'Herzlich Wilkommen!'

'Memorie Dolcie' is all about my cherished memories. It also contains reviews of movies I really liked and articles on various scenarios. Writing, for me, has been an important aspect of my life, so me without a blog, is like a fish out of water. So, this is what I give you. At times, my articles are extremely naive, but then, it's just me. A warm thank you is extended to Ms. Arundhati Chatterjee, my second cousin (yes, my Niece, brightsparks!) and help when it comes to reviewing my articles. Hope you like my blog. Any queries can be directly addressed to me at rrivubanerjee@yahoo.in Auf Weidersehen!
Thank you,
Rrivu Banerjee

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Rendezvous with the Ice Maiden

Through the glass it looked beautiful,
The picturesque city drenched in the first rains.
The setting went well with his mood,
His mind flashed a thousand images.

Turning, he looked at her again.
On the cold floor she lay
Staring blankly at the ceiling.
 She was cold too. 

He knelt down beside her
Running his fingers up her arm 
Until he reached her neck. 
He stopped to glance at her necklace.
It was a present from him.

He remembered that fateful day.
Roses decked up her house
While she sat with him on the couch
And he knelt down and then looked at her.Then, he gave her that.

A sudden noise brought him back
And he smiled at her.
A smile not of a sinner, but of a lover
Honest and true.

 Then a look so menacing,
Rarely did a lover look so.
He clasped the pendant once again
And ripped it off.

An emotion of calmness then set upon his face,
As if it were a job swell done.
He got up and walked across the room
And heaved himself upon a chair.

There, he slept till morning.
Ere the big ball of fire rose again.
The rays struck his eyes to bring
Him back to the world again.

And then, he glanced at her once again.
A heavenly face so pristine,
He fell in love with her
Once again and over.

He then got up from his throne
And walked up to the ice maiden.
There, he dropped his gun
And turned to leave.

Just then, he stopped.
Turning, he went back again. 
Kneeling, he took out his knife
And struck it six times.

Finally he got up to go
And his phone rang. 
'Are you coming, honey?' said the voice.
'In a minute!' As he wiped his knife.

Monday, May 23, 2011


His right hand was dead,
Blood oozing out through his vein;
He felt numb 
And contented. 
His whole life flashed by 
In euphoria unparalleled.
The long walks down the dimly lit lane,
The fleeing when time had crossed its bounds.

The graffiti on his arms he cherished. The smile,
Breath-taking to say the least. He believed
She and he were meant to be.
Together and forever.

And then, he came back, 
To the world that now knew no pain.
By and by, he shut his eyes
Never to open again.

Yet, his heart still beat,
For the woman for whom he paved a bed
Of a colour richer than a Marshal Niel.
He remembered that day.

The fireworks shone brilliantly,
Welcoming a new year to oneself.
And this was a new year that'd be the worst 
For all the hopes he'd piled on, were shattered.
And he had not the courage to build them again.

Days post, they met again, her smile
Lit him up. An emotion
So strange it were
To cry and smile together.

A week that'd been the most magnificient of all, 
And yet on the day it was last, she broke him
Her heart was for someone else: the person 
She loved. And he stood there, yet again, dumbstruck.

Tears rolled down his eyes as 
A smile he braved for her
To be happy was all he'd hoped 
For her.

Since then his eyes and heart
Craved for once a sight of hers.
A futile wish, he knew, for
She didn't care at all for him.

And thus, his wrist bleeds
A red that's not just his blood
But an ocean of emotions and pain engulfed.
He shuts his eyes for ever.

The Value of Unimportance

The day isn't at all different. 
He gets up, like he always does,
From the dilapidated sheet of plastic
And stares. 
There's a brilliant spark in his eyes, 
A bottomless ocean of many
Experiences, memoirs and happiness. 
Men and women walk by in apparel,
The weather suits his mood. 
He is happy, for new clothes shall he wear
The tattered old rags. 
Drums beat with an unsual mix of rhythm and raucousness.
The music brought by the cool winds
That kiss his beardless cheek,
A cold, yet pleasant kiss.
And then, he stares
Into moments of time faded into oblivion.
Happier times, perhaps, they are
History, we wish,
But illusion, alas!
He stares, yet, eyes fixed
On a memory that existed, Or
Probably never did.
And then, he thinks of other things, 
Memories he shall not like to recall. 
They're events and circumstances that have led to this futile life,
Humiliation and shame filling the void of the soul.
A hand so soft, then touches his face.
A touch so heavenly that takes him to a world unknown
Yet, wished for, in his dreams.
The nimble fingers wipe off something from his cheeks
As drops of dew fall on his cold, weak arms.
The universe he now belongs to is above
And beyond all that man hath perceived. 
You and I shall never know
Realisation might never dawn
Was it God or Nature 
That took pity on this unimportant creature
And released him from a life so used to humiliation and torture?

The little boy remains there, holding on to the man
Father, he called. Streams of realisation flow down his tanned cheeks
Of loneliness dawning. 
The man now looks not towards the Heavens,
Or the life of the Chanel clad lady in red.
Yet, there's a smile unparallel. An expression
Truly worth this futile life.

An ode to the Unsung Hero

Draped in a white sari she looks
A lifeless glimmer in her eyes. 
She sits on the sidewalk as thousands
Of feet pass her.

Today is a special day, she recalls
A day that changed the world. 
The eye has turned chaste, years of memories
She recollects.

She remembers the day she felt
Worthwhile for once.
Having fled from a husband abusive
She sat by the street.

That day it poured, as if
Heavens seemed in accordance with her.
The first rain of the year, a concoction
Of happiness and grief.

Exhilarated as she was, quite obvious the emotion,
 She named the child Jim.
The sound of tears that made her smile
Was a sound unforgotten.

On and on years passed by,
The first words he spoke.
Her elation knew no bounds when
 'Maa,' she had heard.

Henceforth life went on,
To school the little boy went.
Yet, the mother stayed back on that pavement
To make him his lunch.

And then came the day that changed
The lives of both these beings.
A letter from a boss that took
Jim away and afar.

Hurt she had been, yet took immense pride
At her son's successes and the beginning of a new stride.
She dabbed her moist eye with the tunic
As she bid him goodbye.

Since then, years have passed,
Life has moved on. 
She has been asked to leave 
The room she called home.

Today as she remembers her son's birthday bright
Deep down, she hopes that he would
Once at least call on
A mother missing the glimmer of her son's eyes.

She still recalls his darkish skin,
Hair rough and eyes light a brown.
And today as she keeps his birthday,
It's a sea of emotions that fill
A tear drop from her eyes.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Noukadubi: A Review

Noukadubi - Rituparno Ghosh has and can do a lot better. An immense let down on his part.

          Noukadubi is essentially a story of love between individuals borne out of mistaken identity. A boat wreck leads to two people, absolutely unknown to each other, living together as man and wife, thinking that they are indeed with the one they got married to. How the two main characters realise that mistake and how it affects not just them but also the man's prospective lover and the woman's actual husband forms the crux of the story.
         Noukadubi, as by Tagore, was from Kamala (the part essayed by Riya Sen)'s point of view. I don't know WHAT happened to him that made him twist the plot to turn it into Ramesh (Jisshu Sengupta)'s perspective. That kind of injected all the romanticism out of the plot.
         It does not work because once you switch the plot to fit the perspective of Ramesh, a LAWYER, of all people, the very tenderness and romance and fondness is missing. It would have worked had it been from the perspective of Kamala, a village belle. She's someone who'd work on the nuances well and they'd come out naturally, simply because sincerity and conviction on her part would have been better noticed which would have brought about the things that I stated out. I'm not saying that they were underplayed. They were missing from the story. That made it fall flat.
        There are, in addition to this, a few technical glitches that annoyed me at times. Picture them.
One. Were Tagore's pictures ABSOLUTELY necessary? They did not help in any way. That just made me believe that it wasn't something based in the 1930s (Noukadubi was based in the 1920s) but rather, today.
Two. The SAME newspaper was used on two different dates. HOW is that possible?
Three. The manner in which Kamala faints and falls ill is very repetitive. Same applies for when she lands up on the banks of the rivers.


As Ramesh, Jisshu Sengupta is very convincing and sincere, but I wished he emoted a little more, especially when in conversation with the woman he loves, Hemnalini.

As Kamala, Riya Sen too, does a good job. What a relief to know that she can actually act! However, when in a scene with someone else, it's the other character that rules celluloid and not her. One's eyes shift away from her very easily.

As Nalinaksha, with the very small role that Prosenjit Chatterjee has is commendable and he performs it to the T. In every scene that he is in, whether as the singer who brilliantly performs Sanga Chadma or the doctor who goes around prescribing medicines even when not called for, he is excellent and is completely convincing in his role. The icing on the cake is when his mother cries and the way he tells his mother 'khete dao'. That is just awe-striking. 

But, by far, the best is Raima Sen as Hemnalini. The sophisticated Bengali is brilliantly essayed by her and every emotion is perfectly conveyed across to the audience. The little warmth that is there in the movie is largely due to her performance. When on screen, she is in control, even if the character accompanying her is none but Prosenjit. She gives him a run for his money, especially when the scene about the 6 steps and not taking the seventh one happens, or the way she comes to meet Nalinaksha's mother (reminded me of Chigusa's role in the Japanese Wife) is breath-taking. Whether low and dejected or cheerful and high-spirited, she is convincing from one frame to the other.

All in all, Noukadubi is an average film. Rituparno's ode to the Bengali Bard isn't as up-heaving as it should have been.

Rating: 3/5 (Average)