Hazaaron khwahishain aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
Bahut nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle...
Sudhir Mishra portrays Ghalib's angst in a politico-romantic mould on celluloid. The results are satisfactory. Hazaaron Khwahishain Aisi refrains from making an overt political statement, but the underlying message (as I understood it) implies that the dynamics of circumstances play a more potent role than ideology and idealism in the long run.
The Emergency is a subject, which Indian filmmakers (for obvious reasons) abstain from. It is here where Hazaaron... is an exception. There's a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. G and a character with more than a mere resemblance with Sanjay Gandhi. But again, the movie is less about the emergency and more on how human relationships undergo change in adverse circumstances.
And Chitrangada Singh invokes a thousand desires...
(The movie poster is a bit deceptive)
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Being born and brought up in the cloud-infested state of Meghalaya, I didn't have much of a liking for water drops from the heavens. It pours and pours incessantly for days at a stretch, with short breaks for a couple of hours at the most (probably only to replenish the humid stock from the Bay of Bengal). The clouds were omnipresent, every season of the year. We fervently prayed for the sun's radiance. It was therefore we kids, brought up in the Khasi, Jaintia and the Garo hills could never relate to the fanfare associated with the arrival of rains in the rest of the country.
It was four long years ago, when I had first stepped out from my hilly Shangri-la to the scorching plains of northern and central India that I could first comprehend the relief and jubilation associated with the phenomenon. After months of merciless insolation and dry hot winds, the advent of droplets of dihydrogen monoxide from a mackerel sky is pure bliss. The aroma of wet earth (something new to my olfactory receptors). The otherwise dusty and polluted city wearing a scrubbed look. The mercury dipping. And I sing Rain, rain, come again...
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I had discovered Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia a few years ago. It started on January 15, 2001 and today it is a humungous collection. The best part of it besides it being absolutely FREE (in the truest sense of the term), is that it is a collaborative effort, which means you can also become an active contributor to this innovative project.
It is hosted by the Wikimedia Foundation, which operates several other multilingual and free content projects, like Wiktionary, Wikibooks, Wikiquote, Wikisource, Wikispecies, Wikinews, Commons and Meta-Wiki.
Visit http://en.wikipedia.org/ for a Wikiexperience!
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'Deep Throat' is former FBI man Mark Felt.
The Watergate investigations by the Washington Post journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein once inspired me - a wannabe journalist still slogging to clear his papers at the university. But isn't that what wannabe journalists are, full of aspirations and ideals? The urge to something new, take on the high and mighty, cleanse the society, still itched. But once out from the idealistic environs of the universities, we face the reality. Slowly, but surely the rigours of professional life acted as Itch Guard.
'Deep Throat' (the name inspired from a 1972 porn movie) was an enigma for my infant journalistic psyche. The ultimate whistleblower. Someone who knows what's going on inside the cabins lining the corridors of power. Someone who dared but trenchantly remained anonymous. Who it could be? But now with the mystery unveiled my inquisitive mind is at rest.
Whistleblowing is a dangerous endeavour. In India, whistleblowing inevitably leads to witch hunting. Remember Tehelka?
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A friend once told me, "It's possible to awaken a sleeping man, but not one who is pretending to be asleep."
Think about it.
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