BLACK

4:20 a.m., May 13, 2005, Mumbai: Tap, tap, tap, tap.... yeh kahani hai meri aur meri teacher ki... yeh meri duniya hai jahan kuch dikhayi nahi deta, yahan kuch sunayi nahi deta... agar ek hi shabd mein bayan karun, tho meri yeh kahani ka naam hai BLACK!!!

Life, ahh friends of my roller coaster heart, right now is a turbulence of violence, emotions, beauty and a love that chooses to transgress every existing rule. I just finished seeing the damned film for the third time in two days. It hits me a little more each time. Today I just had to phone somebody... anybody... for there exists in the world of reformed alcoholics a law against hoarding beauty... a commandment that insists on sharing love. Then socha phone nahi, email hai sahi :-)

In an age that levels everything and reverences nothing, my friends, I shamelessly declare that I worship Bhansali. The way he establishes a character is sheer poetry. Amitabh Bachan, in about the 12th minute, is described by Rani Mukherjee in a flashback sequence as "gumnaam ghayal yodha". And just before he disappears into oblivion, he commits incest (from his own point of view) by kissing Rani Mukherjee. An act so shameful that he is forced to withdraw from the plot (and withdrawing, remember, does not come easy to 'gumnaam ghayal yodhas'). Getting killed is easy for you become a martyr. The warrior does it everyday. But only a poet can kill his essence and continue to live a hundred years in shame and solitude.

Right now, no emotion runs through my mind. I merely sit stunned and stony, staring at a screen filled with inadequate words. Yet I feel redeemed after seeing Black. Redeemed by love. A love so supreme and commanding that it gives wings to beauty. A love so delicate, so eloquent, so desperate and so eternal that it is BLACK :)