Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

I recently watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind by Michel Gondry, a really nice and original movie. The name just sounded very familiar and I was trying very hard to figure the reason why, because I haven't seen the movie earlier. Then it struck me - the title's been borrowed from a poem by Alexander Pope.

It's the story of a rather boring guy and a very lively girl who meet each other, get attracted and are on the verge of getting together when they find out that they share a history. Turns out that they were in a relationship. After a bad tussle the girl hired Lacuna Inc. to hire all traces of the memory that she had with the guy. The guy finds out, and decides to get  it done for himself as well in his sleep. However, as the process is on and her memory is being erased, he realizes that he doesn't want to end it all.

The rest of the movie in his head. Actually, it starts like that. This bit is unraveled towards the end. The way the movie constantly shifts in time and space is amazing. The run- as he jumps into each of his memory trying to hold on to her is very touching. My favourite is the one where they sit in the drawing room and he tries to 'hide' her in his childhood memory. At this stage, with a shower in the drawing room there is a beautiful merge into the memory (of rains). However, he isn't successful in doing that and loses her memories, retaining just one tiny fragment in his subconscious. That's how the story comes to a full circle.

I'm not quite going to give away all of it, as usual. You've got to explore it yourself. But I will tell you few of the things that I really liked. The plot is awesome, all the tiny threads have been beautifully set into a piece of embroidery. Everything has its own set of who's, how's and why's. The 'in-his-mind' sequence has been done very well. All the elements are so interconnected  that I bet at least once during the movie you'll feel you're in the middle of a weird dream, trying very hard to wake up.

If you think it is one hopelessly romantic movie, sorry to disappoint you. There's much more to it. Definitely worth a watch, I promise!

Little Gestures

Another, more recent one :)

Three years of college life have taught me more than I can ever pen down. From participating in inter-college fests to raising sponsorships in my college, I was doing it all. Since I was getting the exposure for the first time in my life, I was very excited about it.  Academics were conveniently pushed to the background. Somehow, with all the activity around, I was also learning how to be less and less considerate of people around me. For instance, I would be absent for lectures unnecessarily, and would not bother to inform my teachers about it. Words like thank-you and please, which I took for granted from others, were slowly vanishing from my vocabulary.

This incident happened when we were having the last few classes, before our college life ended. Every student loathes these “extra” classes. I chose to stay away from these, except for the classes of our HOD, whom I completely adored. I would slip out of the class after he finished his lecture, and did not bother to attend a single class of the guest lecturer who was requested to teach us for some time.

That day my friend was urging me to attend the guest faculty’s lectures, as the attendance in her classes was low. My friend thought it was rude of students to walk out on her, more so because she was not from our college. I remember what I had said – “It isn’t solely my responsibility. I cannot sit through the two-hour sessions when I don’t feel like”. Then, our HOD entered.  He talked about the low attendance in the other professor’s class, and suddenly shot questions at me. He asked if I had attended her class. I had not. He remembered that I had attended his last class, which was right before the other one. Damn.

He did not yell at me. He did not insult me or throw me out of the class. He simply said this was not what he was trying to teach us for three years and that there was more to education than mere academics. Suddenly, it hurt. It had not hurt when he had bullied me into apologizing to my teachers a few days earlier. However, it did hurt today. It made me confront myself, rather shockingly. I was forced to face the person me, instead of the girl who actively participated in college activities. I realized that I had stopping making those little gestures of courtesy long ago.

A small incident affected me deep inside for some reason that I am still trying to figure out. I still do not know why I felt the way I did. Probably because it was said in front of the whole class. Probably because it was that particular professor who said that. However, I know that I have learnt the importance of that one single word – courtesy. Thank you sir, for reminding me that learning isn’t only about specific subjects. For teaching me that being a better person counts more than being more accomplished.

That reminds me that I smiled and said a genuine “thank you” to the guard who held the door for me this morning. A second thank you was said silently, to my teacher.

Amélie

Ya ya, I AM that vella (well, useless). I ain't got nothing much to do, so I while away my time blogging, or watching movies. But at least watch decent ones. The latest one is Amelie directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, that I saw this afternoon.

Forbidden by crazy parents to socialize, Amelie grew up in solitude. As she grew up, she left her home to work as a waitress. No life, or aspirations. Then one day, the discovery of a small hidden treasure adds spice to her rather bland journey, and changes her life forever.

I wont divulge the story much, it'll take away all the fun. But there is loads about the movie that I liked. First, the brilliant montages. The bold colours - From the blood red bedroom walls to the funfair spirit- save the scene from becoming droopy. And the brilliant special effects - the pumping of her heart and her splashing down on the floor like water (literally!) has been creatively implemented.

The undercurrents of ironies make the context even more richer. Living among cranky parents and later with people with their own eccentricities, Amelie is the odd one out as she is sane. And the interweaving of sensitiveness and insensitivity is also very beautiful.

Andre Tautou with her flawless face delivers a smashing performance. An absolute must watch!

Laxmi

There are a lot of faces that we've grown up seeing. We don't even consider them a part of our lives. Or miss them when they suddenly disappear. This is about one such face, that I haven't seen in a long time.

Cut to childhood memories in Calcutta - the place that I was born and brought up in. In those days, dad used to have a flourishing business of cotton saree wholesaling. Since sarees would be packed into bundles to be delivered, every businessperson would have a 'mutiah' or hired labourer, who'd pack the bundles and get them loaded onto a vehicle. Laxmi did this for us.

He was tall, well-built and very dark skinned. The tan on his skin probably came from toiling in the sun. He has dark hair, and kept a trimmed moustache that ended into his beard. I remember him wearing a white vest and a sarong-like local garment all the time.

Apart from work at dad's office, he'd also be there when someone was going out and the luggage had to be dropped till the railway station. That was generally when all of us would take an early morning train during summer vacations, to visit my mom's parents in Delhi. My younger brother, who'd act all grown up then, would rush to call him (he stayed at a stone's throw from our place). And then he'd come in the next five mins, explaining how he'd been cooking his meal then. I often wondered what did his place look like, and whether he even had a roof upon his head. I used to picture him sitting in the open with a primitive stove, with a vessel in which bitter gourd simmered; how he'd rush when my brother called upon him unexpectedly, and how his food would be charcoal black by the time he returned (he'd have forgotten to turn the stove off in haste!)

And then there were the family marriages and other occasions where Laxmi would be the first one to get up and the last one to rest. He would make sure none of the other guys who were called for help were lazying about. On one occasion I heard him telling my grandpa that he should stop hiring the regular cook for such occasions - the guy often soured the milk with lemon juice so that he didn't have to make tea for guests. At the end of all celebrations, grandpa would generally give him some extra money and ask him if he wanted any more. He never said yes.

My younger brother once told me that he was graduate, with an arts degree. And that he was forced to work as a petty labourer as there were no jobs. And of course, time slipped away...

It's been ages since I've seen him or heard about him. I'm not sure if I miss him.

An Untitled Story

“Excuse me, sir”. The man turned around, smiled and stepped aside.  But he couldn’t hide his tears.

It was pretty usual. He’d see faces - sad faces, faces with fear, faces with hope, faces with emotions… now he was pretty used to all of them.  They’d come over to see sick relatives, to see people fighting with death, or mothers going through unbearable pain. Even though the causes were different, the pain was always the same. Sometimes there was hope, and at others, smiles from life.

It was almost noon. That meant a short break for him. He looked at the floor; it needed at least one more wipe through. He decided it’d be his last one.  

That was his job. Mopping the floors of that huge mansion that people call the hospital.  Right from morning until dusk. Not that he hated his job. Not that he loved it, either. No point. He’d have to do that anyways.

There was something about it that he liked.  It gave him strength and hope to survive, a reason to live.  He’d have to wipe off all the dirt on the floor, brought in by visitors.  As soon as he’d finish cleaning the floor, he’d turn around to find innumerable shoe marks, waiting to be wiped off.  And then, he’d have to start all over again, from the very beginning.  This, to him, resembled the lives of the patients – they had to struggle constantly to keep death away.  At times they’d win. At others…

He kept the mop aside for some rest.  He began sipping some coffee and his mind wandered away.  They’ve admitted a young lad today- accident due to reckless driving.  That’s a serious one.  Two fractures- one major, another minor.  Serious bruises all over the face.  He’s hardly 18.  His father looked some 20 yrs. Older than his actual age.  A few more patients with minor problems… a young lady in the pediatrics ward… the kid for dialysis…The kid for dialysis!  Bright urchin, dark life.  Kidney failure, none available for replacement.  Even then he is always so cheerful.  He really gives one a hope to live.

This kid reminds him of his son.  He was barely five when a truck crushed him.  Since then he has been here – mopping floors.  The kid is coming this way.  He is sitting so calmly.  He actually enjoys riding his wheelchair- “ I feel like a prince sitting on the throne” – he’d once told him.  They exchange smiles and then they take him to the dialysis section.

He can hear his chuckling inside – he must be playing the fool with the doctor.  Kid.  He was missing his son desperately.  If he were here…

He chuckling suddenly stopped and there was absolute silence.  But this silence was so eerie.  It was deafening – like that of a graveyard.  He tried to brush off all thoughts aside and picked up the mop.  They’re bringing someone out of the dialysis center – the sheet has been drawn over the face.  Beside the stretcher is a lady with tears streaming down her face.  She’s the kid’s mom.  He picked up the mop and started mopping vigorously.

A tear drop glistened on the marble floor.