Window reminds me of my childhood
days. In every person I see outside the window, I see myself. I see a 2- year
old cute kid sitting on dad s bike, a 5-year old girl on the way to school, a
10-year child trying to ride a bicycle, a 15-year old unstably walking
teenager, a tired-of-life expression on a woman s face and loads of traffic and
pollution, of course.
As there is a Green House Effect,
a Butterfly Effect, The Raman Effect, so there is a Window Effect which we have
seen in “Chudalani Undi“. As Indian movies have not left anything untouched, so
did they touch the concept of window in “Padosan”. There by, making it emphatic
enough to be the reason for love.
Every other thing and every other
person I see outside the window grabs my attention, confirming that the child
in me is still alive though the human in me is dead long ago. Many times I feel
the time should stop or at least hope the cab should a bit slow. The time may
go slow or sometimes may even stop, but the cab does neither of them.
Some eyes meet with mine and
continue till the scene passes. The language of eyes is esoteric, not all know
it. I try to figure out the story in those eyes, the hidden meaning, the tired
look, the reason for smile (FYI the world has changed; now even for smiling we
need a reason). But few eyes just have a blank expression, leaving me in confusion
whether my boring life spreads just through my sight, even without my physical
presence?
Looking at some scenes outside
the window I regret for not being there, may be I regret for being here. Seeing outside through the window, which
protects me from the sun and the rain, I feel I am blessed, blessed for the
pressure that’s putting up inside me. May be the outsiders are better blessed
than I am. After all drenching in rain is better than drenching in sweat
because of stress.
Only the stupidest miss a chance
to open the window. It puts me to sleep in a way which even the night needs to
learn. The view a window gives of a movie poster, neither does the promo nor
does the movie itself.
Even though the life outside
appears moving, it is we who are actually moving, moving with the speed of
light, not knowing the barriers that lay ahead.
An open window can heal anything.
The cool breeze from the window sweeps away the tired expressions from my face.
As I pass the air blows coolly at some places and hotly at others, just like my
mood this too is unstable. It is not mistake of the breeze (not mine too) but
of the surroundings.
The view from a skyscraper shows
all other beings smaller, giving you the pseudo superiority complex from its
muchiness. People compare broken heart with broken glass, as if a complete
glass resembles a happy heart. May be the one who phrased this thought felt
human heart is as transparent as the glass. But we all know what the truth is.
The cleaners of these windows hang from great
heights trying to clean an imperfect 3-inch thick, unbreakable glass, making
the lilliput life outside clear and blurring my own life. I can see the trees moving, but the wind can’t
reach me, I can see people laughing, but the sound can’t reach me, I can it
raining outside, but the drops can’t reach me, I can see kids dancing, but the
music can’t reach me (that is why I call it imperfect), may be it is me who can’t
reach out to them (may be the imperfect is I am).
While the window of the cab shows
a lively life, the window of this skyscraper shows a stagnant life. The life I see
outside the window of a vehicle is what I miss in a glass-paned building and in
my own life because my mind is shut in an opaque window.
