Thursday, 3 September 2015

after the first rabba vey



thanks to a dear friend i found online, i discovered this whole thing called "online" i think with ipk, this post got written along with frantic edit making. the amount of things a daily hindi soap helped me learn, and had us all discussing and pondering was always something else. brilliant acting takes your mind on journeys unknown and often adventurous. seat belt is mandatory, for your own safety.


........ 

real life, kizh... always so challenging... moulding and making us.

i feel for your dad's family... and really i saw glimpses from my life and those i love here in ipk.

he does draw away after rabba vey, you are right. it bothers the heck out of him. he gets nastier... then after the incident in the rain... that sudden stopping in the middle of the road... why... why am i doing this. there's so much there and the rain wraps, falls, enters, echoes, thunderclaps tell stories... a welt in him is almost palpable... he is like a soldier prepared for battle... he cannot feel bad... he cannot be wrong... he will not feel bad... not about her. he is correct... arnav singh raizada ko kissi ladki se koi faraq nahin padta. that clincher.

he has been saying this to himself for so long. koi faraq nahin padta.

everything that hurts him. bothers him. gets anywhere near his heart, his emotions. koi faraq nahin padta.

a sensitive man making himself insensitive. yet, can he? the ponder in the middle oif the road in the rain comes. because he is who he is. look at the flashbacks. at every point he is breaking, ripping and she is entering him. till the last one when she turns in her red saree and something in him tears, rends. after that... he must rush out in the rain and save her. the same he who had torn her dori, dropped her from his office let her fall, yanked her dupatta and torn it... he can't do that any more... after that turn... those tears in her eyes... oh he must send her away,... he must save her... why do i feel for the first time in my life i am wrong.

the music starts with his rage, enters his mind, his rumination, his pain, was their a flinch, the slightest one as he closed his eyes his head resting on the car? and then the soldier draws on all his strength, the music returns and he says... i will prevail, i will conquer... koi faraq nahin padta.

fabulous visual creation of this moment and sound too... so elemental... the almost darker than any thundercloud, his emotions more drenching more soaking than the rain. the claps of thunder like his mind being pulled mercilessly, whipped... he must scale it all and be himself. stay afloat... otherwise the night might take him. i love this scene... asr is here. dil dimag everything. a man you can't just call a serial hero.

some shots. i took 30. poetry.









he remembers running out and saving her... he had to...


and the car screeches to a halt.




the slow slow dissolves, the unhurried yet roiled space.



he steps out into the rain. something almost classical tragedy here. the elements are as though chasing him, making him feel think recant repent... but he will not relent... arnav singh raizada... character is destiny i have often thought looking at him.

and his thoughts come.



he slams the door. force. denial. anger.




he struggles... the rain takes him to places unknown.




sirf ussi ka chehra... he sounds harrassed, his voice rising, losing its remoteness... that main sahi hoon, so inward, and now at ussi ka chehra a feeling seeping in... only her face. yes, that rabba vey, that red... he is haunted by it. he cannot be. he must not be.



the voice struggles to regain control. he will not be affected. a keening sound to the music. this man has punished himself so hard for a tragedy that he is not to blame for, yet he seems to have a guilt sense attached to it... and that insane anger expresses so much. he cannot feel bad... he must be correct. i feel for this young man. what a sentence he has given himself, for there's no one he can punish for what happened... nor seek reparation or solace from. he has only himself. 




a delicate slow motion and dissolve...




a sense of raw pain coursing through him. he seems to flinch as if smote. crash of thunder.

he returns... so does his music.




ufff. koi shaq?

kizh... yes yes yes that rabba vey was such a first meeting for his dard and dimag... thank you for taking me on this ride. i am plunged in and wondering at the beauty of it all.







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