a mark, a mark hard to erase. A mark that urged my desperation past the fence to see the flourishing beauty through my eyes; walking, smiling and then getting embarrassed realizing that I was looking. I don't know where we were, or what scheme leads us to that place but the one thing I can concrete is that those moments seem unreal, even for an illusion, even for a dream. I was lying on the edge of the bed trying to catch a nap in vain. And a few other faceless chaps were snoring loudly behind by turned back. And that's when she entered the room wearing the same white top which she always did when she came to meet me in this world. She saw, she smiled and quietly sat on the floor beside m

They ask us never to speak of the devil; they say it’s cursed, the 666, but one ever returns to tell the tale of what happened to those who goad, for whose adrenaline crossed them the thin wall between valor and absurdity. Something such occurred a few years ago in the Steel town of Eastern India. Verdict of witnesses, if we were to believe, they say that in the midst of the rainy evening of 6th June 2006 (6.06.06), a total of 18 families saw what can never be truly explained by logic. The township was visited by a travelling circus, Royal Gem Circus. The shows in there were greatly appreciated by the town-dwellers and what was more interesting in the show was the joker that was never funny yet settled a remark upon everyone. The joker wore a black face with painted white eyes and wore prisoner’s gear. Rumor speaks that he was indeed a prisoner, a runaway, hiding under the shade of a prisoner joker, a double cover. The joker was spotted at the highest point of the tent trying

In the loving memory of the wisest man I’ve ever known…………… Our family suffered a huge loss, a loss of guardian, a loss of a torch who showed path not only to his children, grandchildren but also to the whole village in his youth; continuing his efforts to help others till the very stale age. He was the man who believed in taking the task on himself and show everyone, “Yes, I can do it.” That’s the thing which has been unseen by masses but whoever saw his potential to guide, to be a motivation will ever remember him. In my childhood, he stayed with us. All I remember is his nurture and care for me. I still remember how he used to lie down every evening on the bed, eyes closed, meditating, chanting the name of almighty for the well being of the whole family. I remember how he used to cheer up when I got good marks, how he used to save me from Dad’s thrashing every time I did a mistake. His love for each one of his grandchildren is un-differentiated and un-conditional.

‘Girls are no different from boys’-a modern saying for the 21st century girls. But it’s high time for boys to equalize with the growing potential of these modern girls. With the increased awareness among people and the speedy growth of the population of the middle class society, there has been a race to teach girls every possible thing so that they do not lack behind from the boys. This is done just for the cause of a good wedding groom. But these grooms are acquainted and carry knowledge only till the family bank balance. So it’s now a need for the boys to expand their borders and learn to cook. ‘Cooking’ by the boys clan is often seen as the activity to prepare a cup of tea or coffee or serve the readymade quick noodles. This is not cooking. Cooking is an art, a talent in humans that leads it to innovate. By mixing two separate food items, create a new exotic dish. So, boys must learn it-not the former option of quick preparation but the latter mentioned art. Shakespeare sa

Few weeks down this day, I was back in my village for the first death anniversary rituals of my late grandfather. Being a teen of a sub-urban town the village backwardness has engraved a loath in my mind ever since I became of the age for the simple reason that the regular morning chorus is severely affected due to the lack of sanitation facilities. One has to depend upon the lone public river for the water needs to be fulfilled. While the right bank was the bathing ground, the left green carpet served as the ‘shit-field’, a dirty public toilet ground heavily rooted by bushes. For a boy, like me, of the sub-urban, it’s not at all a first-rate take off for the day. On my only bank visit, this time, to the river bank (which actually was the male ghat ) we were visited by a few college girls in uniform descending down the downhill, trying to cross the stream. Yet again for a sub-urban fellow this was reason enough to turn red and dive deep to the river base to hide the nude body till the

HUNGER BRIGADES CRIME It wasn't even a week since the controversial statement by Mr. Raj Babbar claiming that an Indian can get a meal with as low as Rs. 12 and another such person, with a similar political background, claimed the same meal costing outraging Rs. 5. Well to them I ask, “Are you still living in the era of colonized India?” A family living in Dharavi wishes nothing more than a four score meal for him and his family. Along with water, food is the elements around which the whole world revolves. Ever since the Green Revolution, the food production has increased manifold and so has the number of mouths to feed. In developing nations, like the ones in South Asia, industrialization has forced the people to migrate into the towns and cities. Concurrently, it has decreased the producers while the consumers have multiplied vigorously. With the increasing number of consumers, we see a rapid increase in the rate of criminal activities taking place all around. So how