PINK.

I am not a feminist. And I do not fight for equal rights. I think women are awesome. And we don’t need to be compared with men.

I watched PINK yesterday and haven’t stopped thinking about it, since. Haven’t other movies done that to me before? Oh yes, they have. They’ve got me thinking too. About how crisp the script was. How brilliant the performances were. And how beautifully they’ve portrayed such a beautiful subject.

But PINK, got me thinking about myself. And no, not too many movies have done THAT before.

I walked into the movie hall, like most other girls, looking forward to some serious male bashing. Prepping myself to applaud shamelessly, if I felt like it. And whistle, if I could, every time Big B made an appearance. But I took myself by surprise.

A few minutes into the movie and I realized I wasn’t part of the audience anymore. I was one of the girls. What happened on screen, was happening to me. The fear, the angst, the rage. And most importantly, the helplessness.

What I did shamelessly, was cry. When the rest of the crowd clapped, I sniffled. When they repeated dialogues to their friends, I repeated them to myself and cringed.

PINK is the story of every girl. Single, Married, South Indian or North Eastern. Pink is the story of every girl, who has had to explain herself. It speaks to each one of them, about each one of them.

It asks questions. It raises doubts. And most importantly, it talks to you. In the voice of Amitabh Bachan. And then, by the end of the movie, you’re left feeling like something’s just hit you. Like a strange sense of reality. About the society in which you live. The men you’ve met in the past and may meet in future. And most importantly, about yourself.

PINK does not tell you what’s right and what’s wrong. What it does, is leave you feeling uncomfortable. And that’s a good thing. So watch it.

Clues.

Quite often, it’s that one word you’re looking for. That one word you can start with. Much like the touch of your finger on a delicately placed ceramic. That once touched, has nothing to save it from falling, crashing on the floor, its pieces strewn all around. You stand there, watching. Knowing there’s nothing you can do, could have done. You saw the broken pieces, even before they were broken. Even before it happened. You let it happen. You let it take its course. You let it be. Because sometimes, it’s like that one word you were looking for. That one word that led to another. And then another. And just like that, you had words forming sentences, making stories. Quite often, life’s like that. You think you’re in control. That you started it. That you’ll take it where you want to. And when you turn around, trying to look at where it all started, you’ll find yourself searching for that one word. That one fleeting thought. That one nod or shake of the head. You wander into the crowd of your past. Between memories that were made and then forgotten. Amidst moments that you wished never passed, then let go off. You dive deep into the ocean of your own mistakes. And smile, as you think of how you stand where you stand now, stronger, older, alive. Not remembering how you got here, but happy that you did. And as you do, you stumble upon a new word. That’ll lead to a new story. One that you think you’re writing. But the words of which have already been found. Because your story, has already been written.

Stranger.

He walked into her cabin to find someone else sitting in her place. She smiled at him like she was expecting him. So he smiled back, half a smile, at the stranger who seemed to know him pretty well. He said hi, and fumbled for the next set of words. She responded with a chirpy giggle, followed by an update on her weekend. He found an uncanny resemblance. She sounded like her. The giggles, the pauses, the raise of the eyebrows. And yet, it wasn’t her. Creepy, he thought. And then, her phone rang. “Hey Bob!” she answered. Bob, his senior, was never great with newcomers. Forget calling them on their first day, many a time he’d pass by them and behave like they never existed. For months together. And then this. She has a 3-minute long conversation with him on a project that’s been on for the past 3 weeks. She’s been here for what, 3 hours? WTF! Somewhere in between, she caught him stare at her. ‘Are you alright Tim?” Startled, he looked away, mumbled ‘yup Im ok’ and then fixed his eyes back on her. She noticed that something was wrong. But left it at that. She walked out with a file in her hands and his eyes following her. Outside, Joanna sipped on her coffee near the vending machine. Sarah walked by and Joanna smiled her flashiest smile seeing her. ‘You got a haircut!!!’ She squealed! Sarah, overwhelmed at first, soon calmed down. And with a frown replied, “And Tim doesn’t seem to like it.”

We.

What is it that makes it so difficult for us to accept rejection? Why do we constantly try and justify ourselves or convince ourselves that we are never wrong? How long does it take for us to let go off our egos and accept criticism with a smile?

We are super humans. Each and every one of us. Or so we think, no matter how much we deny it. No matter how weak we seem or behave, it takes a lot for us to nod to rejection. We are so strong-headed that we give no right to another, to tell us that we are no good.  That’s how highly we think of ourselves. That’s how superior we think of us as beings. That’s how powerful we are.

We are rebels. Even the most silent among us, is. It’s almost instinctive of us to react to a No. Maybe not physically, but mentally for sure. ‘Let me think about it. Yea, maybe. Really, you think so? But , don’t you think?’  Never, ever a ‘yes, you’re right’ at the first negative. We take time. We’re taught to take time. Time to think, to brood, to sulk. And then, we react. We disagree.

We are selfish. We love our ideas. We love ourselves. Nobody can take that feeling away from us. Nobody dare take it. Because we believe that we’re perfect. We know it. We’re better than them. We’re smarter. We’re stronger. And we’re funnier than them. Those who think otherwise, just don’t know yet.

We believe only in ourselves.  No matter what the world thinks of us, we don’t really care. If they think they have point, we don’t think so. Because their point is way different from ours. And If we don’t think so then they cannot be right.

If we’re wrong, we need to feel so. We need to realise it. No extra efforts taken. If it dawns upon us, good for them. Good for us. Till then, they’re wrong and we’re right. We deny. We disagree. We agree only if we think so. Nobody can change that. And till we realise it, we live on. As super humans, as rebels as selfish human beings who cannot accept rejection. Our ego, as much as they may hate it, and as much we’re unaware of it, continues to be the emotion that controls us. 

Insecurity

Everyone’s got a little bit of insecurity

The dancer wears it in her heels

The singer hides it in the lowest note

The artist adds an extra stroke.

The writer reads between her lines

The popular boy revs up his bike.

The “hot chick” goes for the darkest red.

The funny guy laughs at his own jokes.

The nerd tries and cracks a new joke.

The new guy in office rounds his Rs

The old guy acts anti-social, for the first few hours.

 The boss acts bossy, the client acts pally.

The junior comes early and leaves only last.

Everyone’s got a little bit of insecurity