Whispers

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Location: Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

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Bala - Movie Review

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“ Toh bhaiya aisa hai ki hum poori duniya ki sar par chadhkar baitheh hai. Chhote-bade harr aaine mein, hum hi toh rehte hai. Hum hi hai jo najro ko lubhaate hai, aapke selfie k liye Likes hum hi toh leke aate hai. …Hum aapki khoobsurti ka raaj hai, aapke sar k permanent taaj hai. Humara status koi Bajrang Bali se kam nahi hai – dekhiye tel unhe bhi chadaya jaata hai, aur tel humein bhi chadaya jaata hai. Hum baal hai. Sabse bada bhaukaal hai, khopdi ki khaal hai, bheje ki dhaal hai, agar mil gayein toh kamala hai, aur nahi milein toh jindagi bhar ka malaal hai. ” With a soliloquy for the ages, deftly delivered by the inimitable Vijay Raaz’s off-screen voice, Amar Kaushik sets the tone for this social problem comedy movie Bala . What catches the viewers’ attention first up, is the wonderful medley of pictures that accompany this opening stanza – from everyday tea-stalls to roadside Romeos, it captures the common man and his ubiquitous hair. Or lack thereof. After all, what better w...
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শূন্যতার মাপকাঠি

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শূন্যতার কি কোনও মাপকাঠি আছে ? How do we define emptiness? Is it the empty terrace being burnt to a crisp by the midsummer sun? Is it the smell of staleness in a rickety, late night bus bouncing along on a potholed road? Is it the hollowness in the eyes staring back from the mirror? Is it the ballpoint pen that breathes its last in the middle of a word that wasn’t meant to be written? Is it the boiling anger just at the base of the throat, an ancient emotion that’s actually grief? Or is it the sound of the screams that prick my consciousness and scar my dreams? একমুঠো বালির মতো ; হাতের মুঠো খুললেই সব শূন্য। বুকের ভেতর একটা মনখারাপি অসুখ , ঠোঁটের কোনায় এক নিমেষের জীবন। Is all emptiness always the same, or am I more empty than you? Which is more empty – a beautiful envelope with venom inside, or a resounding laugh without a soul?
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Without you

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Every morning, when my eyes open for the first time, when my brain wakes up to the inescapable reality of the today, when my lungs tell me that they’ve kept up the tiring work of keeping me alive, when the tips of my fingers are still tingling with the evanescence of dreams I had subconsciously reached out for, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, screaming into my ears that without you, every waking up is an exercise in predestined futility. And every night, just before my eyes close for the last time, when the gap between my toes has accumulated the imperceptible dust of the shattered day, when the waves of deliverance have touched the roots of my hair for the briefest of seconds, when the riotous desires from the omnipresent halls of collective humanity have lived and died in my sweat and blood, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, whispering into my disintegrating cognizance that without you, every going to sleep is a scream into the nothingness of oblivion.
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