Gratitude

"Call your mom, call your dad. If you’re lucky enough to have a parent or two alive on this planet, call ‘em. Don’t text. Don’t email. Call them on the phone. Tell ‘em you love ‘em, and thank them, and listen to them for as long as they want to talk to you. Thank you. Thank you, Mom and Dad." 

- JK Simmons, during his acceptance speech at Oscar

I remember watching Sean Connery accepting some award on TV and he made a wonderful observation about his career. He said that he got his first break when he got into school, not when he got himself a role in movies. According to the original James Bond, it was his primary education that made him the person that he grew up to be. And there i was looking at this beautiful man wondering "Really?" because i couldn't wait to get out of school and make myself useful (read: earn money) for my family.

Fast forward a 1.5 decades. 

Here we were absorbing every single word Simmons said on that dreamy black stage. He not only summed up the hurry we are in but also made us pause. Besides, it's not about calling your parents on a regular basis. It's more about appreciating the n number of breaks you got thanks to them.  

Sighlence

As we speak,

                                                                                                                   Well said.

Same person, different cities

I complete a week in Gurgaon today. I never thought i'll be here. I never thought i'll stay here. I never thought i'll consider staying here longer than i'm currently staying—if that makes sense. This city looks like it's waking up from a nightmare. Anyway, the point being i'm new to this place and vice versa. I don't understand quite a lot of things already. For instance, i can't really gauge why exactly people here turn into assholes the moment they step into a car. At the risk of generalization, they look rather civilized but as soon as their soles touch the accelerator, they are different persons altogether. And they aren't alone in this drive to be desi transformers. This city's autorickshawwallahs are marvelous creatures. The difference between them and their counterparts in Mumbai is they don't even respect potholes. Back in my city, auto drivers slow down while approaching a macro-crater on the road. Here, the man behind the wheels would attempt to fly over it. Furthermore, he won't offer you the courtesy of a meter for putting your life in danger. He can charge you whatever he likes and everything boils down to either your bargaining skills or your desperation to get from Point A to Point Z. 

But i like something about them: They are from Gurgaon. 

So far, they are the only ones i've come across who ACTUALLY hail from this upcoming city. The rest of us are all migrants trying to make a quick buck. 

During one of my conversations with a rickshaw driver here, i understood the economic distinctions that is already in place. There are three types of Gurgaonwallahs in NCR today. 

1. Those who made the most of the rise of this otherwise sleepy location. Such people not only made money but also invested wisely in business and real estate to milk opportunity till it bleeds.

2. Those who made the most of the rise but are on the brink of losing it all because they can't help showsha-ing and this behaviour is bound to make them go back to square one sooner or later.

3. Those who couldn't make the most of the spike and are therefore working as autorickshawwallahs with the 'sole' ambition to overlook potholes the way only pilots are meant to.

A cutthroat choice

If dreams are meant to be deciphered, then i'm better off asleep. Last night, i saw some dreams like a series of badly edited short films. One of them showed me on my knees with my hands cuffed behind me. To make matters worse, there was a person whose face or features i can't recall now. S/he had a knife in his/her right hand and i was more scared than Jude Law in Dom Hemingway. You know, when his penis was on line because of a stupid bet? My neck was on line here. And as the person kept walking to and fro in front of me, i couldn't help but think of Jude's receding hairline. Yes, he was inside my head when i was about to be killed by whoever-it-was in my own fucking dream. In other words, my could-have-been last thoughts were to be spent on a Hollywood star who doesn't give a hair about me! Isn't that sad? Regardless, i managed to survive the dream because the knife wasn't sharp enough and the killer-of-my-dream was struggling to make a cut on my throat. I don't remember much except feeling so freaking relieved that the knife refused to obey its master. Blood wouldn't spill out no matter how hard that person tried to press in. As soon as i realized that he's not going to win, i began to throw my head back more. You know, the way Diane Lane exposed her neck in a cinema hall when her orgasm—err, marriage—was on line in Unfaithful?

Symmetry

Smile. 

That's it. 

An insider's outlook

What happens when you guide yourself out of your comfort zone? Well, several things. But the most intriguing feature of this particular change happens to your perspective of yourself—not others—and that makes all the difference. You stop being a person who thought this and that before doing nothing about either. You begin to act for a change. However, change can be scary too. All of a sudden, you are in a place which is not defined by you. Much against Jack Nicholson’s advice in The Departed, you tend to become a product of the environment because you realize many new truths. One of them being your delay in pulling yourself out your former zone. Because of which, people (read: colleagues) appear light years ahead of you. You begin to resemble that only schoolkid who forgot to do his homework. On top of that, this kid has developed many habits and most of them aren’t good. (On a second thought, there’s no such a thing as good habits as they are seldom addictive.) Now, what is he supposed to do? Well, several things. But the most important one being is his willingness to NOT storm out of the classroom.

Next move

Today marks my last day with Midday. I grew up reading this tabloid and to be candid, i don't remember much from last millennium—except some popular bylines i ended up sharing the air with—other than pictures of those models who passed off as Midday Mate! They aren't published anymore but they surely 'ignited' the earliest form of sexual awakening in me. As of today, after serving for three years and three months, i can only feel gratitude towards the paper. For one, my boss hired me when i least expected it. And she has been wonderful since. Had it not been for her, i wouldn't have known this exquisite universe called film journalism especially since it revolves around this farcical planet called Bollywood.

During my time, i learnt quite a bit about how numbers roll be it the BO figure or readership survey or punishing deadline. It's one heck of a ride. A common man who licks his fingertip to flip through the pages wouldn't have the faintest of ideas to acknowledge the kind of mechanism that lead to an output called newspaper. Trust me, it's as amazing as it gets. Explains why i'm proud of adding my three-cent to film journalism. I'm not only proud of writing about stuff that matters but also about stuff that don't. The balance is always a good ratio. Also why i wonder how the world will look like when print media lets the curtain down. But then, humankind didn't really change with the upheaval of telegram, typewriter or Walkman. Did we?

Coming back to my tenure as a film journalist, i always felt my life lacked drama. It was too mundane, too predictable. Wakeup-gotowork-comebackfromwork. No party. No smoke. No drink. No wild nothing. Furthermore, it was not like i craved to be in the herd. In fact, i tend to respect those who don't need company to indulge themselves. You know, the loner who smokes alone staring into nowhere or the one kissing his glass of liquor every now and then. Speaking of drama, my existence was heavily punctuated by information of how film celebrities lead a staged life—off screen as well. Seldom do we come across a star who isn't blurting out scripted quotes or cracking an original joke. You meet them and you begin to lose respect for that veneer called stardom. "They are just like us!" becomes the new dictum for you.

Yes, there are exceptions too.

I will always remember how Naseersaab patted my right knee and said "Write whatever you want!" at the end of our interview. Or how i am one of those last journalists whom Farooque Shaikh spoke to. Or how i still haven't had the heart to delete his cellphone number. Or how SRK hugged me before i left his study about half an hour away from midnight. (Turns out i wasn't special as he treat all journalists with immense respect.) I cherish finding out first hand that Prem Chopra is a thorough and sweet gentleman. Wonder how he played such badass characters! I also cherish pointing out to Vidya Balan (whom i adore to bits) that we both share a Chembur connection! Over the last three summers, i've had several such beautiful memories. Memories nobody else has to give a damn about. Memories i take with me wherever i go. They are mine. Interestingly, i posed for just one picture with a celeb back in 2012 and that happened to be non-film personality: Shashi Tharoor. It's all about memories i guess. I didn't create them single-handedly but i was an active participant. And it all happened because i was associated with a respectable city-based daily.

That said, i believe it's time to move on from the 3Ms—Mumbai, Midday and Media—not in that peculiar order—that dominated my life for a long while now. Of course, i'm petrified but in the same vein, i also believe it's high time. I'm sure there's always something new to miss. Or be a part of.