Dev D...

After having had a friend go gaga over the movie and reminding me every few days that I need to see the movie, I finally got the chance and wht a chance it was!! A cousin of mine had come over and me being crazy about movies suggested we go out for a late night movie- which 1? Was the pertinent question and after few rounds of going up and down the options available it was democratically decided that we go for Dev D. now the imp part was the “WE” who constituted this we, my cousin, my bro aND my mom…..grt group and tht too for such a movie!! My bro and I r pretty cool but my cousin was uncomfy having a sis around and my mom..well I am sure those of us used to Indian sensibilities can imagine wht my mom was going thru….we survived a part of the movie, and I was soo dearly wishing I hadn’t brought them for this one ( it was for this very reason that I stressed on it having being a democratic decision, still the entire onus was on me) and after having had enough they suggested we leave and we did, and the sense of relief we all felt was almost comical.

I did go back to c the movie, no way was I gonna miss it…..had loved the little I had seen. Paro’s character was amazing and the part where she goes to studio far from home to get print out her nude pic, the look on the guy’s face. But for me the best bit was the section when she gets up early in the morning and goes out to the field with the bedding tied onto the bicycle. Surprising Dev she initiates and what response from him- calling her a slut…yes he had his reason (in his head atleast it must hav rang true) but for me it was another example of the sexism that exists…..and for those not already rolling their eyes I ll continue….that a gal is a slut/whore and a guy is a MAN.

The other scene that really caught my imagination was when she visits him at his motel, tidies up his place and takes care of him, the comment she makes at the end- it was such a relief from the usual goody goody characters that PARO, and female characters are made out to be…..tht despite the love and care the anger remains and blinded by this anger she hits him back where it hurts the most

when hurt I think we so often go down- cry, moan, crib, wallow in self pity but then our defenses take over and we turn this pain into anger, transferring the blame onto the other, it helps us to go on. And then u wanna hit back, this blinding desire to make the person realize how (s)he has done u wrong….and once u ve done it there is an emptiness inside, no joy and certainly no relief, just a sense of failure- that u ve stooped that low, and that u weren’t a better person…I ve got the 1^st phase of realizing/accepting-now I need to address it….wish me luck…

Going back to the field areas...

Went to visit some of the field areas in which our staffs have been slugging it out. It had been a while since I ve had the chance to visit slums again, after having worked directly in some areas in Kolkata, nostalgia overwhelmed me, the children running on the road perilously close to some bull or a bicycle or worse a motor vehicle, men sitting on a ‘charpahiya’ playing cards, women stooped over a corporation tap that hardly delivers what the Neta had promised, the long queue of buckets before the tap that will run only for an hour and of course the people standing around, their expression, the animated look of onlookers as two sometimes 3 get into a very heated argument about who gets to stand where in the line. Most of us know this part of city life, where some kid is defecating in the open (why only kids), we pass it more often that most of us would like to, some looking away, some lost in their own thoughts, some with a moment of sympathy, some with gratitude of not being in their shoes…….I was one too and as a kid would ‘feel bad’ for the life they had, but having been given a closer glimpse in their lives I look at things differently. What had surprised me no ends initially was that they could be happy, smile, laugh and not always be saddened by what they do not have. I learnt that it was us- those who have it, feel sad that they don’t, but for them it’s a way of life and on most occasions they do not know any different.

I missed working directly with people, waiting for long hours for people to turn up and killing time by sitting in the local tea shop, or sit on whatever elevated space one could find and of course a newspaper that women would provide to save “didi’s clothes from getting soiled”. They would offer tea which when refused would result in an upset face, and therefore to compensate I d have a biscuit or drink lots of water (which I d regret sometime later…..hehe). And now when I can manage to drink black tea I no longer go to the field areas, so no longer meet people who get upset/misjudge ones polite refusal.

I miss those long hours, and I cant believe I am saying this but, I miss those long hours of sitting in a thatched roof hut with no fan in the middle of the summer and getting some kid to get interested on the subject in hand, or huddle up in a corner of the same room to avoid getting drenched by the rain pouring from the hole on the roof.  To carrying a tape recorder to have a dance session, to take self defense classes and then try fruitlessly to separate the big bullies who decide to try on the techniques with add ons of their own, to spending 4 hours covering the broken, dilapidated walls with newspapers, despite others saying it to be an effort in vain only to have them proved right in two days time, to beautifying the area around the school with planting new trees.

I miss those days and wish to go back to them and experience the joy of being around them. But then one grows up and one has to climb higher in the ladder and so I am trying too….but often I stop to wonder why is it tht I sometimes fee that this is not what I had signed in for, this is not really what I love doing…..