Saturday, 29 August 2015

episode 194 love talk

a hand where it shouldn't be.

an indrawn breath.

clenching of a hard jawline, eyes dark and boring. uncaring. egregious. untenable.

a set of eyes shocked. unable to fathom the moment.

a row of pearls... falling, scattering... a sound filtering through numbness, the choked breath.

i wrote that in my ramble on episode two.

i often thing of the wedding at the temple as the ripping of that dori back then from the point of view of structure of the story. it's a sudden terrifying extreme moment, a cleaving. things were moving at a certain pace, they met, they fought, they clashed, they were attracted, they fought more, they couldn't deny their feelings, they had to think of faraq and further... there came a dream like floaty moment in their lives, then suddenly the "shadi karni hogi...mujhse... abhi... chhay mahine ke liye" and the physical pulling along of the young shell shocked girl by a grim implacable impassive man and a wedding... a mangalsutra thrust around a neck without preamble, a pinch of sindoor streaked across a parting without the tremor of sweet expectancy.


the pearls clatter in my head. ratta tat a tat...

the rest of the story, perhaps will help us pick those pearls up one by one and string them back.

as for the two protagonists:

if she looked uncomprehending then, she looks even more nonplussed, nahin understanding at all now. what was going on. and why was he hurting her like this?

if he was egregious then, now he is dense dark impenetrable and something seems to be throbbing within, like a live, fresh, still oozing blood cut, a weal.

they both seem to churn with feelings known and unknown. it should be easy for her to hate him, yet her eyes say otherwise. something lingers, even a complaint, a could you... how could you, khushi kumari seems to say.

he is sure she is a girl with no sense of morality, having an affair with his brother in law, an absolute danger to her sister and her unborn child,  he has convinced himself he must do this to protect his own... but then why so much engagement in his eyes? does arnav singh yearn for his faraq kyon padta hai girl? does his heart, which he says he doesn't have, just refuse to listen to him?

sanaya irani and barun sobti, along with able directors took this story of a wedding forced to a level of communication which was so absolutely eloquent and beautiful beyond a point. verbal, nonverbal, subliminal, all levels of communication at peak level.

it is alleged that the wedding was forced by the channel actually. so writers decided to make the whole thing unique and ipk with this device of misunderstanding and marriage. seems originally the plan was to make him force her to live with him and thus shame her, even go to the extent of demanded sexual intimacy, if not coerced.

thankfully, that route was abandoned, though honestly, given the prowess of barun sobti and of sanaya irani and the power of this jodi, i'd have like to see how they handled that. i am sure they'd have gone to the heart of that too, stayed connected with the feelings of asr and kkg for each other and given us a spectacular expression of that too.

just look at them here.
they never speak to each other this entire episode, just through eyes and body language the story of asr and khushi is delineated and you feel every feeling of theirs, defined or otherwise, in you. no melodrama, two people in a terrifically difficult situation... trying to go through its moments.

no words... and those eyes that say things even words can't. that's what i watched this episode.

fairly unprepared and a little lost writers wanted to build up to a suhag raat like none other... they, like their instrument, anjali, went the rasme route.

after all, audiences love wedding rituals... and it would be interesting to watch the lead going through these but with the hidden story of how they married and why, a certain pathos, etc., could be affected.

fairly serial style drama ensued, with anjali saying this is no wedding, then the gathering at the hall. she actually ordered her pati dev to call everyone there? huh? 

"khushi ji, aap ko iss ghar ki bahu ke roop mein nahin swikar kiya jaayga," khushi, you shall not be accepted as the daughter in law of this family, said anjali is blank monotone.

khushi looked startled, wretched.  asr got that look.

"theek hai," alright, he said and he was prepared to leave.

then came the big "reveal" aaah anjali means not what you think she does.

she means you must do all the rituals, and then the wedding shall be accepted by the family.

again honouring daily soap architecture, each and every member of family reacted in different ways depending on their place in the story. relief, horror, comprehension spreading... shyam did some almost twitches.

but it was asr i stared at. his eyes moved and though kkg was nowhere in frame i knew he looked at her.

as anjali went into her riti riwaz parampara spiel, new music came in. it roamed over the coming scenes lightly, tenderly and poignant as hell-ly.

a packet was thrust into the bride's hands. her shadi ka joda. her wedding attire.

"aap pehen lijiye," please wear it, di instructed. he looked at her. seemed to be sensing her thoughts... two people in a situation... a single tear formed and dropped from her eye. 

girls, perhaps unlike men, dream of their weddings. what they'll wear on that day, how they will look, who will dress them up, should it be this colour or that... khushi had many many thoughts about this day and her joda... the poignancy of this much imagined and desired attire being given to her in this fashion, was not lost on anyone... certainly not asr.

the writing i felt was predictable, but sanaya irani took me right into khushi's mind and sobbing heart as she held the joda and remembered many things as all her dreams felt as though they had been blighted and scattered across the earth, the skies, the universe... rat a tatat tat.

a hollow, endless sadness and despair... her shadi ka joda, hers, the girl who already wore her sindoor and mangalsutra.

aur ant mein rajkumar aa jata tha... and at the end, the rajkumar comes...

memories knocked and drew her in. she clutched the folds of the blood red dupatta.

she recalled things her mother had said, her sister, she herself had said about marriage, husbands, the sanctity of it all... and she knew all that would never happen the way she had thought it would.. look at what the reality had brought.

the long dry spell of harsh desert wind devastating two people, now rising to a storm, now spiralling to typhoon, now just blowing unpausing, right through them... scraping against the hearts of walls, abrasive on the mind, unrelenting.

rabba vey, a long, aching call...

he walked in and saw her in that state, she looked up and found him there, a direct gaze. did she deserve this, it seemed to ask... how could you, it did say. she looked drained.

he couldn't meet her eyes.. he went away to his work... turned his back. classic asr.

yet, again that connection, like they are together no matter what, she looked at him: a hundred questions in her eyes, he struggled with every feeling of the moment.

this is just a tv serial... the music and the actors didn't seem to care. they took it to a euphoric experience anyway.

she finally decided to rage at him and ask him why, but a knock on the door halted them. it was time to get ready and go down and play the part.

she dressed slowly, he ignored her and worked on laptop. yet both were completely aware of the other.

khushi almost burst into tears as she picked up the heavy expensive jewellery given to her to wear... she remembered how she'd wanted to do solah shringar for her husband, dress from head to toe and look beautiful..

her necklace pinched her neck and an"ah!" escaped her lips. he was up in no time, rushing toward her.

but no... he wouldn't. he left.

for a moment they were in the same mirror reflected. something felt good about that.

he stood at the doorway. waiting. a ritual had to be done. he tried to look uninvolved, here just to please his rasme loving family.

all the connotations of door, of an entrance, a beginning in this shot. and their special door moments. there have been so many. right here and at bua ji's home.

and his bride walked in in her shadi ka joda and he had to look at her and forget perhaps all else for a moment.

she looked up, almost a magnet pulling his gaze, then he again looked away.

rabba vey...

she walked forward haltingly with her sister in law, he had to let his eyes find her once more... his bride was coming to him. rabba vey. that was all there was to it... iss pyaar mein sach ya jhoot ka koi matlab nahin... if anything has any meaning... it's only this... you i will always always... hamesha kya?

these scenes set off goose bumps... there's story in them we don't hear but we feel. they also created a separate plane it seemed with their heightened physical beauty. sanaya was the most heart wrenchingly beautiful bride and he the most handsome bridegorom... and what a wedding they'd had.

nani ji turned away, sadness assailed khushi. at last at the entrance to a new life, she looked up and met his gaze. could he look away?

intense deepening moment. a grandeur... a grown up air...

an arati commenced, i thought of him and la...

her feet struck the edge of the copper pot, it tipped and rice was flung all around. a sense of break and a beginning and the pearls kept scattering. grihapravesh. entering one's home.

anjali reminded chhotey of the tradition, the parampara, of the raizadas. this was of course brought in to create more intensity around what had by now become known as "arshi" moments... he was required to pick up his bride and bring her in.

di yeh sab karana zaroori hai... di, is it necessary to do all this, asked the angry bridegroom, looking drop dead gorgeous in brown suit and tika. he doesn't like hypocrisy

ghar ki parampara hai, chhotey... it's the tradition of the home, chhotey replied his sister.  to some, form is important, truth may or may not be.

again that exchange of looks. he picked her up. she reached up trembling and held his lapel... a thousand memories in a blink... in them... in us.

don't know why, but the last scene of the ear ring caught in his jacket pocket failed to make contact with me, felt too pat. even without it, the heart had touched two lovers and gotten lost in their pain, their helplessness, their broken string of pearls.

and yes, the ploy of the creatives worked, i loved the way he carried her in... sucker that i am for this iss pyaar.


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