Friday, 17 June 2016

on episode 4


you know life should have more and more space for these simple pleasures... love, a bit of romance, and a bit of solid nafrat.

episode 4. had to go and browse. 











how to say a million things and of course never say a word. the look as he turned, where does he get that from? i don't blame her for reaching for her dupatta nervously. an innocence about her that can destroy anything less pure. and there was that other layer or level of communication, of being... they were also always two young people in a compelling drama of sensations, a little out of control... an instinctual thing... they never meant to be like that. tell me, isn't that exactly how one must always fall in love.   



"kyun?" why?
that inflection, that short sharp bait.

"maine kya kiya?" what did i do?
amused, slightly insulting.

usually, all this attitude would have me rolling eyes and reaching for the remote. so hard to get such things right. here, again and again, i watch... my toes feel things. her reaction too, so real, so fresh, miss lecture you till you pass out but can't let you walk away... three times she stopped him. sigh.

"usska? usska kisska?" his? who his?


that innocence. and the fearlessness. she couldn't care less who he is, he is welcome to his arrogance, but she means to have her say.

"tumhare bhagwan ka." your god's.

two worlds meet on noisy, darga grounds. before even the first perusal is over, they collide. never not to clash again. 



"iss duniya mein agar bhagwan hota na, toh dard naam ki cheez nahin hoti."
my heart must break at the tone. where does a tv actor get that sound from?

if there were god in this world, then a thing called pain wouldn't exist.

there is logic to what he says, yet, you know you believe because you believe, no logic in it. it's like that other thing... love. she doesn't pick on the pain, too anxious, too rattled, too out of her depth... why can't she let the man be.


and he never knew of her dard either, how she needed to hear her mother say, yes she was indeed her mother, negating whatever the reality may have been.



eyes of arnav singh raizada. how did a young man of twenty six get that depth and teeming stillness in his irises. i have a feeling, the director never planned it, he just had to use the footage, going closer, studying the expression. not many actors i know can hit that note. he had a way of whirling you away into his world, feel every emotion of his. he told stories through his eyes... he found stories that may not have been written to its bone and blood. visceral everything was. no time to think, process, resist.



"tumhe bahut vishwas hai na tumhare bhagwan pe. main bhi dekhta hoon, tumhara bhagwan tumhe kaise bachata hai." you have a lot of faith in your god... let's see how he saves you.

poor chap, didn't know her bhagwan was a she and this strategy was playing right into her hands.

this tension between a human being's free will and action and the will of something beyond us (many say this is a random thing, and that's fine. main thing being, there's this unknown quantity that has a say in our lives)... i find interesting and liked the tight handling of it by the writers. the connections were smooth and never felt too obvious.

and really, why must an actor hold so much in a gaze or turn of head.


the girl with the mojri not always on her foot, she didn't want to, but she had to look back. 


in the normal way of things, she should have avoided him like the plague; in fact, even lodged a complaint of assault against him. in the normal way of things, he wouldn't have called for the release of that tape, she really didn't matter to him that much. he'd have been brutal and walked away without feeling the need to engage further. but then that normal way of things had completely ceased to be. for both the girl in white and that programme wala ladka.





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