Pursuit of Happyness

Can I start this blogpost by saying that this movie was freakin’ awesome? Cause it totally was. You don’t know much about me, dear reader, but there is something you should know about all women and that is we love Love Stories. I mean I look for a love story in crime novels for Christ’s sake. So for me to like this movie even if it’s not one is a feat in itself.

OK, now let’s get to the nitty-gritty. Will Smith plays the role of Chris Gardner. When Chris Gardner invests his family’s money in portable bone-density scanners, it turns out to be a dead investment. He can’t sell them. As a result, Linda, his girlfriend leaves him and their son, Christopher and flees to New York. Just before she leaves he meets an employee of Dean Witter, a stock broking company and impresses him. He gets a shot to intern for Dean Witter. But there’s a hitch: they don’t pay. He takes up the job anyway, assuming that he will be able to sell the rest of the portable bone-density scanners. He gets homeless in the process and basically struggles a lot to be the best intern out of the twenty interns at Dean Witter. In the end after a lot of struggle he is offered a job at Dean Witter.

There were three things that I really liked about this movie. The first was the scene where Chris Gardner tells his son to never let anyone tell him what he can or can’t do. Not even his father. That really touched me. The second one was Will Smith’s amazing acting. You actually feel the exhaustion and the guilt and the hopelessness and in the end happiness that Chris must be feeling. And the third is the kid. He was the cutest five-year-old I had seen in my life.

I know I saw this movie quite late. So if there’s anyone like me who haven’t seen Pursuit of Happyness, go watch it NOW!

Mumbai Spirit: A Myth?

You know those texts that you get about the “Mumbai spirit” (I put it in inverted commas to express sarcasm) whenever Mumbai is hit by a tragedy? I always thought it was a way to comfort ourselves. Optimism spreads amongst us Indians like wild fire. Obviously some dude isn’t going to forward a message saying that Mumbai is hit by a calamity and we all are going to suffer and die and there is no recovering from that.

Anyway, I’m getting a bit off-track here. Where was I? Ah, the Mumbai Spirit. In inverted commas so it reads “Mumbai spirit”. Yeah, like I said I thought it was like Santa Claus but for adults. But today I realised that this particular Santa indeed did exist.  

How did I come to this conclusion? Well, here’s the story: I have a Santro. Well, technically my dad owns it. But he allows me to drive it. He’s nice that way. And he doesn’t need to worry because it’s pretty old and damaged to begin with. The new SX4, on the other hand is a different story. So anyway, I started the Santro today or rather tried to start is and it wouldn’t budge. This was the first time I was facing a battery problem. So I asked a few drivers if they could help me push it. They agreed. In no time I was racing down the street. And by racing I don’t mean speeding. I was just making a hell lot of noise by pressing the accelerator along with the clutch. It’s supposed to help recharge your battery or something. By the time I reach the main road, which is a sort of a slope, the car is doing fine. So I let go of the worry and start driving just like I usually do-carelessly. Before I know it I made some blunder while changing gears and the car stops. I try to start it but it wouldn’t start. So I am stuck on the road which is a slope to re-iterate, there’s a never-ending line of cars behind me honking their horns and possibly even abusing me. I pull the handbrake and get out of the car and ask them to take the next lane with an apologetic look on my face. Before I know it two bikers jump down from their bikes, make me sit inside and start pushing the car. And even more surprisingly, people from the tea-stall on the footpath join in uninvited as if gate-crashing a party. What’s funny is that they have these huge grins on their faces and they are asking others on the road to join them. What’s even more astonishing is that those people actually join them. By the end of it at least ten people are pushing my tiny Santro until it has started. I put my hand out and waved my thanks to them (couldn’t get out cause the car would’ve stopped.) It was an amazing experience.

I still believe that a part of the Mumbai Spirit is a myth but I did get to experience a part of it today.  And I am grateful for that.

Types of Friends

I essentially divide them into three categories:

THE ROCK

 There are those whom I’ve known forever but I don’t really know them. They are mostly the old friends. I love them, adore them, can’t imagine life without them, think of them as a drug. Am sort of addicted to their very presence, their approval, and their opinions. This is steady friendship.

THE WATER

Then there are those that I see everyday. My relationship is more formal and I’m within my limits. Mostly because I have to see them everyday. But they are nice. They are fun. Not as great as the old friends that have been there all my life but this kind is a necessity because I need a break from those old friends. Kind of like you need a break from family. They come and go but they are permanent in a temporary way. I will lose the connection once I stop meeting them.

THE BREEZE

Then there are those friends. And this is my favourite kind. They don’t meet me very often. They don’t bother to keep in touch and neither do I. But when I meet them, most of the time it’s by accident. But when I do it’s like no time has passed by. It’s nostalgic but it’s still fresh. It’s the purest form of friendship, I guess. One that only gets you happiness. Because here there are no expectations, no conditions, just pure effortless friendship. When I’m with them, we smile, probably laugh and then part again. And when we part we are not sad because we know we’re going to meet again and share the same laugh. It comes and goes as it pleases. But it

The Indirect Victim

They are shouting,

So loud.

It’s dreadful and ugly,

Why am I the victim?

It’s always like this,

The matter is small.

But he loses his temper,

And I am the victim.

I am not the victim literally,

I’m not even included really.

But I am a spectator,

And that is enough.

You might think I’m used to it,

Hell, I think I’m used it.

But it never fails to sadden me anew,

I am always the victim.

Hoping For Hope

I hate feeling helpless. I hate that feeling. That and hope. Hope and helplessness are just two sides of the same coin really. Actually hope is a result of helplessness. Because I feel helpless and am devoid of any action I feel hope. And while hope may look very flowery and beautiful and yada yada yada, deep down I know it’s a myth.

Whenever you feel something that you describe as hope, you never completely feel hopeful. There’s always a part of you that is screaming, “Hope? What hope? Don’t get your hopes up. It’s all a big lie.” I know I sound cynical and jaded even as I write this but there is a certain degree of truth in it. I think people don’t even feel hope anymore. They probably never did. They desire hope or they hope for hope but they don’t really feel hope.

The Escalator

“I don’t want to walk on this!” The six-year old screamed in agitation.

“Then how will we go home, Rahul?” asked his tired mother.

“Please Mommy.” His round lips wobbled and his eyes were brimming with tears.

“You’ll have to face them at some point.”

 “Pick me up. Please, Mommy.”

She just held up the shopping bags to show that she couldn’t.

He looked at the escalator and back at her. “Please, Mommy.” His voice had become a mere whisper.

“Think of it as a Moving Staircase. Like Alladin’s flying carpet.”

He just kept looking at the escalator with growing disdain. Why it wouldn’t stop for a moment, he thought. He turned behind him to see the growing line behind him and then looked at his mother one last time.

“We’re standing here as long as it takes for you to learn how to get on it.”

“Actually Ma’am, the Mall closes at ten,” said an eavesdropping employee.

“Till ten then.” She sighed.

Rahul’s mouth tightened into a line. He was irritated at his mother’s behaviour.

“Come on, dude. Go for it,” said the guy behind them.

“You can do it, kiddo,” said his girlfriend.

“There are many people waiting, baccha,” an old woman grumbled.

He looked at the staircase and thought of how he thought of slipping on it. How he would be swallowed inside when the staircase ends.

And then he thought of the ever-growing line behind him. He closed his eyes and took a leap.

When he opened his eyes he was almost at the end of the ride but he couldn’t hear the clapping and the cheers until he had reached the end. His mother’s eyes were shining with joy as she clapped with all the bags strewn around her legs along with everyone else that were standing in the line.

She was as happy as the mother whose son landed on the moon. Even if she knew that her little Rahul had only learnt how to ride an escalator.