February

Ever since New Year’s Eve, I feel like a lot of time has passed. But it’s just February yet. Why is it that when we want the time to pass quickly, it crawls like a lethargic snail. And when we want it to stop, it flies by in a blink of an eye? A lot has happened in this span of time. Little little events, that somehow forced me back into a shell that I had left after persevere insistence; gradually decreasing the enthusiasm that I had maintained for this year. I seldom get to see any stars at night these days. The magic line seems to have depleted. Few expectations gone wrong, few plans modified, few beliefs altered –and that too just in the beginning of the year that in my Utopia I had marked to be the one which will be the brightest of all the years I have seen so far. Or maybe, it’s just too early for me to pass any such declaration.
 

I don’t know why  Having so much difficulty moving on and worrying about things that are not in my control. I’ve always known I have self-deceptive tendencies. I find it difficult to register painful, almost unreal truths. I go into a state of sharp denial, pretending to be still ignorant; conveniently hiding myself from all the glaring realities. That is one reason why I sleep a lot when upset. Lying under my quilt, I feel safe. Hidden from the world, hidden from my own self. Hidden from the fears that desire to savage me, hidden from my own life that can suddenly pounce on me whenever it would want.

Hidden and invisible.

But for how long…

The lump in my heart is getting heavier. Day by day. But I’m not letting it take the toll on me. Not yet.  I’m not letting it lose as yet. Not unless I know everything. Not unless I earn every single right to set it free and let the pain prevail. Not yet. So as for now, I’m setting about doing all that might provide me with the slightest of joy, which sooner or later I’m sure to miss. A part of me suggests I must take a break from all this thinking. Perhaps I really think too much. But then, I’m also not being helped! The reasons just keep increasing. And then they come looming over me and I lose my touch. I have been blaming myself for thinking too much –losing my appetite in this course –and creating a problem that wasn’t even there. I am doing that no more. I have reasons valid enough to think. And worry. And join the dots to find out what life has in store for me. Last week I went over to stay with my grandmother. Naani. She knows me best. She could see right through me, no matter how normal I try to behave. I kept avoiding eye contact with her the whole time, but in vain. I knew she wouldn’t let it go and honestly, I didn’t want her to let it go either. She asked my mum to let me stay with her tonight. I knew it was time I tell her all that’s been piling up on me. For how long can one bare to handle the fears all alone? She made me sit close and asked me to tell her every single thing that’s been causing me to cry abruptly at about every little thing. You know how some feelings are? Too difficult to be correctly articulated. I finally allowed it to come out in incoherent and broken syllables. She tenderly hugged me when I was finally done. I never knew she could be so understanding about certain matters. The warmth of her motherly embrace somehow healed the brokenness that was aching my soul. All my insecurities were gone for that instance. I felt safe, invisible almost. It was the prime of vulnerability. I was drained and tired; as weak as I could ever be. Helpless. It was the moment I realized I’ve become somebody I was sure I’d never be. An uninterested, desolated, vulnerable person. Few of the possible harsh truths she told me broke my heart. I cried bitterly and she allowed me to empty myself right before her. But she also told me that I must remain positive. That if I’ve made a vow, I must stand by it and cooperate with the troubles somebody could be going through. I must understand the reasons. She told me that I must wait and cling to what I’ve been holding on to since the very beginning. Faith. She told me, “You prayed at every step, didn’t you? So if you believe Lights have guided you up till here, you must know that Lights will guide you further on.”  She held me close and with her hand in my hair, she soothed me to sleep. I chose to rely on what she’d said. I have soaked all of it in. Believing was a choice I made a few months ago. I am not going to abandon it.  My fears however remain, but they have taken a back seat for now.

I guess in my desire of making things great, I am unknowingly ignoring the good that I already have. Perhaps it’s time I refrain just a little from caring too much. It’s time I fight off certain unnecessary fears. It’s high time I return to people who STILL care. A few days ago a friend told me she’s likely to get a brain hemorrhage worrying about me. I am a selfish thankless person. Another concerned friend genuinely looking into my eyes told me I must not take life so seriously…  She is probably right. I must return to being the light happy person that I’ve always been. So here’s the plan. This week, typical desi breakfast at Sufi’s Dhaba it is! *cross*A movie day out and Cream Cheese Pasta party with these girls. *cross* A combine Skype conference with my school mates. *double cross* I am  planning on attending the Sindhi Festival that’d be coming to Karachi in a week or so as well, with a friend who is just the right amount of insane as I am. *final cross* And, I’m also on to cook something for Amma this very month. *a tentative cross*…
I need to do all this before I get buried under heaps of course work. This semester is going to be tough. Like, toughhhhh. And I say that about every semester. No, really, this is tough!!! But it’s better that way, I guess. The busier I’d be, the lesser I’d get to attend to myself and the fears that will eventually find their way back.

I hope to return with a post much happier than this one. Every year at the commencement of a new semester our university organizes a grand book fair. You can find about every book just there and that too at a very reasonable cost. There are two books I am yearning to get my hands on. How It Happened by Shazaf Fatima Haider and The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. I might mention what a good read they turned out to be, making my next post naturally a pleasant one.

And by the way, I still strongly consider myself blessed. For reasons that from hindsight I can tell I’d be revealing soon enough. 

 ...

I hope not. I hope not.

Fiction: Hopeless Romantic

Dear Diary,

What it takes to be a strong person, I never knew. And to tell the truth, I always believed that it takes nothing, and even if does, why should I care.

But like always, wrong I was. And now I know, it takes everything; everything in the process of becoming strong and hard. Or maybe, you become strong just like that, for everything that you ever had goes away, what reason then are you left with to be soft and tender?

And if you think that becoming strong and hard are good things, you sure are mistaken –since you haven’t experienced the pain of it. But even after all these lessons that I’ve learned all this way, it doesn’t matter. I’m a hopeless person, I know, I’d fall again –for the same person. All over again for the same person, who is responsible for all these wounds and dents, or to be more precise, for all these lessons; but I least care..

You know it is never easy to hate that person whom every part of yours has loved madly.

So now where I stand, as what I stand, I’m still not-strong. I’m still the same, despite all the lessons boldly carved over my heart. –I don’t care. I don’t care.

I still ask the time, to take me back to the way where I lost myself. Doesn’t matter if I lost myself; at least I found love. At least, I experienced love, even if for the shortest while. I want to live it all over again; all over, with the pain. I want it to be bitterer, more miserable. Because the more painful, the more lasting; and the more lasting it would be, the more real would it feel.

I know I’ve hopelessly lost it, well then that’s a good sign, because sanity is the last thing I would ever desire. There’s no way now, for me to live again; you don’t think breathing means living, or do you?

Sense was something missing in me since always, and it still is not found; but I’m sensible enough to know, that whatever gone is not coming back. Guess that’s okay anyway, I’m holding on to the engraved memories and experiences. As long as I live, they’re going nowhere away.

I know this is life and not a movie where you succeed in killing yourself. Eating, talking, smiling and even laughing –yes I am. But the essence is no more. It’s the smile which doesn’t reaches the eyes, it’s the food which doesn’t provide nutrition, it’s the laugh with doesn’t touches the heart; it’s the surviving, and not the living.

I’m not a pessimist, but neither am I going to preach any wisdom or hope; pity, if you think it could be of any use for brutally shaken people. Perfection is what a shaken seeks, and perfection is what he never gets. Very few are aware about how negatively does absolutism repels the shaken. –And those few are the shaken themselves.

Surely I say, it’s something now you’re destined to live with; because time happens to heal every wound, but fails in altering love.

My Love for Heathcliff and Catherine Revived

How I came across 1992 movie Adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

 

Two days ago, I was looking on you tube for the movie adaptation of Far from the Madding crowd written by Thomas Hardy. Its a good novel, and that is why I desired to watch its movie adaptation.
I came across four-five movie versions. To be very honest, i didn't really like any of it -1967 version was better regardless of various flaws.

I lost interest.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw a link on the right side of screen, Wuthering Heights. And instantly i was drawn to view it! -I've been in love with Wuthering heights since the first day i read it, though I was in sixth grade then, but I remember how grieved I was. And it is to this novel that I started loving and reading classic literature novels-

It was the 1992 version. Ralph Fiennes as Heathcliff and Juliette Binoche as Catherine Earnshaw.
 
Saying that I was carried away wouldn't do justice to what my condition really was.
I was laughing along with their mischievous giggles, I was feeling the delight. I thought I was there myself, wandering at the moors; watching Heathcliff and Catherine and their pleasure of togetherness..

 








Saying that I cried hard at the death of Catherine, at the misery of Heathcliff, would be a straight understatement. No I didn't cry hard, I cried bitterly. 

I read almost all the comments, by critics criticizing this 1992 version. Though I was pleased that no one dared to point Ralph as unsuitable to be Heathcliff - I was glad. But disappointed to see Juliette remarked as unfit to be Catherine. I think She has done justice to the role of Catherin Earnshaw just like Ralph as Heathcliff.

The director, Peter Kosminsky has so beautifully - I don't have words to praise his talent and perfection - directed the movie, exactly like I imagined when I first read Wuthering Heights. The setting, location, atmosphere; every single thing was taken in notice; evidently studied thoroughly.

The death scene of Catherine and Heathcliff's last meeting with her. At first, Oh yes I was sobbing like anything- But the next time, keeping my emotions in control, I concentrated; concentrated hard to catch at-least a single error. but no, I failed. The scene is perfect. The dialogue delivery, the expressions - more credit to Ralph - The essence of novel is remarkably maintained.

 
Then approached another piercingly sad scene; Heathcliff's absolutely wild act of emotionality with Catherine's corpse. The difference was evident. Edgar's gentle and calm act of touching his wife's hand and leaving without really weeping loud; and Heathcliff's passionate act of agony by taking Catherine's corpse in his arms and crying like a weary man who has lost the purpose of living ..

Catherine completed him. He was human with Catherine, only.

A person like me who have intense emotions and strong imagination CANNOT watch these scenes without crying loud, as it were Me myself crying and going through the pain of loosing the other half of My soul!

The other melancholic scene where Heathcliff is standing alone with the most agonized expression at the same moors where once He along with his other part Cathy used to wander in joy-   For that one second, I thought it was I experiencing the pain.  It was like hot despair being poured in my heart, piercing and incurable. Excellent shooting. Excellent acting.

One thing which added intensity to all these scenes was the music.

The music in this movie, is the soul of every single scene. The main theme of Wutherin Heights is given by Ryuichi Sakamoto.
I have never heard any symphony this melancholic- 

Link to the Theme Music of Wuthering Heights

Listen to this and with no difficulty you could imagine the loneliness of Heathcliff, feel the pain of their separation. You could picture the moors where young Heathcliff and Catherine used to wander, wild and glad. Fearless.

The final moments, that is the reunion of Heathcliff's soul with Catherine's is an epic scene.

My heavy heart which was filled with grief and sympathy for Heathcliff was satisfied when i saw them reuniting, at last. Heathcliff's misery was over. He was finally back again with his other half. Catherine.

This movie, 1992 version is the original Wuthering Heights. Ralph is the real Heathcliff, Juliette is the real Catherine and Janet McTeer is the real Nelly Dean.

This movie made me read Wuthering Heights again, all over. This time, my imagination was even rich.

Wuthering Heights is a black romantic tragedy. Portray of true passionate love. Portray of wildness and madness. Portray of intense tragedy and melancholy. Portray of eternal reunion and completeness.

To all those critics who criticize this version, are probably less imaginative and insensitive to the glowing, radiating emotions that are clearly to be seen, to be felt in every single part of this movie.

I rate it 10/10.

Also; Hats off to the writer of this devastatingly amazing novel. Emily Bronte. Who has so smoothly woven the human emotions. Described them so naturally.

Such type of a master piece could be produced even today -
No. No writer could touch the perfection of Emily Bronte. She is above the extreme limits of extra ordinary.