The Eternal Thirst

ye kooche ye neelaam ghar dilkashi ke
ye lut te hue kaarwan zindagi ke
kahan hai, kahan hai muhaafiz khudi ke?
jinhe naaz hai hind par woh kahan hai?

Those unforgettable words light up the screen as the viewer is spellbound by the magic of Guru Dutt. TIME Magazine rated it as one of the 100 best films of all-time, calling it the “soulfully romantic of the lot” among Indian films. Hindi cinema has come a further fifty years since, but “Pyaasa” has managed to carve a niche for itself in the annals of Indian cinema.

har ek jism ghaayal, har ek rooh pyaasi
nigaahon mein uljhan, dilon mein udaasi

Pyaasa tells the story of Vijay, a destitute and jobless poet, whose melancholic poems are rejected by a world which wishes to dwell upon the romantic notes of love. The dark tones in Vijay’s poetry stem from his college days, when his sweetheart, Meena, spurned his love to marry the rich Mr Ghosh, a newspaper publisher. The only person who loves him and his poems is Gulabo, a prostitute. A despondent Vijay is encouraged by his friends to turn to the bottle. In a drunken stupor, he gives away his coat to a shivering beggar, who in turn, saves Vijay from the lights of an oncoming train. The world believes Vijay to be dead, and he achieves demigod status when his book of poems is published on the insistence of Gulabo. His friends and brothers, who are busy making money out of Vijay’s death, refuse to identify him at the hospital where he is recuperating. In a dramatic climax, Vijay announces to the world, his existence. However, now that everyone is willing to acknowledge him, he no longer desires the fame and glory. With Gulabo beside him, he yearns to go away and establish a world of his own.

jahaan ek khilona hai, insaan ki hasti
yeh basti hai murda paraston ki basti

For the modern movie-goer, Pyaasa is too dark and melancholic to perhaps endure the whole distance, and one can pick holes in the script if one really wants to do it (such as how only the coat survived, when the beggar’s body was mangled beyond recognition). But for a connoisseur of the art, in spite of being a black and white film, Pyaasa is awash with colours – colours of despair, compassion, and resplendency. The lead actors give a splendid performance – Guru Dutt as the poverty-stricken poet, Waheeda Rehman – in her first major on-screen role – as the kind-hearted courtesan, and Mala Sinha, as the opulent society woman. Rehman as Ghosh, and Johnny Walker as Sattar Bhai, provide perfect foil to the lead cast. The camera work by V K Murthy is breath-taking. The whole film is dark, conveying the mood of the story perfectly. He paints the portrait of each character in their inherent state of mind – Vijay is shown with his face half obscured in the shadow, to reflect his despair and poverty, Gulabo has an angelic glow around her face, a mark of her kindness and compassion towards Vijay, and Meena’s face is fully lit with a milky effect reflecting on her opulence and suffocation in the marriage that she chose.

jawani bhatakti hai badkaar bankar
jawan jism sajte hai bazaar bankar

The musical score by SD Burman and the lyrical poetry of Sahir Ludhianvi are now part of legends. Mohammed Rafi moves comfortably from the light-hearted “Sar Jo Tera Chakraye” and “Hum Aapki Aankhon Main”, to the powerful “Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye” and “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”. Geeta Dutt is sensuous in the beautiful “Jaane Kya Tune Kahi” and “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagao”. And, Hemant Kumar delivers his punch in the soulful “Jaane Who Kaise Log The Jinke”. The film is also interspersed with beautiful poetic lines.

yeh duniya jahan aadmi kuchh nahin hai
wafaa kuchh nahi, dosti kuchh nahin hai

Guru Dutt’s master direction ensures that Pyaasa leaves us with a host of unforgettable cinematic moments – as Vijay lies on the grass, watching the world go by, he is crudely awakened from his dream as a passerby tramples and kills the bee. The image of Gulabo, flirting between the huge pillars of the building as she entices Vijay in her song, is captivating. Gulabo’s unfulfilled love for Vijay is dramatically captured in the song “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagalo”. The fickle-mindedness of the world is reflected in Vijay’s soulful rendering of “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”, after he witnesses a pimp who stops the tearful courtesan from attending to her sick baby, and forces her to continue dancing. And who can forget those powerful words that he utters, standing silhouetted against the door in the climactic scene:

yeh mahalon, yeh takhton, yeh taajon ki duniya
yeh insaan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
yeh daulat ke bhookhe rawaajon ki duniyaan
yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hai?

All I need is to be free...

The video was created by me using some of the photos I clicked during my Mumbai Trip. Please do leave your (preferably non-anonymous) comments.

Random Thoughts...

Still in Mumbai mode...Some random thoughts and learnings from the trip:

1. Tunnels can be very boring - especially when you spend around 15 minutes travelling inside them, as is the case with the Konkan Railway route. Thoughts of the Naples Black Market Express inevitably come to mind.

2. The taxi drivers in Mumbai are more honest than their counterparts down South. They charge you the exact fare in the card.

3. Apartments in Mumbai are never re-painted.

4. If you like something you see, click a photo! Else, you might regret it later (you can delete it later if it doesn't look good). I missed clicking the 'Photo of the Trip' at Haji Ali, and I regret it!

5. Never order a Dosa in Mumbai.

6. For all its hype, avoid Leopold Cafe!

7. And for all its hype, the Colaba Causeway has some great and cheap food joints - try "The Food Inn". It is small but good.

8. Biryanis on trains have a strange habit of changing appearance and taste, depending on the time of the day they are ordered.

9. How much ever people try to pull you down, it's never too late to enjoy your life. After all, there is a child inside everyone.

The Bombay Diary - Epilogue

In today's world it's a crime to enjoy your life. We take pride in the fact that we are old and mature, and work hard for a living - so much that we fail to enjoy our lives. And the moment someone wants to let their hair loose, they are ruthlessly pulled down and are told to act their age (it happens to me everyday). Today, a group of old ladies (and they were well over 50) showed us how to live.

On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).

We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.

Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).

The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:

1. It was difficult to make out which was older. The taxi driver was an old guy, but the taxi itself seemed older than him.

2. The music - you can't call it retro, you can't call it new. It was one of those T-Series collections.

3. The traffic in Bombay is irritating. I take back what I said about shuttle drivers in Bangalore in my Day Zero post. These guys are worse, and are looking for an excuse to honk.

There's a certain beauty to the suburban stations in this city - they are never empty. You always see people from various walks of life, racing from one place to the other. It's scary to get into a local train during rush hour - you are just pushed along in the crowd, without being aware of where you are heading. Sitting in the cosy confines of my long-distance train, watching life go past in the locals is a privilege. These trains crisscross the city like the blood vessels in the human body.

At Chiplun, SS decided to have Vada Pav. I just wanted a coffee. Just then, I told him that he should try out a 'pazham pori' (he couldn't pronounce it). It was the coldest pazham pori I had ever had in my life, but having not eaten one before, SS was amazed by it. As they say, Ignorance is indeed bliss.

At 6:30 PM, we pulled into the town of Ratnagiri, famous as the birthplace of Lokmanya Tilak. A horde of old ladies boarded the train. Their families and extended families had come to see them off. They were on their way to Thrissur to embark on a tour of Kerala, as one of the old ladies gleefully informed me. They were in full spirits, playing cards and antaksharis. Soon the enthusiasm spread to the other travelers. Everyone wanted to be part of of it...Well, almost everyone. "After all, they are North Indians. Only they can think of doing such things," my fellow traveller chipped in. I wondered why someone needed to be from a different part of India to enjoy life. The ladies taught us an important lesson - it is never too late to live your life.

Morning brings with it, the familiar feeling of being home - the train passes into Kerala. They say that home is where the heart is. Perhaps my heart is still here. And that's why i still love coming here. It was 1:3o PM by the time we got down at Aluva. A dozen stops at so-called important towns and snail's pace between Calicut and Shoranur had not dampened my spirit. Ah! Kerala...for Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety (...and she's better than Cleopatra). I hope I can keep returning here. Always and ever...

Pic of the day: For most of the year, Bharatapuzha, the largest river in Kerala, is just a sand bed with a few puddles of water here and here. Still, a fisherman angles his bait in a puddle, unsure of the catch.