Balcony Musings

  

They said their goodbyes and she latched the door behind them. Walked to the balcony to wave at them as they left for work , only to return back late in the evening. She glanced at the wall clock. It was only eight thirty . She had good eleven hours to kill once again, before having any company in the house. Priya walked stealthily to the kitchen , took out a chunk of chocolate powder in a bowl . Her face lit up seeing the amount of chocolate coming her way.

She switched on the TV and sat down to see another day go by . Two hours and umpteen daily soaps later , Priya looked out towards the window.  She dragged the  old white plastic chair to the balcony. The chair had been in the house for as long as she could remember. It had been a shiny white once , but now had turned the ugliest shade of grey possible. It seemed to get more comfortable with each passing day. She was pretty sure the chair would be in their house till the day she lived.

She crouched in the chair, and slid her legs on the balcony railings. The sky was starting to simmer , like the chair, with shades of grey slowly taking over . She looked around to other balconies , to see if any one had come out yet. The perpetually  bored house wives from three consecutive balconies opposite hers were out. One of them was getting the clothes off from the railings, and the other exchanging their plans for lunch , as loudly as possible.  Chote Laal , as always could be seen , sipping his tea , as he did every day at eleven o’clock , while he waited for his charcoal to heat up. He ironed clothes in the colony , and  was the most disciplined man she had ever seen. As he took the last sip , out came his beedi . Chote Laal worked from eight in the morning to eight in the night. He took three breaks , one at eleven with his tea and beedi , then one at two with food , and then the last one again at five thirty , for a second round of beedi. Apart from this , he laboured with his heavy iron , sliding it over the bundles of clothes ,every single day.

Priya was grateful to Chote Laal , in ways that only she could feel . Even on the quietest days in the colony, when she was all alone in the house , whether it was a dreadful winter evening or a sweaty  summer afternoon , and she stood out in the balcony hoping to see a face , Chote Laal was always there. It didn't matter to her that they never talked, she was glad that he stood there every day   . The faint   unending   rhythmic screech that his heavy iron made every time he pushed it forward and backwards , was reassuring on many levels , that could not be  explained. Many a days, when the electricity was out for long hours and there was nothing but  silence for company , she left the balcony door open, so that the noise could be heard in the house. The screeches became music to her during those moments , refusing to leave her alone , more loyal a companion than the radio or television .  Even on the worst of days, when she felt the world was crumbling around her, and there was no way out , a sight of Chote laal , taking one shirt at a time , from the heaps next to him, laying it down slowly , working on every crease with the same amount of patience , folding it back , and picking up the next, brought back a sense of normalcy into her. He never seemed to get intimidated by the huge heaps of clothes at his table .There were days when even at six in the evening  , the pile of clothes kept increasing , but not a moment of uncertainty came close to his face.

Chote Laal was back to work , and the ladies were now discussing the dinner menu . The  wind grew heavier , and the sky darker. She could smell the rain coming closer . Rain drops did not take long to hit the mud in the park , and soon the aroma filled the air around. She stretched out her arms , and her cheeks ,  and pure joy took over.

Shadows of the last name

              Shadows of the last name                          
Who does not remember the story of a father explaining the importance of staying united to his kids ,by showing that a single twig breaks off easy on bending , whereas a bundle of twigs doesn’t. Sadly ,once in the real world, lessons such as these fade away in light of practicality and societal norms. It seems funny, to be living in times where we have managed to erase the distance between us and the moon, but not between our surnames.
In all honesty, a year back , the lines written above did not  imply much meaning in my life, and I believed that casteism was a thing of the past  among the educated in our generation. It was only recently , when I had the chance to live outside a metro city that I saw the enormity of my ignorance. After having lived in Delhi all my life, my job made me shift to a  smaller city last year, and it has been a year of revelations to say the least .For one thing ,I have realized  that my surname is of great consequence , much more than I had ever thought of it to be . Every conversation that happens, eventually comes back to the surname of the person in question. These conversations incensed me till no end and, it took me almost six months to stop being left baffled at the frequent mention of caste.
 It is not always in a derogatory sense that the question of caste comes up though, and I have long debated with myself if my aversion to these talks is only because it is new to me ,and maybe this is not about prejudice at all . However, my case got a bit stronger when an “upper caste” friend of mine on hearing about a Brahmin girl  marrying  outside of her community, commented that though she did not believe in the caste system herself , the girl would be going from here to here , holding out her one palm at the top and gesturing towards the other one at the bottom. I looked at her in shock and pity, wondering if she would ever realize the implication and the gravity of what she had said. One is  used to this kind of talk when it comes from our grandparents or parents, maybe because it is convenient to shrug it off as generation gap . But who do you blame it on when an educated, working twenty five year old engineer in today’s age, believes in caste, and probably unknowingly discriminates on it too. It is intriguing to see casteism so deeply rooted in our society on a daily basis, that it is hardly noticeable. If this is the way an educated  individual thinks in India , it becomes  daunting to imagine what prevails in the rural parts ,the villages , the illiterate youth, who sadly  constitute the majority. It might sound farfetched, but, ghastly incidents like the recent killings of two Dalit kids in Haryana,  the Dadri lynching , or the innumerable honor killings , are all  byproducts of such thoughts ,aggravated to their worst.
Governments come and go , they  talk  about unity and in the same breath remind us  that our caste has been victimized.  Expecting politicians to stop cashing in on caste politics is only fair on our part when we stop voting on the same basis. There is no immediate solution since this is about bringing a lasting change, in  our culture and practices .The easier part of the task in hand is to shield our future generations from this stench of the past. The ones, who are privileged enough in this country to have been educated, have a decision of great consequence to make. They need to question the regressive beliefs that have been passed on to us by our elders , before we do the same to the generations that follow. The sole purpose of education is to empower a person with the ability of taking decisions for himself. If as a generation we fail to realize this and are not able to decide what we need to let go from our past, we become as much a part of the mob that stands  in front of yet another Dalit hut, ready to kill.

                                                                          HAIDER

The first images that I have of Kashmir are that of Shammi Kapoor dancing away to the tunes  of  “Chahe koi mujhe” , from Kashmir ki Kali . For  many people like me , who have never been to Kashmir ,  it has always , more or less been bollywood, which has  brought it to us.

For a place as beautiful as that , it becomes very convenient to romanticize it on screen , and very uneasy to look beyond . Vishal Bharadwaj’s Haider , is a brave adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet ,  set in a grim backdrop, which questions the uncontrolled hold of the Indian Army under the AFSPA in Kashmir . 

The movie traces the journey of a Kashmiri Family in the nineties , with Shahid Kapoor ,Shraddha , Tabu , Irfan Khan and KK Menon in pivotal roles. 

The rosy  and charming picture of Kashmir , that has been painted over decades  by Hindi films , goes for a toss minutes into the movie. The director takes you through narrow shadowy lanes ,  covered with heaps of snow  , rows of dishelved , small houses , and an enduring air of gloom set throughout.

Haider returns from Aligarh to Kashmir to look for his father who has gone  missing after being accused of giving shelter to militants . Khurram Meer , played impeccably by KK Menon , is a conniving and deceitful advocate , who is fascinated by his sister in law Ghazala ,played by Tabbu .

The sub textual  oedipal shades in the relationship between Ghazala and Haider are captivating and chilling at the same time . The ease and silence with which the director dares to  puts  forth  a relationship so sinfully  knotty , single handedly makes the movie his best till date. 

Roohdar, a   militant , played by Irfan Khan , brings a breath of fresh air into the movie , which tends to slow down as it approaches the interval , with a short but crisp performance.

One of the most enthralling  scenes in the movie comes with the song Bismill , fitting to be the perfect climax. However , the movie goes on for a while , after , which is the only weak hold of the film, its length. However, it keeps you in rapt attention , almost for the most part.

Needless to say Shahid delivers his career best with Haider .

 However , it is Tabu and Menon , who churn out  the soul of the movie , with the perfect portrayal of their flawed characters. Ghazala is a gullible  woman who yearns for love and acceptance from her son , but is eager for her share of happiness too .

 Haider , is a movie ,which , brings out the unnerving sides of human relationships , making them more unsettling than the nerve-wracking backdrop of Kashmir.