My Favorites

watching the candle burn…

the ‘cutting’ chai at a road side stall on an early morning…

an unexpected phone call from a friend saying she misses me…

a peck on the cheek by my beloved…

a plate of hot steaming “chole” at marine lines…

a tight hug from my darling niece…

holding hands with him…

a good night’s sleep besides by my grandma…

a jagjit singh gazal…

the pitter-patter of raindrops…

the morning dew…

the splash of colours at sunsetma’s lecture for not taking care of my health…

late night talks on the phone with a close friend…

writing down my favorite things in life in a candlelight…

talking, laughing, having fun…

walking through the woods…

listening to music, anytime, anywhere…

gazing out of a train window…

cooking a surprise meal for ma…

watching the last of raindrops fall from the leaves after the rain stops…

the “kala-katha” ice gola in summer…

the pickles in winters…

the bad patches in life……
and the better ones that soon follow…

the mornings when I move around with a dance in my steps…

“friends” on zee English…

a cute puppy…

licking off the tip of an ice-cream…

window-shopping with no money in pockets…

a heart-to-heart talk with ma…

a good pillow fight with didi…

missing dad…

hearing about our childhood from parents…

getting nostalgic about the good-old college days…

a ride with him on the bike…

a spicy pani-puri, followed by a sadha puri…

sleeping on my ma’s lap, and feeling her fingers move through my hair…

a plant nursery…the view from a mountain top after a treacherous climb…

a family get-together at a function…

satin ribbons…

sitting quietly in a temple, watching people pray…

the smell of new stationary…

éclairs…

a full-moon night…

a quick afternoon nap…

a dinner with close family friends…

a blind date…

a strong filter coffee…

steaming dal-rice served by ma…

sunflowers…

a slow train...

a five star Cadbury…

“Tom & Jerry” on cartoon network…

a heavy breakfast…

amazing wallpapers for my computer…

cooking up fairy tales and stories of Krishna for my niece…

watching her frightened face as the demon arrives…

watering the garden early morning…

a peacock’s feather…

a home-made sandwich with a tasty ”pudina” chutney…

a rosebud in the garden…

watching him when he’s asleep…

krishna’s temple in pandharpur…

dancing in the rain…

long journeys in the state transport buses…

a late night action thriller…

a sudden, out-of-nowhere kiss from him, interrupting my nonstop chatter…

writing long, heartfelt letters to dear ones…

baby pink colour…

a good book…

my journal and my pen…

pot-painting…

painting a house…

running my fingers through his hair…

watching the fish swim…

a rainbow…

a splash of colours…

the smell of carbon as I blow off the candle…
.
.
.
life…

Khushboo

http://www.rediff.com/movies/2003/apr/12dinesh.htm
Review by: Dinesh Raheja

She may have never heard of feminism, but there is something very appealing and affirmative about the female protagonist of Gulzar's Khushboo. A product of her times, this rural woman of substance and silences is also determinedly self-assertive.

Hema plays Kusum, whose life is an agony of self-repression slightly tempered by hope and anticipation. In her childhood, Kusum was engaged to marry close companion Brindaban (Jeetendra). An inter-family fallout prompts Brindaban's brusque father to humiliate her and her mother. We are given an insightful look into Kusum's personality when we see her next, burning the flesh of her own hand on which Brindaban's name is tattooed.

Kusum is not able to expunge from her heart and mind the belief that Brindaban is her husband. Brindaban, now a doctor and widower with a son (Master Raju), returns after years elapse, and Kusum has decidedly mixed feelings.When Brindaban's benign but innately patronising mother (Durga Khote) meets Kusum's brother Kunj (Asrani) and counsels against Kusum's unmarried state, Kusum snaps at him, "Kunwari kehte huey sharam nahin aayi unhe? Mere liye bheekh maangne ki koi zaroorat nahin [Wasn't she ashamed to call me unmarried? There's no need to beg for me]."

Later, Brindaban's mother offhandedly gifts her some bangles considered an auspicious token of a forthcoming marriage. Kusum, still seething at long-unaddressed slights, returns the token. There is a softer side to Kusum, which comes to the fore in her many frolicsome interactions with Brindaban's son, Charan, who, she insists, call her Ma. She also melts when Brindaban explains the circumstances that led to his marriage to Lakhi (Sharmila Tagore), a hapless woman whom he saved from suicide.

After the implicit flashback explanations, Kusum expresses a willingness to accompany Brindaban to his home on the morrow. As fate would have it, Brindaban is prevented from fetching her and Kusum is shattered.

Caught up in a maelstrom, their turbulent lives find expression in the song O manjhi re, especially in the line Paaniyon mein beh rahe hai kai kinare toote huey. Further tragedy strikes when the countryside is invaded by the dreaded plague. Brindaban's fleeing accountant leaves Charan at Kusum's house. She pressurises a harried Brindaban into staying at her house as well whilst battling the disease.

The manner in which Gulzar etches Kusum's character is the substructure of this story. There are stormy passions submerged within Kusum's calm exterior but she remains outwardly understated. There is no screaming and shouting. Also, Kusum obviously 'feels' intensely. And while Brindaban may not reveal visible signs of as much depth of feeling, he recognises and appreciates her intensity.

Gulzar enriches the slight story by employing a leisurely exposition style centring around a lush Bengali riverside village; and salts his tale with humour in Kusum's friend, Farida Jalal. She plays a bride who is happily stuffing herself at a time when it is conventional to be nervous and lose one's appetite.Deft touches abound.

After an ecstatic Kusum warbles Ghar jayegi, doliyan chad jayegi into the night, Charan retorts, "Itni zor se gaogi toh kaise soonga [If you sing so loudly, how will I sleep]?" Later, when she says she cannot accompany him because she has not been called, he says, "Ma yeh baaja le jaaoon [ Can I take this harmonica]?" She also blackmails the kid into calling her mother "Ma bolo to laddoo doongi!"The adult world of injured egos is shown to not really impinge upon the child's universe.Also endearing is the characters' deep humanism, whether it is Asrani who unselfishly loves his sister, or Farida's fiancé who expresses dismay at his wedding, having kept the doctor away from his duties, or Jeetendra's concern for a hapless Sharmila and her nani (grandmother).
At the time of the film's release, the biggest shock was seeing commercial stars like Jeetendra and Hema Malini deglamourised. Jeetendra wore glasses and Hema eschewed her wigs for non-coiffed hair and cotton saris.

To Gulzar's credit, he extracted performances that are quietly pensive and effective. Even a quarter century after it was made, Khushboo's fragrance still lingers in its intimate explorations into the minds and hearts of ordinary folk.

Sidelights:
*Gulzar presented Sharmila Tagore in a cameo role with a new look and erased mannerisms. Egged by the response she received, Gulzar cast her in Mausam.
*Hema shot for Khushboo and Sholay simultaneously and remembers being disconcerted by the experience. Ramesh Sippy would ask her to rattle off her dialogues at breakneck speed to suit her character while Gulzar would insist on Hema speaking slowly.
*Khushboo's Sharmila episode about a woman waiting for a lost love was developed into a full-length feature film with Namkeen.
*Gulzar's penchant for certain evocative words is given full play in his lyrics and his film titles. This film's title recalls a Gulzar number from an earlier film Khamoshi -- Hamne dekhi hai in ankhon ki mahekti khushboo. Khushboo's famous song, O manjhi re, apna kinara, cropped up again as the title of his subsequent film, Kinara.

Songs:
Bechara dil kya kare
Ghar jayegi
O manjhi re
Do nainon mein aansoo