Monday Musings 232 - Fortuitously forty

Monday Musings 232 - Fortuitously forty

I wonder sometimes what Ganga feels while it springs from bhagirathi, and hurtles down the mountains with youthful vigor, mostly untamed and flirting with her constraints, herself and her co passengers always on the edge. I wonder if she is even aware of her destiny and the fact that the mountains may be the place where she took birth but her end will come some 2000 miles away in faraway unknown land, far far away from the surroundings that she would know as home.

I wonder what she feels when she assumes the calm of the plains as the incline vanishes. I wonder what goes through her soul at Haridwar where she experiences the tapering of the vigor and the composure it will acquire without much warning. I wonder she was mentally even prepared for the the long arduous calm that lies ahead. What if she always imagined that the jump over the cliffs will last forever?

I wonder if she is bored as it travels through the gangetic plain haunted by the memory of the earlier avtaar and experiences angst for a life not long ago. I wonder if she misses her wayward ways, the swing of her hips, the hope in her meander. I wonder if she questions the supreme confidence that she had about herself and her ability to chart her course. Did she really chose her course or did she not? Does she even ask this question and does she know the answer? 

I wonder whether she even knows as it crosses into Bengal before turning into Hoogly that she is now the beginning of her last leg. She is in her prime but the tapering off is about to begin. Is she satisfied with the way things have turned out or does she have regrets?  

I wonder if she even remembers the banks she has crossed, or if they are etched in her memory and she will be able to recollect those villages, hamlets and cities effortlessly or if she will struggle to trace a smile here and a tear there. 

I wonder what if Ganga were to know that no one else remembers her much accept the fact they are accustomed to her presence and i wonder what the banks would feel if Ganga has only a hazy recollection of them. 

I wonder if Ganga ever wants to trace her journey back and relive her journey and should that chance be given if she would do it in exactly the same way or will she change the course and character of her odyssey.

I tuned 40 and i wish Ganga could talk to me and let me know her heart. 

Guru

Monday Musings 231 - Proudly Provincial

Monday Musings 231 - Proudly Provincial

I am in love with Datto. Now that I have said it publically putting my neck on the line by proclaiming the likely unrequited love for the haryani character in the 100 cr grosser 'Tanu Weds Manu Returns' I ask myself what is it that draws me to her. 

Datto is proudly provincial. She comes from the badlands of Jhajjar, a place which is in the news for reasons which are more notorious than nice. She speaks with a heavy accent unapologetically even though she studies in the elite Delhi University. She is aspirational and wants to excel in the chosen one thing that she knows how to do well rather than fret over the many things that she might not. She is proud but not vain. She is fired with ambition but rooted to reality. She wants to negotiate with her context to seek what she wants rather than desert it without an attempt to influence it. She is gutsy. She knows what she is not - which is the other Kangana but is not flustered by it. She is in love and goes about dealing with this emotion matter of factly - a job that must be done like running the next race. No fuss, no hyperbole, no heavy duty drama! The underlying supreme self confidence of a small town youth that fires a million hearts every day - to want to play with the city slickers and compete with them despite an uneven playing level. Datto does not denies her provinciality but wears it on her sleeve with pride. I am in love with  Datto - its final. 

Datto has one thing that all small towners have aplenty - dreams in the eyes, spring in the steps and confidence in the souls. Just a look around and it is not difficult to fathom that it is the small towners who are calling the shots or soon will be. The cricket team is no longer ruled by the Bombay club - it is the mofussils who dominate. The new breed in practically all the sports is not emerging from the Gymkhanas but the dusty roads of Bharat. The feet on street of all corporate hierarchy is populated by the small towners. A few decade down the line they will be dominating the cubicles and cabins. The last decade in the civil services is already dominated by the provincial prodigies. Another few decades and all senior bureaucrats in the steel frame of the government will be dominated by the  sons and daughters of mohallas rather than the skyscrappers. The story goes on. 

I write this because Datto appeals to my small town sensibilities. She reminds me where i come from. She is comfortable in her skin and finds no reason to conform. She does not want to fit in because she finds no reason to do so. She is not living two lives because she does not need to. She is who she is  - take it or leave it. There is nothing more tragic than the sacrifice of a square who wants to fit in a circle. 

Datto is an iconic character or at least has the potential to be. Let a million Datto bloom. And just for the record - i am definitely in love with her. 

Guru