I love cinema that make me not just look but also think. A very belated watched Rockstar did the same. Nopes, this is not a review-this is the aftermath of some churning and wriggling while watching it not in the way you think though.
I don’t take the motion pictures too seriously but I like to ponder over the food for thought that some of them sneakingly sow in my mind. These are then the movies that stay with me for a longer time. And Rockstar fanned the hitherto latent pang with the astounding love equation between Heer and Jordon-the characterisation that left me bowled over.
The love that is unconditional, that is so strong that it becomes an ache to bear and like an alchemist to all ailments-that directs all your bodily functions into pumping not blood but emotions! A love that defies reason, relations and practicality- like poetry residing in bodies-that makes or breaks, leaving you impervious to any other sensation and oblivious to any other human being!
Does such a love actually exist or it is again a gimmick of the movie makers to keep schmucks like us in the dreamy zone of hope and expectations?
My lucid mind tells me it is all crap. How can you feel so strongly for someone after meeting for a few days or post years of separation? The fast paced, realistic world and the variety it offers, reasserts my conviction that ‘No one and nothing is indispensible or irreplaceable’. But then the bent-on-general-awareness waala mind points to me of the Cupid struck suicide cases that occur where love lost souls prefer death over disjointing. Stupid people, I say-whimsical brood!
Self-love is the only and truest form of love-how can you love someone, if you don’t love yourself enough to stay alive and make true your dreams. How can love be one-sided and yet forever? How can one love another and just one person so much? Although I also feel too much education and the classy flavour debars one from entering this mindless portal as reinstated by the Rockstar. Love is the idol of the idle-to feel it raw, perhaps you need to be raw and open.
Upon deeper introspection, I felt the “what-if” trudge in with its nimble feet on the well attended, sprawling lawns of sanity and leaving its indelible footprints. What if these people have managed to experience what we block ourselves to? What if they are not immature but just more receptive of feeling sans logic, that we so lack? They are not senseless but more sensory. What if they have traversed the thin line and moved over to something greater that we with our nitty gritties of issues cannot even fathom?
Issues like-Am I being used? Does he really like me? Is there a future? What if she wants my money? We are really different people! Why hasn’t he called? and mindless more. What if what we think is love is not really it, but a little semblance that we have found and cling to it fanatically feeling that's the best we can get and thereby shut all doors to the horizon waiting to expand?
Maybe the souls who experience that kind of pure, unadulterated love are those who never think-just love, who never get-just give and who don’t even want anything in the first place or want anything else. And then maybe again, this entire concept is the conditioning of the mind and is as plausible as the Santa Claus. So we might just as well and please refrain from hanging the hope stockings, yes even the imaginary ones, in the dim vestibules of our lonely-in-crowd minds?
And so thus my tryst with internal struggles continues-I ache to feel that love which becomes a pain to bear and not just a pain in the arse. A love that pounds within me with such throbbing that mutes every other noise of the world! And then I dismiss myself as a hopeless romantic-in love more with the feeling of being in love than persons. Love always makes me an oxymoron-I know the coherent view but I incline towards the fantastical one...I am consistently wary of the fake yet persistently experimental for the real...I pride in all my judiciousness and still secretly pine to be erroneous.
I want to solve this mystery once and for all so that hapless people don’t spend endless hours in sighing or viewing prospective romances with soul-mateish spectacles. If only we could separate the romance from love, perhaps we would define them both.