Few Words in My Opinion

I heard conflicting reviews and judgments about Slumdog Millionaire but I was interested to see it, regardless. I wanted to see the movie not because it was nominated for the Oscar, because I know nothing about the measuring bar of the Oscar, nor really am interested in the movie business, competitions and politics.
I like movies, for the stories they tell, for the lessons they teach, for the moments they catch where otherwise I miss. I like movies for the beauty, for the truth, for the options they offer, for the imagination, for the inspiration.

I don't spend much time on movies, but I like good movies.

I wanted to see Slumdog Millionaire because it is about India, about love and really, about sorrows and matters of life.

What I liked in the movie? I liked the children. I liked how in the movie they showed these kids from the slum community who are smart (street smart? who cares!), fast, strong. They don’t have to be liars how some may expect them to be. They are also talented.

I guess, the word slum does not sound that bad when heard, but once seen can haunt one in her dreams. But, these slums have its soul, its heart beat, its love stories, its devotion and passion and victory. Some of slums' battles are won and some are lost.

Once seeing it one almost draws a line of "another" world, different from "own".

Considering that the movie is not a documentary, in my opinion, it depicts very closely the scenarios of life of the slum dwellers. They are not consumed or horrified by the poverty - they live life as it comes - they go to school and get scolded by the teacher (little rascals!), fall in love (yes, that very first love), loose mother in the religious and ethnic riots (face death), get hurt by a betrayal, are being blessed and rewarded, they also get tired and burdened but they also have their joys… and how different are these worlds after all?

I also liked the love line in the movie. Jamal loves Latika! It is beautiful how he "fights" for her; how they find each other and the last dance they dance!

I am amazed and keep pondering at the complexity of Indian character or nature, if I may simplify it that way. I noticed that Indian people are very patient, long suffering, sacrificial... but impatience can be expressed in a very unexpected way...in a horrible bike or car honking, the absence of lines.....

I also thought that the music composition gives a taste of what one hears on the streets or in the rickshaw or a taxi in modern India.

I was touched when the lady on the street who spotted Jamal blessed him, she did not beg for money.

And it brings a knot to my throat and also I smile when I see "all" India keeping their breath, praying, crossing fingers...when one of them wins, or has an accident, or runs a cricket game!

In general, I liked the movie.
But I like the movie Guru the best and it is one of my favorites along with Kannathil Muthamital (A peck on a cheek), Salaam Bombay and Umrao Jaan.

Last Night

I smelled a village last night.
I smelled the very morning kissing the night.
I smelled my childhood.

It is a summer smell of the dry leafs, of the soil and the rain.

Mother To Me

What a blessing it is to have a motherly mother.

She wakes up at night to help.
She cares through the day.
She forgives everything.
She comforts.
She understands.
She takes loads upon herself.
She sacrifices.
She defends her own.
She tells the truth.
Ultimately, she loves.

10

crawling
standing
3 teeth
playing hide-and-seek
eating kasha
Papa fan
ladushki and soroka
_________________
sweet 9 turning 10

My Flowers

астры - меня волнуют, как школьницу перед первым цвонком;
тульпаны - приносят весеннюю радость и нежность;
пионы- напоминают гром, первый летний дождь, начало летних каникул.

About the Beauty

Beauty is behind patience, kindness, compassion, love and forgiveness. It does not hide though, it is very obvious.

Observations

Majority of people like talking. People get intimidated by silence, they feel uncomfortable and create conversations that often have no need of a place, but to ease the silence discomfort people get engaged into verbal exchange.

Try to observe and you will notice that when having a conversation, most people want to talk about themselves, about their problems or success, about their experience, their pain or their happiness.
There is so little room for others.

I am not a morning person.

It is late in the night when I can hear. I can hear my soul and my heart. All the noise of the day, all the troubles of the day give way to this very moment when I can connect with myself, with who I am, where I can better see my fears and doubts, where I can reflect on my choices and values.

It is this early morning, yet deep into the night, when the world on this side of the planet is covered with the dream blanket, I can sit in the room and make some plans, I can dream the future and aspire.

It is this very moment in time, on the verge of a new day, which can bring tears to my eyes. No, I am not a cry-baby, far from it - I am strong- but there is something very tender and sacred and at the same time very home-like feeling, the familiarity of childhood and a gulp of air of the future, not known but to the point of predictable.

These times with myself and the silence as my witness, I can hear a tender voice that is also very familiar to me from my early adolescence, whispering deep into me of my value, of my purpose, of my destiny.

And later in the morning, when the birds start waking up, when the cool of the morning beacons me to bed I leave – starting this new day with a hope, even through the dreams from which I awake later when the prayers are prayed from the mosques, when the chants are chanted from the temples, when the cars make their way to destinations, when the fruit seller shouts – everything announcing the reality, and the necessity of LIFE that rushes through …swiping and absorbing everything on its way, squeezing all liveliness and energy, twisting like a tornado, banging on the walls and as if challenging and testing whether my solitude times and refreshment can stand the pressures of the day’s demand.

Things about me.

I think when I sleep.

Things to Live out

There are a lot of good and great things to write about with plenty posh words , but it is harder to live them out.

Likes

I like strawberry but I don't like neither strawberry yogurt nor strawberry tea.

Two

Like the two banks of a river, ever so close and ever so distant- they can never be together- separated by the waters;

They journey like the train tracks, staying close and yet apart;

Like the sun and the moon, like a day and a night...
Like that mountain that tries to reach the sky...

Like that fish without the ocean...
Like the winter without the snow...
Like the tree without it's leafs...
Like a pond without a frog...
Like a field without its flower...
Like a mother without her child...
Like the desert without the sand...

Like a nomad without his horse,
Like a wanderer without his staff,
Like a poet without his words,

Their worlds...

Of The Past

She could not think but of the days that have passed and hid behind the curtains, where memories seem to be so vague, not clear who was right, whose fault it was of the broken world, pieces of which she still holds dear to her heart.

It did not matter then - because what made sense were the days she could relate, belonged and felt secure. In those memories was her unshaken world where many dreams looked possible, her aspirations achievable and heart in love, it was so simple, so tangible, so real.

She believed she could shelter a thousand after the war, could feed dozens of hungry, comfort orphaned and make smile an outcast.

The End of the Celebrations

Seasonal Reading

I guess The Dancer from Khiva is not a book for this season for me, so I put it aside on the shelf.
Looking for some good reading.