Slumdog Millionaire

Danny Boyle – the director of slumdog – said at a recent award function “This movie is a love note to Mumbai”. Tonight’s the 4^th time that I have sat through this movie. It was not disgust that I felt when Jamal – the main protagonist – jumped into a pit of human shit on hearing that Amitabh Bachchan’s helicopter had landed nearby. It was not pity that I felt when Jamal tells the police officer that “If not for Allah and Ram, I would still have a mother”. But through each sitting, I felt cramps in my stomach. I felt as if, there was a human corpse in my cupboard. But I chose to ignore the stench whenever I’m at home. I chose to ignore the half rotting flesh whenever I opened my cupboard to get dressed. I not only shut out my sense of smell or touch or sight but I also shut out my mind. 

This movie is an amazing piece of creative art. Any accolade that is thrown at the movie and the people associated with it is very well deserved. I aint a movie critic to discuss about aspects related to movie making. I want to go through a catharsis as I write this. It took a man who lives a 1000 miles from Mumbai to make us feel violated and naked. Whoever has ever lived in Bombay will not feel pity, shame, disgust or anger. Because this city teaches us that none of these things are really valid. This city and this movie just tells you to cope up with what you are seeing. It tells you to swallow and blink and never to process whatever you have witnessed. Just like, the two brothers -Salim and Jamal- did throughout the movie. They didn’t wallow in self pity. Nor did they give the viewers a solution, nor a message. They just took the cameras around into the heart of our city and gave us what is real. Good, bad or ugly was not to be judged. One only had to cope…

Grime on my Windshield

Around the blocks of my home, I drove
Lost and never found, Searching for love
And that poise profound, I drove a few blocks
Around my house, My home was somewhere
I reasoned aloud, why then
Was I lost never to be found?

Frustrated – the highway was what I turned
My steering wheel around to, On I went to a
Land only whispered about, a road went there and a road
Went there, Choice was my foe - for both looked
The one to drive about, Blindfolded myself to
Turn in rounds, Whoosh - I went on one without
Caring about the consequences it held for the empire
I was to found.

Immediately the grime - my windshield found, The
Windows too and all around, Could I see? – yes and no,
Yes – to know the road from the ground, No – to
Enjoy the richness abound, What was to be done
I questioned aloud, onwards should I walk or
Drive without a sound, For the grime on my windshield
Was to stay bound.

And here lay the paradox of that devil’s choice,

What was to be done, for my windshield lay soiled?