episode 267 touch me with your love (vm)

i have never seen such heady love making on the screen. actually anywhere.

there were flaws, but what i left with was so intoxicating and beautiful, i overlooked the glitches.

when two people love each other, the sensual domain is theirs to own. theirs to express their emotion through, enjoy it, seep right in. from completely carnal sex to sublime union, the entire spectrum is theirs to have and explore. in fact, between lovers, the physical intimacy and contact their relationship nurtures, is often a means of communication... with each other... sometimes even the eternal.

the intensity of one's emotion drives this exploration and gives it variegated colour. one can write a book or a library on this... but how does one create it before a camera? between people who are not really lovers.

there are so many preconceived notions about what is sexy what is not, how lovers should or shouldn't make love, and in our image inundated world, stereotypes are thick and heavy. say love making and a bunch of cliched images flash.

nothing seems fresh, nothing touches. certainly nothing ignites... that's been the case with me.

but while seeing 267 when i forgot everything and just watched trying to hold onto my breath... i realised i was seeing something which is all of those. and definitely much more.

for me this episode is about director, barun, and sanaya... that aaraam. i wish khushi had been thought through a bit more.

and while i loved the choice of song, there were parts where i felt nothing but the visual was required. it created all the other layers and you could almost hear and feel the picture. to find out if i was correct, made a vm with my most favorite parts, and no goons.

watch vm chhoonley pyaar se here.

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"fireflies," he said.

"jugnu!" she concurred delighted.

light played on her face, on his... his eyes were all you could see and in them, another light... that of his devotion to her. his incandescent love that even the darkest night could not snuff out.

the firefly... only one suddenly, i have seen a version where there were three... left its little pitcher and flew away, its phosphorescence lighting up the trail it flew and out of the hut it went, leaving darkness behind. but not quite. what had been lit remained so.

he looked at her worried, almost pained by the thought of her feeling afraid. but she said, she was no longer afraid.

were the fireflies really a metaphor, i wondered. they had lain lit but carefully shut in a rounded little pitcher, a secret chamber as it were, its shape reminiscent of the womb, the kumbh from which nectar flowed... till she opened the lid and they flew right out.

desire. were they telling the story of desire that had lain bright and refulgent in two hearts, never set free and allowed to fly... but tonight they would?

the day had been spent running, running to escape from danger that wouldn't be thwarted. two lovers, hand in hand, thrown into a strange flight and did they finally reach a place where at last the real fears we have can be shed?

as if on cue, she said, she was no longer afraid... no longer afraid of what? the darkness without or her apprehensions within?

from the moment the hut was sighted, we seemed to shift to an alternate reality. the hard harsh world of the day melting into a magic hut somewhere far away, yet where no one really knows. it appeared in the middle of a wooded area, replete with hay on the floor, lantern on a pole, shamrock on the wall, and the raiment of a nubile virgin... white chiffon touched with sparkling badla, but along with it, the touch of the temptress in a red revealing blouse with a tie to hold it in place.

in this fairy tale cocoon one thing was throbbingly real. a man's feeling for a woman. a complete feeling that had range depth veracity.

close your eyes and count till ten, said a gentle, father like protector husband to a scared childlike wife. all arnav singh raizada cared about was her safety and comfort... something terribly beautiful about a man simply accepting his role and defining it his way.

captive or not, tired or not, worn out or not... khushi is always his responsibility... he owns this duty, it is a precious asset almost. even when he has disbelieved her he has protected her... 

for her too, only he was of importance, nothing else really. she saw the cut on his cheek and reached out to soothe. i could see the hand was not correct, nor the hair... it was not sanaya who dabbed at barun's cheek. but just as i had done the first time i saw this episode, i carefully shifted focus and concentrated on what mattered, did not allow the presence of not well chosen doubles to mar my enjoyment of the beautiful portrayal before me.

in the dimmed light, the intimacy of a secluded hut, desire began to murmur once fear had abated. this was the first time they were meeting after what took so long to say was said, and heard, and held dear in their hearts.

he sat on the hay while she changed; his shirt he had taken off for it must have been grimy and filthy after the ordeal of the past days and he just wore his not too pristine undershirt as he waited for her.

the gesture itself curiously intimate, that of removing the outerwear and being completely at home in a vest before a woman... quite husband like.

he murmured vaguely about what intimated her to his plight... a question he had asked before. arnav singh raizada was speaking not in clipped sentences but with a slightly lost curious lilt to his voice. maybe he wanted to know if she could feel him as intensely as he could sense her...

she answered in little mumbles about woh, that... what he had said...

yeah that... woh... did asr just mumble back?

oh they both were feeling the fireflies' call...

he had pulled a makeshift red curtain on a line for her, to give her privacy.

and then inadvertently, as things often happen, his eyes fell on a shadow... of her donning her clothes, he could see the silhouette move alluringly, her hands were behind her back, she was tying the dori of her blouse clearly...

one long look, and arnav singh raizada could no longer mask the naked passion stirring in his gut, released... refusing to be put back into a quiet dark place, instead rising and seeking to be free.

a simple lantern juxtaposed against a lean expressive face with glittering jewel like eyes and poetry started getting written about longing, sensual yearning, love and beyond.

as he watched her, then got up to lower the flame of the lantern so that even he may not in any way disrespect her form, her being, every frame seemed like a still life, but dynamic, quivering with desire... the wellspring of which was not mere flesh. of course, the flesh sought its pleasure but what compelled it was a sublime emotion.

this was really not about sex. and certainly not about a generic man woman thing. this was arnav singh's specific particular desire for khushi kumari. for no one else has he felt such things... not in this way or so i felt... to no one else has he wanted to give so much of himself.
 
quietly he stares at shadows, his eyes saying a million things, most important, he is struggling with a growing arousal... he looks away, he swallows and tries to calm himself.

and then just as he is about to succeed in quelling the overwhelming feelings, she draws aside the red curtain... it had to be red of course, right from that first day when he had reacted to her beauty without meaning to... it was always red. isn't it the colour of blood? of passion? of heat? of sindoor? 

and before his eyes stands a virginal maiden in white, little silver sparkles across her flowing garment, her hair is open and down to her hips, diaphanous sheer is her saree, hugging her sensuous curves, a dash of red on her body, and a strange wariness in her eyes... that question about how she knew, that reminder of his phone call, and in her perhaps a surging too.

as i watched her, i could see she knew what he was thinking of... perhaps she longed too... but oh i did so wish someone had thought about what khushi would feel at such a moment with a bit more depth...

once he saw her, he could deny it no more. astounding expressions on barun's face, his eyes, the language of his entire body. she stood there transfixed, then his head tilted to one side as if he couldn't believe what it was his eyes beheld.

the breath by breath understanding and delineation of sexual desire burgeoning was exhilarating and gratifying really. the director had seen this whole thing in his mind with such clarity... it was as if he painted a canvas, stroke upon stroke.

asr looked at khushi for a timeless moment and then you saw a decision come into his eyes... that is when he moved... flowed really...

how graceful and ballet like were the next few minutes... he came to her, the motion had been slowed, the lighting was perfect, she stood there shy, uncertain, a little out of her depth. the two of them stood apart, a ray of light falling between them, an improvised clothesline with a sense of limit separated them, the lakshman rekha as it were. she watched transfixed, he approached, he seemed mesmerised... as he had been that day of the first rabba vey, as he had been on diwali night... but this time he knew why he was here and it no longer threw him that such an overwhelming need propelled him.

when he reached the rope... an inflection point. he lifted his hand and pushed the rope up, ducking under it, eyes on her he came to her side as it were. in his gaze was a determination now. he was here. he had decided to hear the call of the fireflies.

she backed away then, the look in his slightly glazed yet focussed brown eyes sent tremors through her it seemed. maybe it was the magnitude of his desire that shook her... had she ever felt such guiltless vast passion directed at her... caused in fact by her?

did it scare her a little? though it sparked a desire too in good measure.

he came closer still, now with a faintly predatory air, seeking her, and her alone. she walked back straight into the wall... so reminiscent of diwali this whole moment... he leaned over as he had done then, his eyes muddling and wanting the mayhem of love... this time he is sure. there will be no denial afterwards.

she watched as feelings ran amok and tried to escape the onslaught, but he would not let her... a swift and graceful lunge to the right blocking her path.

he bent down to kiss her, she attempted escape again...

but his downcast head managed to communicate unyielding resolution, a swift hand caught her wrist, obstructing flight... no, jonaki, tonight you won't fly away... bangles moved and danced, a touch of red by a carefully crafting director... in it: frenzy, fear, and maybe a note of wanton love.

asr pulled her back and came over close, she looked on helpless now, her eyes large, irises a little glassy... caught between the scary tumult of sensations in her and in him... perhaps still just a bit afraid.

i noted that both were dressed in white and red. he wore his basic white vest and that devastatingly exciting cut on left cheek, with a streak of blood.

red and white... were these colours too telling stories about the two and this evening like no other evening? 

he did kiss her shoulder and then knowing the fight had left her, that she wanted him as much as he her, he bent and did what he had done so many times before... so after the signature advance retreat, now it was time to pick her up in his arms.

only this time he would lay her gently, tenderly on a bed of hay and make love to her, his wife.

while outside men with guns looked for them, inside the hut, lovers prepared to surrender, for something had found its mark. and that is when the song rose... rustic gritty alleviating... saiyaan.

kailash kher and a sufi interpretation of love, words that speak of the nature of love the lover seeks... and what that love does. enchanting melody. words that can make you blush or die with pleasure... no need for guns.

tu jo chhoonley pyaar se aaram se mar jaaoon.

if you should touch me with love, i will die of the comfort, the pleasure.

isn't that arnav singh's longing there? for years there has been no aaraam in his life, no comfort, no pleasure really... now she... all he needs is to be touched by her... that is all.

aaraam, a difficult to translate word i feel... nuances of the purely physical and also emotion in it.

saiyaan... saiyaan... lover... oh my lover.

she lay on the hay as he reached down to claim her to be claimed by her.

just as he was about to kiss her lips at last, she moved with alacrity, away... no... she was shy... not ready... and out flowed a beautiful long slim arm, minutely and perfectly etched with muscles... sinuous, strong, rising from a beautiful shoulder...

he stopped her... then ever so slowly his hand moved, his fingers trailed the skin on her back and went to her dori... fingers began to untie the knot. she was carried away on the sensations awakened... his eyes looked intoxicated...

in the intensity of this night, in its pure and complete call, i suddenly found a reflection of another terrifically concentrated night... after the terrace... on a quiet road, the scream of a man betrayed, a man who loves and wants to be loved. the helplessness of that night seemed to come and find bliss here and merged with it, losing itself, letting it flow away, becoming strong again... that chot of his got its aaraam. that night he had screamed, tonight he said barely anything and whatever he did was in the opposite decibel direction... whispers... yet his eyes spoke, his body sang, his hands screamed...

and of course, the goons found them just then.

there is a beauty in these scenes that my words will never be able to capture. and barun... this really was his episode. how terribly detailed and precise are his expressions... his body language is really rare... he is predator and protector... there is a male aggressiveness and a ballet like grace in his movements... something hums and murmurs all the time... it envelops him.. it's in his look, his voice, all around... and really i have never seen male physique that looks as though someone had painted it, no sculpted it... giving it the most fluid angles and lines, lifting a muscle here, drawing a sinew there, detailing with infinite care. collar bones, shoulders, the clavicle, the ridges and grooves... how can such things look so beautiful... 

pulchritude, my mind said. this is what that word means. this type of beauty.

the moment he knew the outside world had intruded... asr, shatir, problem solving, in command, and no nonsense returned... he spoke in his clear sentences, a mix of hindi and english, an economy of words...

first thought... her safety. unlogo ko mujhse matlab hai... if i go out, they won't come in... ok?

no! she won't let him go. neither can bear the thought of the other being hurt.

they argued... he spoke of risk, she said let's jump out through the window... he through clenched teeth said, just lemme go, khushi...

i wondered how long i could remain sane.

and then some muddle headed writing bludgeoned the night on the head.

but there had been such beauty here by then, nothing could dull that.

right in the beginning before everything started, he had taken a second, stolen it from the hour in fact to look at her as she counted till ten with her eyes closed as he had asked her to...

the tenderness that invaded his eyes at that point... infinite love there... it was perhaps that look which made the one in his eyes when he crossed the clothesline... that stalking devouring hunger... look perfectly wonderful... not lascivious and if so, in the best possible way.

heerey moti main na chahoon, main toh chahoon sangam tera...

diamonds and pearls i don't desire... i desire union with you.

even before the song said it, barun sobti spoke it with his eyes, his bent of head, his gliding, slow walk, his air of being unstoppable... 

barun sobti was doing double shifts at this point... shooting for mamr at the same time. i have a feeling he was enjoying his role a lot... and that somehow got reflected in his kidnap days acting in ipk. absolutely inspired is all i can say... i yearn to see acting of this nature. and i hope that some day soon mamr releases... because he so wanted to do it.

did you see the look in his eyes
infinite

planets perhaps shifted
when he lunged

was there ever in truth a line to be
crossed

if there was, a crossing would be
done

love dictated, desired, demanded
that

the lover and the beloved stand
forever

in a hut in the gloam between here and
somewhere else

beauty and truth their indelible tie
illumine

soon after watching this episode when it first aired, i wrote this:
 
tonight was bs's night, wasn't it.

also: par mera asr aaj perfect tha, smoulder in his eyes, desire on his lips, love in his heart, passion in every pore. and banian on his breathtaking torso aur kuch hi din baad woh lautega, with all those things you speak of. but after tonight, there's no guarantee i'll live that long. he's the real dangerous one not that bichara sanskaari goonda. tan dan dan... 

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note re vm chhoonley pyaar se: naturally, no copyright infringement is intended. this is a fan appreciation video and there's no commercial transaction involved. thanks to all at ipkknd, mohit chauhan, kailash kher, and the original owners of the material.