Went out to watch Slum Dog Millionaire yesterday afternoon, embarrassed Gman like anything as I bawled through the movie (and would close my eyes through anything traumatic ...like the "Gangajal" inspired scene... all the while asking him in a loud voice to let me know when its over). Oh the movie is sweet...and yes detractors might point out that Danny Boy(le) used all the clichés (and some more)) about desis but frankly I think that is THE VERY REASON the movie works. I was crying because so much was familair and though there is nothing similar about our lives (so far!) I could identify with the young protagonist.Tell me how many of you wouldnt have taken the "leap of faith" when the Big B helicopter came abuzzing?!! I was laughing and crying and telling everyone "I SO UNDERSTAND".
And I see parallels in Jamal's journey with my year so far,the movie (and the year's) ability to "wrench" out every emotion from us, . Never has an year literally "taken it out of me", a rollercoaster of emotions, I look back at it exhausted. I know I cannot be ungrateful for the year has blessed me with happiness beyond my comprehension, there is a new nest and hearth (the GREAT middle-class dream eh)and an opportunity to expand our eccentric gene pool hee hee...but all this while I fall helter skelter into the lives of my grandparents as fate (and a fair bit of human evil) erases all the markers of my life.
Melbourne mornings, Pesho looks out in the night.
Pesho's brother visits and the three musketeers watch some tele.
Travel, travel, travel and meeting in airport lounges as 'ships/planes that pass in the night'.
Aspirations mine and the city's, Lower Parel's 'enterprising entrepreneur' who lapped up the fruits of the information revolution while a certain section of the population will not grow beyond passive 'milestones' on the Haji Ali causeway
Balcony with a view, Bare Miyan and a self portrait--giddy with glee and high on kebabs a 'memory bundle' for a moment that did come true.
Visits home...baby dust...and OBCD Aneela will document EVERYTHING.
They say that when Shakespeare referred to the Winter of Discontent he meant the silencing of dissent rather than its expression. Perhaps when there are no exit strategies, and a populace simmers in hate, the gardens of Wah no more grow flowers. Deserted shoes line its avenues. And where a spring of sweet water once enraptured a Mughal king, now lies drenched with the blood of poor laborers.
Like Lahiri's Ashima and Ashoke I feel I live the lives of the 'extremely aged'...'those for whom everyone they once knew and loved are lost'...Marriott lunches, Gakhar plaza DVDs, Taj evenings.
Closing the door on 2008 with a hope and prayer that I open it to a new, bright tomorrow.