Labhda fire ve tera ki kho gaya

Before this film, I knew the bare minimum about Chamkila. And that’s how Imtiaz Ali introduced Chamkila to us -  from a stage, amidst the thunderous applause of his fans. Our hero is arriving from some distant horizon, to perform for his fans but only to be silenced by some faceless killers. When Chamkila and Amarjot were shot - I was shocked, not saddened or filled with grief, just stunned. Isn't it always shocking to witness someone's demise? But the loss didn't hit close to home. And why would it? I mean I don’t even know this guy.

And so begins our odyssey, a journey through the tapestry of Chamkila's life - his struggles, his triumphs, his follies, and his love.

And before the film ends, we find ourselves back where it began but this time we are not fans waiting for him to come on stage. There’s a shift in the perspective, we are seated with them in the car, and we observe them intimately – as if they cease to be some random performers and Imtiaz did it, without stripping them of their charisma.  As they step out of the car, we feel the weight of impending tragedy. This time, when we watch them die, the grief is personal. It lingers and digs its claws deep. This time, the moment is felt, this time it evokes intimacy, sadness, and the joy of knowing them, in equal measure.

 

The song "Ishq Mitaiye," emerges within the movie at a very pivotal point. 1980s Punjab. Disturbed and burning. The lyrics, Ni Maye Mera Ishq Mitaye Haye Haye, Ishq Mitaye Haye Haye "O Mother, my love destroys/O Mother, my love creates…Long live the fire and water within me," serve as a prophetic ode to Chamkila – love both crafting and consuming him. The very essence of art breathed life into Chamkila while ultimately killing Amar Singh. He serenades his motherland, Punjab, seeking to bring a smile to her face through his songs. And amidst the violence and chaos, he says “Mein Hoon Punjab”- as if Chamkila has merged with the very soul of the land. When plagued by violence and cruelty, Punjab responds with joy and laughter. Akhadas remain crowded and undeterred. In that moment, Chamikla becomes an idea.

It’s pretty interesting that despite all the obscenity in his songs, which the DSP found Kitsch, Chamkila always sang in duet. There was a moment when he was struggling to find a steady female singer until he met Amarjot.  So far we have just seen just men engrossed in his melodies within the akharas. Where are the women? And then come the women. The women, crooning lewd songs at weddings, listening to him secretly. These women are bound by patriarchal shackles, yet still, their smiles endure, and their voices harmonize, echoing the spirit of Punjab. If Chamika was Punjab, these women were Chamkila in their clandestine obscenity. The women are largely unbothered by his lyrics because they know it's more about the flawed male psyche than about them. They embrace Chamkila as an ally in his own misogyny. And perhaps that's all they desire - honesty amidst imperfection, acceptance despite flaws. Much like the song “Ishq Mitaiye”, contrast persists. Chamkila isn't just cherished by lecherous men; he's adored by women.

The character of the DSP is a societal gaze into the life of Chamkila, without him the film falls flat. And I loved what Imtiaz has done with this character. When in an argument, one of the proteges of Chamkila says “So you think only dirty people listen to his songs” he very firmly says “Yes dirty and uncouth people”. To him, Chamkila is a non-essential rot of society. He intervenes when his constable becomes aggressive against that young protege and when he says “We have done these plays in colleges, but reality offers you different answers” we see the veneer of rigidity fading and we get a deeper gauze in his character. It appears as if he too was once filled with the idealist values. But with time, reality has chipped away at those edges. In that moment we see how most of us, like that DSP have embraced practicality, adjusting our values to fit the world as it is. The world, where idealism often takes a backseat to what's achievable.  Trading philosophy for pragmatism.

Exhaustion evident in his deep breaths, the DSP sinks into his seat as he delivers his powerful monologue. CUT! In the next scene, we see, Chamkila striding confidently toward the stage, determined to deliver his performance.  DAMNIT! That’s beautiful.

Imtiaz Ali skillfully contrasts the characters of DSP and Chamkila once more. We witness DSP entering his home, annoyed by something, he approaches the window, gazing outside with irritation. The screen splits to show Chamkila and Amarjot passionately singing their song, unaware and unconcerned. We see the irritation of DSP and the joy of Chamkila in a single frame. Pure Cinematic molten cocaine, right in the veins!

Wait! It gets better, here it seems that DSP's annoyance stems from someone outside his home listening to Chamkila's songs, something beyond the confines of his control. In his final scene, DSP is entering his house with newfound humility, his steps slower than usual. As he hears Chamkila's music playing within the house, he realizes it's his own son who is listening. His son discreetly hides the cassette, reminiscent of how he concealed it in the police van earlier in front of his constables. However, instead of reacting with anger and frustration, DSP allows his son to listen to Chamkila.

FLIPS TABLE IN EXCITEMENT YOU MF THIS IS LOVE.

 

Chamkila doesn't have answers for us. He understands his life and music but he refuses to impose his truth on us. Amar Singh Sandhiyal, christened Chamikla by mistake, but he wears the moniker with pride. Being an artist, that's his very essence, his raison d'être - even if it costs him everything. There’s a sense of acceptance in him as he says " They wield guns; they will shoot; we wield music we will sing” when he meets the journalist and in his answers, we see he's come to terms with being a product of his environment yet he rebels in his humility. The overarching narrative of the film. He doesn't allow his caste to define him entirely; he takes risks, and forms his own band. He sings lewd songs because he knows they sell; his fans want that. And yet he transcends our expectations by singing devotional songs. Chamkila rebels incessantly in his life but ever so quietly and with humility and he sings with such graceful shamelessness. A simple act of lighting a cigarette in the car, despite having agreed to not sing and smoke, becomes an act of defiance. His akharas just didn't literally break a roof but his voice, in all its vulgarity, shattered the glass ceiling that society had caged itself in. In his rebel, Rockstar’s Jordan appears as a petulant child compared with Chamkila (Also, I feel Sadda Haq and Ishq Mitaye have that Venn Diagram vibes to their differences and similarities).

 

In one of the last scenes, we see the movie "Patola," featuring a song of Chamkila, people are dancing, despite the overarching melancholy. Finding solace amid sorrow, a sentiment Chamkila himself embodied. Here, the film contrasts with reality. Onscreen, we witness the ecstatic crowd, a reflection of what the Chamkila had always done in his akharas or what the theatre audience would have been had the movie been released in theatres. 

Travelling in times of Covid.

Love is a lot like travelling. It suggest you enter someone's heart as you enter a country, through immigration and customs. Border crossed by simple conversations . Step by step.  Gradually you start putting that person above yourself and you tend to feel you're doing it out of love. Heh! naivety.  And when you do that, you give away a piece of yourself to that person. A part that completes you. If that person returns the feelings, the emotional equilibrium is balanced. If not, you feel exposed and disappointed. Because you dared to be naked. Your soul harden itself while your mind takes a flight. You get closer to yourself. You are sad and the deeper this sadness penetrates the greater you bond with your inner reservoir. Sorrow is an important ingredient, you see? That piece of yours that went missing when you're in love, poets say its heart. If it weren't for aesthetic reasons, it could have very well been liver or intestine too. But no, heart. Just below the sternum, left to third and fourth rib cage. Cage for a reason you begin to feel. After first romantic disaster you come out as a smarter person or so you think. And then it happens again. You never learn. You make new mistakes until you lose the innocence of naivety.

Loneliness is a therapy in itself

You don't always need support, sometimes it's ok to be sad and in a shell. Loneliness is a therapy in itself. Yea the insatiable need to be alone creates a disrupted balance with the insufferable need for connection but then idea is to feel so comfortable with yourself that you no longer fear what silence can do with your thoughts. It's always the moments spent alone that make you remember what you could have had but chose to let go of and it's always the moments spent with your own circumferences of existence when you taste freedom. Once you have mastered loneliness, you won't feel unfamiliarity you get when you are into some random party, awkwardness you feel among strangers like you are someone who just arrived but doesn't really know how they got here. The self that makes its appearance when we are not alone is a facade, we are incapable of being truly ourselves when in the presence of others. No one can understand the depths of your perceptions and that fact alone is as inspiring as it is isolating. We look for similarities in other people because the idea that we are alone as who and what we are is too terrifying to accept and we choose to believe we are all connected just for the sad pursuit of making sure we never feel as alone as we know we are. Every empty conversation is a testimony of why it's better to be alone. But someday you will find yourself alone but not lonely, you will know you can never feel lonely beneath the gaze of countless stars and everything will become beautiful and just fine till then never let your friends comfort you in pain because how else are you gonna preserve the narrative that you suffer alone.

Friendship

Seventeen stories down, the world looked minuscule enough to not matter. It didn't matter what these tiny people were thinking, it didn't matter how many deadlines or digits were there in their accounts​. Everything zoomed down to nothing.
This was the last straw, he didn't know any better way of dying. Pills were difficult and unreliable, "waking up in hospital with failed suicide attempt would be embarrassing". He didn't know where to get a gun. Hanging seemed like risky, "definitely the fan won't be able to bear our weight". Lying on a train track seemed too cruel to oneself. Jumping seemed like the best idea.

"So, are you sure?" Asked the tiger.

"Yea! I feel like dying. Not good or bad. Not chosen or denied. It's just a feeling. I live with it and now I wanna be lived with it" Said the man.

They both looked at each other and a smile crossed their faces.

"kinda Batman feel no? " The tiger giggled.

"Hahaha! Right. Sitting here on edge sure feels like batman thing." The man smiled.

"So... You know when you can't think of a particular word but you know there's word that goes there. You don't know the word but you know that's missing. That's how I feel, all the time. Missing something very integral to me" the man continued.

The tiger nodded as if trying to comprehend what the man just said.

"Its a cruel joke that the universe gave us this consciousness" the man continued, "we know we will die but what is the purpose? Animals have it easy, they don't have to.."

"Oh really, you think we got it easy " the tiger chided. Not hiding his discomfort.

"I am sorry... I didn't mean it that way. We have been together for so long to know this. What I mean, the inherent understanding that amassing knowledge, friends and family is of no reason. Aren't we gonna just die, anyway? What's the point, we all gonna be gone in a century".

"Its about immediate survival of your species... About your kids and their kids... Their decision to choose their philosophy and meaning of their life." Said the tiger.

"And why should I even bring them in this world? For all they will have a brief period to look back at fleeting memories. And the sun will consume the earth and the solar system and eventually all the stars will be wink out into the oblivion.  There will be nothing but emptiness in all directions for forever and infinity. With no hope of recovery and no one to remember the wretched short period of our existence in this vast universe. We are nothing but just a futile scream into the world before going quietly into the oblivion." The man resigned, struggling to breathe.

"I am reading this book which says, It's not emptiness. It's discontinuity that we suffer from. Do your regular stuff and you will feel accomplishment and fulfillment, which brings joy" the tiger said lightly, not trying to preach.

"Damnit! I can't be happy and now I have to be fulfilled. Fuck! I am jumping. You coming?"

"Ofcourse"

And they jumped.

"WoohooHobbesWeAreFlying. Look wind gushing through our hair, zero gravity" Noises were getting louder...Honk, chatter and...thaaaip! "Guhh! It hur..."




Done.

The death of Society

Ok! Can we just stop idolizing democracy because the whole concept sounds so harrowing and Ludacris and what we have is not even true democracy but a representative democracy- an illusion of democracy. We don’t vote for policies, we just vote for people who look appealing and promising. Now on paper, it sounds so cool with its three essential elements- Voters, Politicians and the System. Voters choose someone who could provide them representation and politicians have a support system to execute and cross check the functioning of it. Democracy seems efficient at a lower scale like a village or a tribe- people coming together and making a decision because it’s quick, inclusive and easy to rectify but you scale it up to a million plus or like ours a billion plus society it collapses into tiny pieces of broken governance. Its basic science, what works at one scale may not necessarily work at another scale, even universal laws break down at quantum scale but ok now let's break down the whole concept.

VOTERS: Now in a democracy a stupid drug abusing illiterate gets as much of a vote as an intelligent responsible citizen. When it comes to choosing a political candidate a rape survivor shares the table with other sexists and molesters. You probably won’t see that under normal circumstances. It's one system that values someone who doesn’t believe in evolution as much it values someone who is Post Doc fellow in evolutionary biology. It completely discards meritocracy and is blind to the inability of masses to make a sensible decision. If there is a small group that is more or less homogenous in interests this mode of governing seems fine but as the group grows and the interests of the group changes and largely becomes opposing to one another, democracy becomes meaningless, the value of a single vote decreases, people lose power and is more or less controlled by corporations, soft powers and other influencers. In a larger nation, a united front of 35% can override mostly divided opinions, that’s evident in Indian democracy- you get as much as 35% votes you win. You wont pass with that kind of score in most universities but here you not only win but you enact the will of the people who chose you. We as a civilization are in a rave party where no one has any clue what they are doing but everyone hopes the other person has a better value judgment and everything turns out good. Ideally, politicians and system should provide a coherent and safe environment to people where they can flourish and develop scientific temper but that doesn’t usually happen because <See next two points>.

POLITICIANS: Now, to become a seasoned politician it requires a lifelong, single-minded commitment to the pursuit of power. You go through smaller elections, gains the ground, adhere to the ideology of established political parties’ and go through humiliation either by public or press scrutiny. You suck up to powerful people and corporate sectors because you need funds and people who are truly power hungry or sons and daughters of politicians are only able to get on the top. Mostly the most shameless and corrupts reach the top and deserving and honest people are wiped out by treachery and lies. People who choose politics as a career know its weakness. They know politics is not a solution but a system established to prevent tyranny or dictatorship. That’s it, there is no other purpose of this form of government- JUST AVOID TYRANNY. Politicians know voters are sheep and can be swayed and manipulated with a little effort. Voters can be largely put in two categories – uninformed voters and pseudo-informed voters. Now, it's hard to be an informed voter, there are so many alternative versions of the same story floating in the media that even if voters are on news for 24/7 they are still pseudo informed about the right issues that matter. Politicians collude with media houses and make you think you are voting but they are on your shoulders nudging you who to vote each time you find yourself in a voting booth. Most politicians are one-half power hungry, one-half ignorant of core values and one-half lobbyist of corporates.

SYSTEM: A democracy is not a single cohesive entity it relies on the executive, judiciary and soft powers for it to work in the welfare of the people and keep a check on each other, which again becomes difficult in a large country. It’s a bit paradoxical but let's understand- if you have one person in charge of a department who is accountable for everything then the chances of corruptions are low because if found guilty the person cannot shun it away, accountability is paramount. If you have 10 people in a department and you can find a way to corrupt 2 of them, you control one fifth of the department but there is an accountability. Now, suppose if you have 1000 people working there, and you corrupt 20 of them you are just controlling 2 percent of the department, here one can carry out small acts of corruption but really can't influence the direction of the department but then accountability is almost negligible. Now in a country like ours, with a larger population and limited resources, our system falls somewhere between the latter two- 100 people holding a department where corruption is strong enough to influence the whole department and accountability is low enough for you to scot free. And even if you are an honest worker, the cocktail of political greed, individual ego and corporate interests burdens you down to work efficiently. The next pillar, the judiciary has more cases than they have time and resources to pull them off and the lethargic condition of the judicial system allows corrupt politicians to win despite malpractices which create a wheel of the chain of misdoings that it's almost impossible to break the wheel.

The democratic system can't work productively in its present form. To break the wheel, one spoke is needed to bend. The voters think they are unheard because they really don’t participate in this otherwise nonsense system but just to make it work, even slightly in the right direction, voters need to be proactive and anti-beliefs. No one should associate themselves with any political party- they must question and see every politician with a skeptic's eye. It’s not enough to vote once every five years and then expect things to work out (they won’t no matter what) but for things to improve slightly, even for a sliver of hope, for that 1% chance (made up stats) one need to be a rational individual. In an ideal world, we would have a good democracy heck! In an ideal world, we won’t have to deal with democracy. 

Maybe I should just... stop.

What's the single biggest advantage of being a blogger on blogspot when everybody has moved to wordpress and when you are followed practically by no one? (Hint: The single biggest advantage is also the only advantage.)

The answer is quite simple –You can write whatever shit you want, whenever you want, however you want – because no one’s reading – what does it matter? So what the fuck I am doing here in the middle of the night in a week in the middle of winter? When the dark is darker, dense fog settles itself over the ocean. I dont know, I just felt like talking without anyone actually hearing me. See! not every post needs to have something meaningful to it, just like the girl who left you without an explanation. Not every word needs to have an insightful thought attached to it, just like the boy who offered you that smile while he passed by. Crazy. right?

Ok we gotta talk something, right? Thats how things move. So imagine sometime in the mid-90s. A school classroom. Charts with drawings in crayons hanging around its walls. A serious teacher with pale eyes facing a class of kids, who sit on little wooden chairs and write whatever been told in their brown little notebooks. I remember writing something "I will be good homan being". Hesitant, unsure handwriting, words spelled wrong, I wrote it "I will be a good homan being". A simple sentence. A sentence that is made up of simple thoughts. Respect elders. Help others. Be kind. Say the truth. A lot of memories have been faded by time but somehow I managed to grip that moment and kept it in a mental safebox. Kids are cute people, they believe whatever been told to them and over the years kids evolve, they make their choices and let's just say they change. Sometimes they do things they are not proud of. And this hurt. It will never be the big things that hurt you the most. Always the tiny things. And you will always forget this.

I wish I would not have caused so much hurt to people. I really have hurt a lot of people, with rather violent repercussions. I wish there was more in my life just than eating, sleeping and disappointing people. And as if people were not enough now even my stomach is upset. But lately, I have been exploiting the stereotype so bad that people have quoted stuff from Indian Penal codes thats supposed to make me go “Boss! maaf kardo jail nahi jaana". I have been douchebag cracking lame jokes on my north eastern, muslim, reserved category, short friends that I probably deserve a special place in hell. I should probably stop chewing my butterflies. I have been losing friends faster than Modi is losing votes. Most of my friends don’t call me anymore, and those who do, call me a jerk. I mean, I have been compared to a metalic table in context of my sensitivity levels, and the table has won invariably. And to be honest, which I have seldom been, not in the college exams at least, I do not blame any of my friends, or ex-friends. I am not proud of the guy I have been lately. Those who have still stuck to me in spite of me should be brand ambassadors for Fevicol.

I dont mean to hurt people when I hurt them. Its a bit complicated... see if it looks like I took really good care of a book, it usually means I didn't like it. When people are hurt they are their most sincere. One of the most beautiful line I heard (actually heard) was by a badly hurt and heartbroken friend. I distinctly remember this friend saying "It was terrible and painful and beautiful and unforgettable and I don’t know how to be without it anymore.” she said a lot of things that day. I like listening people in the hope I’ll find fragments of me in other people’s feelings. You may think that’s exploitation of other's emotions. But it’s really quite a comfort to know there are always so many in pain. Its not that difficult to make people open their heart out. Talk to them, map the conversation in such a way it leads to heartache. Now I think of myself as lost constantly on this map. Always going somewhere or getting away from it. Somehow meaning to get someplace and yet ending up elsewhere; exactly where I ought to be.

I dont mean to hurt people, I try to understand them. Probably not the nicest way right? I know. I am working on improvement.

And a lot of times I have opened my phone, I didnt have anything in mind but to distil my sincerity in words and tell them please dont be upset and meant it everytime and chose to not send because those words felt like fraud. You cant heal emotions with a bandage of paragraphs. I don’t know what this post is all about. Maybe I am guilt tripping and trying hard not to make this one of those stupid, repetitive, meaningless and false posts about human nature and all that shit. I dont know its 4 in the morning. Maybe I am feeling lost. What have I lost today? But loss is still just a word. It’s what you’ve attached to it that makes it a fire-breathing dragon. Or a hole in your gut. All of us, there are deep cuts in all of us. At certain stage my friends might have let me look inside, but I never thought I can fix that. I know I cant. I just love the part of them that's still whole. Thats's it, pretty convenient and irresponsible. But thats ok. And I should stop writing now. Its not making any sense. But how to end it? Maybe I should just... stop.

broke but happy

The last few days have been, to say the least, atrocious. Justin Bieber's age is greater than my bank balance. I hardly read any book and am ridiculously behind on my reading challenge. I screwed some crucial presentations. My to-do list is longer than Deepika's legs. Hostel mess has been closed. In other words, I have been neck-deep in shit and broke. In add to to all this mess, every Arijit Singh song I hear for reasons unknown it reminds me of Bhisma Pithama. And I am totally going freudian crazy on this Arijit-Bhisma connection that my neurons are forming.

Also when you are broke and hungry I guess you become mature and start talking to yourself. Like those village crackheads who roam around the village mumbling to themselves. Well, kind of. So I have been thinking lately a lot about life and its purpose and stuff. Like how someday I am gonna die and things that I am really concerned about arent really that important. How easily I forget that life is lived in moments and moments form a life. How easily I get sensitive about insignificant things and how easily I get scared of uncertainties of life and how easily I suppress my inner voice. How easily I forget death and and thus how to live. No people, no smile, no money, no home, no career no Priyanka Chopra, no competition, no blog will matter after the event called death.
"Yahi end hai yaar! Ab picture baaki nahi hai dost".