Grrrr...Angrryyy

Grrrr
Angry I am feeling now....maybe self pity but whatever....
There are people who whine all the time over a lot of things,why cant someone hear sometimes thats its also their job to fucking hold on to somethings, if you cant handle pressure why is it fucking email and escalate....seriously it suck, its not freaking trickle dwn effect for everything,really man it sucks!

There are people who walk in and out whenever they want to, I also want to do the same,I also want to chill during sometime,atleast when its notice period, I want to do some shanti wala edits etc!
Mereko sunneko milta hai...dude thats nt for u to sunao me....


M damn irritated!

Wishlist

So whts been happening....kickass stuff....something like I am braindead! to the core.
I feel like running to mother and hiding in her stomach
The world amuses me, maybe everything else also does....but I miss the humor, I only get a state-of-art kinda feeling these days and often oblivious to it.

I saw this lil pup the other day,in the morning all dusty and ruffled.
In the evening on my way back he was still there, in aftershower look and playing in the puddle.
But the irony is it wasnt dirtying itself to make something out of it, it was just happy playing in the mud n dirt. Why cant we have lives like that.

Currently my wish list includes -
1. Get the fuck outa hre
2. Backpack to Pondi or Northeast
3. Learn Pottery and Power Yoga
4. Sleep, and Laze
5. Watch Films
6. Write
7. Walk on the beach with Sam
8. Get pampered at Home
9. Procrastinate some life changing events
10. Start on my mixed media project
11. Have a magic wand to read a few peoples mind
12. Stop Whining and feeling the need for it
13. Fall in love with life all over again

A comeback with Just another story

Was looking at old times through the myriad glasses, sometimes it takes forever to realize that life has another meaning if you get to write what you want to write, its like being in love with someone and everything else ceases to exist, its jus a walk in the rains where tears can hide but the clothes are dry and you have the warmth of the sky.

So life has been as usual a fanatic....it took the shape of a shapeless crystal throughout 2010.
Shapeless crystal was my discovery of the decade. But what remained consistent is the thought that no matter what, over time the moments u sit back in despair and think its the pits, something more crazy comes our way....life is actually a live event of 70 MM,where the team is the best in the world, where there is no boundaries of a script, screentime, budget or anything!

How does this happen still remains a question but ya it just does.

2010 ended with a life changing note, but it was bitter, ripped me of my soul, but gave me experiences that brought me closer to my dark sides, and thus took birth of pandoras box of secrets, and they will also maybe find their space through some printed musings.

2011 has just begun and my best friend, life ya, has been on a run, I find it quite difficult to keep pace with it, m growing old that ways,but someone random suggested, its all in the mind, like they say in Rang De Basanti - abhi sanson mein hai dum,abhi chalne de sitam. But the best part of it till now has been in a promo last week I figured my soul is still alive. Tunes still make sense to me....and the little pleasures of life still excite me, like sending the sunshine V day flowers, I did that to someone for the first time. The flowers all over Delhi felt very good.
I got my cam out last evening to capture some random moments, so the instinct tells me my instincts are coming back.
So everything put together, its back on the roads without a map

Just have to keep the spirit going

Have to check in here often now

The insight behind i dun have time.....

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

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....

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 :)

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.

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

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.

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.

Dun have an answer :(

Dear Rijz,
Whr do I begin? Not randomly when I met you in the greens of Shantiniketan or when I was trying to unravel the socio economics of Dhokra artisans with you?
But everything went grey @ the JNU bus stop! My jaws dropped.....I didn know how to react, lost my voice and my ability to introspect.....the beer @ the stadium didn do good.
How did I do this? I of all people, to you of all people.
I behaved like a jerk and quoted our experience as mine,your exprience as my verbatim!
What the fuck was I thinking? Was I getting too full of myself? I was losing my mind!
Hope you understand the no answer situation but I am sorry,seriously sorry.
Would try n make sure I get over this aspect in life, of ensuring thots get converted into reality and the thots that belong to whoever gets across rightly.
Thanks darling for bringing it across and being a friend.....beyond boundaries and living in and out of scripts.

Love
A

Whiney Minie Miney Moe

Ya I want to whine a while, I was wondering if I should use this space,but thanks to our lifestyles and slavery to the keyboard and my almost left blank yearly dairies finally made me get myself to whine here. And play the favourite game as a child,of choosing who shall be slaughtered...Ini,mini,minie,moe.
Enuf, I have too much been talking about the world.
Ya fine,its been threatening my basics and made me addictive to have been reeling under the spell of terrorism,communal violence and wall street crisis but I did keep the regular stuff, that I live with, off the radar.

So whats new? Saw Kidnap-long and short of it...lotz but this Khan is promising.
Did not even take a look at the pujas and seems I didn miss much,of course till my celebrity anjoli pal turned me nostalgic. A lovelorn friend was in town with whom I did revisit my state of affairs too much and still have not reached a conclusion. And then I gave into the regular stuff,and picked up this chick-book called You are here. While I was reading it I was looking into those million times gone by. I have lived them but never thought it could go down to become a book because there was nothing extraordinary about it.

But as chickbook also tells you stories that you had almost forgotten.
And on the eve of 2nd October after almost three months I heard myself engaged into genuine exchange, of ideas,experiences and was listening to people without my mind flying into forbidden areas. Am I coming in terms with my breakup finally? Maybe but the question that now is disturbingly nudging me and not anymore working as the possibility of 'things will be fine' is - have I really broken up? And as always,amongst those few good men and women I have in life,one of them told me a way out,and till that happens I will live through the interim like I have always lived life. Probably thats why cartoon films like spirited away makes one feel so special :)
And at this point, well soulmate,missed you like one of those realllly wanna speak to you times

Met these really interesting bunch of people who are in their quest of life. Happily living moments like its one of those precious times for engaging in a dialogue. And ofcourse the warm hearted prejudiced friend who was all out to work out options for freshly out of break ups. It was embarrasing till I realized its all in good faith.
While I write this however I am taken back to all the memories and I still do not know what went wrong.Why are all our lives so perplexing-ly mundanely screwed? Is it realllllyy true that all my aspirations of being able to break free of what is most obvious will really not see the light of the day? Will I get entwined in the regular whatevers.....I mean its a choice that I have to make. And I do not think it would be that difficult to hang onto the fact that I will not follow rules.

Anyways I have gotten addicted to Leonard Cohen. I cant think of a day in the last three months when I havent read or heard him and as I was hearing tonight will be fine on the comp,on television I saw sex and the city-the movie on Oprah. And that was yet another time I realized what a sucker for chick stuff have I become. Hehhehaahee. Boy it felt so good to see these girls again and of course hearing about all that. As dear Charlotte says 'twenties are the most miserable' I nodded vehemently saying...yes I still do not know what is there to me. Gone are those days when people would be all sorted by 25. Boy I am just 25 and there are 25000000000 things I have to do. How can I ever get sorted to save my life? So dear friends and fellow men,thirties are the new twenties. So much for my convenience.
And most importantly I do not see Mr.Big anywhere in the circumference,forget him in the circle. The guy who plays Mr.Big,Chris Noth is a father of a three and a half year old child. And I cannot begin to get smiling as to how adorable he looked. So in real life he did not have a cold feet . And that leads me to question the real avatar of Mr.Big. Is he all only fiction? Hope not,there must be someone as incompletely complete like him. Or maybe in real life an amalgamation of many nice-ness about men around shapes upto Mr.Big. So therefore keep floating. Dunno if that is a good feeling. Maybe not at the moment,but it excited me till this Quirky delightful disaster happened.

I need to go back to Bombay for a while and get over this bit, I dun want to give up on that special warm hearth because of alleys where I lost myself.
Gosh I can almost start a love story memory museum in sometime.
But honestly doesn't all of this almost make me feel miserable that the hopeless romance like Roman Holiday kinds does not exist anymore.
Well honestly it does.
But with a fairly good number of failed relationships I am beginning to question the concept itself. One can always choose to be a hopeless romantic at heart and not compromise. But then it is important to realize that humans are susceptible to change of kinds unheard of.
For some I am surely the crazy romantic kinds and for others I am the brutal honest demon sucking out all romance.
Ya,as I write this I also realize I know what I do not want but at the same time I dont really know the inner calling. What does it take to be the right man or be the right partner? There is no formula and thats nothing new I am telling you but what about those couples you come by and say,they are just so perfect!

I do not know how is life gonna shape up,I mean I never wanted to know,but I think the times are changing and as of today I am feeling better to be able to look up and chase my dreams again,the half written scripts,the dead dear laptop,the disengagement with the world,not paying attention to whats happening inside me, all of that needs to change.
It has to blossom to a fresh autumn morning.
Maybe I will smash myself over alcohol and stuff and have these really irritating conversations over how I found and lost the perfect man but at the same time I am looking forward to the whole exercise again.
So as this interesting explorer I came by talked about Shamanic dreams and Ayuvaska also mentioned, lemme end it on that note, ya so ....if at all there is something called love.

Hoping the weekend trip planned instinctively will get me better. Over horses and ridges, and deserts and trenches, will there be a Mr. Big waiting?
Well well, if they could be there in a class full or people...amongst hundreds in a rock show,or midst a crowded pub,one must not lose hope.
It happens afterall out of nowhere.

Browsing Delight

I’m a Modern Man

GEORGE CARLIN
on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno on 15nov2005

I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium.

A diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect.

I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading.

I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin' the wave, dodgin' the bullet, pushin' the envelope.

I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs.

I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge.

I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar.

A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary.

A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach.

A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda.

You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. 'Cause I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers.

I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; Laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance.

I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail.

But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver.

My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow.

I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports.

I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the F-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes.

A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically-formulated medical miracle.

I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed.

And . . . I have unlimited broadband capacity.

I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff.

I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

Drivin' and movin', sailin' and spinnin'; jivin' and groovin', wailin' and winnin'.

I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time.

I'm hangin' in, there ain't no doubt; and I'm hangin' tough.

Over and out.

From my neighbourhood to Wall Street

A lazy day when the phone rang and concerned family and friends told me of the series of bomb blasts in Delhi. My first reaction was, whats new, yet again, lives don’t matter anymore. It has been a series of 11 blasts since 2001 and nothing concrete ever came out of it. And now blasts in the capital in all the major hotspots and all we will see are media channels giving breaking news with funny dummy stories and visuals. And the ever hungry Indian consumer will watch that raising the channels TRPs. There will be blame games amongst political parties and increased allocation to the Intelligence and security systems of the country that anyways have not made headways in the last 7 years.

Thinking deeper I realized there was unrest in the country in almost all parts and we have become so immune to it. Life seems to be going fine for me, so how does it matter?

But the red alarm reels inside the head some thousand times when even I am flipping through the newspaper or television channels all that is there to the country today is reports of death of innocent human beings, be it as victims of some blasts, pro-freedom movement, police encounters or torching down of minority establishments.

At this level when I turn my attention to rage against the governance in this country, thanks to friends in the financial sector that I delved to read news on the global economic crisis. An establishment as revered as Lehman Brothers, one of the oldest investment banks of the world files for bankruptcy on September 14^th. It was a blow to the global capital market. When PWC was brought on board as administrators they reported there was no cash in the company post the fall. The shock had not been absorbed and Merrill Lynch was bought by Bank of America. Finally they became bank holding companies and the US government paid $700bn to tackle the worst economic crisis in decades. With the developed north crashing there is not much hope anyways for the developing south. Anyways the Indian aping of neo-liberal economy without much deliberation has brought us at the edge of the blackhole.

The economic crisis as the base of the Marxian base-superstructure theory, now poses a severe challenge to the already dwindling food and fuel crisis in India. As if the governments failure to generate employment for the exploding population of the country was not enough that now there will be major cut down on human resources by the MNCs. The shift of focus though doesn’t change the fact that inflation had reached 12.9%.

I had all of this reeling in my head when I went to attend the National Convention on Union Budget 2009-10. I was left flabbergasted with the numbers. Each sector thrashing out inadequacy in allocation, implementation, even conceptually the sectoral understandings seemed to be unclear and that having high levels of ramifications. I wondered about the complexity in the naivety. If experts even cannot develop a macro perspective, sincerely there is threat, of collapsing without even an alarm. The review of the MDGs at several parts of South Asia does portray a grim picture for India. But panelists here except for two did not give me holistic sense of the economic paradigm shift and its implications.

Though as I write this I realize the grassroots experiences are complex and there are several layers before we reach the policy level. How much can one embrace and how much can one choose to keep at the threshold? But can it be the dead end? Is there no solution to it? Or atleast the promise of respite somewhere?

The blow to Wall Street will have deep impact in India, and here people were advocating against remaining bystanders and fighting for marginalized factions of the society. Do they not know the overall implications? Do they not know that factionalizing at this point will only reap indefinable complexities? As much as it remains a serious concern, it frightens me to not see any able leadership developing in this country to be able to address these multilayered issues and crisis the largest democracy of the world is grappling with.

Coming back home, the encounter where the police apparently nabbed the masterminds of the Delhi blasts, the incident took place two blocks away from the place I live in. In the month of Ramzan when the whole community is fasting, this encounter took place in the bylanes of a crowded locality near Jamia Millia resulting in the death of a police inspector of the Special Cell and established the presence of terrorist cells in minority pockets. When I was on my way back home the eerie feeling in the lanes shook me from the roots. I felt scared of being an Indian, felt scared for the people who are family are Muslims and the majority wrath would not spare them, felt scared because every other young guy in that space resembles the faces which appear on the wanted lists. Scared for the age group thats the promise of the dawn tomorrow,the mighty young brains between 22-25 are taking up arms against global socio-economic discrepancies,I was scared because the area was prone to a communal clash in the batter of an eyelid.

The reports doing rounds of all the convoluted claims of nabbing terrorists comes later to me. What comes out first is the Muslim community is under severe crisis. Though I cannot not accept that communities at their levels have not thrashed one another and that is a blessing in disguise but the Muslim community who were anyways the point of attack by majority extremists is today questioning identities at all levels. With the blasts taking a national character, the global war to curb terrorism going full swing, India today is hiding from the danger that has no face. The communal violence inflicted in eastern, western and southern parts of the country by the Sena has not even received a strong reaction from the centre. I am deeply troubled by the complacent attitude. The backlash against the Home Minister definitely needs to be heard by the people in command. Have the Gandhis forgotten the trauma the country went through post the 1984 riots? Have they forgotten the series of assassinations in their family? So why is there no strong resolution to combat the communal tension in the country?

On the onset it might sound like those several blame games that every one is up against another, I understand this is far more complex than the words actually puts forth, but this calls for action, this calls for concrete ways in which the country can look at violation of human rights and not treat the present situation as a political game of ideology. Lets rise beyond creating opportunities from conflicts for human lives are not frivolous.

The array of natural disasters in the country already is sign of nature backlashing against the human civilization, lets not create spaces for the ugly head of man-made disaster to breathe into us the venom of intolerance and hatred.

24th Sept.New Delhi

Chemical Imagination heard the musical nitrate junk

A series of earthly happenings and a mixed bag of emotions, resurfacing from the hollow cylinders to severing guilt loaded associations,to keeping ego at some far away highland to losing father figures like lightening on a scorching summer day.
I am almost coming to believe the equation of life can never be for a moment be balanced, and I remember in the ninth standard I would take a lot of pride in the balancing the chemical equations and score a 10 on 10. And then life said,no we cannot let this happen. A lunatic was born and have been on the streets since then,looking for the right space where the sets for the dream production could be constructed.
But it was after dribbling with the ball for a while the quest seemed to suddenly have colours of grey and brown.

Who said it was easy to find the right creative space in a country were natural disasters are results of faulty constructions,where more then half the population lives under Rs.55 a day. There having the means to construct ideas which are more often than not mainstream is a difficult proposition. It is almost an impossible to compromise on work qualities and methods in terms of form,content,ethics and aesthetics. It is a better idea to keep trying to breathe fresh air than to breathe carbon monoxide to survive. If survival was in question, guess one would not have ventured into the pool of uncertainty. If the conviction is compromised the 25 year old journey would be meaningless.
The fact that the only resource called confidence dies under the utmost pressure of personal ramblings is an alarm that one is giving into the vacuum of self pity. The superpower somewhere has blessed some lunatics with support systems that rarely comes by. A family to be there through times of trouble,A soulmate with open arms through basics of life, and Friends who know you for whatever colour you are washed with. And strangers to fill up gaps of crisis.
It takes a lot to let go but it takes a little more to keep it all together,sometimes time heals it for us and sometimes the hope puts the puzzles together to create a new picture than how it looked like years ago.
Rock on reiterated it for me.

The film was an average film but it seemed to have stories that I was born with,characters I have lived with and would always fondly remember the magic they still create in my life.


But it strengthened my believe in the passion and madness,to go wrong,be abandoned and then come back.I hope my friend on the highway manages to hit the roads soon.


This is what he most recently showed the world-Ya Allah
Dearest You,excuse me but you have to kiss the sky!

I hope dreams also come alive as my dear lil miss muffet paws es for a thought.

I felt speechless to hear about the demise of my best friend's dad,it was too unexpected to withhold any reaction. I do not know what it takes to believe in deaths,maybe it helps to become numb to it. However much we say it was better than suffering,I wonder if it is as easy as that. My losses has been deep,the losses I see around are deeper,but if that vacuum can be lived with as if you have that person in the next room;it is often a source of inspiration and strength. Easier said than done but somewhere it does mean living with the hope that forever is not just a concept. But at the same time forever does pain at times. I do not remember right now how is it said or who said it but if it does not pain enough,there was never enough passion or dedication.And as per Silent emotions bond with me for the last twelve years,Anjan Dutt's priyo bondhu describes it the best......'Bhalo lage sopner mayajaal bunte,bhalo lage oi akasher tara gunte',(Love weaving the magic mesh of dreams, Love counting stars far away in the sky) that's how we started and we are still travelling through our paths,often converging,often getting lost in smoky December nights.Dear Silent Emotion,may you have all the strength to overcome when things are getting tough, I know this too shall pass.

The Dark Knight has left an indelible impression,it is difficult to believe that till date actors like Heath Ledger lives on. For a lot of people his overdose was a sign of weakness. I do not know what it was,I just know he defined dedication for me in a different gamut altogether.



As Joker says 'The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules', I go back to my chemistry test and realize the mystical line between reality and illusion.
To live through this conflict is a way of life.

Untilted Framed

Field Musings 2
















A few moments captured,and stories unearthed.
The journey continues

Untitled as Untilted ---the wasted sequel

Swecha is a youth movement, or lets say it started as one and then they decided to take shape and become this registered organization that primarily works on Environment and building responsible citizen movement around it.
Wasted was the first film the organization produced.
It is more of a personal voice of the organization and the creators of the film who tracked the journey of waste from homes of a neighborhood in Vasant Vihar in New Delhi to the landfill where the waste is segregated,sold and recycled. It is a peek into the existence of hundreds of waste pickers who live a faceless live but contribute almost rupees 20 crore per annum to the Indian economy. But that is also wasted.
What follows is anecdotes of the field visits in the form of a field diary

Field Musings

My shift to Delhi found a space to walk when I decided to work for the next film Swecha was conceptualizing to make.
This is going to trace the lives of the waste-pickers and the life analysis of the waste that fills the Lands in the space called Jahangirpuri,8 kms from Delhi University. The area is a resettlement colony for the waste pickers who migrated to this space since they seem to not remember.

With almost no concept of waste management except for books and articles,and the glimpse of landfills in Mumbai, I had to go to the field if I wanted to feel connected to the film and thus began my journey to Jahangirpuri. A non-Delhiite's first travelogue with all good intentions of not intruding into the community with a camera was dampened by the random rains right in the morning of 8th August.
The rain washed Delhi streets would make one feel like it exchanged roads with Mumbai. It was monotonous and heavy drizzles.
The trip to Central Secretariat was like any other metro traffic laden roads.
From there to Delhi University in the underground train which often seems like a replica of the subway trains of Europe. I was to take a bus to the Azadpur New Subzi Mandi. Unable to create space amongst the hard core aggressive bus commuters and feeling like a wet crow the next option was the auto. The auto drops me there and refuses to move an inch ahead.
Dismissed by the auto, I tried the cycle rickshaws. I explained resettlement colonies of kabariwalas (ragpickers) and the destination was explained to me as Bangali Bastis (settlements of Bengalis,Bengalis synonymous to Bangladeshis) and finally I was there.

Jahangirpuri, about three kilometres from Azadpur in North West Delhi looks at Delhi through different lenses. It seems to be a world by itself. One one side of the road there were apartments and shops like any urban-semi/urban spaces. On the other hand there were stacks of waste in polythene bags organized as if they were the guardians of the space I was about to enter.
The first walk through the alley was uneventful. The concentration was more on the shots that could have been captured, and trying to find the story within it, till I realized the two kids were following me curiously. Befriending Saajan and Deepak I walked back to where I began. Here I met Khalid, a scorpio driver whose live has begun in this space. In almost no time did the conversation had many people joining in and with all kinds of question, who what,where,why,and most importantly what is our benefit from the film. As a development professional it is perhaps easy to answer the question but as a film maker when the medium is being used to explain, to take ahead an issue (here more as an organization mandate than the subject) it is difficult. But the creative journey is probably the responsibility towards the subject, the issue and the film, hopefully, would do justice to the same.

From one Khalid,came one Sheikh Mumtaz, a fifteen year old ragpicker who is a professional. He knows the tricks of the trade and speaks his mind. While I was surrounded by curious onlookers and interviewers I noticed one teenager dressed rather in the Bollywood gear of a well fitted shirt and denim and a bandana which is made of net material in red and has a golden border. From the conversation of what I was there for,it divulged to how it is a bane to live in Jahangirpuri. Irrespective of enough education,just the reference that one comes from this place is a reason for the person to be treated with no respect and almost like a criminal.
My first item number character, the same bandana boy is called Azizul reflects on why the people of the area are criminalized.
He almost replies like a politician whose byte one would not want to miss.
“ Hum kachra utthate hai apne haathon se, aur haath gande hai, aur policewalon ke hissab se har gande kaam ke peeche,gande haathon ka dhanda hai. Woh yeh bhool jate hai ke yehi gande haath estamal hota hai to khana banta hai,aur hum khana khate hai” (We pick waste and get our hands dirty and behind every crime there are dirty hands. Therefore the law keepers say that we are the law breakers. What they forget is these very hands make food,and these dirty hands feed moths).
Shaken by the idea, I got driven into a conversation with the Maulana. According to him,the media has always exploited the community. But he is sure we have noble intentions (and I wondered what made him feel so!). He promised cooperation from all ends.
Hijacked to Sadam ki chai ki dukaan (Sadam's chai shop) we talked about old memories of the place. The neighbourhood is a concern for all the young adults,more so for their offspring. The greed to earn money by waste picking and segregation and selling it cannot be substituted. Secondly the presence of the alcohol den near the school which irrespective of age and students adorning uniform would sell them alcohol is a menace forever. So the students would rather bunk school,pick waste,sell it,earn money,drink and go to nearby video stalls and watch blue films. Education is of least importance and quick money is all that everyone is interested in. The elders are worried and amazed how the several other business run thats detrimental to the society there. The law-keepers turn a deaf ear at this, on the other hand according to their records criminals inhabit the wasted land.

The quest continues in search of the story teller or maybe story tellers, the heroes of real life who are getting wasted amongst the waste.


....to be continued