Definition as a verb, Parched:  Make or become dry through intense heat, extremely thirsty.

There couldn’t be a more beautiful title. Before I begin the review of this subtle masterpiece, you need to give the trailer a watch, if you haven’t glanced upon it yet. It’s a compelling glimpse of the soulful narration of Parched.

On the harsh, inhospitable and barren landscapes of Rajasthan, spring saplings of hope, courage, desire, gratitude and humanity, as slowly as the first drops of monsoon showers that moist hearts with the sublime musk of drenched earth.

This movie is not a pretty picture. Nor is it a celebration of life in the confinements of space. It is naked, honest and surely not easy to digest. Yes, it is about women. But also about the men who make them the gullible, unpredictable, docile and sometimes, fearsome to behold.

Parched is more about women who endure their fate and then, audaciously and apathetically script pain for younger women.It is about resilience, patience and liberation of the soul. It is about valuing oneself and those tiny moments of freedom that is everyone’s right.

Parched teaches us that everybody can define sex, but also subtly narrates how inexplicably illuminating, liberating and cosmic making love can be. It is poetry of the skin that thirsts for love, appreciation and companionship.

The movie is the unfolding of a book, making you hate the protagonists for their mindless choices, but then also making you fall in love with their simplicity, innocence and flawlessness over time. There may be many fortunate people who can’t relate to it, but it will grip you and make you reach out to characters and circumstances, so unknown and unheard of in this day and age.

Parched is the raw voice of the inner being that dwells in each of us. Regardless of our sex, cult or opinions. The actors are spectacular. Do yourself a favour, enrich your mind, and watch this alone. You can’t afford to give this one a miss, not in the one lifetime that you have.

First Love 

Oscar Wilde once rightly said;

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”

This is probably the only kind of love story that lives till our last breath. Unconditional, unaltered and unassuming. These three words perfectly define our first love.

Yet we crave for more love, hopelessly and sometimes, ardently from others. Others, who have and will never know us more than we know ourselves, who may never be able to love us like we love our souls. Yet we pray to be worthy of love and acceptance from strangers that coincide in our path towards supreme happiness, choosing to remain blissfully oblivious to the naked truth of life.

We journey with a deaf ear to our heart’s voices, tightly blinded by the world’s perception of love. We nurture within an insatiable monster. If only those fairytales had taught us to find happiness within before we blended into the joys of others. If only we knew to stand apart before we wished to camouflage in the glory of society.

If only we knew that the first time we felt loved, was when we spoke affectionately to our bruised knee after a fall. The first time we dressed pretty was to only please our eyes.

The first time we were smitten, was an unspoken compliment to ourselves in front of the mirror. And the first time we wept, was for a silly injustice done to us that we don’t even remember anymore.

Then how did we along the course of growing up, forget about our one true first love; ourselves? Why did we grow up and learn to evaluate our worth in the love we receive from others? How did we not realize that we were our only love story from the very first day we opened eyes to light?  

Life can’t be lived in waiting for a lifelong romance that leaves us hungry for love, appreciation and acceptance by loved ones or the world. Life is in knowing that every other love will come a close second in comparison to the first love of our soul.

– Preeti Dhakappa