Enigma

My Father felt it necessary to drag me to B&Q today. At 11am with my spectacles on, the bush of a hair scraped back and not having slept a wink for three nights now, I was quite literally a walking insane insomniac. I was stood in a daze next to this young Indian couple and my ears perked up when I heard snatches of their conversation.

"Rara I'd rather watch Devdas, I want to have an emotional night"

Yes, I heard it quite distinctly as "RaRa" so this is what I will have to blog.

Poor RaRa! But yes, Devdas. A well renowned Bollywood film starring the stunning Aishwarya Rai, the exquisite Madhuri Dixit and my favourite Bollywood actor of all time Sharukh Khan. Now I am actually not a big fan of Bollywood. The only few films that I actually went out my way to watch are Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum, Devdas and Black. These films, actually possess integrity, chronological structure and a decent storyline we could MAYBE relate to slightly (in contradiction to the far-fetched storyline's which litter the Bollywood industry) and so therefore deserve some merit.

I am however, forever incredulous at the infatuation over the rest of what I believe to be quite indisputably, utter rubbish.  Seriously guys how can you even sit through such mind-less garbage.

So I was recommended this film. I sat and watched it for fifteen minutes. Instantly I had a severe problem. Forever the grammarian, the bloody title of the film was "I hate Luv Storys" Firstly. Where is the logic in not at least spelling "Stories" correctly?! This riled me to the very core of my being. My 6 week old rabbit could've named the film better. That's saying something, because you know him being a RABBIT and all. After discovering this and watching about ten minutes more of random prancing idiots who's acting matched that of my ten year old's brother when he lies about where he hid the cupcakes- I gave up. Then there was this one I was dragged to go watch at the cinema, called "Patiala House". God I can not actually credence the fact I actually paid even a penny towards what these people claimed was a film. Last time I checked, a film is considered to be an important art form, a source of popular entertainment and a powerful method for educating (or indoctrinating) today's society. This film? Consisted of shoddy and the most cringe-worthy acting- if you could call it acting which I couldn't in fear of insulting and degrading the actual term "acting" and everything it stands for. The story line seems to have been cobbled together by somebody who had two minutes to prepare the script.

Yes you have your classics from back in the day, which actually are an enjoyable watch with decent acting. My Mums favourites such as Sholay, Baazighar, Dilwale Dulhania Ley Jayenge etc. However these days I find it's the same cheap glamour with the same generic music which I find all so jarring. No substance.

Bollywood is an industry which thrives upon duplicating story-lines, having one or two hit songs to make the film get some hype. Yet overall, the actual film itself is rarely ever anything that stimulates my mind.

Alvida,

S.K.

October 7th, 2001

I lay beneath the broken bunk eyes flickering around the dingy and obscured room, ice cold and shivering, not due to the temperature but fear. I hear the brisk pace of thundering footsteps, muffled by the distance. They are nearing ever so slightly, every two minutes searching no doubt for the next carnage to cause. The cold sweats start. I hope against hope they pass us by.

Aryan lay hushed in her cot on the opposite side. I fervently pray she keeps silent all in fear that they, the ones who carry destruction in their hands would disappear. The whispers and the almost nonchalant talk during the past week were rendering to be true, we were under attack. My beloved country was already in political disarray - our people had to hold our own now with no help arriving any time soon from the other nations. They liked to pick upon the inferior. In their eyes that was us.

Mother had gone to the markets early in the morning to retrieve my books for school and had yet to return. What exactly is occurring at this precise time, I do not know. The firing sounds have marginally increased and from what I can hear, they are directly situated south of our location. All I know is that silence is now determining whether or not I stay breathing. The terror engulfing my homeland makes it impossible for me to risk thinking we are safe for even a millisecond. Who knows how deceptive their kind are. These "soldiers" as they like to call themselves, are eminent in how silent they can be when trapping the innocent.

Aryan has been due her feed for about three hours now. I am surprised she has not woken yet. At six weeks old she is quite a content baby.

The door creak's open and as I look across from under the bunk I feel my heart chillingly glaciate in an instant. As I realise this is no soldier, but my mother my heart resumes its normal beat. Petrified as I am, the feeling of unease subsides a little when I lay my eyes on her. I want to rush towards her and embrace her like never before but I do not move. Her eyes wide with fear, I can just about make out her body trembling in the ray of moonlight which is beaming in as she opens the door. The strip of light becomes ever thicker as she slowly makes her way in. I hold my breath. She slowly turns and proceeds toward me.

In the second it takes her to turn around after pressing the door silently shut, a scattering of unnatural lights litters the cold stone floor I lay on. Mother instantly springs towards Aryan niftily picking her up and tucking her in her slip and swiftly pushing her back behind the hay stack, out of sight. As the torch lights beam my eyes hitched onto a balaclava clad face, looking through the windows.

"In here! A few in here!" shouted a male voice.

I try to take a breath and can not. I attempt to blink and can not. A moment of inertia encapsulates me, this will cost me my life if I do not act now. My mother quickly moves next to me in a matter of seconds and as quick as anything I feel myself falling out of this surreal moment and grasp her hand giving me courage to jump out from under the bed. We stay together against the wall, on top of the broken bunk. They march in, their kalashnikovs held high shining in the moonlight. Mother and I remain silent not taking one breath, waiting for the unpredictable to happen. The leader stops in front of us. I am staring eyes wide open, his minions search the room. I whimper as one of the armed men puts his hand behind the hay stack. Mother grips my hand tighter.

"Just a baby. Stone cold and no heart-beat" He growled to his leader who was staring right at us.

"No! Aryaan! My baby!" My mother screams and instantly lets go of my grip, heaving and gasping as she attempts to run across to where baby Aryaan lies. The leader moves in that instant and effortlessly smashes his gun across my mothers face. My world is shattering before me and I am at a loss as to what to do.

"Leave her alone!" I cry, I start running towards her. She keels over, the bloody spittle that froths at her mouth has already begun to soak her chin and neck.

"Bring the young one outside now, lets show her what their kind deserve" he growls. As I hear him walk out I look up to see another masked man. All of a sudden he snatches a handful of my hair and begins dragging me outside. I scream in terror. I cry out for my mother, who is convulsing behind me keeled on the floor.

"Please! Just help my mother, forget me, kill me after help her!"

He does not stop until we are a good distance away. He lets go and I crumple before him onto the ground. I feel isolation engulf me. My breathing is hitched. I can see a group of heavily armed men making their way between rows of bodies towards us.

"Stand up! Get up, stand and face me, filth" He spits the last slur out. I manage to get myself up and I glare into his eyes. I can't speak even if I want to. Silently through my tear filled eyes I start to beg. Beg for him to show some bit of remorse. My attempt is futile as he raises his gun, his eyes give way to everything he and the others embody. Ruthlessness, emotionless and cold-heartedness.

I look up towards the starless black sky, the moon as bright as ever. Staring at it calms me, the Moon almost embodying protection. I again look into the eyes of the merciless and callous man before me. I do not wish for him to see my fear. I do not wish to be weak in front of him, so I close my eyes and weep. I can hear through my sobs the water lapping back and forth in the well. Distant cries echo around me. The acrid and pungent smell of gunpowder fills the air. As I await painstakingly for the inevitable to begin, tears stream down my face. I long to turn back to look at my mother and my baby sister, to be in her arms and smiling down into the hazel eyes of Aryaan.

"Look at me you kalaar" He yells, the racial slur ringing in my head.

This is it. I must open my eyes let this beast view my resentment at the very least. Why not. The quicker I did, the quicker I could see Aryaan.

My mother screeches. I open my eyes, one last time.