I have a hangover

I thought of this title the moment I came out of the theatre. Several distinct thoughts came across my mind as I watched the movie. I wondered, for an instance, if I would be able to paint all the shades of emotions I encountered on a single canvas, and if it would make a clear picture.

Phew. As I sit down to type these words, I pray lest words betray me in the next half an hour. I kept mum as I walked out of the theatre lest my spoken words take me out of the hangover.

What an experience! It was not just a movie; it was a three-hour experience. That tear in the corner of my eye, that comfort, that sense of identification, that moment of realization indicated that I was going through not moving pictures on the screen, but something much bigger than that. I started the experience as a critic, thinking of evaluating the concept, the direction, and the performances. For the first few minutes, I was engrossed in the visual and mental relief the pictures promised to provide. I was wrong. The pictures would in some time torment me mentally; they would invoke thoughts and conscience, and shatter my peace, albeit in style. In the next few minutes, I marvelled at the performances, to an extent that a couple of lines of a song made my eyes shine with moisture. Then came the interval and I realized I was left wanting for more. It wasn’t time yet to declare the interval. During the interval, I found myself praising the guts that man has. After all, he wasn’t the hero.

As I saw Ram Shankar Nikumbh feel for his student and ascertain the reason for his silence, I remembered my own guide and teacher, who once upon a time, had this great influence on me. I missed Rajuda and wished I could be a kid again and relive those moments – moments of endless discussions on now trivial matters, moments of cutting and fixing cardboard and glass to make a kaleidoscope or a periscope, moments of tutoring on balancing a cycle on two wheels. Well, I have digressed, away from the main concept. This movie brought out thoughts in me so much so that I am forced to type out these words in the dead of the night.

As I saw the children in Tulips perform with fervour, I remembered the day when a nervous-wreck, I was on my way to the examination centre during college and a mentally challenged kid, my co-passenger, cheered me up with unspoken words.

As I saw Ishaan come to terms with reality and yet create a masterpiece, I thought I too can overcome the current uncertainty and reach my zenith.

I painted a canvas with varied colours as I watched Taare Zameen Par. I hope it brings out a canvas and a plethora of colours in front of you too as you enjoy it.

P.S.: Words have defintely betrayed me. I felt much more than I have painted here. Let me close my eyes and see if I experience utopia again.

Afterthought: Aamir is a superb director. Darsheel is good actor. Hats off to the writer. Technically brilliant and emotionally fulfilling, Taare Zameen Par moved me. Ram wept at almost all instances and I did not. It made me feel stronger than Ram. Yet, I know I am not. Someday, someday…