FLIP FROM THE FLICKS

THEY too hopped onto the bandwagon, only to fall flat on their faces. The initial success on the BO of two reigning themes in Bollywood – Retro (OSO) and Sports (Chak De! India) – had other filmmakers too wishing to ride the wave. But while both OSO and Chak De... were highly ap preciated, the subsequent flicks in the respective genre – Khoya Khoya Chand and Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal – failed to make the same impact, despite a competing publicity blitzkrieg. LT analyses the contrast between the movies of these two genres, which rocked 2007 and those which were docked.

SPORT IT LIKE WHOM?

Shall cinema stick to sticks? Those hockey sticks wielded power and scored maximum points on box office scoreboard, while the (foot)ball was not on roll.
Juxtapose Chak de! India and Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal, and you'll find a number of similarities, except their ultimate fate. Imagine a country that worships cricket accepting it's stepbrother, hockey. To the bad fortunes of its director Vivek Agnihotri, Goal came when people were already in awe of Shimit Amin's baby. The regionalism of Chak de! India was far more understandable than the racism of Goal. Rivalry between team members was more of a treat to watch than the white and black difference. While Chak De... flowed with the kudis from different regions who united on the field, Goal was stranded in the field of cinema. Despite the common thread run ning in the plot where the teams are lurking in darkness, sans sponsers and boosters, Chak de!... clicked, while even Billo couldn't play a supporting role to sell bad direction or the weak plot of Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal.
70'S BIGGER THAN 50'S?

Khan we say Khan sells? Whether it was his item number powered by six pack abs, or the 31 stars who descended on the dance floor, the rocking 70s of Om Shanti Om had the box office tinkling more than the golden era of 50s Bollywood in Khoya Khoya Chand. While Sudhir Mishra's moon got lost in translation, the intricate weaving of contemporary starlet Deepika Padukone's role with the stars of yesteryears Rajesh Khanna, Sunil Dutt and Jeetendra in OSO was accepted with open arms. Asking for alms was Khoya Khoya Chand, which stood out for its staginess and clueless characters. OSO, on the other hand, was overflowing with energetic and vibrant performance. It is an irony that a superstitious belief like reincarnation was a hit, while the much-castigated casting couch failed to grip attention. Khoya Khoya Chand left us conjecturing whether the film was a replay of instances from Meena Kumari, Madhubala or Guru Dutt's life? On the contrary, King Khan's OSO made sure you got the 70s dose in plenty, with the quintessential gestures of Manoj Kumar and Dev Anand's swagger along with Mithun da's jiggy moves.

eram agha

(This piece appeared in Lucknow Times, for those who missed it there catch up here.)

Here's another take on life.........

"LIFE IS A GIFT TO BE SHARED AND NOT A PROPERTY TO BE DEFENDED" By Anonymous

Thought for the Lifetime

GOD SMILES AT THOSE WHO SMILE AT OTHERS...........(try it!!)

by Eram Agha

MY FRIENDS CALL ME FOR DINNER

Iwrote this poem when a bomb blast ripped Sarojini market, Delhi during the festive season of Diwali. The blood drops stained the fabric of the country in it's entirety. After the breaking news was flashed on television after half an hour I got a call from my friend asking for..........

MY FRIENDS CALL ME FOR DINNER.......
My country burning in bloodshed and my friends call me for dinner.
My country displays a naked dance of death and my friends call me for dinner,
My country being being plundered of its cherished unity and peace and my friends call me for dinner,
My country in grips of a communal vendetta and my friends call me for dinner,
My counrty men cast a suspicious eye on their fellow contrymen and my friends call me for dinner,
My country is the soft target and my friends call me for dinner,
My country is hit where it hurts the hardest and my friends call me for dinner,
Call me when we regain our depleting essence and are secure of our rightful existence,
On writing this my tears cascade, you see my friend there aren't many reasons to celebrate
Call me when wrongs are rectified,
Call me when our hearts are sanctified
And then I'll come and raise the TOAST , one for my country and one for you my friend, my host.....

Sad but true, this was written two years back and is valid even today; courtesy more such attacks like in Hyderabad.

THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER

She opened her eyes with the flourishes of placidity,
He stood in front of her after pacing the floor with dignity,
He extended his hand towards her, and she placed her hand into his,
He drew her towards himself and warmed her with his hug and kiss,
She whispered in his ears her desire to go on a ride,
He couldn't decline as she was soon to be his bride,
He grabbed the opportunity to stay long with her,
They mounted on the horse and rode across the moor,
They were too lost in eachother to notice the beauty of swelling seas, ebbing tides, full moon with it's brilliant light,
Chill of the wrapping breeze and also the dew drops on leafy trees,
He whispered softly in her ears, "Fortunate that I'm to have you in my life,
I pity those who just yearned to make you their wife,
Now that you are mine
All booty I possess is thine,
You are the one who would forever be in my embrace,
And I foretell with this the end of our love shall never be traced,
The stallion gathered speed and ran into the area of thorns and weeds,
She fell from the horse and disappeared in darkness,
He met with an accident and lost his leg,
Every heart worth his sympathetic vein paid him a visit,
But she didn't turn up whose presence was awaited and exquisite,
His world and dreams met a deadly end
When she didn't turn up but only the invitation of her betrothal with the Prince of Scotland.
1 jan 2003

THE WARRIOR AND HIS LOVE STORY,

She lit the candle in the expectation of his return from the war
Here eyes were fixed on the road which no beauty of nature could draw
The path lay deserted before her eyes
As she awaited a hero who would ride
She heard the sound of bugles and other sounds of exultation
She knew he had come triumphant and rushed to dress herself as a bride for the celebration
She adorned herself with rings, bangles, pearls and anklet
At the doorstep she waited and waited until her eyes grew heavy and she slept
She woke up to the sound of soldiers footsteps,
Rose upright at the sight and silently wept,
They had a coffin on their shoulders with faces woebegone,
She knew he had not come for whom she waited all day long,
The kings men in their resplendant regalia handed her a scroll which she unfolded,
and perused it while tears on her cheeks rolled,
The words of the letter appeared blurred with tears in her eyes,
She knew she should not cry as the departed expected her to act wise,
The youngmen apprised, "The valiant wrote it in his dying breath,"
And words of the letter said,
"The end that I have met is a prize disguised as blood and sweat,
Do not cry for me when I'm gone,
for each tear of yours will strike a chord of forlorn,
I promise to be a star only for you with a brightest twinkle,
Only when you swear to lead a life with a suitable mate and do not be single."
She understood that like all good things in life her love too has met an end,
only to unite in heavens with her beloved and friend

IRONY OF LOVE

Writing means life to me. It's like putting down my perceptions in words. Giving my versions of well established thoughts. When did I resort to the kalam is not even etched finely in my memory. But I have discovered my earliest writings from the trove lying in the nondescript corner of my house. So I actually thought of writing them down.
To start with, I bring my first poem which I wrote in the first year of graduation. This is officially called Poetry in Pink
IRONY OF LOVE

He tall and sturdy, fair skinned and eyes turquoise green,
She lissome and demure with flaxine curls and fair with brilliant sheen,
He works in the woods, when spare plays his flute,
She decorates her house, gathers flowers and hears cuckoo's duet,
He wakes up to the morning stars for his errands, before leaving meditates withal,
She attired in ablutions garb, religiously heeds nature's call,
He met her at the beach on sunset,
She on seeing him hid herself as she was wet,
He understood the purpose of being in the world
She blushed on his stare and her face was hid by her hair unfurled,
The beach on sunset witnessed the two victims of cupid's arrow,
They talked for long hours with feet dipped in water shallow,
Who knew that curse came disguised as love
She used him to gain the riches of man for whom he worked,
He got acquainted to insanity on being jilted and jerked,
She gained arrogance and on him she smirked.