of doorways, dupattas, devi maiyya, and signs people just don't get.
jaldbaazi mein li gayi faisla hamesha galat hota hai. decisions taken in a rush are always wrong. khushi, are you listening? so you felt the pounding in your heart, the longing in your thoughts, the wanting in your veins, and when the door opened in a hot storeroom swarming with unspoken emotion you decided to bolt. the door is open khushi now, so why can't you run way?
why this jalebi mountain of hesitation? what's this ishara you seek? your father's shop is gone, your parents need you there, you've been in this city only two weeks, your first time ever, yet dilli seems to have a hold over you that your home, your lucknow, is beginning to lose. hume aapse koi baat nahi karni. i don't want to say anything to you. really?
maybe it's time to exit one doorway and enter another. the images of doors fill the episodes. time to cross the threshold to a new phase of life? always hard, but here it is and dm works hard to open your eyes, awaken your consciousness. you don't really want to go to lucknow hamesha ke liye. your hamesha is moving cities. it's right here.
"hume maaf kar dijiye, devi maiyya, hum fir se aap ko bhoolke jaa rahe the." what's happened to me, dm, again i forget you!
there are many ways we show reluctance to do a thing, this is just one of them. a hundred impediments you create in the path, so that it need not be taken. i've done it. i remember years ago, i had to leave my home to go back to bombay to finish my studies. i didn't want to go, because my boyfriend had moved back to calcutta from bombay and the thought of leaving him was not sitting well with me at all.
when we left home for the station, first i realised i'd forgotten the tickets, so we came back. my heart was heavy, there was enough time. why why? then almost at the station, i discovered i'd left my keys at home. ah i thought, now my mom and bf would have to turn back, not much time for the train's departure too.
heartless zamana, the two decided i didn't need keys to my bags, the lock could be broken once i reached. i was taken to that train... oh i know exactly how khushi's feeling. only diff, she refuses to know why.
"yeh ho kya raha hai, devi maiyya, kya hum sahi kar rahe hain, ya fir... ya fir koi galat kadam utha rahe hain... kuch toh boliye na dm, kuch toh ishara dijiye." am i doing right? oh, give me a sign.
and the breeze, so long a companion of all the conspirators in this tale of love that almost wasn't, rises and lifts dm's sparkling chunari, her dupatta...
wrapping it over khushi's face. did she remember someone's face covered in her naughty dupatta... ber sarai... storeroom... mazar, but that last one only the dupatta knew and the man with hurt and anger in his eyes, though he had no idea whose white diaphanous veil had touched, lingered, almost caressed his face.
with an uncertain air, a trace of worry bordering on hysteria on her voice, fidgety movements, finding innovative ways to delay departure, khushi showed how khush she was about her decision.
a quirky, cute, khushiness to her expression of this angst.
a whole episode almost went by with details of plot thickening, comedy around lavanya, mami ji and the travails of turning la into a kitchen quoon. but bhen mami's here bhy phear? we did get to the other side of that angst finally.
only, nothing quirky or cute here.
just intensity.
longing.
terrible hurt.
helplessness.
a man whose girlfriend had come home to live with him only a day ago, stood helpless before a locked door. not his gf's home. he didn't say a word. none of that give ishara, what to do now, frenetic movement. nothing. in fact, he stood still. at first, pretending not to care.
then ever so cautiously, almost as though wanting to shield himself from hurt, yet not being able to stop himself from looking, he turned.
how vulnerable this tall dark handsome man. always in control. ever the dominant one. yet right now, fragile... fearful... unsure of how to touch these feelings riving him.
kab se aankhen meri raha mein teri bichhi... words from a song in my head. there was also pain in his darkening irises, pain in his breath it seemed.
he stood still. and i heard so much. his director, arshad khan, has gone on record saying the intensity and "everything" was in barun. yes, indeed it was.
sometimes i wonder does barun sobti actively create these gazes or are they just part of him? so much roil, so much depth in those eyes. staggering. my heart can't help but respond. if the job of an actor is to take us away from our immediate hard reality and help us fly our mind and heart to places of imagination, letting us free ourselves and return with freshness, look at things anew, then barun sobti does it every time for me. no idea if that is the job of an actor, but can tell you with abs honesty, this is what he gives me.
a door had closed yet he couldn't look away, he watched motionless, only eyes moving heaven and earth... rabba vey filled the air.
and she pushed him hard... the fiery girl in the guesthouse captured his mind. as if not content with his vulnerability, the breeze and the dupattas got together to plague him. stir his feelings. make him realise. force him to read signs.
she was pushing him in that guesthouse on a night of storm and wreckage, he was grasping her arms, thrusting her back against the surface of a drum, some sort of construction equipment. she was resisting him, angry...
she was fainting in his arms...
he was carrying her...
and then through this very doorway, he'd brought her in that night of storm and rain... this doorway that stared back at him unblinking... shut...
to lay her ever so gently on the bed, cradling her head,
and to find when he wanted to leave her, that she didn't want to let go, her hand clutched onto him.
a tenderness couldn't help but fill his heart. maybe that's precisely when his heart got caught and he never knew. how much he'd want that hand to hold on the day on the cliff. then he'd cross another threshold with her carrying her just like this... the first time ever that he'd stepped across through a doorway, her in his arms. click here to watch a vm that roams through these moments.
he stared long at this memory. but the dupattas got even more intrusive and as he caught one to move it away, storeroom returned.
her dupatta flying and caressing him, refusing to leave even though she was ranting, hurling her words at him. humari shakal nahin dekhna chahte hain na aap... hum jaa rahein hain... hamesha ke liye... you don't want to see my face, right?... well, i'm going away... forever...
come back, his aching gaze seemed to plead trying to push aside the curtain of pain and open a door, walk in maybe... iss pyaar mein sahi aur galat ka koi matlab nahin... agar matlab hai toh sirf iss baat ka ki main tumse hamesha... hamesha...
in this love, write and wrong have no meaning... if there's meaning it's only this, that i will always... always...
did she hear his call through all the breeze, the swirl of dupatta, the grip of denial? leaning out, her ear straining, wanting to catch something someone said?
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credit: uploader
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