Of Daughters and Sons...

It's been a few days since I saw the documentary titled India's Daughter. The one that has been creating a furore all over the world, sending the media into a frenzy and somehow impacting our government such that they want to ban it, which they did. The I & B Ministry made sure that it was taken off of YouTube and that people won't be able to watch it through any related searches on Google either. The day is not far when we would be defined as the 'Nation That Bans'. From food to movies we ban it all because we can't have our moral compasses going bananas. But it's alright if our hypocrisy flies off the charts.

However, the day and age that we live in does provide us ample avenues to find other options. This day and age also brings us face to face with unimaginable horrors such as the one documented in this 59 minute traumatic recount of the incident that took place in my country on December 16, 2012.

I sat huddled inside the safety of my home crouching over my phone's screen as the tears streaked my face. I know this to be true for all who may have watched it. All those who may have tried to fathom (though they would never completely understand) the tragic turn of events on that seemingly normal day would have cried. Some inconsolably. Irrespective of their state, country, caste or religion.

And it has been haunting me ever since. Not that I was unperturbed by matters such as this before. No girl or woman ever is. The most basic of defense mechanisms is to shrug it off. To keep it hidden in those recesses of our minds which we rarely visit. Try not to think of it everyday. We're all trying to get by. Trying to pass through life without any incident. But then something happens that jolts you. This was one of those things.

When I heard about the documentary being banned, I was intrigued like many to know why. I couldn't allow myself to blindly accept all that was being said and written. After watching it I really, truly am a lot of things.

I'm scared of the glimpse I got of such horrendous mindsets. And to think that I may be sitting beside someone like them when I travel or when I'm out with my friends or when I commute to work and return late in the night. Or worse - I may already know them as one of my acquaintances.

I'm appalled beyond measure for what happened. That I couldn't do anything. And for what happened after it. What continues to happen.

I'm ashamed that it happened in my country where we make deities out of women.

I'm ashamed that the law is my country is so weak and that we hand over whatever semblance of it there is to lawyers that themselves harbour cavemen mentalities.

And I'm certain as hell that it should NOT be banned.

What needs to be tackled more than the eating preferences of people, the movies they watch and the clothes they wear are the highly rotten mindsets that plague us today. We will never be fully emancipated until we find a way to curb this insidious and very mental malaise.

The Mean Reds...

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.  

"Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes..."

Anonymous, Holy Bible: New International Version

It was not a day when you'd expect one to be all alone. Everywhere one went they were bound to walk into a mush parade. It was that day of the year when everybody is expected to go cuckoo over their significant other halves. When you have to have plans. Plans with that special someone. Plans to have a night out or a night in. Or plans with other singletons - an evening spent ruing their current status or reminiscing a past love. Or in some cases - loves.  

She sat staring at her phone's screen, skimming her mailbox. Reading the barrage of unread "For Your Valentine" promotional mailers. She wasn't usually the highly blunt and opinionated type to hop on the 'I-Hate-The-Commercialization-of-Love' bandwagon but was also not one to get all sloppy for one day. 

She was the kind of girl who loved spending weekends lazying in surrounded by books that smelled of times long gone. Plugging in her ear phones and tuning ths whole world out. Cooking a quiet meal and eating to her heart's content. Watching Breakfast At Tiffany's. For the umpteenth time.

Just for Audrey Hepburn. 

The way she quips "Darling!" 

"Grand Central Station. And step on it darling!" or "I'll tell you one thing, Fred, darling..." 

The numerous times she chimes "marvellous!" 

Or when she sits on her window sill crooning Moon River looking absolutely surreal. 

Or when Holly and Fred paint the town red by doing things they've never done before. 

The ethereal opening scene that has her standing wearing the classic black ensemble, that many after her have tried to recreate, in front of her favourite destination when she gets the mean reds - Tiffany's. 

It just  took her  to another world. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Perfect! 

And how could she forget Cat! Nameless slob, you Cat. 

A movie about a complex girl simplified by the man who falls for her. 

Because in the end, it's not the diamonds or the lavish parties or super rats like Rusty Trawler. Its about love. And that's all a girl ever asks for.

The Dark Half

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

In me, reside more than me...

From a very early age, an age when kids begin to learn shapes and colours, to recognize alphabets and numbers, she had sensed something else. She had struggled with light, finding a strange comfort in the shadows. And soon she befriended it. 

Her parents were not immune to it all for long. They say nobody knows a child better than its own mother and her mother had an inkling that something was grossly wrong when she always found little Lisa out of her crib laughing all alone in the middle of the night. As is the custom, it was dismissed. But a parent does get suspicious when their 5 month old baby is found almost every fortnight wide awake and in a completely different room.

It were the little things. Strangely, she never had any friends. In a bid to get her to act normal like the other kids in the neighbourhood, her father got her a pet. A bird. A dog. Finally a cat. They were never around for more than a week. Somehow they always disappeared or as she reasoned disinterestedly - "it flew out of its cage", "it ran away following the ice cream truck", "it's a cat Ma, they run away that's what they do". 

Once while searching for something, her father happened upon a tin box underneath her bed. He was curious since he couldn't remember giving her one and couldn't recall her mother or anybody else for that matter giving something like it to her. 

Her mother remembered watching in surprise as she saw her husband dash out of Lisa's room with horror masking his face. 

He never told her what he saw in the box only that they should give her some space - that maybe it was one of those teenage angsty phases. 

She had a monstrous appetite for food. Always seemed as if she were eating for two. Her habits were getting erratic every day. She was spiraling out of control. 

Her father suggested that they should have her visit a shrink. But her mother hoped for a positive change in her daughter soon. She hoped for a miracle that would never happen. 

Switching off all the lights of their house before retiring for the day, she heard Lisa talking. She crept soundlessly to her room to see her only daughter standing near the window mumbling something while someone else slept in her bed. A gasp was all she could manage as she realized that the person fast asleep also had long dark locks as her own daughter. She was Lisa. 

There were two of her. 

She went hysterical trying to fathom what she had seen. She finally relented and made her visit the local shrink the very next day. 

In a not so well lit office, Lisa met her doctor. The interiors were painted even more gloomy to provide one with a false sense of privacy. Somewhere one could be comfortable sharing their secrets. Since she was the last appointment the doctor had that afternoon - he allowed the receptionist to leave for the day. She paced across the room as the doctor entered leaving the door ajar on his way in. 

"You can sit down Lisa, maybe relax in that chaise lounge. I want you to be at complete ease," the doctor assured her. 

"So are you going to ask me silly questions now? Hoping to gain an insight into mind, the way I think?" she asked still pacing the room.

"No. I'm not. We're going to talk when you're ready to talk," he said.

"Ha! That's really not the way it works!" she smirked. 

"Believe me. That is the only way," he tried to persuade her. 

Her eyes alighted upon a book that adorned one of the shelves. 

"The Jolly Corner. Did you like it?" she asked.

"I haven't read it actually. What's it about?" he lied. 

"It deals with the concept of alter egos," she said. 

The doctor stayed silent. 

"Do you believe in them, Doctor?" she probed. 

"I don't know. It isn't something I think of too much every day. I don't think anybody does," he explained. 

"I do," she interjected. 

"Is it? Why?" he asked.

She walked towards the ornate mirror that stood at the far end of the wall. 

"I was very astute as a child. I understood things that are not that easy to grasp. Embraced certain things that may scare the daylights out of a grown up. You see, they're there. With us. All the time," her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Who?" the doctor got curious.

"Tell me, who do you see when you look into the mirror? Actually, come here. Walk right over to where I'm standing. It's easier if you see it with your own eyes," she explained. 

The doctor took a deep breath as he realized that she was another one of those incorrigible nutcases he meets on a daily basis. 

"Most people fail to see. They don't want to. I did. When I was 3, I looked in the mirror. Looked deep into its eyes. That's when I saw her. Looking right at me. Into my soul," she added. 

"My reflection smiled, I didn’t," she finished as the doctor saw her reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn't her. Because she was smiling. 

Lisa wasn't. 

The door to his office suddenly slammed shut.

Eyes That Dream...

Those eyes, I swear!

Those treacherous eyes!

That lead to this train of events, 

A fruitless search for a measure to save or prevent, 

The one guilty of nothing,

Yet caught under the jurisdiction of everything.

Those eyes! Traitors!

Responsible for this horrible crime! 

Crept in silently, unnoticed, 

With tact and stealth, they committed, 

The unpardonable offence of dreaming, 

Giving wings of capability to incapable envisioning.

Those eyes! 

Are the ones who betrayed!

Hiding there, waiting, 

Preying on vulnerability, conspiring, 

And once the blinds closed,

The impending deluge of hope reckoned.

Those eyes! 

Those disloyal eyes!

Go on deceiving and conniving, 

This painful cycle of yearning and desiring, 

The heart doesn't comprehend wants and means, 

Against the crumbling walls of uncertainty it leans.

 Those eyes! 

Those ruinous eyes! 

The mirage seems closer to home, 

Costing more than one can fathom,

To dream is a gamble too exorbitant,

Shards of the piercing truth, their remnant...

Will the Real ‘Real Woman’ Please Stand Up?

Image Courtesy: Google

Off late, there's been a lot of buzz on my timeline about 'real women'. A certain advertisement campaign by a very famous lingerie brand that some allege paints a wrong and unrealistic image of women. That it makes women all over the world feel bad about the way they look when they look at these models who are 'all of the same slim body type.' While it is not right to set a standard of beauty (which lies in the eye of the beholders that's what they told me) but it is also highly foolish to spend your precious time and energy rallying a petition asking for the campaign to be removed. It is times like these when I start itching for that time when we lived without social media (remember the Stone Age?) Because really, while it has given us an outlet to vent, it has also given rise to the irritatingly persistent 'Opinion Fart.' It's everywhere – “I didn't like my coffee today so I will blog about it because that is my opinion” or “A certain movie/song/poster rubbed me the wrong way - so I will design an online appeal for it to be pulled down urging all to do the same because I have an opinion.” It is this gateway of creating sensationalism without sense that we're all a victim of. Including me.

Somehow I was reminded of the sneaky little stunt pulled off by another Real Beauty campaign last year to oppose Photoshopping of celebrities in magazines and setting unrealistic standards of beauty and again aimed at spreading the word about 'real women.'

Who are these real women?

Were the girls standing in the row in the Ad campaign NOT actual women? Living, breathing women? I'm not a crusader for the rights of models but they're people too. Aren't they? And who decides the definition of real women?

I never really understood the whole hullabaloo about "REAL WOMEN" and "RETOUCHED WOMEN." It still won't stop people from picking up a copy of their favorite magazine just as it hits the newsstands or it won't stop them from gaping at the women they see on TV. Larger than life portrayal and unrealistic images of women isn't something that started a month ago. It is the oldest trick in the book to package a product in a manner that stands appealing enough to make the target audience want to buy it. They’re selling lingerie, for God’s sake! And as people that lead the glamorous lifestyle, they have a certain image to live up to, a certain way to lead their life if they want to stay in the business, which is EXACTLY what these models do too, so why can't you just let them be? Real women are smart enough to know what's real and what is fake and EVERYONE, I repeat EVERYONE has issues with the way they look, whether that person is a commoner making her way to the grocery store or a supermodel that toils for hours in front of a camera to give that perfect pose! A campaign isn't gonna cut it! You're just reiterating a fact that has been known all along in the worst possible way.

Yes, agreed there are women of all shapes and sizes. A slim body type being one of them. So why does it ring alarm bells in our heads when we see a 'skinny' girl on the cover of a magazine or on TV? Why does it MOVE people so much that they concoct petitions for it? And a skinny person does not always imply an eating disorder and is not a way to spread ideas of a 'negative body image' or lace young minds with thoughts of skipping food or puking it out. And to all those harping about the fact that these are not real women and that actual women are ‘imperfect regular old dames’ being bullied and picked on by the big bad world for the way they appear - well let me tell you it ain't that peachy on the other side. Thin girls are also victims of some of the worst kind of criticisms that make them feel awful about themselves. Because they feel. Since they are 'real women.' Like you and me.

And does anyone ever realize that we're equating the term Real Women (an overly abused term I now feel) with how a woman looks alone. Isn't it appalling that we're basing the idea of real woman by quantifying it with appearance and the world's most fickle concept - beauty? So there's nothing more a woman has to offer than a pretty face and a perfect body?

Thin or fat, the girl next door or the supermodel - there are days when we feel our best when we look into the mirror and days when we feel like we should crawl inside a box and never come out. So ladies, why so serious? Because at the end of the day, you cannot change their way of thinking. But you can change the way you view yourself and you can choose to ignore the elements that disrupt your piece of mind (which is what some people ought to do after reading what I wanted to say). Why should we let 'Opinion Farts' and how somebody thinks what real beauty and real women are define us and spoil our state of Zen?

Is it smelly in here or what? 

All of you...

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

"The winter is coming and I am off to where I come from but not before I say this to you. I came here looking forward to doing my work and getting the hell out of dodge but I can't say that that's all I did. Because I didn't. I couldn't. The brief time that I have known you has had a profound impact on my otherwise banal existence. Life has never been that kind to me to give me things unasked. It was always a struggle. It was because of this reason - precisely this reason that when I had the pleasure of knowing you( whatever little yet magnitudinal way I have surmised you) I thought that it was something akin to a Satan in a Sunday hat. That there was something to it. And if I gave myself in, if I budged, I would fall and hurt myself. Seriously. Because there's no way I could have ever come across someone like you and not think that it was a mirage. I have been going out of my mind trying to come up with some sane logic that would come to my rescue but I failed. 

And today I say what I should've long ago: 

I love you. 

Many people would tell you that you are pretty or that you put the Heavens to shame with your beauty or quote the choicest of poets as they profess their feelings to you. But you are so much more than that. It is true that every minute I was with you, I thought of myself as the luckiest man to have ever walked this Earth - your presence made me so happy. It is also true that every time I was away from you - as I walk away from you now - each concerned beat of my earnest heart misses you. 

I want to be there for you when there's a frown on your face. Whenever you're down and low, whenever you feel like crawling inside a box and never coming out. The colours that tint your myriad expressions, the hand that does away with that strand of stray hair from your face, the shoulder you can be rest assured against in times of dismay, the gaze that would put all those thoughts of worry in your mind to rest, that whiff of positivity that would turn all your doubts to puffs of smoke, the breeze that moves with you day in day out. I want to be your silhouette. That ray of silly hope when you have your head in your hands and you're exasperated. That hint of a smile metamorphosing into laughter. Every impatient bat of lash. Every breath. Every touch. That part of you that I see. That hidden part of your conscious that I am unaware of. Your darkness and your despair. Your light and your air. You. All of you. Because I love you..." 

She stood there reading his flawless script again and again. Several minutes passed. Some people just hit you. All your five senses. This was one of those moments. 

She folded the letter placing it in her pocket and ran with all her might all the way to where he would be. 

"Looks like she has a train to catch," an onlooker said out loud as she raced the streets. 

Of Creepy Dolls and Deadly Ghouls...

Image Courtesy: Google

A month prior to the release of the movie 'Annabelle' I had a chance to get my hands on the book 'The Demonologist: The Extraordinary Career of Ed and Lorraine Warren' with a view to better equip myself  before I watched the movie and also to satisfy the horror movie buff in me.
Well, the book scares me more than the actual movie.

But that doesn't mean that it isn't a good horror movie. It definitely does not mean that Indian horror movie makers(or horrex as some pathetic movies might purport) can pat themselves on the back when it comes to churning out horrendously forgetful spine chilling tales. No. You still suck at it.

The movie is directed by John Leonetti not James Wan(The Conjuring, Insidious series). Joseph Bishara provides the score and he is once again good at it. It opens with the first scene fron The Conjuring where we see two nurses and a boy discussing their experiences with Annabelle - the doll who fools them into thinking that it is a little girl's ghost. The first half doesn't really have much to scare you. That's the second half. The first half sets base for the story to form in the latter part. Characters are introduced. We get to know a little bit about Annabelle Higgins. The real one. A living, breathing human being who joins a satanic cult. John and a pregnant Mia(the main leads) get somehow enmeshed during one of Annabelle's midnight parent-killing rituals. The couple survive but an inhuman spirit has already been conjured up by Annabelle before she dies of which no one is aware of until unexplained things start occurring in the house. Doors opening and closing on their own accord, the doll(yes, she isn't called Annabelle in the movie because she isn't) starts changing positions and places and a deadly fire that almost kills Mia. Again she escapes unscathed and delivers her baby, Lea. They throw away the doll and move to a new place as John completes his residency. The doll once again appears in one of the boxes even though she was thrown out. But this time Mia decides to keep her anyway.

Can I just take a few seconds to exclaim how incredibly adorable little Lea is?

The second half packs some very frightening sequences. My favorite being when she goes to throw away the trash in the apartment's basement and SEES for the first time the entity who haunts her life in the guise of the doll. And it is horrible. It isn't anything like a doll. Or a human being. It is black, has pointy fingers, has horns and fire in his eyes. It is a demon.

Then begins a series of attempts made by Mia to grapple with what is happening around her. She gets in touch with the cop who investigated the ritual killings to get more information about the purpose of all the bloodshed which she thinks is related to her supernatural predicament. She asks for help from her new neighbour who has a painful past of her own. She seeks out her priest who while trying to get rid of the doll gets knocked out cold by it and ends up seriously hurt in the very same hospital where John works. He warns John that his wife is in grave danger. The last 7 minutes or so of the movie are crucial but you somehow make out how it would end. Every character has a purpose, a role and is not there for complicating the story.
In the end we are taken back to the point which shows us how Annabelle ended up with the nurses and in that way the movie comes full circle closing the loop.
Decent performances by all. I don't know why but the lead actress, whose name is coincidentally Annabelle Wallis, reminds me of the movie Rosemary's Baby.

All in all not as scary as The Conjuring but a decent watch.

But do pick up a copy of The Demonologists if you can.