Shamitabh: late after thoughts.

 After leaving the cinema hall if the movie still keeps on lingering in your head, it's a good movie. It has to be one. May be I was totally wrong. After viewing Shamitabh I was confused rather  perplexed about what I saw. On the surface, the first reaction was ,'Oh it's splendid, something different.' And it went on in the head weaving webs I could not come out of. And when the webs started unwinding some glaring flaws became so apparent that the first reaction started looking stupid !
All the medico technical jargon was so absurd that it defied all scientific logic. Amitabh's voice coming out of Dhanush's throat ?!. Well if it has to come mechanically through microchip / rather speaker fitted in Dhanush's larynx it should sound like ' Next patient Please' type of announcer  device voice  fitted in Physician's waiting room. Should it use Dhanush's vocal cords, but they are totally paralyzed, so even if they really make sound, it should be Dhanush's own voice/ sound, Why should it sound like Amitabh?
Director seems to be so much in awe of Amitabh, the actor and more his voice that he conveniently overlooks all these lapses. There are further. The dialogue, any time any where between Dhanush and any body, is conveyed to Amitabh, 'the voice', through those radio waves and  it's Amitabh , not Dhanush, who thinks on the answer , gives it and the body, Dhanush, lip syncs it so flawlessly that no body present nearby, even within whispering distance notices the mechanics of it, as if Dhanush is aware of the answer, well in advance, Amitabh is going to construe. May be while dubbing, yes understandable but during live interviews carried out impromptu ? Difficult to digest !  .
The most pertinent question though arises is,what is more important 'the face' or 'the voice'? For Mr Balki it's obviously voice. But let me ask him a question ? Except Mr Amin Sayani how many 'voice over' artists he knows only on hearing their voices ? And Mr Amin Sayani is not even voice over /dubbing artist.
A Hundred or even more Hollywood's films for release in India are being dubbed  not only in Hindi but in Tamil and Telugu too. If in one flick Miss X dubs for Julia Roberts, in next it might be Miss Y. Who knows and who cares ?!
In her initial few Hindi films Shridevi took voice over from  Baby Naaz. So in 'Shamitabh' style Baby Naaz should have thrown tantrums, made " Artist" issue and black mailed Shridevi in accepting "voice's" superiority over "the face". It simply did not happen because it's not the way it's done. Had it been Baby Naaz would have been shown the door immediately in the next flick. In Shamitabh it doesn't  happen because Mr Balki doesn't want it to happen, for it's 'AMITABH' in full capitals, reality and  logic thrown in the thin air.
Whole exercise, albeit a futile one, seems like an ode of Mr. Balki to Amitabh's voice. Though I too love his baritone voice, entire circus falls flat on face, practically amounting to sycophancy and that's the one thing you have in abundance in Bollywood !

Wet Dream or Night mare?

'It was pitch dark and I was treading on a path unknown to me. There were dark clouds hovering on the distant horizon getting menacing with every passing moment. I was all-alone to myself. The lightening was flashing intermittently giving a glimpse of the surroundings but only for a fraction of second. I started looking out for Master but he was not to be seen anywhere and it aggravated my fear. I started shouting for him and then suddenly out of nowhere he appeared on the horizon smiling to himself as if calling me to join him. I froze. However hard I tried, my feet could not move. I felt as if I have been chained with thick solid iron. Suddenly the chains started growing towards my thighs, they engulfed my waist and then there was a strange feeling. I started liking the feel of those chains, I wanted more, and I craved for more. More they throttled me, more I liked it. And all of a sudden appeared this huge snake with hundred hoods, as if out of blues. I was petrified but strangely against my own wishes, I wanted him near me. I wanted to caress him; I wanted him to caress me. I was mesmerised, by the absolute power in his bright beady eyes. He came near me; slowly he climbed up the legs. His cold touch gave me a sudden jerk, again I don't know, but surprisingly that was the most pleasurable sensation I could ever have. I trembled going weak in my knees. Then he went up the thighs and then he entered me. I tell you, it was joy, joy and sheer joy. He then went up and up and up and then suddenly he disappeared, there was no trace of him. I searched frantically for him but he had gone leaving me in lurch. Gone for ever!"

Transport : Another Nathal thing

Embellishment three quarters a century ago.

Avva stood stark naked in front of a full-length mirror observing her image keenly. All her ornaments lay around her, scattered either on the bed or the floor. She turned around slowly, admiring her reflection in the mirror, totally oblivious of her surroundings. Though in her mid thirties and the mother of five children, Avva still looked as if she was carved out of fine Italian marble. Her flawless complexion along with her transparent silky skin gave her body a royal grandeur. Her well-rounded derriere continued down in one curvaceous stroke into smooth, well-sculpted thighs that lead on to long slender legs. Her breasts were firm and the nipples still hard. Her flat abdomen gradually descended into the valley of love after rising over a luxurious pubic mound.

Tilting her face down, she lifted one of the breasts with cup of her palm and caressed the erect nipple softly and delicately with her slender fingers. Her entire body quivered on the most desirable of the touches!

She picked up an ivory comb and gently divided her hair into three parts. In a lyrical slow motion she braided it into a plait and then rolling the plait on itself she arranged it into a graceful Khopa. She then carefully pinned gold Agraphuls into it serially, starting from top in diminishing sizes. At the centre of the parting she hooked a gold Bindi studded with emeralds. Next she lifted mekhala from the jewellery box. The mekhala, an embellished waistband, made of a two-inch thick gold braid was intricately embroidered with precious stones and gold beads. It had few small gold peepul leaves hanging from the under border. It also had four to five chains of gold beads attached to it on one side, in semicircular manner. Avva tied it around her waist. She carefully adjusted it so that the chains sloped down the side of her waist up to her left thigh, while the biggest of the peepul leaves covered the mound of her pubis. While adjusting the leaf she stroked herself lightly, closing her eyes momentarily as a surge of pleasure washed over!

She picked up Chandrahaar, a gold necklace with multiple bands of varying lengths. Carefully, avoiding her hair ornaments she put it around her neck. The bands cascaded down her neck and settled down in a wave to just below her navel. They covered half her breasts in filigree and leaving the other half invitingly open. She nursed a half-smile seeing the naughty nipples peeking from beneath the gold curtain. She next wore on Chinchpeti, a choker necklace, along with Tanmani, a string of pearls centred by a ruby. On her right arm Avva slid on Waki, woven thickly out of pure gold threads and adjusted it to a desirable fit. Its big blood red ruby sparkled even in the dim light. It was then the turn of Goth, Todey, Patlya and bangdya the ornaments for forearms and wrists. Patlya, and Todey, followed the Goth. Leaning over to adjust her anklets; she cut a picturesque figure on the background of the dimly lit, well-decorated bedroom and looked as if she had directly stepped out of a Raja Ravi Varma portrait!

The embellishment over, Avva turned around again and gazed into the mirror searchingly looking over the change that the adornment had wrought. She gazed endlessly. Then, she pulled over a pure silk sari embroidered in gold threads and draped it around herself casually.

Pakistani Encounters

We recently had one at Adelaide and we came out victorious. Over the years we too had many,here 's its account!

Untouchability

The lines drawn were invisible but they were there all the same and were present since time immemorial. Nobody was supposed to cross the lines so nobody crossed them. It was as simple as that!

Untouchability! And in how many different forms did it exist! Neither did it allow others to come near the elitist Brahmin class nor did it spare even kith and kin from its lasting effects. Right from birth to death it cast its shadow! At childbirth, it came in the form of Soyare or Suver. The new mother and young baby were not allowed to touch anything or anybody and vice a versa till the time they were purified on the tenth day of new arrival. And at the time of death it was Sutak, where the days to observe varied, depending upon the nearness of the relation. It was present during menstruation. It presided over the cooking preparation, it even affected cleaning and purification. It was not restricted to the human beings alone but included the inanimate things also. Simple water required for the religious rituals too, was stored only after it was sanctified. And once that was done, it was beyond the reach of lowly souls!

And when it wore the sovlay it was devastating. Like a twister, it destroyed everything that came in its purview. Even the lifeless shadow of a ‘lesser’ mortal from the lower caste did not escape it! It was all pervasive not leaving any sphere of the life "Untouched'. It restricted people not only from entering the kitchens but also from the minds!

Touch! Simple touch, many splendour gift of the sense to mankind. So brutally kept away from it by the Brahmins due to their vanity and their vacuous pride in the caste superiority, that it deprived even them from having the tryst with the divinity, in other words the ‘Touch’!

Touch! That sense of joy, which conveys the feelings without a word! A sense that carries the tornadoes of passion, which are quietened by the pools of compassion. A feel that takes the form of the delicate smooth silkiness of a newborn’s hair at one end to that of reassurance flowing through the wrinkled hands of age and experience, at the other. That cozy, warm feel of hand-stitched quilt on a cold chilly morning or the tingle given by the sudden splash of ice cold water on the face on dry, sultry, mid-summer noon.

Love, in many forms, bloomed in many hues and shades using ‘Touch’ as its medium, just bypassed them! By keeping themselves aloof and 'untouchable' though Brahmins prided in being superior, in fact they were a miserable lot who ended up being isolated from the mainstream in the long run.

nathal