Archive | September, 2013

The Lunchbox- A Review

29 Sep

Firstly, Ritesh Batra, thank you. You have restored my faith in Indian Cinema. Secondly, if you haven’t watched the movie, yet, what are you doing? Go, now!

For starters, The Lunchbox is a movie that will make you smile long after you are out of the theater. As far as the acting goes, it is brilliant. Irrfan Khan, Nimrat Kaur & Nawazuddin Siddiqui play their roles with aplomb.

The movie follows the lives of Ila (Nimat Kaur), a housewife & Mr. Saajan Fernandez (Irrfan Khan), a widower, who works in the Claims department. He gets his lunch delivered through the famous dabbawala  of Mumbai and one day, a month before his retirement, his lunch bag gets exchanged with another man’s – Rajiv (Nakul Vaid). When Ila finds about the accidental change in the destination of the intended dabba she is confused and disappointed. What follows is a series of notes between Irrfan Khan & Nimla Kaur, initiated by the latter. Through these notes, they share their memories, sense of loss, happiness, insecurity. doubt and forge a tentative bond.

Kaur has come through beautifully, for a little known actress (She starred in an Axe commercial, I think?). She plays a housewife who cooks awesome food, (that has anybody who is even remotely human, drooling) with occasional and timely help from her neighbour upstairs- Deshpande aunty, and waits for acknowledgement and attention from her husband. Her hesitancy, vulnerability moves you.

The humour is subtle and makes you laugh. Shaikh (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) plays a trainee and provides both humour and emotional depth, alternately. He plays his role of an annoying trainee rather well and acts as a mirror to see how Irrfan changes through the course of the movie. I didn’t know he had it in him to play such a role, but he is Shaikh to life.

Irrfan Khan. Well, what do I say about him? With him, less is more. He doesn’t have a six-pack or dance around, ripping shirts, but every time he comes on-screen, you can’t help, but sit up and notice. He is the grumpy old man into whose balcony we have all managed to throw our cricket balls into and despaired of ever getting it back. Love makes him warm and more receptive. In this movie he is just another man you see on the road and forget. The best part about this movie? It is real. You don’t get to see Deshpande aunty, but you love her just the same. Ila’s mother (Lillete Dubey) comes for two scenes and yet manages to make an impact. You can sense her desolation, the sense of loss and frustration that comes when you lose a person long before they are dead. “Khana, dawa, nahana.

The movie has an open ending and makes you want the leads to get together. Any movie that manages to do that and makes you long for someone real, is definitely worth a watch, because- “Sometimes even the wrong train can take you to the right destination.”

The cinematography gives you a feeling like you are right there. As if you are sitting across the table – sharing Mr. Fernandez’s lunch (I wish!), travelling with him on a crowded train, cooking with Ila, travelling with the dabbawala. This movie embraces the effervescence of Mumbai. The traffic, the people, the old world charm that lingers, the warmth, the fast paced world and the time warp that it casts upon us. The editing is crisp and story moves at a good pace. You long to see what they write to each other and what she cooks, everyday. This is a simple, old-fashioned love story that makes you believe.

“To lend someone a helping hand, selflessly. To share someone’s burden effortlessly. That is what life is about really..” – Anonymous

P.S. This movie leaves you hungry and not just for food, If I find a guy who will write letters to me in this age of e-mails and Whatsapp, I’m going to marry him. Any takers? 😛

P.P.S Do they make men like that anymore? Irrfan Khan, what have you done?

P.P.P.S. The paneer, the stuffed Karela, the brinjal. I need food. Lots of it. *drools*

***

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2013; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

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Coming Apart

15 Sep

Where am I headed?
I know not.
I’m trying to find my way.
The horizon that seems so distant,
Beckons me with open arms.
I move towards it.
Like a plant towards the sun.
Only to be uprooted,
Time and again.
I want to fly,
But I find myself restrained,
Without reason.
The prospects so bleak,
As the skies change to black.

I close my ears to stop the cries.
But they still reverberate.
The anguish, the concern.
Feeling helpless,
As you watch someone crumble.
I long for serenity.
I long to get away.
I long to forget.
Is that a mistake?
I find myself coming apart.
I wonder,
Is the horizon I’m looking at
The one for me?
The choice between right and left.

Do I go with what I have been doing
For years now?
What I have dreamed of since forever?
Or do I do something that is a part of me?
That I do unconsciously?
That I do to get away.
Who do I go to?
How do I find out?
Where?
Answer me, I pray.
Help me see the sun again

.

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2013; Vintage Ink.

No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

The First Kiss

8 Sep

Dedicated to all those movies, books and everything else that project the idea of a perfect kiss. 

This is the result of a long weekend and lots of  free time.

***

“I am warning you. I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

She laughed it off, infuriating him.

“I will do it. Don’t think I won’t.”

He backed her up against a tree and caged her in, his arms on either side. She looked up at him, her eyes betraying every bit of confusion and want, realizing which she closed them and grabbed fistfuls of her billowing salwar.

He smiled as he looked his fill at her. He saw her hair constrained by her rubber band. Feeling the usual pang of annoyance, he pulled it out and watched her hair run amok. The wind almost understanding his need to see her hair fly and obliging instantaneously. He closed his eyes as he felt them across his face, caressing, soothing. Their softness bringing him to his knees. He could stay like this forever, he mused.

He opened his eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears, lingering for longer than necessary. He then cupped her face and drew closer.

“Please, don’t.”, she whispered, her voice betraying her.

“Don’t be scared. I don’t ever want to hurt you. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself, if I did.” Saying so, he drew back, forgetting his irritation.

His hands were still cupping her face, but he was at arm’s length.

As he looked at her, her eyes opened slowly, like how a child waits the longest time to open a gift. Not because he doesn’t want to, just that seeing it gift wrapped is more exciting than actually opening it.

She looked adorably confused. her eyes were full of questions, the answers to which he couldn’t give in words.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.

“You are the most infuriating person I know. You make me smile like nobody else. You give me a heart attack every time you say my name. You make me want to shake you senseless when you don’t pay attention. You make me miss you every second you are not with me. You make me want to hide you in a solitary tower so that nobody can see you and get to know you like I do, for if they do, they won’t have any option, but to fall in love with you.”

He exhaled deeply, his hands trembling with the strength of his emotions.

“What am I going to do with you?”

He then opened his eyes and looked at her.

His eyes. They were the colour of molten caramel. When he fixed his eyes on her, it felt like they were the only two people around. Like he wanted to rip her from herself and amalgamate her with himself.

And so she hid herself in the one place she always felt safe in, his arms. As his arms tightened around her, she said,

“Kiss me, preferably before today ends. Marry me in the next 4 years. Have three children and a dog and live happily ever after?”

As she looked up into his stunned countenance, she smothered a giggle and said “So ..”

But she never got to completing her sentence.

He kissed her. She stayed passive for a few seconds and then parted her lips. He kissed her, softly, wanting to make her first kiss all she had dreamed about.

“You talk way too much, but that is good, now that I know just how to get you to shut up.”

And then he proceeded to kiss her senseless.

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2013; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

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