The Children (of Hard Times)

I believe in books that seamlessly melt into the human discourse and after a period of about 100 years, you ought to find them surrounding you, just above your eyelashes–in a very nostalgic way.

For such an excellent film made my Takuya Okada, I find myself gripped by the industrial and capital reality of Dickens’s Hard Times much less towards my own; do we then question the walls surrounding us, enough? And that too, away from the rhetorical fancy manners of our tragically comical life (coming from a poet)?

Takuya Okada’s artistry tells a dark story (in a very literal sense) where an arbitrary game of childishness is played by the society who elicits pride through perfect numbers and shapes which do not have any scope of Odd. Philosophically speaking, when you collect too many Even numbers for yourself, a momentum is set in motion which, like a stream headed upon the face of earth is bound to the ocean–even if its water is destined to turn a puddle of muck under your bathroom sink. This is what you see when the child stamped number 4466 (what a symmetrical number!) had the signs of jumping-out-of-high-storey building liberation set in the motion the moment he saw a hope for himself. Why the dog was black or where did he disappeared after the train went abuzz is as mysterious as the idea of how revolutions takes place and what are the minute things that set in the motion. But for me, the dog and the disappearance of him is the defiance to the very system the revolution was set against.

The end of this short clip might be gory for those who are at rest with a glorious idea of rebellion–with blue skies and lily beds. Yet what the both parties  share (to separate those with the lilies from the common sunken mass), is the sigh of relief that one gets when you realize you’ve always enjoyed running. In other words, to think that life will be Utopian after a revolution is illusory but I bet, the joy of the first time is incredible.



I have these strings tied so deep

I break my hands just to reach

Past an ocean that held my tides

With an island made of threads and fabrics.

I am rowing silently

I see a lighthouse near my home

But is it really my home.

Where is my home?

So I etched a boat upon these tides

For there will be never a home till I ride,

these mountain-like magical seas.

And should I loose my way again,

I’ll untie these strings

all over again.

Laid back

A pinch of justice

and a tablespoon of sorrow

Are we delivered yet?

No Meena, we are waiting for the road to end.


Calling out all the scouts

Let them pack their bags

It feels so vain,

If feels so vain.


Can I borrow your song now?

I do not wish to travel anymore

I wish to sit back

and feel something.


Something like


A pinch of justice

And a tablespoon of sorrow.


© Priyanka, All rights reserved.