A lot happened this week, a lot of stuff that I usually do not write about but am penning, I mean typing, at the request of a dear friend who complains that I do not write about the goings on in my life. Well, for one, I do not like blabbering about things that are too mundane. Again, I do not even warm up to the idea of writing things which are likely to have a high shock value for my readers, but which truly happen to be the parcel of my life. Anything in between those two extremes hardly happens.
Another friend of mine, after all the years that we have been friends, complains that he does not approve of me sharing what I call 'cool' stuff via messages as they are un-original despite my claims that they reflect my thoughts and moods. I have given up on the explanations, but I fear I'll be desisting from messaging him randomly in the future. He seems to have outgrown frequent messaging. But let him be.
A significant development on the other hand has been by renewing ties with an old friend, who had severed all ties a couple of years back quite unceremoniously and was later presumed dead. It is he who has said something profound: Time moves on and we later regret... for words not said, for love not shown. Life's too short. So, do what makes you happy!
He also adds: Sometimes, I dream of things which are too good to be true. Then, I wake up....and my heart breaks. I realize that it was just a dream. It makes me cry." His words made me emotional, made me wish to reach out to him and help him deal with his insecurities. Yet, I feel so helpless, so incompetent to do the things that I should have done. I can hardly help myself at times, so the idea of helping someone else in that way seems like a luxury.
Yet another friend of mine, someone who is more like a younger brother, had something important to tell, and I share his words with the world, as I feel they make much sense even when one reads them irrespective of the context in which they were uttered, they could well be a borrowed words, but that hardly matters. He says: If some untold truth is the reason behind our unknown pain, then the weird part is, we don't know we'll be happy or sad once we know them.... when we question ourselves in vain, we need to know that some questions better remain unanswered; while sometimes we can't find answers, the truth is that sometimes we even don't want to.
Oh, this week, I also caught the new movie by Q (Qaushiq Mukherjee) - 'Tasher Desh' (House of Cards) - an adaptation of Rabindranath Tagore's famous musical! Interestingly, post-screening, I befriended a nice young guy who hails not from Kolkata, and was leaving the city the very next day. We chatted about the film and more. I had loved the film (both of us did). My preparedness (was prepared to be shocked, stunned, stimulated) resulted in feeling rewarded, on the whole. What I liked best about the film was its original vision, the international feel, that had a lot to do with the script having eschewed much, just as it has incorporated much more. Q, according to me, has still managed to retain the core essence of the Tagore musical, not a mean feat, eh?
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Tasher Desh
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