Postcards from the trip

Today, as I was looking through some of my old things, I came across a dairy. As I pulled it out, almost on a whim, my eye caught the name in block letters on the cover. My name. This diary was what I’d used as a notebook in college. As I ran my hand across the cover to wipe the dust off, I felt the familiar ribbed texture that I’d hardly notice while handling it three years ago. All at once I felt a plethora of memories envelop me. Some pleasant, others mediocre, yet others downright unpleasant – all poignant. As I gingerly opened the diary, I could almost smell the smells that were once me. Vivacity, idealism, a sense of immortality, tremendous belief, confidence and a devil-may-care attitude.
The diary automatically opened to a page in which I had scribbled some random words and sentences. They were lines from my then favorite songs. Songs that I still cannot listen to without being reminded of some incident, event or occurrence of those days. I couldn’t help smiling as I read the words of the songs “Gin Soaked Boy”, “Arms Wide Open” and “I Believe I can Fly”. I actually did- believe, that is. I believed that I could do anything I wanted, irrespective of whatever obstacles the big bad world might throw my way. Its been only three years since I passed out of college, but that belief has waned so much that this reminder of my youthful idealism was almost over-whelming. I found myself wondering at what point we lose the fiery enthusiasm of our college existence. Is it sometime during post graduation, when you realize that politics is not just a dirty word, but a stinking piece of reality; or does it take place during your first job, when you realize that your position in the rat-race is all that counts, as it is the one and only thing you are judged by, and that survival amongst constantly circling, ever-watchful vultures takes up almost all the reserves of energy one might have stowed away for bigger, better things?
I tilted the diary a little, and as if the memories were particularly strong there, the pages flipped over till they stopped at a photograph tucked away between them. It was a black and white photograph of my class in college. I turned the snapshot over, and saw, in my handwriting, the names of all the people in the photograph. I couldn’t help but smile indulgently at myself- as if I would ever forget those people. They, every single one of them played an important role in making me the person I am today- by broadening my thought process just a little, by sensitizing me just a bit more, by touching me in ways that are too trivial, yet too momentous to mention. From hard-core philosophical discussions to arbid abstract ones, from endless glasses of nimbu paani to conversations about first loves and first heartbreaks, from wild, aimless excursions into unknown parts of town to focused, deliberate and purposeful trips to the favorite watering hole.
As I was recounting these memories, a couple of pieces of paper slipped from the notebook to the ground, by my feet. Upon inspection, they turned out to be a letter I’d once written in a fit of temper to someone I was extremely peeved with, at the time. Of course, the discovery of the letter in my notebook suggests that it was never sent. It was just my way of blowing off steam. The letter brought to my notice yet another change in my personality. It is the fact that I hardly seem to get quite as upset over unpleasant conversations as the letter suggests I did then. The difference is one of outlook. I suppose, today I would consciously try to remain unaffected as much as was possible in an unpleasant situation and am able to do it better now than I was then. Some would say time has made me less sensitive, while others might feel I’ve gained more control over my emotions. I expect, as we grow older and experience first-hand the muck we knew of only through hearsay, we each develop our individual defense mechanisms.
I flipped the diary over to its last page, and was confronted with timetables I had tried desperately, but in vain, to adhere to. Also phone numbers of friends and quotes I’d particularly liked at the time. And oh- I also found, amongst the vast ocean of memories, a smattering of college notes, taken sporadically and hurriedly during the few classes I attended. Also, the doodles framing each such page provide an accurate assessment of my time spent in classes. Having said that, I will also say that I learnt more in those three years of college than many years before it, and certainly more than in the three years after.
My time in college seems like it was eons ago, yet in another way it seems like the memories are fresh from just yesterday. Nostalgia.

Rang de Basanti

Yes, the film. I saw it a few days ago and it left a definitive and sharp impression on my mind. The movie (for those who haven’t yet watched it) is about a bunch of young college boys who are roped into acting in a documentary film being made by a foreigner on one of the numerous episodes of the national freedom struggle. The film is not the typical kind, with over-patriotic, zealous kids as the main protagonists, who are determined to change the system with honour and integrity. Instead, it is about a bunch of extremely ordinary college students, who go through a personal experience that changes them forever, and spurs them onto an extreme form of action in order to make their voices heard.
What is great about the film is the fact that it brings across the message that it intends to convey without any apologies, without trying to soften the blow, yet without sensationalizing or dramatizing it. The way the film switches from clips of the documentary being made in the film, to the real film is spot on. Also, worth mentioning is the fact that it’s been shot very well, and edited carefully.
The film makes certain very strong statements, which one needs to actively think about before agreeing or disagreeing. Of course, as with every film, it has its lows, one of which is Cyrus Sahukar. He’s quite crap anyway, and his acting in the movie just serves as a not-so-subtle reminder of the fact. Also, contrary to public opinion, I believe that Soha Khan is only applauded for her performance because the public at large had such a low opinion of her, that it was only possible for her to go up from there.Nevertheless, it must be mentioned that the movie is one of the best Bollywood attempts in the past few years. It’s definitely worth a watch, if not two. It’s hard-hitting, yet not sensational, it screams of reality, not exaggeration, and is, apart from everything else, a piece of good Indian cinema.