a sweetness and a crunch

laad governor and chhotey, are they the same guy? chhutki, who makes jalebi when she's upset. nice to see the first ones of the show. was watching a veer zaara song just now, he took a refulgent orange jalebi and offered her, she took a bite, i could only think of khushi, asr, episode 3. yesterday amma had said "tum theek ho"... today babu ji said, "kauno faraq nahi padta." uff looks like that asr stole their lines. laad governor kahin ke.

a caringly crafted episode. so much in it. the lilting, peace filled, yearning strains of maula mere maula juxtaposed with excitement and anticipation building as they cross each other's path again and again, without knowing that they do.

their first touch, a long, lingering caress of white virginal dupatta across his face, moulding against its unyeilding ridges and grooves, feeling every pore, he turns toward its call, inert eyes looking to see, is there someone out there? someone he seeks? something in the eyes.

khushi's breaks into light khushi quirkiness. asr in his own world, here to get a job done, just take 10/15 minutes, stunning in knowing black.

of course they had to meet, when she called out, he stopped, again something in his eyes, was her voice familiar? he seemed to know its cadence, and when he turned no surprise in his gaze. just the stillness.

hoi hoi hoi hoihoi, the calm entry down a path strewn with colourful signs of a revered mazar, now a mad dash through it throwing all into disarray, miss khushi kumari gupta is not going to let that laad governor get away with it this time.

a girl determined, a man not in a mood to be messed with, a mannat ki chabi.

and so it all starts.

 

episode 3 a touch calls

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episode rambles

fan fiction

episode 3 a touch calls

khushi's dupatta reached out and touched arnav's face, lingering.

if i had to write a precis of episode three, that's what i would write. nothing else. for that's what touched and lingered over the heart. it  was beautifully written into the story and shot, and it powerfully embedded the idea of connection. 

connection that is made unknowingly, unknown to both. perhaps true connections are like that... you don't seek it at a rational plane, you let it come to you, or rather, it comes to you. that in our existence replete with challenges, where usually extremely practical concerns have shaped thoughts and ideas, the very fact that we have come to the notion of love and given it so much value is a surprising thing. and then to actually evolve to a one man one woman idea, where we hope to create a permanent tie, how childish at one level really... is human the animal even remotely monogamous? even nature doesn't make us so... yet we have been touched by and yearned for this feeling we name love. and search forever to find its name, paradoxically... its meaning.

we have lived and died for it, written songs novels essays poetry, and dreamed of it. love, such a difficult to rationalize thing. why do we love someone or something? hard to answer that one. we humans who keep talking about "reality" and "get real" actually have never been able to snuff out the call of this ideal, even if we speak of it mockingly at times.

why?

from where does it come?

it comes wafting and touches us and lingers.

3 always feels like a song to me; that song which plays, arziyaan saari... all my wishes i have brought written on my face. powerful actors and a director along with writers who wanted to go beyond and touch another kind of realm in their story, have created twenty odd minutes of beauty and lyricism that a trp/money obsessed "reality" driven genre neither seeks nor celebrates. but who is to tell barun sobti, sanaya irani, shashi gupta, daljeet bhanot, deepali pansare that, especially the first two... and also nisar parvez, maan singh, and the creative team.

whoever thought of that gold coloured fiat... absolutely inspired choice that, i laugh and yet i feel a whole world and its feelings, its milieu, its heart and hopes.

the wishes were really written on faces. even if i close my eyes i can see a still profile, sharply etched lines, regal bearing of head. feels like all the breath, all the air from everywhere has been trapped and taken in. nothing out there. and yet one can sense a fire somewhere, a fire that burns and won't be put out. it calls and i stare.

the director of these three shots of a solitary arnav singh raizada standing on some terrace in lucknow, looking out at the city with its graceful ancient contours, he the utter counterpoint... a man of his times, needs a special salaam. and where exactly did barun sobti learn to create that stillness.  
 
i get stuck on that scene at times and can't think of anything else. there was often in barun's delivery a thickness, a volume... layers and layers which possibly came from the thought he had put into the moment delineated... i'll never know, but something beckons at certain scenes and one just must look and feel.

the other face was a young beautiful sprightly girl's who was in tears and we thought she was going to set herself on fire. instead she made jalebis, mountains of them and bit into them from time to time, weeping buckets.

sanaya irani did some sort of magic here. what could have become a ha ha hilarious scene, she with her capturing of khushi in her heart and mind, made into a moving portrayal of vulnerability and a valiantly sunny nature, also that inexorable innocence that almost nothing can vanquish. she is badly shaken up by all that has transpired... a horrible encounter with a terrifying man, her sister's wedding broken, and then her mother and her aunt reminding her of the one thing that completely breaks her. she is not their own flesh and blood... she is not real family. adopted.

after the storm and shatter of 1 and 2, where the protagonists met and wrangled for the first time, the story is telling us a little bit about the characters. establishing their sketch, what's important to them, what makes them who they are, and most importantly, how completely unlike each other they are. one is black, the other white, as it were...
and yet, on that still face, there is vulnerability. and just as khushi has a deep relationship with her babu ji who has taught her from the time she was a child that "khoon ke rishto se dil ke rishtey..." more significant than blood ties are the ties of the heart, so does the stone faced man with the young woman who had interrupted his show.

he is perturbed to see chane ki roti instead of oats for breakfast by the pool. he knows who could have done that. and why is she still here, he barks at his assistant. she appears just then and says, well she is the culprit. he is not appeased or amused, she should go to delhi and be with his jija ji, her husband, but this beautiful woman in a gauzy saree does as she pleases and smiles beguilingly, bossing over him a bit. he has told her many times not to call her "chhotey", little one... how beautifully barun says that without losing even a bit of asr yet sounding huffy and cute.

and at one point he gets too angry to hang around and begins to stalk off. she calls out, her helplessness in her voice and lurches after him... suddenly he stops and turns, she takes another halting step, obviously she limps. he simply walks back to her and holds her, supporting... he can't hurt her or see her in that state. 

his di. asr with all his hard heart and nasty tongue and don't care and ruthlessness has a completely vulnerable side to him. his sister, he can't bear to see her in pain, a complex set of reasons there no doubt. but the most powerful one is love. his love for her.

and in khushi's life no one is perhaps more precious than her babu ji. she adores her sister who absolutely dotes on her, she needs her amma who is the giver of tough love, but babu ji is her life, her succour... and why not, it is he who understands what makes his chhutki  feel really terrible, he senses her tender heart and gives it the balm it needs, the truth it must accept and be strong with. the relationships of the heart are stronger than those of blood.

chhotey and chhutki. so utterly different, tycoon and jalebi maker, city and small town, remote and engaged, dark and light, ruthless and tender... and yet somewhere both broken, both needing something... the wishes, the arziyaan that need not be said for it's there on their faces and the one who knows will know what to do with them.

usually i am allergic to overtly religious bends in stories, mandir masjid church used arbitrarily to bludgeon the viewer into believing in a higher power. but this mazar scene is so very beautifully written in and reached and walked through... i love it. again and again while watching the initial episodes i have got a feeling i am watching a movie with all its largeness and details and not something small. the language is often of cinema, the shots, the angles, the expanse. beautiful direction. the qawwali's sound pouring upward the devotee's plea... it's a real mazar i get the feeling, the ensigns, the fakirs, the peacock feather bundles for blessing... authentic, touching, remind me of sikri. 

and there they arrive, one sent by his sister to complete the mannat, aloof, uninterested, just doing his duty, he'll be done in a few minutes, no need to cancel meetings.

and she comes with her family to the urs they go to every year. this year it will perhaps heal them, lift the gloom that has entered their lives.
 
khushi and payal are obviously familiar with the place and want to be completely involved with everything. khushi will not stay away from anything, she is here for a maximum urs experience. and baba must be spoken to loudly and told all her deep desires and wishes. also about that laad governor. she has mentioned him a couple of times already to her sister, obviously he is never too far from her mind. next time she sees him, she'll really give it to him, yeah.

he however shows no sign of even remembering her. not till the very end that is.

this ease with which hindus come to a muslim shrine especially a mannat place... makes me miss india every time. for it is exactly like this, even now. i recall going to a mazar in bangalore and making a mannat... also at sikri.

the scene where the sisters and the dark inert man come into frame and cover their heads signals at something momentous, i don't know why.

then my favourite scene... the two walking on either side of a procession. one in white, grinning, leaping, taking part in everything, eyes shining. the other, with long loping stride that i could watch forever, all black, handsome forehead below pure white hankie, a chiseled unmoving profile, eyes still, closed, no entry for anything or anybody.

the song rises from a group of qawwals who feel even more real than what we see in films. the main singer is surely that in real life.

as words of desires, messed fortunes, of being erased being made, beseeching, maula maula maula mere maula, oh my lord... fill the air, the two walk, parallel lines literally.

but they shall meet.

she will take a turn and pass before him, both unaware of the other. and her white gossamer dupatta will blow in the wind, reach and find the face that has no hope on it and... touch.

it will stay there, clinging to the craggy features of that stony face, getting caught in its peaks and planes, almost caressing. he who is so impatient and snaps at the slightest, will say nothing as the fine virginal cloth will do its thing and move on... he will only look after the one who wears the dupatta and walks away, with an impassive face. nothing in his eyes, no expression, yet a pause. that seems to say something vital.

how magnificently barun sobti interacts with the moment.. and sanaya moving away, no idea, that laad governor has been beckoned by her dupatta.

the dupatta. an oft used slightly obvious device employed by many directors, here though it rarely felt contrived, heightened reality but not silly and jarring. dupattas don't do such things, and yet they do fly and when two actors start treating it with a certain dropping of their sense of disbelief, it almost becomes an emissary. khushi's many thoughts, which perhaps a well brought up middle class girl would never say, were expressed by the flying odhni.

while thinking of the dupatta, i was reminded of the other piece of cloth that flutters in the wind and says so much... the flag of a nation. there's a funny power in just a piece of cloth dancing in the wind.

today though what was the dupatta saying exactly? i had no way of knowing, but it was eloquent. it made him stop. take note. it connected the two just as the ripping of a dori in episode 2 had done. then there was violence and knowledge, here neither, but it was just as powerful.

arnav singh raizada had entered khushi's life with an egregious rip that reflected him perhaps. and now a reply from khushi, with her untouched absolute innocence, gentle and soft yet with a weight and power of its own.

every scene inside the mazar was beautiful and poignant.

he was done at last and ready to leave, while she continued to pray. but then a key fell. mannat ki chabi... like a symbol of something. or someone. the ever alert miss sunshine saw the key fall and had to rush and pick it up...

wait, your mannat ki chabi has fallen.

when he heard her voice, what was that in his eyes? did he sense something? did she sound familiar? he turned and there was of course instant recognition. turmoil in her. a strange noncommittal air about him. he was here because di wanted him to be here, he was ready to leave. the girl from last night, he didn't care.

"phenk do..." throw it away... with two words again he painted a character...

but she would not let him go...

and in seconds from an almost ethereal moment to a chase a la good old hindi phillums. chaotic khushi run after the man walking calmly away, taking off his bandana, looking deadly cold and handsome beyond belief and she charming, nubile, mojri slipping off, funny, pretty, utterly delectable almost as crunchy and delicious as her favourite jalebi, an orange ire in her, how dare he? how dare he!

you can't go like this... and so it was that the girl whose dori he had ripped stopped him from leaving and altered the course of their lives forever.

arziyaan sari mein, chehre pe likh ke laaya hoon
all my requests have i brought written across my face

tumse kya mangu mein, tum khud hi samajh lo...
what should i ask of you, why don't you yourself understand

ya maula... maula maula maula mere maula
o my lord... my lord

maula maula maula mere maula
oh lord... my god

maula maula maula maula

dararein dararein maathe pe maula
cracks (lines) on my forehead, o lord

maramat mukadar ki kar do maula, mere maula..
repair my fortune, my fate, my lord

tere dar pe jhuka hoon mita hoon bana hoon
i've bowed at your door, been erased, been made,

marammat mukdar ki kar doo maula..
repair my fortune, my fate, my lord
 
jo bhi tere dar aaya, jhukne jo sar aaya
whoever has come to your door, whichever head has come to bow

mastiyan piye sabko, jhoomta nazar aaya
drunk on fun/happiness and dancing they've looked to all

pyaas le ke aaya tha, dariya woh bhar laya
he had come with thirst, and filled up a sea

noor ki barish mein bheegta sa tar aaya
drenched in the rain of light, he has came

...

o ek khushbu aati thi
a fragrance would come

main bhatakta jata tha
and i'd lose my way

reshmi si maya thi
there was a silken mirage

aur mein takta jata tha
and i'd keep staring at it

jab teri gali aaya, sach tabhi nazar aaya
when i came to your lane, only then did i see the truth

mujhme woh khusboo thi, jisse tune milwaya
the fragrance was in me, with whom you introduced me

...

aaa aaa...

tut ke bikharna mujhko zarur aata hai
i know how to break and scatter of course

varna ibbadat wala sarur aata hai
otherwise i know only how to pray

sajde mein rehne do, abb kahin na jaunga
let me stay at your feet, i will not go anywhere now

abb jo tumne thukraya to sawar na paunga
now if you leave me i will not be able to recover

maula maula maula mere maula
maula maula maula maula
dararein dararein hai maathe pe maula
maramat mukdar ki kar do maula, mere maula..

sar utha ke maine to kitni khwahishe ki thi
i had asked for so many things with my head raised

kitne khwaab dekhe the, kitni khosishe ki thi
i'd seen so many dreams, i'd tried so hard

jab tu rubaru aaya...
when you appeared before me

jab tu rubaru aaya nazarein na mila paya
when you appeared before me i could not meet your eyes

sar jhuka ke ek pal mein...
with bowed head in a second...

sar jhuka ke ek pal mein maine kya nahi paya
with bowed head in a second what have i not received

maula maula maula mere maula
maula maula maula maula
maula maula maula mere maula, mere maula..
maula maula maula maula mere maula..

mora piya ghar aaya, mora piya ghar aaya
my husband/partner has come home
 
maula maula maula mere maula

the song is written by prashoon joshi for delhi 6. ar rahman's music. i have attempted a translation. took the translation by princess on hindilyrics.net as reference.

n i s h a n a   e p i s o d e s
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episode 248 talk to me

indu, (friend of mine, major fan of ipk)

thanks for that "phenk do". one of my can't think moments of ipk... and him walking, long loping strides as maula maula maula mere words pour over the scene which is almost movie like... the frolicking happy khushi, youthful leapy in white with diaphanous dupatta, engaging with the environment, giggly and animated... the tall, dour, dark stranger aloof from everything, older than his years, in black dense material, eyes inert, completely at odds with the environment, avoiding all contact and yet in command of it all. on a big screen i imagine this entrance into the dargah... and really maybe some day.

i can watch that walk forever i remember writing when we first saw this episode on blast.

i am frankly finding it really hard to bear that next week onward, he is hardly going to be around... once again, gone.

yes, that background music was moving and had a sense of something momentous in it. played again and again in the beginning. must look out, maybe it comes up again...

back to the girl in white and the man in black. something untouched about them, isn't there? he walks stiffly as he did in the initial episodes, well not that jerky, but still stiff. he has not yet got his modulations worked out perfectly, just getting into the role, but i found all of it perfect. raw... real. and despite all flaws, you couldn't look away.

he makes contact.

so does she.

with me.

curious, we speak of this episode now. there they met for the first time under the open skies, standing on bare ground and confronted what they had no idea, the key was just an excuse...

and today again, a confrontation standing on bare ground, between heaven and earth. confronting one of the toughest things we ever have to face, a feeling for someone that is bigger than us. the incident on the terrace is just an excuse.

i look at how their eyes have changed, their body language... the growth of a relationship between two bookends.

i see she flinches at the memory of a pearl dori being ripped... in her mind that barrier has been crossed, now when she thinks of him, it's the kiss, it's a streak of sindoor.

on the bridge she also flinched, at the shutting of the door. and now she will try what she can to open that door and we know she will succeed. a streak of violence in their interaction always... gashes, wounds... through which a feeling could enter and grow.

aap aise jaa nahin sakte.

here was the first time she said it... and next monday we'll hear that again...

how many times i have said it after how many fights.

phenk do, he had told her. today he looked like he tried very hard to throw the key away because everything hurt too damn much. with his insulting throw you away words... i know it is hard to walk away from being mrs arnav singh raizada. he used to hurt for a different reason then, but now it's cause is another... and a door has been opened that he might never be able to lock and throw the key away of. and maybe in her completely inspired reaction to that insult... she gathered the key and went and sat next to him.

indu, thanks for that trigger. i decided to point the gun at me and pull it.


a few more thoughts...

as they get into mortal combat mode, a desperate air in this rather unpretty spot. and there shooting at the kind of time when natural light is not making the shots more intersting in any way... everything is too bright. but all that doesn't matter, it's only about the acting really for me. the untrammeled intensity and sense of freefall in the air.

not freefall... skyfall. yes, a sheer complete plummet. as voices rise and fly, as expressions are pushed up. a dizzying, stomach emptying fall... everything is ending.

"khushi, tumhari himmat kaise hui..." how dare you, khushi...

"nahin hui... uss raat bhi nahin hui thi, lekin shayad humey himmat karni chahiye thi...taki cheekhke chillake kissi bhi tarah sacchai aapki kano tak pahunche..." i didn't dare, maybe i should have, that night i would have screamed and shouted and made you hear the truth.

"yeah, right... sach!" voice flies.

"jee haan, sach!" yes, the truth, sir! she shot back, no fear... woh sach jisse aap meelon dor hai..." that truth from which you are miles away.

nice delivery... crisp angry... not mopey. the girl who makes jalebi when she is mad at the world is here.

ek baar ek baar aap humse poochkar toh dekhte..

if only you had asked me once, just once. she is leaning toward him, an urgency t tell him the truth. shyam ji fooled us... tricked all into believing he is not shadi shuda.

instantly a response from her opponent. she tells him all. about shyam's deception and the situation i which she got engaged. asr responds to every inflection, every "sach"... percussions keep track. she finishes vehemently stating she'd rather die than have shyam's name associated with hers.

asr stands looking at her and then asks, had i asked you that night would you have told me?

she replies, of course she would have, but he was in such a rush to get married.

he so so wants to believe this. it's in his eyes, his stance, his need is palpable. he comes close, but alas his mind, his dimag has a memory imprinted. chap gaya hai dimaag par... mit nahin sakta.

it is not erasable.

his eyes lose focus, when they come back to her face, the anger is back, the music, the mayhem... just for a few short seconds the temptation to believe... to feel with his heart not think with his head...

soft husky voice, "tumhe kya laga..." what did you think, if you had told me that night i'd have believed you with my eyes closed?

she knows, it's over.

i have never seen anyone clap with one hand, i believe what i have seen and heard, i have heard you say this and i have seen you... tum dono ko ek saath... agony enters his voice... ek doosre ki baahon mein... "baahon" seemed to fall away.

sanaya did most of her close ups with a double, i have a feeling had he been there, we would have seen a more arresting performance.

as he felt his life almost ebb away at the thought of the two in each others arms, he came back with renewed ire and a pretty darn good question: yeah, if you are so sachi and shyam so bura, why have you not tried even once to tell me the truth... why did you let my di worship that man like god...

got to love this mind. valid, pertinent question.

"chilla chillakar kyun shyam ki asliyat sabko nahin bata hai..."why didn't you scream out to all who this man really is?

he asks this because he would. but she didn't. different personalities, different compulsions.

"mujhe kuch batane ki koshish kyun nahin ki?" why didn't you try to tell me? again and again he says how much it matters to him to matter to her.

she is in a qaundary. why didn't you tell me, khushi... khushi, i am talking to you... answer me, dammit, main kuch poochh raha hoon.

he can't stay away and disconnected any more... he so damn well wants to believe... struggling with his dimag, wanting to give dil a chance... astonishing progress in asr... would he have wasted so much time if it were anyone else? but here, he hopes somewhere, in some corner of his mind that what he saw was not true. maybe he even suspected it, but prisoner as he is to that past of his, the belief that women are dangerous, pretty girls from not so wealthy backgrounds trap men and ruin lives... life's little irony again, that is exactly the profile of the girl that he adores.

he lunges forward and holds her face in his hands, his body arched toward her and almost begs her to make this truth go away. in almost tender tones, anger coated he says, why, khushi, why... you who always speak so much, why are you silent?

lovely words: kyun, khushi kyun... tum jo hamesha itni baate karti ho woh aaj itni chup kaise rah sakti ho.

good catch, writer...

"tum jiske paas har sawal ka jawab hota hai woh kuch bol kyun nahin rahi hai?" you who has the answer to every question why are you not saying anything?

a very vulnerable man on a hot and bothered and killing bridge. holding his wife's face, looking into her eyes.

the first time i saw, i thought this is where the famous mu would end.

she started talking, she said nothing because even one word from her would have wrecked his di's life. the one he loves so much...

it did sound like a lame excuse... and after what he'd said, she didn't bother to understand or apologise for not trusting, instead a self righteous tone of voice.

he does not believe... no more stories, he retorted blocking her out.

"chap gaya mere dimaag mein woh pal... jab maine tumhe aur..."

he can't say it another time.

"ab nahin mit sakta."

it is over.

you saw what you wanted to see... she starts again.

he reels away from her in anger, in fury... enough! bakwas band karo.

aggression wildly rising he threatens her and then, hurting madly within, reaches out to draw blood.

"main achhi tarah samajh sakta hoon ki mrs arnav sing raizada banke jo paisa, aaram aur shaan milta hai usse jaane dena..."

ohhho ho.. he is hurting, he is nastier and nastier...

low and husky and insulting, "koi pagal hi hoga jo isse chhor dega..."

rabba ve... beautiful beautiful beautiful

this is love, in its most red form.

redder than even desire.

a full crane or trolley or whatever shot, two contenders two lovers two gladiators on a bridge. who will slay whom.

and he walks away. a tear falls. again she starts when she hears the door.  she wipes her tear and goes home with him.

everything is horribly tense naturally now. khushi is fretting. asr is cut off from everything, imploding.

a beautiful scene as khushi stands in her room, holding the dress that she had been wearing as the truth came out. an avalanche of thoughts, and a realisation...

"unhen hum par vishwas karna hi hoga... hum aise nahin jee sakte...  yeh jaankar ke... unke soch humare baare mein itni..." he must believe her... she can't live like this... knowing... this is what he thinks of her.

what he had asked her in many ways... don't i matter to you, she answered that really here... you matter to me too too much, i can't live if this is what you think of me.

there was really no need to name this love.

now the suv is gone, soon barun will go away too, and everyone is getting ready for that. 

adele singing skyfall, a misunderstanding soars and sings its own mad song.  

 credit: uploader

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