, , Leave a comment

Lootera was a very good movie. It is perhaps the most under-appreciated movie of the past decade. The scriptural brilliance, the cinematography, the wonderful acting and the stunning luscious old world Bengali charm, made me a fan ten minutes into the movie. The concept of the movie was breathtakingly original and it had the melancholy that was infectious. The slow nature of the movie was like taking gradual slips of rich red wine, the flavour and the effects were slow and powerful. The end leaves you withdrawn at the predicament of the two lovers in this sad love story with a perturbed look but a general sense of wow, for the magnificent work of art that you just witnessed. One of the stories which struck me was the abolishing of the Zamindari system and the stripping of the Zamindars of all their riches. It was similar to a poem that I had written long ago.




The bus was as crowded as ever,
The street lights brimming, succulent fireflies he thought,
Four more stations and I am home,
Just a cage I am subjected to, something I bought.

It did not bother him today,
The metal creeks, shrill and disdain,
The odour of the fellow men,
The reckless movements, insane.

After all he wanted to suck it all in,
It was in fact the last time he would do so,
Being a royal it forced him, persuaded his inner royalty,
To honour those that pained him, served him towards the flow.

Three to go, he trembled with excitement,
The entire fact that it was going to end soaked him,
In fresh excitement, this much he had only felt,
When he was a boy, in those days when the fireflies grew dim.

His memories had contained his nobility,
They were known as the great land rulers,
The royal blood-liners and the owners of the great palace,
The resounding stature, of a king, a Fuhrer.

The thrill of childhood , the boy waited with anxious breaths,
For the treats the villagers bestowed upon them,
The summer heat meant the epitome of suspense,
The mangoes, the orange mayhem.

The crowd grew impatient as the bus ran late,
It was a usual thing, this hue and cry,
It strangely reminded him of that day,
When their walls did not seem that high.

He was a sixteen years old when it happened,
The lands echoed those loud shouts, those frivolous slogans,
His father borrowed and never paid, a royal at heart but not by wealth,
That grief consumed his father, this grief of losing their lands.

His father’s death was too much to bear for his mother,
The teenager, orphaned was brought to the city,
The prince of his native land,
Now begged his relatives, was at their pity.

They arranged for his job,
A clerk at a small time accounting firm,
They bought him a small place, got him married,
Then left for him to rot, term by term.

He hated it, but he did it nonetheless,
Insanity beseeched him, but his nobility forced him to accept it,
When he tried to share his pain,
He was fed with advices, people thought were fit.

They showed him the condition of the destitute,
But he did not care, he cursed the gods,
He asked them to his heart’s content,
A genuine believer, he questioned the lords.

Even if I was destined to live like this,
Why did I have such a bright inception?
Why do you get so much enjoyment in uprooting
A sapling from a fertile land, and planting it in such an arid nation?

Then they gave him examples of such stories as his,
Where they led meaningful lives, jovial and envious,
He then cursed the gods for not giving him,
That same sort of spirit, his disappointment was obvious.

With that the bus took a screeching halt,
He got down, content that it was the last time he was doing so,
Content that he no longer needed to be treated like a peasant,
Content that he no longer needed to go with the flow.

He made his way up his empty apartment,
His mistress had gone to her mother’s, he was saddened rather,
He did not want to leave that poor woman behind,
It was so similar to what happened to his own mother.

This had stopped him all these years,
But no more, he couldn’t be more determined,
He wanted to reach that zenith,
Where he could have his own mother entwined.

He looked above to thank the lords,
Something which he had never done,
Radiance shown through to him, the vanquished prince could see his garden again,
Those summer days shown again, so did the magnanimous sun.

You lay in front of me, my land my people, you lay behind me, my love my queen,
I am going to rule my rightful lands for once, so I am going ahead, forgive me my queen.




I emote through poetry because it empowers me to the free veins of expression. This story struck me long before I saw Lootera but I realised it again after watching it.



Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS