why do stars fall down from the sky
every time, you walk by
just like me, they long to be
close to you
today gunshots and shooting stars came calling.
a lovely peek into ms sanka devi's personality. things are looking heavy. payal and bua ji try to match expenses to earnings and peruse the dismal situation with worry. bua ji talking nonstop and blaming khushi for her hair brained ideas. payal, sad at khushi's predicament.
but khushi?
not an ounce of worry or tension. she decides to dispel the gloom. her first strategy: tease bua ji. then at payal's despondent, we might as well give up and go back to lucknow, a sharp, "nahin jiji, hum itni jaldi haar kaise maan sakte hain?" no, jiji, how can we accept defeat so easily?
fed up with the moping, she snatches the books from the accountants and says, enough of this. as she puts away the papers, she discovers her departed uncle's transistor radio. apparently, an avid listener of music, bua ji's husband. was there more to that story, why the four quirky photographs otherwise?
and so starts khushi's favourite mood restorer, dance. the screenplay writer was in a cheeky mood, we got an arch love song about how you keep saying "no" when you mean "yes," and when it comes to love, just shoot my heart and and take my life, it's for you.
arre pyaar me dil pe maar de goli le le meri jaan
teri na mein chhupa hai haan haan haan haan.
mollified, bua ji joined in, and so did the ever diffident payal. reminded me of that day right in the beginning when khushi's action had led to payal's wedding being called off. then too she had burst into dance and carried the family with her.
this can do, won't let anything get me down, spirit of khushi's is endearing, infectious, and laudable. not at all a believer in the "rona dhona" default setting of most women in our media, khushi has a refreshingly contemporary attitude toward life, her faith in tradition and ritual notwithstanding.
there's no shadow of "abala naari," helpless woman, clinging to this sprightly young woman. she's not rich, she's not from an upper class back ground, she's not "cool" (though he was right later to call her the coolest person he knows), she's not a son. but she is all of herself. upbeat, fearless, ready to take a chance, and supremely positive. the dukh bhari dastaan struck women's portrayal could learn something from her.
and because of this attitude i was willing to overlook her patently crazy plans. something always seemed to say, she's going to make it, the path may be unconventional but she'll get there some day. gave me hope.
her light, comedy oriented expressions were not just about having fun, they spoke of her, who she was. expressed her sunny side up-ness. perhaps a young girl, orphaned cruelly finds her own way to stay on top of things, stay happy. perhaps she knows the value of happiness; for at eight she was given all the burden of sadness life had to give. this was khushi's way of coping maybe. believe in stars; keep solid, concrete dm by yoiur side, friend, guide, mentor; and come what may, reach out for happiness.
"kal se ek nai suruaat kari hai... nand kissore." we'll start afresh tomorrow... nand kishore.
asr went to la's room to console her after the debacle at the table. but as i watched him sitting there stiff and aloof, i had the feeling he was not being able to switch on and off efficiently between his yearning for the madcap girl who was gone forever and his current reality. one he had created himself, with his stubbornness and need to assert his right to live his own life his way. he was struggling, it was clear. and la, immersed in her misery, and the huge problem of not having brought her water proof make up, just didn't pick on his mind being elsewhere, continuously. (of course, for the sake of viewer expectation and satisfaction, creatives never could show asr too much into la, but i have to say, it felt plausible here, for even bringing her home was not really his idea. plus, he had no clue khushi would have this impact on him, that he wouldn't be able to resist, so it all sort of worked out nicely.)
brother and sister sat in their private space, surrounded by plants, by the water, where his defences were usually down, and they touched a chord within, that tied them to each other. khushi sat out in the night breeze.
suddenly, a shooting star.
"jiji! jiji! jiji! toot-ta hua tara..." she was delighted to see the shooting star. all set to make a wish.
"relax, di, ek toot-ta hua tara hi hai, bas..." relax, di, said he, it's just a star breaking and falling, that's all.
how different the two. his sister was not one to give in, she insisted he make a wish and covered his eyes with her hand. on the other side of delhi, khushi closed her eyes in her little world, believing in wishes that come true. a breeze rose, it played with his hair, then went and touched her, the most gentle and mellifluous rendition of rabba vey unified the opposite experiences. not quite opposite though, for behind shut lids, his wish came stealthily to his inner space. a locked door, thoughts of her. come back, his heart and sinew seemed to say, it hurts when you're not around, but his head held. no, he doesn't believe in such things. pyaar mein dil ko maar de goli, lele meri jaan. a neat shot, and heart shut up. no! he moved di's hand away. he didn't believe, had no vishwaas... and what could a star grant, that too one that was itself ending?
he left the sanctuary, unable to hear its truth. but di played elder sister, elder relative, one who loves him as a young one and wished that he he was aleways happy and that some should come into his life who'd finish off his pain, his dil ke dard, forever. hamesha.
segue to khushi. "kya manga?" what did you ask for? "kuch khaas nahin... kal hume koi bada sa order mil jaaye..." nothing special, just that let us get a biiig order tomorrow.
in the garden open eyes had been closed, in bed, just the other way round. a breeze blew, as he slept.
his eyes opened. he seemed to hear a call. a pensive air in him, a search...
he walked up to the open doors, and the curtain blew, instinctively he held it to push it away. an armada of memories floated up across the water. light danced on the pool, reflections played on his face. and a girl stepped out, catching hold of his thoughts, his feelings.
why can't a curtain just be a curtain, why must it remind one of a playful, intrusive dupatta? one that touched him, caressed him, never seemed to want to leave him. yet she was going, hamesha ke liye. and he was just falling, falling upon her, into her her eyes, falling through.
lavanya walked in and broke his reverie. his real world needed attention. his girlfriend needed a goodnight kiss, but he was so wrapped up in that darned dupatta.
the evening was saved by nani ji and her trusted lieutenant, lakshmi ji. nani ji fired a couple of rounds and the goli marna seemed to work.
a note:
asr
was important. not only because he was hot, handsome, troubled, but
because he had a universal appeal. somewhere in many of us a bit of him,
something a little broken, a longing for something afar, a perfection, a
completeness. a huge thanks to barun sobti for making him so real and
breathing. every feeling he conveyed i knew in some corner of me, sign
of a deeply written and expressed character. this morning my niece of 19
smsed, i am missing asr. no, it wasn't just about good looks, there was
so much more.
......................
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