for those who do not already know this about shariza: she is a weeper.

i might not (or then again i might) look like one who gives a tinker's fart about anything remotely sappy much less cry about it, but i do cry.

easily.

but this is mostly over things i have control of; i.e. i do not cry when people die. sad, but true. then again though it depends on who you are.

i cry reading books- jane eyre, anna karenina, harry potter (dumbledore died, okay... you didnt cry? liar...).

i cry watching movies- sleepless in seattle, anything with hilary swank, white chicks (too funny), alexander (too painful), and any yasmin ahmad film.

that woman, i tell you, is something else.

i saw a discussion about her on the telly by a panel of three idiots, who claimed that she is tarnishing the good name of Malays and what have you... oh you know, the normal benda people come up with when they have a baseless argument against somebody they're not too happy with.

it was funny to watch. they were of the opinion that she, this wonderful storyteller, is corrupting, polluting, destroying, humiliating- any other dodgy ings you can possibly come up with- the good people of this country with her supposedly controversial films.

i think she is a gift. someone sent to tell us stories of life, the way it really is. nothing sugar-coated, nothing superficial.

if there is one word i can use to describe her storytelling, it would be this:

i k h l a s.

i have heard horrible reviews of sepet when it first came out. people who thought the acting was bland and the story senseless, were, as i found out much later after seeing the film, not seeing the bigger picture: 'the fact that storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. where there is perfection, there is no story to tell.'

at the end of sepet is a line taken off 'the gardener' by

rabindranath tagore.

translated from the original bengali, my word...

it moved me to tears.

an excerpt:-

Your questioning eyes are sad.

They seek to know my meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.

I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end,

with nothing hidden or held back.

That is why you know me not.

If it were only a gem, I could break it into a hundred pieces

and string them into a chain to put on your neck.

If it were only a flower,round and small and sweet,

I could pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.

But it is a heart, my beloved.

Where are its shores and its bottom?

You know not the limits of this kingdom,still you are its queen.

If it were only a moment of pleasure

it would flower in an easy smile,

and you could see it and read it in a moment.

If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,

reflecting its inmost secret without a word.

But it is love, my beloved.

Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless are its wants and wealth.

It is as near to you as your life,

but you can never wholly know it.