Arjun's Perspective: Please, don't leave me

So, today's epi: I think enough has been said about the content. Basically, what it boils down to is... that it sucks. It sucks pretty badly, actually. However, I am optimistic (and some would argue, foolishly so -- ironic, I find myself also on the fringes of those "some") that things will turn around, as they always do. The thing is, we are in need of something called patience. I am still in awe of RD's flair in playing AK. Today's scene, especially where the flames of frusteration, anger, and over-reaching fear battled it out in front of his dad. He enacts the scene with finesse (sp?).

I hear some Arjun bashing around, and it doesn't surprise me, and nor is it wrong. Afterall, he was dumb for not expressing himself clearly. Yes, circumstances did come in to play, but... and I'll leave that hanging for the moment. I still adore him. Thus, not to increase the low atmosphere or anything, but I couldn't resist trying to capture his feelings as he watches Purvi leave. There was so much happening in the air at that point. Here's a feeble attempt, read at your own risk:

AK: Please Don't Leave Me

Tick... tock... The dials on the circular figure continued to whisper faintly while each grain inevitably made the journey from one end of the hour glass into the other. Humming to the same particular rhythm, he could feel the ground beneath him start to spread, causing branches of space tearing the seams of the earth apart -- the earth upon which his foundation lay. Without it, he abruptly realized, he was nothing. Somewhere within, he could hear the deaf scream piercing his senses... hoping for a miracle. Something, someone, please... don't let it happen. Yet strangely, as he waited for the hole to appear - the one in which he would be consumed - he appeared frozen, senseless, mesmerized.

So this is how it happened... this is how a heart broke. It was as though a feather had cascaded silently in an empty space, bursting it alive... all without a sound. A mixture of nostalgia, despair, and odd content tugged at his heart. The sweet-sorrow nature of the event left him feeling numb. For a moment, he doubted if he existed at all. How could he exist? The reason for his existence had just shut the door on his dumb-founded face, causing the first crevices in the earth that held him together.

As he watched her figure turn into shadows, the edges of his heart began to melt in the intensity of the fire grazing his emotions. No, he would not. Could not, let this happen. A faint sliver of will power carved itself from a wave of determination to rise above the flames. In effort to resist, the brightest corners of his life slowly merged together, joining in hopeful force to cease the fire burning him down.

Purvi, the name shot from the depths of his being. Starting from the roots that held him down, it shook every nerve into a frenzy while aiming directly at the cause of his greatest joy, and heaviest grief. Purvi please, please don't leave me. And just as the protest had begun, it dwindled as her feet carried forth.

She heard his plea. He could sense it in the way her feet failed to cooperate, causing her to lose balance right when her name lifted from the folds of his creased heart. She had wanted to turn even. He sensed it in the way the pace of her strides slackened to the numbness that grew over his pulse. She wanted to turn and fill him in her glossy pools. He sensed it in the way his own vision blurred with acidic moisture. But she walked.

And as she walked away, so too, did the last bits of roshni lacing what he knew once to be his life.

Thanks for reading, shukriya mehrbaani. Comments/criticisms/suggestions welcome.

Cheers,

dc

Originally posted by: desi chic

So, today's epi: I think enough has been said about the content. Basically, what it boils down to is... that it sucks. It sucks pretty badly, actually. However, I am optimistic (and some would argue, foolishly so -- ironic, I find myself also on the fringes of those "some") that things will turn around, as they always do. The thing is, we are in need of something called patience. I am still in awe of RD's flair in playing AK. Today's scene, especially where the flames of frusteration, anger, and over-reaching fear battled it out in front of his dad. He enacts the scene with finesse (sp?).

I hear some Arjun bashing around, and it doesn't surprise me, and nor is it wrong. Afterall, he was dumb for not expressing himself clearly. Yes, circumstances did come in to play, but... and I'll leave that hanging for the moment. I still adore him. Thus, not to increase the low atmosphere or anything, but I couldn't resist trying to capture his feelings as he watches Purvi leave. There was so much happening in the air at that point. Here's a feeble attempt, read at your own risk:

AK: Please Don't Leave Me

Tick... tock... The dials on the circular figure continued to whisper faintly while each grain inevitably made the journey from one end of the hour glass into the other. Humming to the same particular rhythm, he could feel the ground beneath him start to spread, causing branches of space tearing the seams of the earth apart -- the earth upon which his foundation lay. Without it, he abruptly realized, he was nothing. Somewhere within, he could hear the deaf scream piercing his senses... hoping for a miracle. Something, someone, please... don't let it happen. Yet strangely, as he waited for the hole to appear - the one in which he would be consumed - he appeared frozen, senseless, mesmerized.

So this is how it happened... this is how a heart broke. It was as though a feather had cascaded silently in an empty space, bursting it alive... all without a sound. A mixture of nostalgia, despair, and odd content tugged at his heart. The sweet-sorrow nature of the event left him feeling numb. For a moment, he doubted if he existed at all. How could he exist? The reason for his existence had just shut the door on his dumb-founded face, causing the first crevices in the earth that held him together.

As he watched her figure turn into shadows, the edges of his heart began to melt in the intensity of the fire grazing his emotions. No, he would not. Could not, let this happen. A faint sliver of will power carved itself from a wave of determination to rise above the flames. In effort to resist, the brightest corners of his life slowly merged together, joining in hopeful force to cease the fire burning him down.

Purvi, the name shot from the depths of his being. Starting from the roots that held him down, it shook every nerve into a frenzy while aiming directly at the cause of his greatest joy, and heaviest grief. Purvi please, please don't leave me. And just as the protest had begun, it dwindled as her feet carried forth.

She heard his plea. He could sense it in the way her feet failed to cooperate, causing her to lose balance right when her name lifted from the folds of his creased heart. She had wanted to turn even. He sensed it in the way the pace of her strides slackened to the numbness that grew over his pulse. She wanted to turn and fill him in her glossy pools. He sensed it in the way his own vision blurred with acidic moisture. But she walked.

And as she walked away, so too, did the last bits of roshni lacing what he knew once to be his life.

Thanks for reading, shukriya mehrbaani. Comments/criticisms/suggestions welcome.

Cheers,

dc

Originally posted by: sashashyam

Dear desi chic,

First of all, it is anything but feeble. If anything it is much too strong for our puny soaps. I would have to say, that is rather generous of you.

This is love on the epic scale, an all consuming fire that can either warm or devour, but nothing in between. You have the gift of imagination, the most important of all gifts for a writer, for you can grasp and describe feelings for which you, presumably, are not drawing on your personal experiences. I have rarely read anything written so casually which yet wrung my heart. Your presumption is fortunately correct. I greatly appreciate your kindness, but also have to say that while the person who writes holds the brush and makes the strokes, it is the reader who fills the portrait with colours. Your use of words is also quite beautiful, I imagine that writing is also one of your many talents.

So this is how it happened... this is how a heart broke. It was as though a feather had cascaded silently in an empty space, bursting it alive... all without a sound.

It reminded me of the less lyrical line from Silsila, "Mera dil meri aankhon ke saamne chakna choor ho gaya, aur mujhe uske tootne ki awaaz tak nahin sunaayee di" (My heart broke into smithereens right in front of me and I could not even hear the sound (of it breaking). You're right - so apt! I don't think I've ever seen the movie, but the dialouge resonates.

A mixture of nostalgia, despair, and odd content tugged at his heart. The sweet-sorrow nature of the event left him feeling numb. For a moment, he doubted if he existed at all. The poets, who understand the human heart much better than ordinary mortals, have always said that love is bitter sweet, and often more of the former. Ah, the poets. Who understands the complexities of life better than them? I don't know much about real love, but it is often the case in these television serials.

Have you read the poem by Walter de la Mare, La belle dame san merci? Do look it up. It mirrors this situation, except that I would not call poor Purvi a belle dame sans merci (a heartless but lovely lady). I have not... I'm going to have to look it up - merci boucoup:) Purvi is not heartless, but sometimes I wonder if she realizes the depths the love she has only begun to acquaint with.

The capacity to love someone like this, ripping yourself apart in the process - what the French call le grand amour - is rare, and it is often a curse. Right now, it seems to be one for poor Arjun. I do not know if the Arjun Kirloskar of the CVs would quite measure up to these incredibly high standards, but he is pretty close, and that is why I have always felt that Purvi is more loved than loving. Ditto to that! Yes, as many have pointed out, Arjun's love for Purvi is unconditionally innocent, but that is where it's strength lies - it has the power to create and destroy him.

All in all, a very beautiful and lyrical piece. The only bit of advice I might venture to offer, if you take it in the right spirit, is to go a bit easy on the adjectives, as in "the folds of his creased heart", And I am sure you meant not "cease the fire burning him down' , but 'douse' it. But these are very minor points. You have a genuine talent for the emotional; do keep writing so that it gets better and better with practice, and of course offers us all periodic treats! Ahhh!! Thank you. You know what? I have been rambling (there is a reason why I've always referred to it as "rambling," which I'm sure is now apparent) for a few years now, very well aware of my over-use of adjectives (sorry, I thrive on details), and you are probably the first to call me on it. I totally respect that, and appreciate the observation. I can't guarantee a complete toning down (sorry, addat se majboor), but I will definitely consider your suggestion - thank you!! On a passing note, there is a reason why I could never write plays - the actor would be constantly tripping over the words haha!

Shyamala B.Cowsik


PS: Why did you feel that the latest episode was so bad? I thought that the segment that was the most important - the DK-Arjun confrontation - was very well written and enacted. And yes, you have spelt 'finesse' correctly. I think I mentioned in my first post that I've never really caught on to the PR madness. However, ArVi particularly, make me pause and indulge in a scene. Yes, I appreciate the other actors, but the story always seems to be stretched a bit too far for the liking (I guess you could clearly say that for ArVi's kahaani as well). If I were to look at the big picture, the story is a drag right now, but, the individual scenes are often a treat, thanks to the actors. The best scene of the day was the DK-Arjun confrontation... I think I exaggerated a different parts, I was posting at at tired part of the day (just like now... *yawn*).