Normally during the film festival certain movies I feel political. This time even before entering the theatre I felt political. Delegates de-dignified were in the queue their hallows fell down to impatient standing. A dog probably a bomb sniffer its leashes held by a stout hunk came out opening the door from inside, I was waiting as the fifth one near the entrance and a pulse to move forward was suddenly cut short. I felt political or intrigued a sort of like feeling I had while watching The Cyclist and saw the man of authority in the car suddenly pulling off then pushing off after closely watching the cyclist. Someone uttered in Kannur intonation what hair strand would come here paying rupees three hundred to place a bomb. Some one chortled. I felt amused farcical globalized and at the same time responsible and grim jawed for being in a place where I shared terror stricken Mumbai in a jiffy perhaps like everybody. My own mallubujilog went in as if in a ritual passing through that metal frame. I was specially checked at almost every point for having a personal bag with a kit of paste toothbrush shaving set, a full bottle of drinking water, and a lungi and spare underwear and a charger of a mobile phone. Good the security is tight as tight as that eye of the needle through which forget camel not even a particle of dust can pass. Let not Mumbai or anything untoward repeat .Viewers worked like tillers in a corporate farm. Cultural anarchists were silent. Everything was smooth running like that well oiled machine all for good. Well punch in!
Thanks for making me political even before watching a movie.
Thanks for making me political even before watching a movie.
