Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Sad to note that it's either utter ignorance or blind admiration for Anurag Kashyap. Wasseypur, close to reality? Oh yes, sure! Whose reality is it? Just the men's if you ask me. The women in the movie were only living for the men and no complaints from them; they seem to enjoy it. The problem is not whether that's the reality. It's that they're shown to be fine with that sort of reality. Their perspective is not brought out. Durga is clearly shown to seduce Sardar Singh and the skin show is quite evident. And in the scene where Durga and Sardar Singh are getting intimate, it's the girl moaning and it was disgusting to hear the men in the theatre laugh in pride as if they themselves are in Sardar Singh's shoes. Even the sister of the bride of Sardar Singh's son is shown on similar lines. It's a demeaning way to depict women as if they only exist for men, to be their objects of pleasure. The women in DevD and Gulal were different. They were breathing. They had their own characters. They were shown from their own perspectives and not from the perspectives with which others might have looked at them. You see, these are two different things. The way you show a character from her/his own perspective and the way you show them from the perspective of others. The way we look at ourselves is different from the way others look at us. A character would be given due respect only when the character's perspective of himself/herself is brought out. We wouldn't want us to be shown in a way some third person looks at us which is different from the way we look at ourselves and then, make it look as though that's how we look at ourselves, would we? We wouldn't want the two things to be confused. The line deserves respect, even if it is thin!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
To be aimless, purposeless, isn't it natural? Who are we? We weren't born with any purpose, right? But somehow, we seem to have developed such notions. I wonder when we have started indulging ourselves in happiness that only comes with purposes in our lives. When was there any? Isn't it all transitory? What can be so great about anything I do? I have always felt insignificance, low confidence, self-doubt. Never could I really afford the luxury of a clear thought process, connecting dots with certainty, never satisfied. But was always told that that's what one is supposed to pursue. When I started writing this, I was empty and blank, with low spirits. Then, as I was writing, it started raining and it was good to know I had no control over nature and was allowed the luxury of the surprises it offered. It was scorching hot in the afternoon. Who'd have expected it to rain? So fragile living is and how arrogantly we force certainty onto it, killing the freedom of interpretation and expression.