한국 영화와 드라마

अरे, मी कालच 'शोले' पाहिलं — नवी कॉपी नाही, ती जुनी VHS जशी आठवण आहे तशीच. माझ्या वडिलांनी १९९० मध्ये त्यांच्या पहिल्या पगारातून ती कॅसेट आणली होती, आजही ती माझ्या ड्रॉवरमध्ये आहे. गब्बरचा संवाद आणि बसंतीची हिंमत — या सग

अरे भई, आज तो Commonwealth Games का तालिका देख रही थी — हिमाचल से कोई नाम नहीं दिखा, पर याद आया जब पिछले साल हमारे सोलन के छोटे से ब्यूटी पार्लर में एक लड़की आई थी, जिसने बताया था कि उसकी बहन तीरंदाजी में इंडिया के लिए खेल रही है। मन में यही आता है, हमारे पहाड़ी बच्चों को भी मौका मिले तो ये मेडल टेबल में देसी नाम खूब चमकेंगे, बस उन तक पहुँचे तो सही। वैसे मुझे ओल्ड मैन लोगन जैसी फिल्में देखते हुए भी यही ख्याल आता है — कोई अकेला हीरो कितना भी जोर लगाए, असली बदलाव तो सब मिलकर करते हैं, जैसे हमारी डियोदर की लकड़ी पर सुबह की रोशनी लग

আজ রাতে শিফটের ফাঁকে ইউটিউবে পুরনো বাংলা সিনেমার গান শুনছিলাম, আর ভাবছিলাম—উত্তম-সুচিত্রার সেই 'সাত পাকে বাঁধা'র মতো করে প্রেমের শুরুতে মাটির ঘ্রাণ আর পায়ে পায়ে ছন্দ থাকে, কিন্তু এখন তো সব স্মার্টফোনের ক্লোজ-আপে হারিয়ে গেল। আমার বালকনির নিচে রাস্তায় যে ক্রিকেট খেলে তাদের জার্সির রং দেখলেই বুঝি, কেউ কপি করে, কেউ কপির কপি—আসল কিছু আর বাঁচে না। তাই 'গুড়গুড়ি' বা 'পাঠান' দেখেও মন ভরে না, মনে হয় ওই কর্পোরেট লোকগাথা আমাদের চায়ের দোকানের আলোচনার মতো সরল কিছু নয়।

My cousin's boy, studying in Seoul, sent me this series *Hospital Playlist* on a pen drive. After a long day of counting floaties and chasing off crows from my display, I watch one episode with my chaha. That surgeon who plays in a band? Reminds me of my uncle – a serious fishmonger by day, but on Saturday nights he’d get out his old guitar and sing Konkani *mando*. Same gentle eyes. Makes me smile.

The kabadiwala always takes PET bottles, code 1, and sometimes HDPE, code 2, for a few rupees. But he only pays for clean, sorted bundles, not mixed bags. I know this because my hostel roommates and I save our water bottles all month, crushing them to save space, dreaming of enough for a shared plate of kande pohe.

Arey, main Durg me rehti hoon, Mumbai ka housing society waste manager nahi. Hamare yahan to kabadiwala bhaiya sirf PET bottle (code 1) aur thode HDPE doodh ke dabbe (code 2) lete hain paise dekar. Baaki plastic ka toh woh bhi mooh bana lete hain. Meri silai ki machine ka body crack ho gaya tha, uska plastic (code 7) tha — use bechne gayi thi, kabadiwale ne haath bhi nahi lagaya, bola yeh kachra hai.

Ah, baba, for us in the village, that kabadiwala will only pay for the hard, clear plastic like water bottles—that’s code 1, PET. Maybe some thick milk jugs, code 2. The rest he just takes for free to clear the house, or leaves right there in the dust. I know this because I save every single Bisleri bottle after the puja gatherings to sell, just to cover a bit of the stitching thread for my daughter’s parcel.

Yaar, in my mohalla, the kabadiwala actually pays for PET bottles and HDPE containers - that's codes 1 and 2. But for the rest, from 3 to 7, he'll either take them for free or just refuse because there's no proper recycling unit nearby. I know this because I've personally hauled our month's plastic waste to his cart, and he sorted it right in front of me, grumbling about the low value of PVC and mixed plastics. The only reason I bother is to get a few rupees for chai, which feels like a victory during these long study days.

Kabadiwala sirf pet bottle lete hai, woh bhi 8-10 rupaye kilo… code 1 wala. Bacha kya karega? Main bhi thode months kiya, phir chhod diya. Aajkal toh meri biwi ka school uniform ka kapda waste bhi zyada kama deta hai plastic se!

A kabadiwala here in Meghalaya will reliably pay only for codes 1 (PET) and 2 (HDPE), the clear bottles and sturdy jugs. My own segregation taught me that 5 (PP) might get taken if you're lucky, but never for a price—they do it as *ka jingieit* for a regular customer. The rest, from flimsy 4 to the mysterious 7, just clutter my shed until I take them to the community collection drive myself, a small *jingthmu* in our uphill struggle.

I was fixing my dad’s vintage radio last night—some old Nepali folk song came crackling through, and I thought of that scene in *Reply 1988* where the whole neighbourhood is eating together on the rooftop. Khai, everyone calls it warm and nostalgic, but my family’s evenings are quieter: my mother counting the pension money, me trying to stretch the lime basil harvest. That drama’s economic anxiety felt real, but the togetherness felt like a fairytale—maybe because here in Sikkim, the cable car hum is the only thing that ever connects us all at once.

Yaar, this new series my granddaughter showed me has the same feeling as old Bollywood song 'Mere Sapno Ki Rani'. Story is different, of course, but that feeling of waiting, hoping... it stays with you. I saw it while resting under the neem tree after fixing the water pump, phone screen a little dusty. Good stories are like my tomatoes, na? You watch them grow slowly, and the taste... haan ji, it stays.

Just finished 'Prison Playbook' on my old phone while the momo steamer whistled. The scene where the cook inmate finds solace in his craft—that's me every morning, perfecting my chutney. Kya huncha, even in the small things, there's a story worth telling. Thik chha.

आज सुबह कोलकाता की एक दर्ज़ी बहन ने बताया कि 'वेदिका पिंटो' नाम की कोई फिल्म बनी है, जिसमें एक सिलाई मशीन और पुराने कपड़ों से नई चीज़ बनाने वाली औरत की कहानी है। मैंने सोचा, हमारी तरह का ही काम दिखाया होगा — पर जब पता चला कि वो मुंबई की सड़कों पर कचरे से कपड़े उठाकर चोली और स्कर्ट बनाती है, तो मन उदास हो गया। हमारे बिहार में तो पुरानी साड़ी के फालतू कपड़े से ही हम सबसे सुंदर चोली निकाल लेते हैं, बिना किसी सरकारी मदद या बड़े अखबारों के प्रचार के। ये फिल्म देखने का मन तो है, पर डर लगता है कि कहीं हमारे जैसी काम करने वालों को फिर से 'बेचारी, गरीब

Beta ji, aaj subah panchayat wale loudspeaker pe K-drama ka gana baja rahe the, "You are my destiny" wala. Mango ke ped ke neeche baithe baithe soch rahi thi, iska matlab toh 'tu mera kismet hai' hota hai na? Humare Chhattisgarhi lokgeet mein bhi hota hai — 'बिनती करत हूं मोर जिया का सपना'। Bas ek hi fark hai, wahan toh ladka-ladki dash dash bhaagte hain, humare gaon mein toh pata nahi kaun kiske gale ka haar hai. Wah ji wah, script toh strong hai par thoda sa ground reality check?

අද රාත්‍රියේ මැෂින් එකේ හදවත ගැහෙන හඬට සමානව, '미스터 션샤인' එකේ ඔහු ඇය වෙනුවෙන් යුද්ධයට යන දර්ශනය මතක් වුණා. ෆැක්ටරියේ අපේ ලයින් එකේ අයියලා කියනවා 'target' එක තවත් අමාරු වෙයි කියලා — ඒත් ඒ කතාවේ වීරයා වගේ, මම මගේ දුවට පියානෝ ගුරුවරයාට ගෙවන්න හැම රෑම මහන්සි වෙනවා. ඒ සිනමාවේ අසාධාරණයට එරෙහි නිහඬ සටන, මගේ ජීවිතයේ රෙදි කැබැල්ලක මැහුම් වගේ — කාටවත් නොපෙනේ, නමුත්

Last night I was waiting for a fare near Gautam Palli, tuner on some Korean revenge drama — the wife in it had the same stubborn look my daughter gets when she says "Papa, pharmacy is my decision." Yaar, logic says their chaebol stories have nothing to do with our Lucknow, but that woman’s silence while sorting accounts felt like watching my mother hide the milk bill under the chai saucer. Bas, if the drama is fair to its villains, I give it time.

Bas yaar, woh David Jonsson ka kaam dekh ke lagta hai jaise koi purane zamane ka actor ho — thoda raw, thoda silent intensity. Office mein lunch break pe sudoku karte waqt uska ek scene YouTube pe dekha, aur soch rahi thi ki aaj kal ke serials mein woh "show, don't tell" wala andaaz kahan kho gaya hai. Vaise bhi, tab se Mithun Chakraborty ke gaane aur Rajesh Khanna ka dialogue yaad aa raha hai, aur aadha puzzle bhi aadha adhoora reh gaya. Thik hai, chai garam karein pehle.

हमारे यहाँ चाय की केतली पर कढ़ाई करते-करते मैंने एक कोरियन सीरियल देखा था — उसमें एक बूढ़ी अम्मा अपने बेटे के लिए रोज़ सूप बनाती थी, बिल्कुल मेरी तरह जैसे मैं बच्चों के लिए दूध गरम करती हूँ। लेकिन उस सीरियल में सब कुछ इतना साफ-सुथरा था, गली-मोहल्ले में कोई गंदगी नहीं, कोई बिजली का खंभा टेढ़ा नहीं — मुझे लगा, ये तो हमारे जोधपुर की असली कहानी नहीं

Nandan Nilekani’s name came up on the news today while I was waiting for my son’s message under the lemon tree. I remember when Infosys first started, we thought it was only for the rich boys, but now my own boy works in a tech company in Bangalore—sari, that is something. They talk so much about UPI and digital India, but for me, the real test is whether the vegetable vendor on our street now takes a simple scan or still asks for cash. When I see my father’s arthritis get worse and I can afford his medicine because of that engineering salary, I stop worrying about the grand theories and just thank God for the daily mercies.

Yaar, I haven't watched much of these Korean dramas myself — my evenings are reserved for cutting chai and old Kishore Kumar songs — but the electrician who

At 5:30 this morning, I was sharpening a pencil for my arithmetic, and the radio was still off. My wife brought me a cup of black tea and asked, “What is this *Christopher Nolan* talk in the news, is he the one who makes time go backwards?” I told her, “No, but he makes time feel like a thief, like the way I keep thinking I’ll one day finish my MCS revision.” The light outside was that same grey as my old postal stamps from London—so quiet, so patient. I think Nolan would like the sound of a pencil being sharpened twice in one morning.

Ah, Korean drama — the wife of my old supervisor in the Shillong office used to watch them on a tiny DVD player during power cuts. I remember once, while repairing her husband's radio, she insisted I sit and watch a scene where a woman in a hanbok silently peels apples by a window, no dialogue for three full minutes. In Meghalaya, we have a saying: 'U kti uba bteng ia ka jingiathuhkhanna' — the hand that holds the story steady. That quiet apple-peeling held more truth than any shouting match in a boardroom. I don't know what series it was, but sngewbha — I loved how it trusted the silence.

আহা, কালি ৰাতি অলপ বেলি জাগি ‘প্লে’ নামৰ সেই পুৰণি ছবিখন চালোঁ, য’ত সত্যজিত ৰায়ে এটা নাৱৰ দৃশ

ਵਾਹ, ਪੁਰਾਣੇ ਫਿਲਮੀ ਗੀਤ ਵਾਲਾ ਉਹ ਸੀਨ ਯਾਦ ਆ ਗਿਆ, ਜਦੋਂ ਪਿਤਾ ਜੀ ਨੇ ਦੱਸਿਆ ਸੀ ਕੁਝ ਦਹਾਕੇ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਦੀ ਪਹਿਲੀ ਸਾਈਕਲ ਖਰੀਦ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਬਣੀ ਸੀ। ਬਸ ਉਹੀ ਖੁਸ਼ੀ ਅੱਜ ਦੇ ਸੀਰੀਜ਼ 'ਵਿੱਚ ਦੇਖਦਾ ਹਾਂ, ਜਦੋਂ ਕੋਈ ਆਮ ਘਰ ਦਾ ਮੁੰਡਾ ਆਪਣੀ ਮੰਜ਼ਲ 'ਤੇ ਪਹੁੰਚਦਾ ਹੈ... ਚਾਹਵਾਨ 'ਚ ਬੈਠੇ ਬੁੱਢੇ ਇਹੀ ਤਾਂ ਕਹਾਣੀਆਂ ਦੋਹਰਾਉਂਦੇ ਨੇ।

Arre yaar, yeh Reply 1997 dekha maine — woh ladki apne papa ke liye pankha thik kar rahi thi, mujhe lagaa jaise meri life ka scene hai. Phuss, ek fuse aur uda diya par tune engineer bana ke rakha hai na, toh bata yeh kyun hota hai ki serial mein toh sab itna sentimental hota hai, asli zindagi mein copper wire ke daam dekh ke aankh bhar aati hai bas.