Marie Claire Interview !!




 

The Murder of J Dey.

I did not know Jyotirmoy Dey. In fact, I didn’t recollect any of his stories until I re-read them in the papers a few days ago. Then I remembered. His stories were to the point, truthful and honest. Probably much like him. Your work reflects who you are. In addition, for the entire buzz around, all I can decipher is that he was one in a million. A man who will probably have thousands of eulogies and many posthumous awards. J. Dey. A Bengali living in Mumbai, a family man, a middle class person.

I cannot comprehend the loss that loved ones are feeling. All I can say is that I empathize and give my deepest condolences.

What is really bothering me about this murder is not only that a simple, hardworking journalist has been shot dead, but that there has been no uproar from the society yet. It is as if, the papers are read, a few clucking noises are made and then the cocktails are brought out. Where is the media and the people asking, neigh demanding an explanation and getting its entire police and CBI force out to find the killers? A popular TV show has a dialogue that says, “The first 48 hours are crucial to find the murderers. After that the evidence can be tampered with.” It has been 4 days. Where are the killers? Where is the Home Ministry sending out a message saying that the killers will be brought to justice? No matter how many people they will lock in Tihar Jail, the government needs to send out a stronger signal that terrorism, big or small will NOT be tolerated.

 J Dey stood for far more than one crore people against corruption. He stood for far more than swamis against contamination did. He stood for Freedom of Speech.

With Dey being shot, it shows that the Underworld can silence that freedom. It can be bought, it can be threatened, and it can be suppressed. When reporters investigate about stories, they are making people aware of the dangers that lie in our society. They are making people understand the evils that lie hidden. They give us an opportunity to protect and defend ourselves when we need to. We use our freedom to live because of the crime reporters who unflinchingly do their job with meticulous accuracy fearing no one.

With this murder, it has made the society a more fragile place. The reporters are scared. And we too... should be scared. We cannot open our mouths against people who have power; we cannot even show our faces to them. For God forbid, tomorrow it is our murder and our families who suffer.

We will glorify the Underworld in our films. We will even comment on the suaveness of the gangsters. We will pay to go watch something in reel life, and not even think subconsciously that it is taken from an incident in REAL life.

A man has lost his life. We as a society have lost our dignity. The clock is ticking. And there are no answers yet.

The First Time : a poem, a memory, a feeling.

The first time I saw you

You were wearing black.

You walked straight past me

Not knowing, not caring, not wanting.

You smiled as you got to the door

And just as you opened it

You looked back.

The first time we kissed

Was in your car

Under the flickering street lamp

Not planning, not understanding, not concerned.

And then you dropped me home

And left me alone.

The first time we made love

It lasted the entire night

Gripping. Hungry. And raw.

Not spoken, not comprehended, not defended.

And when the dawn broke

Our other life began.

The first time you said goodbye

I cried my heart out

Till I could feel nothing anymore.

Not realizing, not believing, not speaking.

The senses stood still for a long time

And then it didn’t matter anymore.

The first time I remembered you

Was when it rained today.

Soaking my clothes, touching my skin, caressing my face.

Not with consent. Not with concern. Not with consequence.

Just like, you had taken my heart.

The first time you saw me.

All Voices Nina Rai writes about Losing My Virginity And Other Dumb Ideas!

Madhuri Banerjee – The gorgeous and hot new writer in town

Mumbai : India | Jun 09, 2011

By Nina Rai

Report by: Nina Rai
Mumbai, 9th June 2011:
Madhuri Banerjee is as lovely as her name sake Indian actress Madhuri DixitMadhuri Dixit; the author of the best-selling book entitled 'Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas,' which is the fictional story of 30-year-old Kaveri an interpreter by profession whose goal is to 'figure out the language of love'.
The director of her own boutique, creative production house called Gray MatterGray Matter SolutionSolution; Madhuri is a complete media professional. She has contributed her best efforts to all forms of the visual medium namely TV, advertisements, documentaries and even films.
Where Hindi films and Bollywood is concerned this multi-talented lady has worked as a senior assistant director for well-known film-makers like Subhash GhaiSubhash Ghai, Rohan Sippy, and Kaizad Gustad and even music director Anu MalikAnu Malik.
Having a Masters in Communication and Films from Jamia Millia Islamia, Madhuri’s thesis film, "Between Dualities", catapulted her to national fame. She won the National Award for her thesis film, in the best documentary catergory pertaining to women’s issues.
Other than media, the multi-faceted Madhuri is avid traveler and loves fashion, reading and food too. Currently her kitty is full, as she is working on a television show, a new novel and a film script. All this, even whilst she is busy globe trotting, being a good housewife and a mother.
http://www.allvoices.com/contributed-news/9346997/content/81581633-madhuri-banerjee-the-gorgeous-new-writer-in-town

Monsoon Memories

 It’s raining again.

I just put the clothes away.

I’m sitting here in this corner of mine.

Close to nothing, and away from it all.

It’s so silent. Peaceful.

And yet there is something missing.

Something.

I can see the rain softly speaking to me.

It’s been so long since someone spoke to me.

No, not the regular stuff. They don’t matter.

Fake smiles. Artificial laughter. My life.

What is it now.

People talking. More promises.

The rain lashes down. Forcing me to remember.

And then there was you.

I tried to forget.

I moved on.

Time was supposed to heal me.

It never really does.

Do you remember?

Me…those times… that song..

The rain.

I run my fingers down my face…softly..

Just the way you used to.

My skin tingles.

It doesn’t go away you know.

The memories.

They don’t die.

I don’t know if I love you still.

I don’t know if I even want you back.

I just know that it’s this damn rain

It’s pulling my body to you.

Like we did that day.

IBN LIVE CHAT on Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas...and lots of other ideas!!

Oh I'm going to be on IBN LIVE Webchat tomorrow. So post your questions on http://t.in.com/cemF  and from 4-6 pm (IST) on Wednesday 8th June I'll answer ANYTHING!

Interacting with people, talking about all sorts of things...Looking forward to it big time!

Be there!

Heartbreak

I.Already. Know

Yes I need to move on.

You don’t need to say it again and again.

I’m turning and leaving now.

You’ve seen enough of my tears.

Did it matter?

Did it move you at all?

One last glance.

I’ve stopped screaming.

You can turn now.

No I’m not ok.

Am I supposed to be?

Was that the end you imagined?

Silence doesn’t help. Not now.

 It was my fault.

Actually not.

 I told you what I wanted.

I told you.

What did you want?

 I know what you want now.

It took too long for you to decide.

You wasted my time.

Yes I’m ranting again.

But maybe this last bit of energy is worth it.

Maybe you need to hear it.

Will it matter?

 Will you come back?

 No. I don’t even want that.

It’s not easy.

It never is.

Yet we do it again and again and again.

Fall in love.

Yes this is what heartbreaks feel like.