December 21, 2009

The Filmi Nationalism Years: Masala Poetry

I thought to myself today, when i was tidying up my exercise books from high school, and found a pattern. Masala or filminess was in my veins, and in my writing, I couldn't help but say to my friends, "Ya know isn't Vijay the Vigilante such a confusing anti-hero?" or "OMG i love Saira Banu's print dresses in this film!"
My friends got used to these blurted out utterings as it was part of my BollyHollymusicalitis. Many stays over at my house, they all were converted to Bollywoodism, in my grade 12 year I attempted to make a short film that naturally was all Bollywood, I wrote the silly script which was soo convoluted and abound in cliches. This film was a fluke as I got lazy, actors were unavailable, but mostly I got lazy.
But my filmi nationalism continued to come out in my Creative Writing class which I got my first consecutive A for each of the three terms! Alas filmi nationalism didnt extend to science and maths which I was terrible at! To put all this rambling to a stop, here is some of the filmi poems that I wrote back then! They are horrendously cheeesy and not that great, but i couldn't not post my silly years!

The Burning Train
Funky music, the buuurrrrning traainn, coos Asha
On this Super Express to somewhere
3 heroes, destinies intertwined on this blazing train
One clad in a Travolta suit, following the heiress
Gold jewels and gem of a girl, he wants
A handsome rogue, clap goes his energetic hands
Drumming on his knees and between the aisles,
What a handsome rogue is he
Here he comes, cigarrette dangling, ooff go the women on the train
Who is he? A macho man, lovesick by his unfaithful wife
Passengers he charms, children he saves, and women swoon for him
Admonishing the villain, youuuu son of a baastarrdd
Speaking in english, he commands the audience with laughter
Dharam gets garam, running through fire to save all
The train is blazing and burning, only an intelligent hero can help
Bellbottom clad, with swagger in walk and knowlegable talk
Vinod, explain what to do, save your son on the fuming train
Three heroes unite in silver suits warring against fire
Useless servants that left gas on, the cause of this catastrophe
Silver suits kick away at the villain
Falling to his death on the traintracks
Hugs, and chest hugs returned as the Super Xpress burns away
Women swoon in thanks, men gruffly congratulate
Thank you our sexy silver suited saviours!
(OMG I actually wrote this rotten piece, I had a far more eloquent other poem on The Burning Train but couldn't find it today! I will find it if it kills me, this poem is awfully bad, but hilariously terrible too. I just recited the whole storyline!)
Pantoum
Dark hair glistening and blowing in the wind
Her arms outspread in the field
Golden ghungroos stamping at the earth,
She spins like a delicate cotton wheel (crossed out was cow bell, how ddlj!)

Her arms outspread in the field
A name she whispers to the air
She spins like a delicate cotton wheel
Bring me my Saawariya
A name she whispers to the air
Each moment of effort makes her pant
Bring me my Saawariya
Her dance is felt across his town of blue
Each moment of effort makes her pant
The feet marching to her heartbeat
Her dance is felt across his town of blue
Even in his cold heart, saregama warms his heart (LOLOL Saregama!)

The feet marching to her heartbeat
Dark hair glistening and blowing in the wind
Even felt in his cold heart, saregama warms his heart
Golden anklets stamping at the earth

(This pantoum is where you repeat lines in different stanzas, its pretty cheesy I wrote it quickly in spare block before this, and maybe it helped that I'd seen Saawariya the previous night as part of my birthday along with Om Shanti Om! Its a role reversal here, that nasty Sonam is asking for Ranbir's love in that blue town!)
Things That Won't Happen Today
A huge cloud comes over the school and it hails
A miraculous announcement of a snow day
Gene Kelly dancing around lamposts with me
English teacher gives his fellow Englishwoman an A
Shahrukh Khan bursting into this class, and carrying me away
The boy I like to jump to his knees, singing a disco qawalli of his love
That my friends would be silenced with a "Door Hojao mere nazron se" (Lol i guess i watched Shaan that night!)
A hangover will evaporate from my head
That someone athletic like Hritik will complete my Pe hours for me
The school will present a Bollywood tribute to me at graduation
My camera will come in the post
Like Gulzar, I'll master films and all poetry
Ranbir Kapoor will come to school in his bathrobe and I'm in one too!
That I get asked to prom (I did and he sucked)
Ranbir does a happy dance when i say I love you forever, unlike Sonam!
(I quite like this one, again this November 07, and I'd just seen Saawariya and was besotted by Ranbir Kapoor, and disgruntled at the ending of the film, but more importantly and more teenagerly I squealed when we saw his BUM, as did the ton of aunties in front and my mum gave me a withering look!)
A Sonnet: Dirty!
The rain dripping, clothes dropping to the floor
Bodies sway together in the moonlight
Hands moving up a sinewy surface with no fight
A roaming finger sends current to every pore
One body hides from the other in the dark,
An arm catching a time for a caress
Lips on lovers' cheek, leaving sparks
A feeling the mind needs to posess
The mouth calling for a name
Unspoken words, silenced by pleasures
The faceoff begins, circling eachother, let's start the game
A voice on the neck, something to treasure
A halki saas, say it softly, say it
Words form, 3 magical words, just admit it

(When i read this again, I went Hai Ram, Chi Chi, like Lalita Pawar would as a villainess, its pretty okay, it was inspired by the hilariously quick sex scene in Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. It was shocking to me as it was "OMG SRK, SEX, EEEEEEEE" moment for me! How teenagerly and hormonal I was back then, not say i don't have the same reaction when i see Dard-E-Disco where its "OMG, SRK, WATER, ABS, EEEEEE!" Love my teacher who gave me 4/5 despite the terrible rhyming scheme!



7 Ways to Spot Devdas
The sea is his drink
Cleaning his dhoti, sipping the poison from the bottle
Chanting the last rites of his soul
Proclaiming the only name, he knew

The courtesan performing her mujra
Ghungroos stamping, arms flailing
Blood dripping, alcohol sipping
Death approaching him by the gutter

Creeping into the dark night
Laying her life at his feet
He turns away, ashamed
And into Kolkatta he runs

In a place of filth, a prince lies
Escaping his soul mate
A love so true can’t be found again
He is my Dev-da

Her breaths are his
Her heart is his
Her pride is his
Her devotion to her diya
His death is hers

Where is she?
Where is Paro?
Where can I find her?
Will she love me?
Can I say sorry to her?
Of course
All in this bottle

Three breaths left in him
Among the filth he lives
Lying on this marble floor
Two breaths left in him
Ohh why wait till now for the truth?
An arm baring his identity
His heart bears only one name
One breath left
Paro...
(I think this is one of my favorites or even best, I don't know its one of the poems on the same subject and I guess I must have watched the new Devdas and the old one to write this. It was a companion piece to my Saratchandra project where I wore a silly dhoti and acted like a drunk Sarat!)

Coconuts
Am I a coconut?

In the middle of the fence is a coconut
Too much, rock music and grungy looks
Too little Lata, Asha, Usha playing
Sooo many boys leaving my room
Sooo few Indian ones?
Small sneakouts to curfew breaking parties
Small meetings with good Southall girls
Less Saira Banu eyeliner or mini skirts
Less kurtas and lenghas are worn
Always with a gang of goras
Always ignoring your own kind

Which side will it fall, the mud or the sugar
More gym going, diet watching
More ladoos and gulab jamuns to be eaten
Ample breasts to be stared at
Ample time to buy turtlenecks
Few good reports from school
Few C-‘s and D’s on the destiny deciding paper
Big cars, Bhangra blaring, bass jumping
Big beemers, crackly Sunrise radio
Fat arms, bigger than your average
Fat chance of fitting in this sari blouse
Wads of cash from the job at Boots
Wads of cash could come from Auntyji’s newsagent

The coconut still on the fence, where to go?
Lots of mobiles, texting the mates, sending saucy pictures
Lots of Auntyji’s checking the dowry rates
Legions of boys asking for snogs in the parks
Legions of men viewing wife material
Tons of concerts, dancing among the vibrations
Tons of drunken uncles singing with no hesitation
Many drunken nights of haze and fun
Many days till you can have Shivas Regal
Gobs full with sweets and paan on birthdays
Gobs shoved with cake, hand fed from everyone in the room

Not in the mud, the sugar won’t recognize it
Mass numbers of people gathered at the bar
Mass numbers in year 12 Calculus
Many a body piercing and tattoo adorned in secret places
Many a look of shame from Auntyji’s in the street
Excess assimilation into the Western world
Excess traditions of the Eastern world
A lot of happiness in arty jobs
A lot of smug cousins in science, look with disdain
Hordes of whistling and whooping boys
Hordes of uncleji’s giving winks and pinches

Not in the sugar, the mud would shun it
Heaps of time to travel the world
Heaps of time in uni to be a lawyer doctor newsagent!
Loads of club hopping, bhangra gig going
Loads of intelligent books to be read
Only Bollywood films being researched
Only one facet of your Indianess
Coconuts under palm trees, on an Ibiza beach
Coconuts smashed to mark arrivals at doors
Coconuts at every doorstepCoconuts sitting on walls, forever in mud and in sugar

(I love this one, it was published in an anthology as well as a terrible piece on travelling in India, which is just godawful that I can't post it! But a coconut is what i felt I was during my "who am i?" phase of introspection! Lol it didnt last too long but I love this poem as it combines all my influences of London and India and not fitting in either culture~But like Chaplin said "I'm an internationalist!"

Classic Poem: Villanelle
Define skinny, define big, define plus size
Dirty looks, snide whispers, cruel laughter
Your perception is every girl’s demise

Magazines shoved in my face, that is you
I am normal, just bigger than the average
Define skinny, define big, define plus size

Why am I scorned and given that look
Because I am big, chunky, buxom, fat?
Your perception is every girl’s demise

Flabby arms, big breasts, wide hips, jiggly thighs
Must I be a size zero to look sexy, fit in any clothes?
Define skinny, define big, define plus size

Sizes don’t matter, it’s the feeling of sexy, the feeling of beautiful
A look of amazement and shock from boys and spectators
Your perception is every girl’s demise

I am sexy and beautiful revelling in my bigness
Words are just words; fat is just a word not my label
Your perception is every girl’s demise
Define skinny, define big, and define plus size


(Lol I don't wanna hammer it in everybody's head what I feel about the size zero fad, but trust me this was written before my ire grew for the new phase in Bollywood. This was written when I watched soo many old films where the heroines were bigger and bountiful and BEAUTIFUL, and it made me feel a bit happier about myself. I love it and its my uplifting poem!)
Hope you liked these cheezy and filmi nationalist poems I wrote in youth! Keep voting for your favorite Satan, it looks like a certain shaitaan in Pran will be the Satan of the Paradise lost Production here at the Masala Pradesh!

4 comments:

Bollyviewer said...

Hee! A "[b]ellbottom clad, with swagger in walk and knowlegable talk" Vinod IS poetry in motion! ;-)

And I hope your "silly years" arent over for a while, yet.

ajnabi said...

Rum, your 7 Ways to Spot Devdas is awesome. And yay to your teacher for the 4/5. LOL

rhilex said...

Eeeeks!!! Rum, this is JUST the thing I needed right now! Awesomeness. Giggled at quite a few, lol. ;) Villanelle was really sort of inspiring, though, haha. 'Coconuts' was actually pretty interesting, but OMG whyyyyyy can't the stuff in Things That Won't Happen Today actually, you know, HAPPEN?! =((((

Ranbir in a bathrobe, FTW! And omg, a Bollywood tribute would be so awesome. Can you imagine a festival like the end credits of Main Hoon Na? =D

Rum said...

Bollyviewer - lol I hooted with laughter at how bad that one was! mY SILLY years are only just developing!

Ajnabi - Thanks, I like it too, and i thank the hapless teacher who liked all these poems too

Rhilex - Glad these poems were a pick-me-up! I always write a "Things that wont happen" when I'm at the cash till, it just wastes away the time lol! And usually nothing in the poem happens!! Lol i wishhh for a bollywood tribute for me!