Monday, October 28, 2013

MISHAWR RAWHOSYO....

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MISHAWR ROHOSYO

My camaraderie with fictional characters dates back to the late 80’s and thankfully it’s not breathing its last yet. Like any other kid my age, I too had my share of a wonderful childhood amid a sea of handsome Dalimkumars, Beautiful Kanchalmalas, wicked Duyoranis, ghastly Rakkhoshs and friendly Brohmdotyos. Then I grew up a little more in the company of an army of young and old truth-seekers or satya-sondhanis such as Deepak Chatterjee, Prodosh Mitter, Byomkesh Bakshi, Kinkar Kishore Roychoudhury, Raja Roy Chowdhury etc. to name a few. These superbly crafted characters always left me so spellbound with their inimitable charisma and sense of humour that often, I would become a restless Topshe or a tranquil Awjit or even a shy Shontu in the middle of the boring homework and class work sessions! 

So it’s no wonder that when Srijit Mukherjee’s MISHAWR ROHOSYO hit the theatres of Agartala this Durga Puja, I knew this was one film I could not afford to miss. Reasons? Well, yes there are at least three, the first being Kakababu, the man himself. If I had ever dreamt of becoming Feluda’s muse (read Premika), I’d always wished for an uncle like Kakababu, as handsome as Shobuj Dwiper Raja, who’d take me to Toubi Datta’s house or to Magician X’s show or at least to the New Market for a yet another adventure session. But unfortunately my dad was the only child of his family and the question of having a Kaka was like a distant dream! Secondly, I never had the chance to read Sunil Ganguly’s Mishwar Rohosyo before, and Egypt, the land of scheming silver sand and mystical mummies, Morumaya & Morichika, the curse of TutankhAmen and the fall of Professor Demetrius (RAY), has always enticed me. So what better way to have a rendezvous, sipping a cup of hot coffee, with the robust eligible bachelor of 40’s than to watch him on the big screen? Third, the deadly Srijeet Mukherji-Prosenjit Chatterjee combination! It’s their third film together after Autograph and Baishe Srabon, both of which had turned out to be huge hits of recent times and restored the viewers’ faith in Bengali thriller flicks once again.

The plot of MR is centred on the ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics and the story is set in a flashback. A renowned Egyptian businessman Al Mamun visits Kakababu at his Kolkata home and tells him about certain symbols drawn by Mufti Mohammed, an Egyptian rebel-leader turned Pir. Mufti is on the verge of death and Mamun requests Kakababu to visit Delhi and find out the meanings of those symbols that might lead him to an unexplored treasure. While returning from Kakababu’s place, Al Mamun is attacked at by some miscreants, who are supposedly sent by Hani Alkadi, another of Mufti Mohanmmad’s disciples at Egypt. 

When Kakababu arrives at the JNU campus, he too has a narrow escape and lands up in a nursing home. Al Mamun is convinced that Hani Alkadi is behind all those attacks. In the meanwhile, Shontu and Narendra Verma join Kakababu and the trio goes to meet Mufti Mohammad. Mufti smiles at Kakababu and with the help of certain symbols and signals, tells him to verify something in Egypt. The old man finally closes his eyes. In spite of repeated warnings from Verma on the ongoing political tensions at Egypt, Kakababu and Shontu decide to leave for Egypt to fulfil the last wish of the Pir. They are welcomed by Siddhartha, Snigdha and Rini at the Cairo Airport. As soon as the duo checks into their hotel room, Kakababu is kidnapped by Hani Alkadi’s men and Shontu is left all alone. Kakababu is then taken to Hani Alkadi’s hideout. This is a turning point in the story and it unearths many unknown truths underneath the pyramid of Queen Hetepheres! 

Prosenjit is without a doubt, an excellent choice for the role of a ‘modern’ Kakababu, who in his copper-red curls and leather jackets, looks more stylish than his college going nephew Shontu. Although he walks with the help of a crutch, it is his mental willpower that comes to his rescue every time. The beautiful transition from the silver screen to the pages of the Kakababu comic, highlighting the words in print “Kakababur Chowal Shokto Hoye Gelo”, “Dhoram”, “Dhorash” literally transported me to my childhood days making me clap and smile in the dark room. 

Indraneil Sengupta as the Egyptian rebel leader Hani Alkadi, is a treat to the eyes. Sengupta has come a long way as an actor and has been constantly proving his mettle in the industry. In fact, Indraneil resembled a Ritu da, with kohl-drenched eyes, cropped hair and a white robe. He looked extremely adorable in the guise of a Pharaoh toward the end of the movie. The relationship between the Kidnapped and the Kidnapper, their growing friendship and their sharing of knowledge, leave an indelible mark on the spectators. All the other actors performed extremely well and did justice to their respective roles. 

The reference to Tagore’s Gitanjali and the sporadic recital of His lines, by both Alkadi and Kakababu, infuse a breath of fresh air to the dry sand dunes of Egypt. The maestros Rupam Islam, Arijit Singh, Sonu Nigam and Shreya Ghoshal help to delve deep inside the ‘Balir Shohor’ , ‘Dilli’ etc. 

Probably, the only flaw with MR is that the end comes too quick. At the end of the long two hours and twenty minutes, I only wished if the movie were a little longer...

TALES FROM THE BOHEMIAN'S CLOSET- II

Protected by Copyscape Originality Checker (Published on tripurainfo.com on 17th October, 2013)

IT’S ONLY WORDS... 

In August 2009, I had this wonderful opportunity to work with one of the finest English teachers of the state. Let’s call him Mr. A. I was told that Mr. A was an expert in the subject, a man who had then been teaching English literature and language at one of the reputed schools of Agartala, for the last twenty years of his life. He was much respected and loved by his students and colleagues for his simplicity. He was not a very tall guy, mostly wore off-white kurta-pyjamas, carried a shantiniketani jhola and a smile on his face, but thankfully he did not sport the so called AANTEL look! He was extremely soft spoken as well as refined.

But unfortunately, the camaraderie had to die an early death. He left the institute probably on the fourth day after he had joined us! He was a little ‘KHEYALI’. Like, on the very first day of our interaction, he said to me,

"Listen, could you please remind of my classes? Could you please remind me when to board the bus and also lead me to the bus stop? I mean...err, I am a little forgetful you see...” he smiled.

But despite my reminders, he missed some of his lectures on the first two days of the session.

Reason? He was a chain smoker. Every day, he would carry at least three packets in his pockets, and like a Prodosh Mitter, would kiss the nicotine almost without a break. In fact, he was found busy smoking in one of the canteens, during the lecture hours. To add to the misery, some of the students had complained the matter to the authority.

Phir kya! All hell broke loose and the Head of the Institute sent for him on the fourth day. Naturally, Mr. A was asked for an explanation. Our poor guy spoke for about non-stop twenty minutes, apologized for his behavior and also honestly admitted his forgetfulness. But he made a blunder! He had spoken in a polite tone, in a refined convent English, taking care of all the pronunciation, intonation, syllabification and other phonetic details of the language. At the end of those twenty ‘English’ minutes, the boss shook his head and yelled at my colleague in khaash bangla,

"Itta aami janina, aafne claash nisen na kere kon? Mamar bari ni?”

Mr. A quietly left the room.

...and the jhola was never seen again after that day...

(Life, like the poet, charms us with its words. Life, like the painter, amazes us with its colors. Life, like the teacher, blesses us with its experiences. When life is so filled with these learning moments, does one really have to imagine too hard while penning down one’s thoughts?)

TALES FROM THE BOHEMIAN'S CLOSET- I

Protected by Copyscape Originality Checker(Published on tripurainfo.com on 17th October, 2013)

PHONETICALLY CORRECT!

Once upon a time, a senior colleague of mine had bought himself a new car. He was known as a slightly eccentric guy with a funny vocabulary and a weird pronunciation. This man, like all ‘new car owners’, loved his car more than he loved his degree or probably even his own wife! He would treat it as his little child; he would pamper and cuddle it, and would often brag about it to us. But he had made sure that nobody touched it in an insensible way, not even his colleagues, let alone any Tom, Mike or Harry of the campus! 

It so happened that during those days, an interview was being conducted for some new recruits and I happened to feature on the list of the interviewers, along with HIM. I was not at all expecting this but I had to go by the decorum and could not say no to the official notification. But I really hated the fact that I had no other option but to return to the city with him since the interview thing was taking really longer than expected. I was wondering what I would discuss with that guy on the homebound one-hour long journey to kill the time, not that I’m very garrulous, but given the fact that unlike him, I’m at least not boring! 

Somehow, the question-answer hullabaloo was over and we came out of the interview room. He told me to get into the car. Even before I had reached the point where it was parked, HE screamed from behind, 

"Madam, please sit in the front Seat, or people will think I am your Driver".

I was literally shocked at such a not so funny utterance although I chose to ignore the sarcasm. Just when I was trying to make myself comfortable on the expensive seat, the over-protective man asked me again, 

"Madam, did you ATTACH the door properly?” 

I replied in the positive, but it seemed he wasn’t convinced with my words. He requested me to close the car door once again. At that point, his over possessiveness literally killed me and I lost it completely. 

“Sure Sir,” I said, and this time, slammed the door really hard to assure him that it was properly locked. 

"Oh God!”, My colleague almost died of a heart attack when he heard the bang and looked at me with all the contempt and disgust on earth and only said, “ Madam, please be gentle, that’s my new car for god’s sake, it’s a brand new “ CHEE-BHRO-LETT-ISPARKK” (CHEVROLET SPARK)! 

My mouth almost fell open at the consonants and vowel sounds and I had no guts to reply to him... 


RUN PEOPLE RUN

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( Published on tripurainfo.com on 21st July, 2013)

When you watch a Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra film, you tout de suite know that it's certainly a Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra film, for no other filmmaker ‘dares’ to portray a PRESENT-MEETS-PAST account of life so effortlessly and with such great subtlety as he does. He had earlier employed this technique in his blockbuster Rang De Basanti that had touched a million hearts and he does it again in his latest Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, a Biopic on India’s fastest runner, Milkha Singh. In BMB, the Present meets the Past on several occasions, and every time, it's a new revelation of the already known tale. Like DJ meets Azad and they smile at each other near the end in Rang De Basanti, Rakeysh makes Milkha meet Milkha in the closing moments of the wonderfully woven tale of the Indian Legend, a Refugee-turned-Coal thief-turned-Smuggler-Turned-Army-Jawaan-turned-Athlete-turned-Padmashri of our country!

In BMB, Rakeysh uses the ‘story within a story’ or the ‘play within a play’ technique to depict the life of the Sikh lad, who had lost miserably at the Rome Olympics in 1960, who was heavily criticized and condemned by his countrymen for that ‘terrible act’, who brought laurels to the country on a hundred occasions breaking the world record, who was orphaned during the great Partition of the country, who grew up at a refugee camp amidst goons and rag pickers, who shared a beautiful relationship with his elder sister, who protested against his first realization of a brutal love-making in the refugee camp where his sister had to submit to the wishes of the husband, who celebrated his first falling head-over-heels for a girl in his locality, who promised her that he’d come back to marry her, who was held behind the bars for travelling without ticket on train, who joined the Indian Army as a Jawaan, and finally who earned the title of “the Flying Sikh” for his ability to fly in the ground. Kudos!

For a moment, let's forget all the Khans and the Kapoors. Could I include the Bacchans too, with your permission? Instead, let's all talk about this extremely adorable, tall, soft- spoken, husky-voiced guy who had ‘wowed’ us with his directorial debut Dil Chahta Hai in 2001 where he had sensibly explored the themes of friendship and love. Yes, it’s him, Farhan Flying Akhtar, son of lyricist and poet Javed Akhtar, who has been entertaining us for years now not only as a film maker, but also with his singing and acting skills in movies like Rock On and Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, an International Youth Icon, who gave a soul- stirring performance in his recent flick, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag. Man, what physical metamorphosis he underwent to make himself look like the Legendary Indian Sprinter in question! Farhan’s determination and dedication to his work showed that he did not leave any stone unturned to get into the skin of the character so much so that the real Milkha Singh, after seeing the film said, “Farhan even looks like me”.

Farhan’s amazing acting skills made us laugh, made us cry, made us hold our tongues, made us whistle, made us clap- all in those enchanting 180 minutes in that dark room, where it seemed that a Milkha was running in us all, probably drenched in the rain of all the finished and unfinished hopes, hopeful and hopeless desires, desirable and undesirable expectations, expected & unexpected actions in the odyssey called LIFE.

BMB is certainly one of those movies with amazing cinematography; brilliant screenplay and feel-good songs, which you’d love to watch again and again, for it inspires, motivates and makes you happy from within.


LOVE IN THE TIME OF POLLS

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Come February 14 and the air will be filled with the ethereal fragrance of romance, with soft breeze pampering the already passionate hearts and perhaps maddening them all, especially the youth. Youngsters will be seen wandering aimlessly through the streets, hand in hand with their partners, who perhaps surprises him/her with a cute teddy or a box of chocolates or if nothing else, with a beautiful red rose, as if it were the long preserved, priceless heart, which was waiting for its true soul mate. Our very own Agartala is not an exception to it. Since the last few years, the youth of Agartala has been giving a real hard time to the city florists at Shakuntala Road or Kaman Chowmuhani to supply the “bestest” flowers available in the market, only to win the beloved’s heart and celebrate the day of love. In fact, not only the high profile restaurants, but also the not so posh eat-out junctions of the city seem to be a party to the occasion, which is still believed to be an emulation of the West, but do these euphoric lovelorn youngsters really care? Nay…

Just in case you think I am an ardent VHP fanatic, let me make it crystal that I am not. But I do remember the times when I was growing up a decade back. Well, back then, we really did not have a gaudy Valentine’s Day, let alone a Valentine’s week! I believe we celebrated mostly New Years’ Day with Archies gallery cards and not a V- Day! We mostly looked into each others’ eyes and then fell in love, dressed up in a very traditional Bengali way and acted really coy when it came to going out on a Khejur-Date! A kiss on the first date was like an achievement and the taste would linger for a long time in the hearts and the minds. Going out with a special someone, especially on a luncheon would surely bring butterflies in the stomach; we did hold hands, did dream about the beautiful future, did exchange gifts and yes, did spend sleepless nights thinking of our beloved!

But times have now changed and so has the city. It is really amazing to see those young men and women wear a bindaas attitude, now getting no more scared of the ever questioning eyes of the society, when it comes to falling in love or going out on a love-meet.  It is really amazing to see how these young people pine for blood red Bangalore Roses at the florists’, pick up the best gift in the market, wait in long queues outside the restaurants or if nothing, go out on a bike ride to celebrate their platinum day of love. With the increasing number of eat-out joints, coffee shops and theatres at Agartala, not to mention the shopping malls, it seems, people are ready to fall in love anytime and spend their day of love with a greatgung ho.  

But will this 14 February be a V –day or a V- day in the heart of Tripura? Perhaps for the first time, the streets of Agartala will not see ecstatic lovers walking, hands in hand but only hear the thumping thunder of military boots on patrol. The markets will remain closed and people will prefer staying inside the confinements of the four walls. The roses will have no admirers; the restaurants will flaunt empty chairs, the coffee machines will not make any noise and the menu cards will lie flat on the table tops. The schools will not hear the cacophony of the children or the harmonious Morning Prayer, the desks would lie vacant and no screech of the white chalks will be heard on the black boards. Instead, groups of enthusiastic democrats will get up early in the morning, carry heaps of hope in their pockets and go to the polling booths where a machine would be waiting for them. Then perhaps, estranged lovers will meet after five years, one gently touching the other and a smile of satisfaction would gradually flash on the numberless faces; faces longing for a newer life, a better life, a safer life.

Ending on a humorous note, a friend of mine recently cried his heart out to me, “Yaar, I really want a PORIBORTON in my life after this 14, fed up of the same old life." 

I said, “Oh, is it OPPOSITION RULES for you this time?”

He gave me a disgusted look and replied,” Who’s talking about damn Elections? I want a girl friend now, tired of this Sainthood."