Memories

My memories caught my hand cajoling me

To visit a treasure trove

My museum of memories

And musings

Where none other has ever treaded

Neither sun nor moon

Neither wind nor monsoon

Neither midnight nor noon

Some would make me jump some swoon

Some bane some boon

Some show me as a heroine some cartoon

Some I love as they are pure and pristine

But some I would edit and prune

I’m not fifty eight

But like Abhimanyu my memories are older than fifty nine

When I peep in

Magic transforms me to the phase I look at

I become what I see

I live what I see

Though a translucent veil obscures my vision

Some details I miss

Some voices are faint

I see and feel

But cannot hold

Sometimes I like to see frame by frame

Sometimes run like a film

Colors have dulled as if in the hands of a harsh washer man

This is perhaps my training

To learn to spend my time

Without any external inputs

Without any devices and applications

To fill my lonely hours

With joy

Transcended from the years which were bliss

August rummages through the general Indian sentiments to fish out somnolent patriotism and everyone feels that they are doing earnest service to the nation by sporting tricolors. By wearing pristine white super starched Chikankari kurta one attains the exalted status of an erudite elite.
It was in such a weather that we saw Gold. It took us on a hyper patriotic trip to 1936 Berlin and 1948 London. In nostalgia everything takes on a golden halo and specially our high Hockey heritage wrought by magician Major Dhyanchand. Most middle class middle aged rotund Indians sprout an uncanny love of sports. Indulging in sports has never been high priority with us what with serious studies to enter the fray of impossibly tough multi tiered competition take up our waking hours and more so that we can earn a decent livelihood. So our closest brush with sports is watching it on TV with our feet up, tea by our side accompanied by freshly fried fritters. And then we can contest Virat and Imran's statistics better than them.
The raging success of Lagan and Chak De gave the filmmakers a recipe for sure success. Gold entered this genre with Akshay Kumar as a double guarantee. The film begins with British Indian Hockey team traveling amidst hurting humiliating security to the Olympic venue to play the final with the host team. In the match the hosts rough it up but are not reprimanded by the umpires. The Indian Team Captain is hit so hard that nose starts bleeding and he is reeling with tremendous pain yet the umpires do not give him a green card. The Captain stays on the ground in spite of his injury.
The whole nation knows how Hitler couldn't believe the control Major Dhyanchand demonstrated on his hockey stick and how the Indians trounced the hosts but to see it on screen is a different experience all together. When the Union Jack goes up and God save the King is played while the Indian Tricolor is snatched from the two fugitive revolutionaries and thrown to be grabbed by Akshay Kumar tears ran down my cheeks. His resolve to see his national flag go up by winning the Olympic gold medal must have been just a fabulous dream then because the second world war ate up two consecutive Olympics. Seeing his lofty dream whither away the man without any meaning and motivation wallows in alcohol and comes to his nadir.
A stray newspaper announcing 1948 Olympics instill life and energy in the wasted protagonist. He finds a purpose and goes on his mission charged up with ambition. His grit and confidence when he arranges funds from dry cows and rich Mr. Wadia are exemplary. His naughty charade by which he coerces his wife to give her ornaments is sweet and humorous.
Amit Sadh's body language as raja Raghuveer Pratap is very funny also. The trick to amalgamate the edgy disjointed team is clever and gets the result. The ostentatious celebration to declare the team is lovely. I loved the song, the Anglo dancers and the well dressed gentlemen and ladies especially Mouni Roy.
And lo! the country is partitioned and so also the effortfully put together team. The captain goes to Pakistan along with a few other Muslims. Anglo-Indians also leave India when the Brits leave. Akshay's team is rudderless but he does not give up his dream and from scratch creates a new young team. Sunny Kaushal as hot blooded sardarji is really an ace as a hockey player and as an actor.
All the viewers stood up when the national anthem played in London and I loudly sang along with Patriotism running high in my blood.
I came back with the endearing whimsical team manager and a hope that Indian sports are rid of Mr. Mehta like team managers.
Kudos to Kagtee for telling her tale so evocatively that my tears kept running down almost throughout!