As from the last post the idea was to grow but as I can see I have not....
Not travelled or evolved to a level that I do not get mundane but do exciting things.....I dun wana plan,jus go ahead n do stuff.....I want to activate twitter and blogspot on my phone....seriously.Then maybe the thots will not die an untimely death while they have the potential to brightly light my life but eventually get lost since I am @ wrk, or jus too fucking tired to switch on the laptop.Or get caught up with mundane stuff.....the environment is also not conducive but the fear of probing for solutions does kill the way ahead to a large extent.
Pills today fwded me pics of Barrack Obama chilling in the White House,his life looks so contented.And a life accomplished.
What m hating about myself for a while now is the whole bit about...ambitions and aspects getting ruled by the norms laid out. What is wrong? Is it age or m i turning out to be a coward since I dun wanna risk it?
What is it all about?
Answers.....as someone once said is myb in the question itself
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Losing the Plot
I seem not to find no time to do some thing that I used to really enjoy - I don't blog, I hardly listen to music, I don't read books at the same pace and definitely without the same excitement levels, and worst of all, I think about work all the time.
Also the not nice things that come with it clutter my brain.... Damn it, I am turning to a nasty workaholic. Stop Stop....I wanna get down....
Thursday,@ 15:00 Hrs,when I am at work....
Also the not nice things that come with it clutter my brain.... Damn it, I am turning to a nasty workaholic. Stop Stop....I wanna get down....
Thursday,@ 15:00 Hrs,when I am at work....
Monday, May 04, 2009
Angel on the way
Mondays mostly come adorned with a shade of grey.
Thankfully the sun was nice and warm, and as I started towards work, the flash of the
image jus left an impression that still keeps the smile lingering on the lips.
A lil girl, sleepy sitting on a cycle thela between tins and scraps.....
Our eyes met and she took a while to return my smile.
But what she returned was priceless, a smile that keeps one going through all not so nice moments.
Shabby,Sleepy,Lost but sweetheart you are an angel!
And Delhi for the first time since August seemed humane to me.
A nice week awaiting :)
Thankfully the sun was nice and warm, and as I started towards work, the flash of the
image jus left an impression that still keeps the smile lingering on the lips.
A lil girl, sleepy sitting on a cycle thela between tins and scraps.....
Our eyes met and she took a while to return my smile.
But what she returned was priceless, a smile that keeps one going through all not so nice moments.
Shabby,Sleepy,Lost but sweetheart you are an angel!
And Delhi for the first time since August seemed humane to me.
A nice week awaiting :)
Thursday, April 02, 2009
When I was thinking.....
Have been thinking a lot
The patterns of thought have different textures and feel
As much I am getting illusive about human beings,my headspace is getting crammed by them. I dont want to talk or even listen to blabbers.
It sickens me,makes me feel stagnated to the extent I only crib and cry.
Even then it does not feel great,its like waiting for a getaway.
And then it happened.
Finding the dark side of the moon, nooo,not Floyd,jus like that
And then the inability to hide my disjointedness
And then the inability to disassociate
I wonder where will it all take me.....
Maybe to a deserted hill top, find a quaint cottage,and smoke up and read n write
and think not to come up with something,but generally think like that.
This colleague of mine said the other day - our economy is emotional.
Wish he writes on that, there was spark in the phrase!
Till then lemme mull over all the funny things I do for a living.
The patterns of thought have different textures and feel
As much I am getting illusive about human beings,my headspace is getting crammed by them. I dont want to talk or even listen to blabbers.
It sickens me,makes me feel stagnated to the extent I only crib and cry.
Even then it does not feel great,its like waiting for a getaway.
And then it happened.
Finding the dark side of the moon, nooo,not Floyd,jus like that
And then the inability to hide my disjointedness
And then the inability to disassociate
I wonder where will it all take me.....
Maybe to a deserted hill top, find a quaint cottage,and smoke up and read n write
and think not to come up with something,but generally think like that.
This colleague of mine said the other day - our economy is emotional.
Wish he writes on that, there was spark in the phrase!
Till then lemme mull over all the funny things I do for a living.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Romancing on the Silver Screen
I was intending to write on this, and trust myself this is not the Oscars.
The Indian film industry brings back all possible enthusiasm of creating ripples on the silver screen.
Life looks astounding and promises of Ghatak, Adoor, Raj Kapoor, Ray, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Mrinal Sen is not dead. The sheer joy of cinema in the seventies is coming back for good.
Managed to see Slumdog long before the release and fell in love instantly.
The first love was definitely for Bombay but what I loved most was Dharavi, the thousand stories that bred in the lanes, in the lives of people, the ghettoisation that’s stark yet subtle. But yet there were perspectives that were missed considering at the end of the day it was a white skin with the help of talented bunch of Indian crew was making the film. Therefore the zoomed out frame of Dharavi was captured in the right essence. There were moments of reality which a few of us know considering the work space we have been into. Definitely it gets worse….. and of course one was creating a film and hence there was a need to filmicize it. The music mostly was typical AR Rehman, and honestly not the best of his scores. But it grows on one, it grows with the film. The sound design was honestly great and now it feels wonderful to have it recognized in the International forum.
The entire debate about Oscars and its authenticity! But at the end of the day what then decides your calibre as a film maker or a creator? Commercial success would not mean anything to those one of us who thinks film as a medium plays too many roles. So how else tangibly does one decipher success of a film? Ghatak by our sensibilities today was a director of a cadre that not people have reached. But what did he get when he was alive? In that reference the film Ek Doctor Ki Maut by Tapan Sinha rightly depicts a man hard work ostracized by the society because of convenience. Any day Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay is a better film maybe if we take this league into consideration. It got a nomination but did not make it. Like if one Dan Boyle wants to win a Filmfare, he will be nominated for a foreign film. That’s something we cannot choose. Why is it so unsettling to accept it? Why does it hurt to accept that somebody from a different region captured some nuances of our walks of life? Things we have turned away from, things we walk pass every other day? If reality is what cinema is, why does it hurt to come in terms of acute poverty that came into the international platform?
Technically the feel of the film thrilled me, right from cinematography to the sheer joy of story telling in its editing. Rest as they say is history!
Gone are the days when Subarnarekha or Ajantrik would remain unnoticed till ages later one discovers the romance of cinema in it. It’s the new age, maybe its yet another neo-liberal trap of the west to capture Indian talent and let it flourish because its cheap labour.
I am happy with the Slumdog Millionaire, its never too late to dream and watch them come true in one lifetime.
Delhi,9th March 2009
The Indian film industry brings back all possible enthusiasm of creating ripples on the silver screen.
Life looks astounding and promises of Ghatak, Adoor, Raj Kapoor, Ray, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Mrinal Sen is not dead. The sheer joy of cinema in the seventies is coming back for good.
Managed to see Slumdog long before the release and fell in love instantly.
The first love was definitely for Bombay but what I loved most was Dharavi, the thousand stories that bred in the lanes, in the lives of people, the ghettoisation that’s stark yet subtle. But yet there were perspectives that were missed considering at the end of the day it was a white skin with the help of talented bunch of Indian crew was making the film. Therefore the zoomed out frame of Dharavi was captured in the right essence. There were moments of reality which a few of us know considering the work space we have been into. Definitely it gets worse….. and of course one was creating a film and hence there was a need to filmicize it. The music mostly was typical AR Rehman, and honestly not the best of his scores. But it grows on one, it grows with the film. The sound design was honestly great and now it feels wonderful to have it recognized in the International forum.
The entire debate about Oscars and its authenticity! But at the end of the day what then decides your calibre as a film maker or a creator? Commercial success would not mean anything to those one of us who thinks film as a medium plays too many roles. So how else tangibly does one decipher success of a film? Ghatak by our sensibilities today was a director of a cadre that not people have reached. But what did he get when he was alive? In that reference the film Ek Doctor Ki Maut by Tapan Sinha rightly depicts a man hard work ostracized by the society because of convenience. Any day Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay is a better film maybe if we take this league into consideration. It got a nomination but did not make it. Like if one Dan Boyle wants to win a Filmfare, he will be nominated for a foreign film. That’s something we cannot choose. Why is it so unsettling to accept it? Why does it hurt to accept that somebody from a different region captured some nuances of our walks of life? Things we have turned away from, things we walk pass every other day? If reality is what cinema is, why does it hurt to come in terms of acute poverty that came into the international platform?
Technically the feel of the film thrilled me, right from cinematography to the sheer joy of story telling in its editing. Rest as they say is history!
Gone are the days when Subarnarekha or Ajantrik would remain unnoticed till ages later one discovers the romance of cinema in it. It’s the new age, maybe its yet another neo-liberal trap of the west to capture Indian talent and let it flourish because its cheap labour.
I am happy with the Slumdog Millionaire, its never too late to dream and watch them come true in one lifetime.
Delhi,9th March 2009
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Disconnected Journey with Kari
I do not know where you came from
You seemed to be my dying angel
Unreal reality you appear to be
You brought out my fears alive
Kari, do you live in me?
I know you did once upon a time
And then I lost you in the crowd of life
But somewhere deep inside you create the ripples of lonesome delight
My memory of the absentee other is deep embedded
But the images of the same are getting blurred
Tell me Kari, is it really a race towards death where you fight to be the first?
My cityscape had tall buildings, and bunch of bright lights when I lived there last
Since then every time I crawled to go back, I realized I have not reached far.
Home that is, was or will be the place that I will never look for solace,
I love my free fall,
The maximum city has also altered since I left
But its still has my secrets safe inside
Unseen faces, a sip of the poisonous kiss
Unseen eyes, a peek into the barren hearth
Most often there are logical beginnings, ends and consolidations
To my relationships, be with people, spaces, moments or words
But often I wonder what if somebody gave me the constitution without the preamble?
These are not my words, if they discover they will say its yours
But Kari they were hidden in my heart
Till you graphized them on several other minds
In between the smoky, stingy lanes
I played with pretty boys till the other side said, space is not alive
The rains make me happy and sad
They set me free and chain me down
Coherent words loses itself midst the gusty wind
Never knew if there were laws in love
Was it ever love if it was not free? Time and incidents as you say, just comes by…
I am half baked in the half cooked truth
That nobody would ever own me
Since the time I have wrenched my umbilical cord
I loved silence but sometimes homosapiens analyze it
And my over analytical self gets moving into the trespasser forbidden zone
Of Foucault’s psychoanalysis and interpretation of dreams
Where often known souls become strangers, which tells me every morning of the time for which I think I need to prepare.
At twenty one I knew my teen celeb dream was dead
Five years later I see I do not have awards or creations invaluable to my name
I walk up stairs, see glitzy dreams, and churn severe ambitions but nowhere it leads
Me to the a destination where I can smile and fall from a cliff
I want to have an epitaph reading Been There, Done that
But I also want to be the boatman to ferry across those few rats!
Sometimes I feel, other times I know that when people want to kick the bucket
Come and get stuck to me and I forget whose the leach
They think of me like a morbid shit
But Kari you know the death of an urge
To jump into the sea
Can never be as vast as floating in the dark blue sky
Where clouds cover the sun
And life takes yet another turn.
Before I continue walking on the unseen path
Jus wanted to thank you Kari, thank you for our lives crossed.
You seemed to be my dying angel
Unreal reality you appear to be
You brought out my fears alive
Kari, do you live in me?
I know you did once upon a time
And then I lost you in the crowd of life
But somewhere deep inside you create the ripples of lonesome delight
My memory of the absentee other is deep embedded
But the images of the same are getting blurred
Tell me Kari, is it really a race towards death where you fight to be the first?
My cityscape had tall buildings, and bunch of bright lights when I lived there last
Since then every time I crawled to go back, I realized I have not reached far.
Home that is, was or will be the place that I will never look for solace,
I love my free fall,
The maximum city has also altered since I left
But its still has my secrets safe inside
Unseen faces, a sip of the poisonous kiss
Unseen eyes, a peek into the barren hearth
Most often there are logical beginnings, ends and consolidations
To my relationships, be with people, spaces, moments or words
But often I wonder what if somebody gave me the constitution without the preamble?
These are not my words, if they discover they will say its yours
But Kari they were hidden in my heart
Till you graphized them on several other minds
In between the smoky, stingy lanes
I played with pretty boys till the other side said, space is not alive
The rains make me happy and sad
They set me free and chain me down
Coherent words loses itself midst the gusty wind
Never knew if there were laws in love
Was it ever love if it was not free? Time and incidents as you say, just comes by…
I am half baked in the half cooked truth
That nobody would ever own me
Since the time I have wrenched my umbilical cord
I loved silence but sometimes homosapiens analyze it
And my over analytical self gets moving into the trespasser forbidden zone
Of Foucault’s psychoanalysis and interpretation of dreams
Where often known souls become strangers, which tells me every morning of the time for which I think I need to prepare.
At twenty one I knew my teen celeb dream was dead
Five years later I see I do not have awards or creations invaluable to my name
I walk up stairs, see glitzy dreams, and churn severe ambitions but nowhere it leads
Me to the a destination where I can smile and fall from a cliff
I want to have an epitaph reading Been There, Done that
But I also want to be the boatman to ferry across those few rats!
Sometimes I feel, other times I know that when people want to kick the bucket
Come and get stuck to me and I forget whose the leach
They think of me like a morbid shit
But Kari you know the death of an urge
To jump into the sea
Can never be as vast as floating in the dark blue sky
Where clouds cover the sun
And life takes yet another turn.
Before I continue walking on the unseen path
Jus wanted to thank you Kari, thank you for our lives crossed.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
For Basic love of Things
The year is drawing to an end and I am on a high, about the basic love of things. Originated amongst a few Delhi youngsters, this artform appeals to all four senses, they keep the taste buds out, unless one decides to give into some good addiction for the complete feel. For the experience one must go for a gig before turning to the next signal.
Calling themselves BLOT, honestly the music and the visual medium makes an impact that made me travel through time and the roller coaster ride did not need alcohol or stuff to accompany.
But Basic love of things does not begin or end there. It was all over in December. The winter shivers, the craving for a drink of warmth, the excavation of minds, the fact that letting go becomes easier each day, yet leaves a tinkle of sigh. Life cannot seem to encompass itself in a few words, the textures were varied and dear to heart. Going back to Bombay made me grow up in folds. But the raving battle with the old estranged lover seems to be never ending. So much so that everything else seems to be illusionary. Maybe they still are, maybe they will be but it’s the grey I love. It’s the forever changing colour palette that feels the orchids fresh and right on the skin, tickling old emotions, only making one realize it’s not all dead, it’s still simmering somewhere and that is hope for tomorrow.
Amongst people, its amazing to see different worlds collide and still come together over music and life. Aren’t we all trying to create masterpieces all the time? Aren’t we all striving for excellence that will make us immortal? I therefore like the madness of Henry the viii th . Sometimes respecting nothing and loving everything does hold good. It gives you a feeling a completion thats very personal, very signature.
I maybe invisible as me by the end of the year but I will be someone else. The role reversals with people you meet and get intimate with in most inane ways, over shots, over smoke, over chokerblock traffic or tears and most importantly over the promise that we will walk alone with each other . The quirky sunshine is not hiding behind the clouds. Its somewhere in the sky, as I count days for the days to end, I pin my hope to see and hide in the sunshine forever.
I maybe invisible as me by the end of the year but I will be someone else. The role reversals with people you meet and get intimate with in most inane ways, over shots, over smoke, over chokerblock traffic or tears and most importantly over the promise that we will walk alone with each other . The quirky sunshine is not hiding behind the clouds. Its somewhere in the sky, as I count days for the days to end, I pin my hope to see and hide in the sunshine forever.
Lofty ambitions, hope of an impossible?
What if it crashes? Speculation has never led us anywhere. So let the Obama effect take shape, let my country wake up to reasons and determine its future and let my imagination run wilder.
What if it crashes? Speculation has never led us anywhere. So let the Obama effect take shape, let my country wake up to reasons and determine its future and let my imagination run wilder.
Lets live for basic love of things.
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