Nostalghia

No, the spelling is right. Nostalghia is Russian for well, Nostalgia. I discovered Andrei Tarkovsky the same time I discovered Ingmar Bergman, sometime in late 2006. Both of them are fabulous directors. But somehow, I found that I was drawn more towards Tarkovsky's work than Bergman's. Although, to be frank, I have seen only a couple of movies each of these great directors. But, I believe, I have seen atleast the most acclaimed of their works, which I suppose is enough to form a reasonable opinion. Anyway, from what I have seen, the difference is that while Bergman is more dramatic and visually powerful, Tarkovsky brings in a wholly different depth of meaning in addition to the kick-in-the-gut camerawork.

I've had the good fortune of being able to lay my hands on three fabulous movies of Tarkovsky's so far- Stalker, Nostalghia and Andrei Rublev. Of these, Stalker is the movie with the most depth, Andrei Rublev the most poetic and Nostalghia is the most emotional. Nostalghia, talks about a Russian exile and his feelings of alienation in Italy. Tarkovsky waxes lyrical on the inevitable angst that accompanies living abroad, the uniqueness of culture and the futility of translation. While I really could not appreciate what he was trying to say then, with almost a year and a quarter of living abroad, I begin to understand now what Tarkovsky was feeling- He based the movie on his experience as an exile in Italy.

But, when you really think about it, what does one actually miss? Nostalgia atleast for me is that vague, nebulous, shifting feeling in the gut every time I hear the word "Home". On the face of it, there is nothing that I actually miss. The quality of life is definitely better here, it's not as if I have time on my hands and I feel bored or anything; in fact my days are absolutely full, I make more money, I am in touch with most of my clique thanks to Google chat and Orkut, I've discovered that I am a good cook and I have better food than I would in India, I speak to mom just about every day, I get much better books to read and a lot more stuff that I can stand on TV. Still, I feel like I've left part of my soul in India. Not that I love the place. In fact, I have a litany of complaints about the place and when I was last there in August, I couldn't wait to get back. It couldn't be because most of the people that I see around me are different in race, color and attitude, because on some days, I think there are more Indians here than in Haridwar during Kumbh Mela. Am I just lonely out here? Is that the problem? Hmmm... that's a tough one, but, I never felt this in Bangalore. Admittedly, I had quite a few friends there but I have a couple here and I speak to Sriram and Divey & Suresh just about every day, Catch up with Thairu and Rajesh Khanna atleast once a week. I even ring up Lopa and Jan once in a while. Maybe, deep down, knowing that I cannot just pack up and go back home anytime I want unsettles me. But, you know what, for all that Mumbai is in India, I couldn't catch the next bus for home from there either. Even if you discount the fact I had quite a few distractions there, I never felt the longing for home that I feel now. No, it is not Ranipet. I had this feeling of displacement when I was there as if I did not belong in that... picture, if you will. I've never felt at home in Bangalore or Vashi or London or Sunnyvale or Krakow. I feel rootless and at times, my relations with people, even those I feel close to is so nebulous and thin as if all I need to do is blow a little harder and it will all disappear along with the people themselves and it would just be me and this place might as well be... well... Jupiter.


When I was in Delhi with mom and Badri, years and years ago, we'd gone to this Delhi Zoo, where there is a great ape called Vana Manush(Forest Man?)which, when we went there was in a foul mood. I remember how it gripped the cage, thrust its head between the bars and roared out its frustration, all the while shaking the cage with all its might. I can't help wondering how the adults who accompanied me then could stand the screams of desperate frustration from that animal and walk away, not feeling a shred of empathy. How could they shamelessly flaunt their intolerable cruelity in front of their children? How could they not feel the answering flame bursting in to lifein their hearts when the Ape roared? How could they leave the tortured soul in so much agony and go back to their own prisons? How could anyone stomach chaining such a mighty beast for something as frivoulous as entertainment? Now that I think bout it,I feel like, I'm there in that cage with the Ape, wishing I could howl like he does and rattle my prison. You don't recognize this feeling until you see the chains on yourself or someone else. I could't put this feeling of Nostalgia in to words until I remembered the Vana Manush five minutes ago. But, I still don't have enough strength to strain at the chains or scream out in despair. What can one do when one is caged in his identity, in his race, languages, thoughts, wisdom, friends, enemies, family, body, faith, opinions, perceptions, why, the whole universe. My prison is existence and its reality. I am trapped within myself while trying to stave off this sinking feeling that I will never be free. Can there be a greater Hell?