Movie Review: Listen Amaya

I recently saw Listen Amaya, in my humble opinion a must watch. It is a quintessential small, cozy, bundled up in the joys of good acting cinema. In fact I call it cinema and not a film because very recently I was told by a writer that Cinema is a discipline. A film is too trivial a word to use for a piece of storytelling which is made from the soul. Hence, I choose to call Listen Amaya a piece of cinema. 

I am going to start with the highlights of the film. Farooq Sheikh and his sheer presence on the screen is overwhelming. He reminds me of my dad and other important people in my parent's lives who fill you up with warmth every time you meet them. They are your "go to" people outside your family and I have a fair few of these in my life. Needless to say I am talking about Farooq Sheikh and his character interchangeably because he becomes the character in every film that he does and this one is just the same. I don't even know if I can call his work great acting because it is as far away from being pretentious and being acted out as something can be

Deepti Naval steals the show with being just a mom. She is nothing more or less. There are hints of a "woman" that you see in the movie but those glimpses are always through the lens of her being a mom. She looks like she has lived and run "book a coffee" for years and actually has a relationship with all her clients and does see the world through their eyes 

The story of the busy bazaar and in short Old Delhi intricately woven into the lives of all characters and the soul of the film is endearing.

But the reason I will remember this film and I know it will become my "go to" film during loneliness is because it tells the story of every Mom and independent daughter. Every single scene b/w Deepti Naval and Amaya will take every girl who has been brought up to have a POV in life back to her youth. The reflected confidence of Amaya is clearly derived from the strength of her relationship with her Mom and whether we agree or not - it is the same for all of us. Every big fight with our respective moms troubles us for days and makes us listless as nothing else ever can. Our moms irrespective of how angry and disappointed they are with us will always care for our food and our happiness. And somehow they are absolutely devoid of ego when it comes to their daughters.

It is a movie which truly celebrates a mother daughter relationship in modern India and how our self esteem is driven by the strength of our relationship with our mom. 

Story of my little friend

So this is the story of my oldest friend. I got introduced to her when i was around 15. I distinctly remember, it was the summer of 1998. I had just finished my 10th standard board exams and was spending my summer vacations with my aunt in Mumbai. In fact, this was also my first rendezvous in its true sense with the city I would come to call home after 10 years. Before this time I was too little to register the existence of the city, it was always the feeling of being a part of a family reunion. This was the first time i was old enough to acknowledge Mumbai's existence as a city and having an identity of its own rather than just being a city which was a surrogate "nani ghar" to chandigarh coz my uncle/aunt stayed there.

So I met her during this time. She would visit me almost every week and although we had known each other very briefly i started identifying with her so much. She had an answer to almost everything which i couldnt get my hands around. In a very short time she became my agony aunt. I started pouring out my heart to her. It was scary in the beginning because i had started telling her my deepest secrets and my darkest fears. I was also telling her about my issues with my family, people who were and still are my only coherent world. What however, made me edgy about her was the fear of betrayal.

Over the years however, she proved her loyalties over and again and not in a manner which made me put her to test. It was unassuming and so natural that I would admire the beauty and strength of our relationship only much later and then marvel at her persistence and patience with me. She hasnt given up on me in all these 16 years - not once. 

I still recall all those times during my college days when insecurity and absolute lack of self confidence would ail me and she would always sit and listen to my ranting endlessly. Never once getting tired of hearing the same thing over and again. She always gave me the strength to believe in myself and to fight for my righteousness. And backed by her supporti did - never once did i give up on my values and ideals. Even when sticking to them meant having fewer friends and more fights. I used her support to fill myself with more knowledge, more rigour and more drive to achieve what I deserved to achieve. 

She handheld me through all my struggles. She ensured I could be 2 different personalities. I could be irrational, emotional, under confident and insecure b/w her and me and then i could be this confident, independent, driven, competitive, outspoken, bindaas fun loving woman which the world saw. And somewhere i think i also became the latter - because the former was so well taken care of by her that it almost became a dormant side, threatening to flare up only and only when failures loomed ahead of me. But then between her and me we handled it extremely well.

And the best part about her was her ability to give me space. There was never place for possessiveness and insecurity between us. Everytime there were new people in my life who she knew i loved or trusted more than her she would back off. She would allow me to give them space to become a part of my life and partly take up her role of validating my decisions and feelings because i need a lot of that. She in fact was almost saintly in her behaviour with me. When (and there have been more than 1 ocassion) i burnt my hands with my blind belief in these new people she would never rub the lack of judgement in my face. She would always very patiently explain to me what went wrong, how could i hav avoided it, what were the signs i should have watched out for and where should i have drawn a line. And after every such incident she would take me back under her wing making everything hunky dory all over again. Well it was never an overnight process. It took time for meto finish this conversation with her, after endless arguements, discussions and evidences from both of us will I reach a conclusion. 

Its only lately, when i think life has taken a rather unexpected and not so pleasant turn that i have also started seeing her in a new light. I think that she has her own set of limitations. She was a good friend when she was in the background. In recent times i think she has started hanging on my arm a little too much. And sometimes instead of being a companion become me. This has made her advice not advice but action because we have become one. And on more than 1 ocassion instead of having the liberty of listening to her point of view, debating it in my own head and then taking a decision and action, I have just taken action basis her feeling and thought about an incident. And amongst the many that i have accepted and moved on from, one still hurts me. I wish I could undo it and not because i was wrong or what i did was wrong. No, in fact amongst the others that i am ready to move on from this was the one where i was most right. 

But then I dont know if being right in this situation is worth the result it has yielded. The hurt  and pain of losing my best friend isnt worth listening to her. I would have been fine with her losing over and again to him. Yes i know what he did was wrong, it was uncalled for and it hurt beyond anything else. But then not having him around isnt any less painful. Not being a part of his happiness is not where i ever thought both of us would be. I should have let her lose this time. I let her lose to men who only ended up hurting me. Then why did i not allow her to lose to him who has always been my only support system outside my family. I should have waited for him to fight this battle with her, assuage her and win it. And i would have, if only he had tried. If only for once he had mustered the courage to make a 1 sided conversation and let her hear him out. If only he had knocked on her door more than once. If  only he knew that she was also hurting because he was the only one she had ever trusted with me. If only he knew that everytime she knew i am headed towards failure or pain, she allowed me to make those mistakes because he was there to hold my hand when i fell. She knew that in those moments i would not listen to her but only to him. 

So when she saw him leave my hand and walk off it broke her heart beyond repair. She lost all faith in her judgement of decision making. He did to her what nothing else in life could manage - shatter her trust in friendship. Well, thats the story of my friendship with my little friend - my ego, and how inspite of being by my side for almost 15 years she still never became my best friend and lost to him inspite of having proven herself and me right. 

Yaadein Radio Ceylon ki........

Well the post title of course is my filminess coming out - phoot phoot ke bollywood ka pyaar nikal raha hai :d

The genesis of this post was a rather long drive back from work last week. Everything conspired to make me think of what I am going to write now. It was one of those rare days when traffic was worse than most days - and by Mumbai standards that is saying a lot for sure. It sadly also had to be the day when my pen drive with my dump of music refused to work. It just got stuck on 1 song and refused to play anything else. And my car had come back from servicing so all my CDs were at home. So mudde ki baat yeh hai ki I had no choice but to turn on the radio. And its not that I don't listen to radio, just that the RJs and ads can sometimes suck all the happiness out of listening to music.

But this evening was quite amazing........for a change the songs were great..........mix of new songs and some old favourites. The nicest part was that the long drive also made it possible for me to sit and just marvel at "radio listening" vs listening to songs on a pen drive. If one was to somehow tune out the excessive and pointless and mostly mindless bantering of the RJs, one would find listening to radio very very entertaining.

For me the joy of a song being sprung upon you out of the blue is priceless. The feeling of discovery is absolutely joyful. Its almost as if one pauses for 5 seconds everytime a new song starts playing to just absorb the beauty of that moment and music and the surprises it is throwing at you. Also, the fact that it isnt in your control. What music can you listen to makes it even more enjoyable.

Of course for emotional freaks like me it also takes a new meaning. Songs from the past throw up random memories which then means that instead of listening to the music my mind is basking in the beauty of those memories and moments. Reliving them to the last detail. And since it happens within the confines of my car it gives me the opportunity to either laugh uncontrollably or to even feel moistness in my eyes and sometimes sheer irritation because of the memory the song has raked up.

It also brings back associations with radio and all the beautiful times I have spent with it. Loooong long time ago (15 years) I still vividly remember that FM Rainbow was our only source of listening to english songs as computers and internet were not really there. And all us friends used to religiously listen to that channel in the evening and then our school recess was dedicated to discussing the songs we nad heard. Oh god we were lame........and the worst part was that I didnt even like that music back then and used to hear it only to be able to have something to say during recess time......

Then there used to be the ride to college with one of my closest friend.......and we used to listen to radio a loooot and weirdly i remember the songs which were playing while our most engrossing concersations happened. I remember the conversations also verbatim almost but the weird thing is that i also remember the song. I also remember how when we argued or fought both of us would slip into silence and humming of the song playing and the fights would just end without ever coming up again......

Then there were these innumerable drives from godrej colony to godrej office where I had the remote of my friends car in my hand. And i had a free reign to play whatever channel i wanted toand somehow the channel surfing was an integral part of those drives e en though both of us always had sooooooo much to say so much so that we needed go fix times to finish the conversation later.....

And amidst all such beautiful memories somehow i have outgrown listening to radio.......but whenever i still go back to it - i cant help but marvel at how much fun it still is. Its almost like playing snakes and ladders or ludo again after years

A year gone by and a year brought in

The first week of a new year forces one to sit back and reflect on the year that has gone by. It is usually an interesting exercise because sometimes your memory throws back very random moments which you seriously forgot existed.

This year I had the privilege of going through this process in one of my favourite holiday destinations. The place made it an even more interesting reflection. And for a change the reminiscing happened in small dozes at very very interesting junctures of my new year trip.

To sum it up this year has been duality personified. I have had myself divided into 2 parts both of which have gone in 2 entirely different directions. And it has taken me better part of the year to try and at least bring them close enough to become two banks of a river hoping to meet at a delta or where it meets the sea. But this  duality is not what this post is about. This is just to set the context. This post is about my New year trip , the most memorable moments and how the 4 days intertwined themselves with my year that has gone by and seamlessly transported me into a new year with hopefully new beginnings and new experiences and new memories.

The most beautiful part of the trip was to be able to breathe in the open air of Goa.........to experience the twisted roads with glimpses of the sea at different bends.........to feel your hair full of the lightness of Goa........to have the blast of Goa sun.......and even with honks and traffic noises be able to surround myself with the peace that Goa fills you up with. And in these moments something within me forced me to think about the year which has gone by and what do I want to take out from it or what do I want to discard as just a bad experience and move on. The most amazing part of it was that everything that came back to me was only mine - with no one else in it - only me. It truly took me by surprise.

The other big realization during this trip was my ability to multitask. And this time it was quite impressive. I could have a conversation with myself while being fully involved in a group of 11 people. It was almost as if I was 2 people - 1 having immense amount of fun with this crazy fun bunch of people and the 2nd one talking to herself all the time. It was a bit freaky considering my ability to introspect has always been very limited. And for me both set of conversations are absolutely vivid and clear - though at that time one of them (whichever required less wit) would reach my ears only like a badly tuned radio playing somewhere in the background.

And then the most amazing thing happened to me at this beautiful beach.........while clicking the last sunset of 2012 suddenly something magical happened - I felt everything within me which fueled negativity and angst and sadness just float out of me...........it just left me like a vapour and I felt it happening. And thus I said bye to the year that has gone by............

and somewhere in the next 7 hours, in between grooving to fully dhinchak music, laughing at every little joke, saying happy new yr to old and new friends, I brought in 2013

Exhaustion of Spring Cleaning

For most of us kids who are now living on their own, away from their parents and homes the onus of maintaining a house is almost a challenge. We take to the task on a war footing trying to prove that we are independent and don't need our mums for everyday chores but now only for emotional support etc etc etc

So a big part of living on our own includes keeping the house spic and span. So once in a while I indulge my house in this cleaning activity - and I do it with the utmost care and dedication. But honestly, I find the process very exhausting. Most people also at the end of a spring cleaning day will land on a couch with a thud refusing to get up - but with me the exhaustion is very emotional and mental and not at all physical. On the contrary actually, cleaning gives me a weird energy to keep going on at it because I know otherwise the emotional exhaustion will take me to another zone. 

Every time I clean my house I realize how much debris I have accumulated over the years and how every cleaning somehow only increases it - or I think it increases it because in my memories the debris becomes larger and more important. 

And even though I wanna throw most of them away, I just cannot. Every time I try, each of them brings back some random but very important memory and incident and then all of it seems like a keepsake. Its almost like these things have become living memories trapped in inanimate objects and they come alive every time you try and destroy them. These memories transport you to a world which was a part of you and a world you wish you were somewhere still living in. And none of it has to do with love or the remnants of a broken heart. Nothing like that - in fact most of them have to do with things very very far away from romance. 

For instance, I have a bag full of these notebook papers from my MBA days which has these notes scribbled on them in margins and corners - these are the side conversations I had in class with a few of my favourite people in XIMB. Some of the notes are intense and very serious while others are just making fun of most people in class or the professor and it has now been close to 7 years since I left that place - yet the dates and the class notes on those pages transport me to the exact time and class and setting that these conversations took place in. Needless to say, they also bring (sometimes in excruciating details) back all the incidents which led to those conversations or the incidents which happened post them. And in all these years I have never managed to throw these papers. They have now become yellow and the ones written in Pencil have become pale and yet I read them as my favourite novels. I laugh, cry, get angry, get embarrassed and worst of them all - get terribly nostalgic. I think it would just be easier if i threw this trash out - but I can't.

Then there are these posters and flyers from Echo - our fest way back at Hindu - I graduated from there 10 years ago. I still have 1 copy of a poster from each of the fests that we were all a part of and it brings back such amazing memories of putting them all together. The afternoons spent in the Eco corridor painting them together, making fun of each other, getting to know the seniors and juniors better and planning everything to the minutest of details. Also, takes me back to the days of the friendships which got formed during these times and of camaraderie which grew from strength to strength while doing this together. And then one can't help but feel the distance which has crept in among friends from this side and how we have all traveled far and wide across the world and have scattered ourselves all over the place.

Some things in this pile which stand out and baffle me the most are my first expense statement as a management trainee, every single appraisal letter till date, copy of the first claim i signed as an ASM, copy of the first expense statement I signed as a manager, the first appraisal I wrote for my team, sheets of paper with Xpressions schedule that we made as SEC, exam papers of Maths when I finally managed to get some decent marks, tickets/passes for all music concerts I have been for, wrapping papers and cards on gifts and not from very special people - mostly all of them............

...........and there are millions and millions and millions such things stacked up neatly and some not so neatly in different corners of my house. I wipe all of them clean of cobwebs and dust every time I clean. Pile then neatly organize them, sort them and eventually add some more debris to the pile by the end of it. 

Thus keeps growing my pile of debris and brings with it more and more exhaustion with every spring cleaning.  

Old hindi movies

Out of sheer and sometimes annoying habit of switching channels I chanced upon a really old film....Chhoti si Baat......its such adorable watch. It got me thinking about the indian cinema of that era and what it means to me personally

I of course for exposed to these movies when i was slightly older and hence my comprehension of these movies is very cognitive as opposed to movies i watched while growing up. What i mean is that i have watched these movies with a lot of concentration and involvement rather than movies just playing on TV randomly.

And something about this genre of cinema just tugs at your heart. Its real and yet its not in your face or trying to prove a point. And i really want to draw a parallel with cinema that we call real today. They all are somehow about these issues which are kept under cover or sex or corruption or even when its romance its very "what does youth of today want" - none of them genuinely manage to take a slice of life and amplify it for one to be able to watch it over and over and over again. And the beauty of this era of cinema was its strong roots in the "life next door"

It also gives one a kaleidoscopic view of our parents lives when they grew up and how their dreams and ambitions were well grounded. What really appeals to me if the pace of life depicted in these films. Its not slow - its just right. Its not cramped with 100 things and million gadgets and zillion technology points. It is however cramped with conversations and interactions and so many more smiles and so much more pleasure.
I am really proud that indian cinema had film makers like Hrisnikesh Mukherjee and Basu Bhattacharya who brought alive movies like Choti si Baat, Jhoothi, Chupke Chupke et al for our generation to watch and enjoy. 

the stories behind us....

the weekend has been rather interesting.......after years i went to Prithvi Cafe to catch up with a friend from a looong long time ago..........well as usual I was early and in my moments of just soaking in the cafe and absorbing the people around me i started thinking about a rather funny conversation i had with my team 2-3 days ago where were making fun of some takiyakalams that we all use.

and this got me thinking about where did mine come from and it was quite an amusing chain of thoughts. I went back in time and dug out from under the rubble of millions of memories the stories behind the things i say........

something i more often than not say is - "dekhoji aisa hai ki......." and those who have seen me say it know the exact hand movements and the tone of voice...........and its quite amazing from where this came from........lets go back 5 and a half years. I was fulfilling my long standing dream of being in FMCG sales.........basically main Haryana mein sabun bech rahi thi. So the story of this statement has its origins in a small city in Haryana called Panipat.........there was this wholesaler there who thought he was the king of the world..........he used to behave as if my sales system would come to a standstill. so every time we went to him to ask him to buy - he used to start with - bitiya dekhoji aisa hai ki na..........mere yahaan pe to dooor door se retailers aate hain aur market mein to rate wahi chalta hai jo is dukaan se shuru hota hai.........then sometimes it used to bitiya dekhoji aisa hai ki........aaap log to mere liye family jaise ho.........apse kya rate ki baat karni.........etc etc etc..............eventually my monthly visits to his outlets were an entertainment dose for me........in my head i could relay his dialogue word by word by word...........so that's the background of the story...........the day it became a part of my vocab was when I had gone at the end of a quarter to close his wholesale loyalty programme purchase and i was in a shitty mood and ultra stressed ............ and uski chik chik shuru ho chuki thi.........and for once i lost it with a shopkeeper - and i said - dekhoji aisa hai ki yaa to maaal utha lo ya phir apne poore saaal ke points to goodbye bol do.........usne to stock nahi uthaya but evers since then this statement became a part of me..........i still use it very often and its only on days like yesterday that i remember the story behind it........

such moments make me marvel at the lives that we have led and how some extremely small and insignificant people and incidents actually leave a lasting impression without us ever sparing a thought for them. 

Wonder in my eyes.....

I sometimes wonder if we ever grow up - i think our feelings and reactions inside us are still very childlike and momentary. We have just trained our minds to process that reaction - churn it through so many times that little of its originality remains. We then shape it into acceptable moulds according to our TG (sorry the marketeer within me does not allow me to use any other term) - their limits of handling enthusiasm, excitement, immaturity and ingenuity. 

But this morbid processing is not what this post is about at all. This is actually about still feeling the butterflies in my stomach before doing something new. Its about the feeling of sheer joy with every new experience and the wonder in my eyes with new discoveries........and sometimes that feeling overpowers everything else that I may be feeling.....

Very recently I experienced something that - lets put it this way - i have been obsessing about for almost 6 years.......and needless to say i was bursting with energy (for all of you who know me - think of it as around 10 times more than my usual self) so much so that i really wanted to find an open field and just scream my guts out.........it was oozing out of every single pore in my body and surprisingly in the most positive manner - not in the usual restless impatient manifestation that i am most used to.

And this day truly built my lost confidence in innocence and naivety  For a long time i have been brooding over how the 'big bad zaaalim zamaana' has taken away our innocence. How our beings are laden with social expectations.........our 'swachchand' (cant find a suitable english word for this) thoughts are layered with social acceptance and most importantly instead of becoming more articulate about "what i am feeling" we are becoming more and more reserved about them.......

But when i clapped like a little child with all the zest and wonder in my eyes about what i just did i was reminded of my first school picnic and with how much excitement i told every little detail to my mom including the tearing of the chips packet and half of it falling on the ground. And i heaved a big sigh of relief - all is after all not lost to the duniyadaari and political correctness of the world. We can still be children inside and feel that joy albeit in a few snatched away moments - but then even those act like a caffeine shot - waking u up and making you run with a new rigour........

Dilli!!!!

I am quintessential MBA types.......MBA kiya sur sabun tel ke pyaar mein chal pade bbay ki taraf......so I am part of the many million single independent women in Mumbai. The city is exhilarating ...it lives in your skin and after spending some months here you almost forget that you are not an inherent part of the city but actually more like a money plant which has been snapped from somewhere and just put in some water in a pretty decorative pot.......

And then after a few months I pack my bags with some basic things - light packing is what i call it. Though something about my packing for home always baffles me. I am usually a very meticulous traveler  I know precisely what i would need and pack accordingly. However, my packing for home is clumsy, inadequate and looks like a tornado has hit my bag. I have never figured it out. I think my mum looking at my suitcase and sighing with disgust has become an integral part of being back home. I cant think of any other reason. For my mum - her project Anupriya starts with looking at my bag and continues till the end of my trip......the crux of the project is - i need to organize her life for her - somehow clean ironed clothes, 3 home cooked meals, well organised cupboard are in her mind the golden key to an organised and sorted life

And home for me is the city called Delhi......or as i like calling it - Dilli. Delhi somehow doesn't have the heart in it - literally of course! And for me coming home is as much about the city as it is about home.......


the entire experience starts with watching the plane land......the first glimpse of the city is an ever comforting feeling.......looking for the familiar buildings and places and roads and tracking them on the plane window with my fingers is now a routine. So on my flight to Delhi I always take the left side seats (a, b or c) because the view from the left side is better - am gonna say why in a bit. So much so that i am cranky and irritated if i have to sit on the other side.


So landing in Delhi is a well orchestrated routine. The plane bends slightly while taking the turn and i get my first faint glimpse of the city lights....this is my cue to sit up straight, push my specs closer to the eyes, press my nose to the window and wait for the plane to turn completely and go ahead for 1 min - for my first familiar building - JNU library.....it is a 6 storied building and tallest in quite a large radius owing to JNU being surrounded by wilderness.......and while the plane is heading for the airport - i spend 5 mins trying to locate the other part of JNU - PSR (which was right behind the library), SPE, stadium all of it to live 1 yr in 5 mins......by this time we are almost touching down and we land with a thud......

And this is how my rendeavouz with meri dilli starts.....its now been 5 years n its just the same.....


Once here one cant help but compare one's life in the 2 cities and what would be different and what would be liked and what would be acceptable and what wouldn't be.....and i have reached a conclusion - i want to stay in mumbai n not shift to delhi (am using delhi here and not dilli coz one cant make a choice b/w the heart and a physical space)


Phir bhi once am here, dilli does something to me......its an intense and draining experience and a little disturbing too......its almost like i am living the experience and yet i am experiencing it as an outsider and a spectator.....the girl who is living it is someone i don't even recognize at times. She floats through her time here half living in reality aka present and half in a fantasy world which i don't even know if existed or could exist.

So dilli infuses this nervous, on the edge and impatient energy in me......my eyes widen with curiousity and ears open to absorbing the daily hustle bustle of a city i have known for over 15 yrs now. This is the city which saw the transformation of a schoolgirl into an independent opinionated discerning woman. And yet i absorb the city like its my first and last day here.......

Dilli also makes me break down the past 18 years into smaller time periods and see them through a microscope to find those tiny cluster of moments which i can carry back with me to a city i now call home and spread them in my house there to add some heart and soul to it. And its funny how i dig through the 18 years every time to find the exact same moments and memories - detailed to the last T in exactly the same manner and length. And at the end of it i wonder what do i actually intend to carry back with me - the rummaging through the rubble of 18 years or the actual memories.

But it is a ritual of sorts for me.....a dilli trip without this is incomplete and leaves me feeling agitated, incomplete and inadequate. I find my house in mumbai cold and dreary otherwise......


Dilli - the city where amidst all the madness i find the quietest n the most peaceful corner of my heart.......where everything except myself is a blur and stays like hat- never once threatening to become clear!

the feeling of letting things go......

I have been struggling with saying what i am going to say for almost 3 years now.....i just didn't know how to put it into words which made sense. But then i guess one sometimes needs to just get down at it and take it up as a "to do" and hope to finish it...

I sometimes wonder what people mean when they say - one needs to let go or one needs to move on. I personally find both these expressions immensely amusing. Every time i hear one of them I have a speech bubble in my head with the following scene running in them

One needs to let go - Popeye holding Pluto by his neck after popping a can of spinach and Pluto saying Let me go - Popeye one needs to let go!!!

One needs to move on - Charlie Chaplin's movie (i keep forgetting the name) where he is in a prison and the person ahead of him is fighting with the server for food and Chaplin just points to him and says one needs to move on - move it - move it!!!!

And when people say it to me they possibly see this blank expression in my eyes b'coz i am trying very hard to look concerned and agree with them but then all i can manage is not laugh uncontrollably.

For me holding on to things and events is not such a bad thing. I personally think we as people are a sum total of all the experiences we have had and our character is a like a mosaic - which is an ever evolving thing with every chip or experience that you put into it. So if this is true then i don't know where letting things go fits into the equation.

Let's take an example. Say a person gets fired from his first job. Now in his head he did everything he could to be a success and he also thought that he was very good. But then someone whose opinion mattered did not. And undoubtedly to his impressionable mind it was unacceptable and he couldn't stop wallowing about he doesn't understand why and how it could happen to him. Say this was 2 yrs ago n let's fast forward to today. This person would have had 2 choices - to let things go and to hold them in some corner of his heart and let the pain or humiliation hit him in small doses sometimes.

I think if he chose the first route he would have been happier in the short term and possibly regained confidence sooner and would have attacked the job market with a vengeance. But in this process he would have made 2 cardinal mistakes - he would have moved on from this incident believing that life had been unfair to him and  would never question his own ability. On the other hand if he wallows in what happened for a linger time and carries this incident as an important event of his life with him forever then he will think about it so many times that he will eventually know precisely what went wrong. And most importantly what to watch out for in the future.

Needless to say i prefer the second route as long as it doesn't become self destructive. I think good or bad incidents in life must be treated like a holiday. The small moments within them should be sorted through, clicked n then pasted on to an album for keepsake. And someday while you listen to your favourite music and sip a cup of tea or something stronger as you wish - you should turn the pages of these albums n laugh, cry and sometimes hate yourself ......but do always remember that you are a sum total of all those pictures put together.