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.

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.

Lets live for basic love of things.

Figments of a Sleeping Imagination

The body lay on the bed.
From the window the moonbeam filtered in like the silver stream. It was peaceful for 15 secs and then one something that looked like the body wanted to get out of the body that laid still.

The transparent look alike moved out from the room and reached another one. There was a wheel that moved in rhythm, and had figments of marijuana in it. The more the object wanted to get hold of the green,the faster the wheel swirled.

And then something happened.
The wheel chased the object, and the object tried saving itself from the defeat,there was no way to stop either one of them. At one point it felt losing track of who was trying to over power whom and in the mayhem, the object reached a brightly lit room, it was so bright that it could blind but the swarms of people inside seemed to have some superpower symbolized by that one roll between their fingers, it was smoky and the smell could kill.
And an overdose of something you love never saves the soul. The object was stupefied, not knowing it was love or something that's a fall out of bitter love.

The object did not move and then it suddenly gasped for breathe and called out for the body that was still peacefully sleeping in reality. The body refused to wake up, unperturbed by the room where the object had reached and was dying under the inability to see or hear. All the object knew was that of a feeling that gnawed something that resembles the heart, the object though was not sure if there was something like that. It closed its eyes and wanted to transcend to a world where it could breathe for death of claustrophobia was not something that it ever imagined.

How true it is when they say whatever we want does not happen all the time. As the object desired a life afterlife, all that it could fathom was the light in the room went dim, soothing and the psychedelic phenomenon clouded the vision. It was nearing impossible to get the feet to move into a direction that could let some fresh air in. But the window in the vision had the light of the day that tantalized like a lover does after a series of passionate love making moments that drives the partner for more, even if the epitome of pleasure has defied all definitions. And probably that is why the lovers reunite for the rest of the night even if the pleasure have been sucked beyond obvious.

The black human like objects transformed themselves into choker blocks and would not let the object move beyond two inches in one direction. The phobia was spreading itself and a tarantula crossed through it everytime the object refused to submit to the smoke that led one into the bottomless desire to crawl and lick decayed blood in search of ecstasy.
There was no path to escape, and it was at that moment the body that slept opened it eyes, dashed out of the room in order to find the object, it was an insane search for now there was a body that rummaged through graphic spaces searching for its soul and the objectified soul knew it was not there anymore. It had travelled to a world where breathing spaces where locked in rooms that did not contain holes that would not let air either in or out.

The body refused to give up, it ran with the determination that it had to save the virgin in the whore house but little did it know the man the soul slept beside when in transcended into the airless realism that it was over,the virginity was lost. But the body remembered waking upto screams of despair and helplessness, but it was late. The soul was lost and like millions microcosms do in search of themselves.
And the moment came and went by, little to the body's knowledge but the soul lay there in with eyes wide shut.

The quest to nail the soul down, probably turned it into ashes which does not rise from the phoenix; like everything else trust,truth,love,friendship,absolutes are all illusions of the body.
The soul lives many lives,in many spaces, and mourns over all thats lost and rejoices much more to all that's waiting to be created. Its stoned, its drunk and passes out but its not for the body to understand.

Words do not serve any sentence
Imagination does, Ideas does and sometimes not being there does.

Hail!!!

I live here for Love

The worst time for my lifeline.
The black end of Global terror has finally unleashed itself full blown that lasted over 48+ hours.
It seemed that it was a film running. I had heard it,seen it but the distant experience in real life had emotions that I cannot come to describe in words.
I am amazed, speechless and cannot get to believe it still.
Imagine the depth of hatred,imagine the strenght of nerves, imagine the mental space beyond which life ceases to matter.
This time it was the masses inclusive of the classes and how bare naked and shallow stood the intellegence and basic security of the country, of the financial capital of the country, of the biggest and oldest corporate empire of India.
There was anger,grievances,disgust,outrage but it was pushed and everybody somewhere basked in the glory that Bombay will bounce back.

When the news channels showed the spaces, I felt like own skin was being scathed. It hurts but its hurts so much that its numb.
I am tired of blame games, tired of political gang wars, gimmicks,bytes,reality TV and using Pakistan always for a purpose thats convinient.
I cant even drag myself to sign petitions,send emails,join groups,write protest mails.
Thats not how much I can do for love.
The maximum city has given me maximum experiences in the last almost five years. I am supposed to do much more,more than what meets the eye.
In return I dont want to depend on systems that are dying of incurable diseases - corruption, inefficiency,non-chalance and blah blah blah.
One might think everyone doing little is a lot. But a lot is already lost.
What do I do? I wanted to change the world when I graduated in 2006. And now I want to change my eyes. I dont want to live under the shadow of An Andalusian Dog.
Its difficult to live out of ones set of beliefs.
I screamed out loud when Combating Terror was thought of as strategic programming. Sam says my space has changed and my voice has to be silent. Professional (mis)fortune. Like you cant have a mind that has thoughts beyond the normal stream. I debate over niche and crass, and I decide for those million sensibilties.
So why cant my sensibility make the choice to protest in what is apparently my space?
Anyways, thats not really the point.
The point is mis-interpretation of a community, a faith and a book which is probably much ahead of its times. Its misrepresentation of concepts that were meant to empower and engage and not dissect people furthur into deeper depression from where there seems to be no return.

The vision as of now seems unexplicable and clouded with emotions of betrayal and loss of faith and lives and humanity.
There will be light at the end of tunnel.
Its my belief and its here to stay.
I Live wherever I live, but there I lived and live for Love.

Matter Mastering!

Ya have been away from this space for a while.
Not a good thing,for my health too as I realize, too many thots spoils the head
How has life changed? Wondering......
Well it definitely does not give me time to brood, but panic attacks occur and I feel desperate, distressed and willing to hit the door and bang till it drops dead.

National Geographic Channel high has settled in, the cool quotient with the launch of Fox History and Entertainment too feels old now.
Boy!!!!! everything in life is coming to be shortlived.
Why am I even beginning to think of it? Didnt I know from 35 mm I was moving to a life that began and end in precisely 30 secs. If you are thinking its too little time,on air it costs huge.
And ya in the first week the biggest lesson learning in progress are -
1. Thinking time = Money, and if I do it right, or I only knew the trick I could be a billionaire :)
2. One has to learn to be nasty, and not regret it. Everybody out there needs a reason to get on to nerves, so stay calm but edgy.....and nobody tells you the irony beneath it.

Got choaked over a period of time, over nuptial conversations. I am getting numb over convinience, if at all that is convinience till I rediscovered myself over Fellini's 8 and a 1/2.
The struggle has not even hit the high. It is still in the womb, beyond these random words and emotions they have not seen the light of the day.
So girlie,get going.....it takes an insane toll to get to the level of being a legend who creates breathtaking 24 frames per second.
Dostana was an exciting venture! Somewhere homosexuality is inside the Indian bedrooms. Yes, the community can complain of stereotypes, and sudden unwelcome gestures but people its out in the open. Lets celebrate the first step....the bollywood way!
Presi bonding happened and it felt weird about changing spaces, but I never wanted roots,or lets say do not know how to live with them. But as ace friend and confidante Divz would put it, dont try to hard on yourself,everything would sink in.
The first fight with R gave me an insight of getting edgy over inability to fill in absence. But in the mind, I knew I was there as a silent spectator.
Lifes good, spaces get smoky,thots wriggle inside my head as if its waiting to scream and few words out I am already feeling better. Like the Zoya Factor, all s fair in Love and Cricket, naah alls fair in a life for love,live for love.
Random never had one shape,one emotion,one color. Thats why it beautiful.
All the best to survival spirits and life in 30 seconds.