When I first saw this film, I was 16, and not sweet. But I thought that the film was cool, defining by the parameters I then considered to be cool. The concept of independence and not inter-dependence in relationships, the freaky idea that somebody might remember every step you would take. But, then I had also not heard of the song, "I'll be watching you" by Police. All said and done, I enjoyed evry bit of the movie, loved the gigs, frankness, irresponsibility, smart clothes and HAIRDO.
Now its approaching to be six years thence, and I still remain cramped in the shell of the movie. The only difference is that now its stuffy inside. Wherever I go follows the slain evil, Subodh. And boy, was he uncool?! ABSOLUTELY.
He remembered the date and time he proposed to his girlfriend, which by this day's norms is not in vogue really. But then I believe when I shall be a parent, I probably will remember sharply (perhaps also capture on celluloid) the moment my child will first stand up by himself or walk. But again, it'll be my child for heavensake. And ofcourse, lovers and romantic liasons should be kept apart from particularities of dates and times.
I would love to be more of Shalini, the quinessential urban chick, who looks independent and well dressed, if nothing else. And she also believes in the independence of individuals in love. I would also love to have some traits of Akash, who believes in , "jo apni zindagi jiye, aur mujhe apni zindagi jeene de".
Unfortunately, I am neither a bit of Shalini nor Akash. I am but all of Subodh. I interfere, I crib, I depend and I remember. I fill Gigabytes of my memory with whens, whats and hows, instead of formulae. And in return I expect to be appreciated. I also try to direct, off-stage, instruct significant others about what to do, how to behave, and what not!
I am totally uncool. I am a misfit, I am a looser. Ironically, I assert firmly to myself that I am not. I also claim to understand and appreciate music, again my reach is arms less of the entrance gate.
Plain simple, I am uncool, or perhaps I am that Ugly Duckling whom H.C.Anderson loved and nurtured.
