For the past few days, I have been thinking about art, imagination, creativity and the close relationship they nurture with the destruction or the deprecation of oneself.
I never thought that surfing through the television channels on a mildly lazy mayday afternoon I would come across the spark I needed to pose my question.
Gia, Basquiat, Modigliani, Morrisson, Hendrix. Their stories have left this permanent reminder of the mind’s power to see, feel, react and reason. Over this certain period of time, which I modestly term as my ‘age’.
These names, I have come across through the very trusted mediums of movies and books, and everytime I am surprised at how easily, they have used their brains as objects of desire, fulfillment and artistic bliss. They see colours we only dream of, they can hear voices unheard of, they sway their spectator with the utmost elegance towards their way of life, towards what they see, and to just give them a glimpse of how beautiful their world is, we as the audience are enclosed in the boundaries of the frame.
The painting limits us to just that particular vision, it’s funny in a way, the artist derives a certain sadistic pleasure of dangling the bait and eventually feeding it to us, but it’s too late because we are already on our way in this ocean of responsibilities, the ‘real’ world. And the artist just stays there, who’s laughing now? That’s his question. I’d bet my life on it.
So, here I am posing my little question, Art is very seldom appreciated in the artist’s lifetime, he is questioned though, and his answers never find the questions they deserve, so the questions really never get answered. The world undergoes a certain renaissance of ideas and boom. That’s where everything is, Art is bought.
A note, a stroke. It belongs to where it comes from, the real appreciation is from the originality of its existence, it exists because it is real for the one who creates it. There is my thin little line I manage to draw with utmost ease, I am baffled at the thought of losing my mind, addressing it an affirmation for every minute whim and diverting my whole body’s attention towards chasing a single shine in my endeavor to claim my diamond.
The self-destructing legends of the modern world have, as mentioned, destroyed themselves or have they really been creating possibly the orbs of light that the ones to follow are the ones who learn from their mistakes, but will there ever be another Modigliani fighting another Picasso? Or another Jim Morrisson almost lighting a ‘joint’ on stage with a cop behind him!? Or another Gia Marie Carangi, fittingly, the string of other supermodels who were to follow her lead called themselves ‘gia’s girls’…
These incidents arise tremendous interest in me, I tend to get to the bottom of why they turned astray when I realized that they were heading home. They are home, and I will keep on pondering on the single thought, I am not an artist, but I appreciate what they do, I am a spectator but I love to see what they create and I like to put myself in their shoes when I see something they have created, am I posing as one of them? Or am I just experiencing one of life’s unexplained vices, or am I plain simply overwhelmed at the human mind? I will always keep my central question to, ‘why does the body fade at the quest for mental sanctity?’ Are the two at a divine balance? And why is it that the one’s who refuse to balance themselves, attain divinity for their own selves in their own little way. Strange, is life.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Curious
Curious.
The woman, is so difficult a term. It leads me to define the inexplicable demise the dilemma of the other half, we refer to as the opposite sex.
Watching tv, the lakme ad, somehow I get pulled into this world of how they sing, dance, work, play and most of all, think.
Do they ever think like we do? The way we look at them, the way we make an opinion, the way we compare, the way we use our empty ‘man’ minds to do our thing so to speak.
How would she react to talking about boxers and string bikinis (ahem, speedos too! I am no sexist!) and hairy legs, as we to lingerie, satin, cotton, and edible too.
Would she try and think about how the guy looked naked? at first glance.
Why do they do what they do? Does this lead to the age-old boys vs. girls debate? The simple things somehow complicate most of the situations when involving both the sexes, how is it that the importance levels of the not-so-important in practical life amenities make so-much-more sense when the dude and the girl really get their thing going.
I understand a relationship, I understand the feminine balance in a relationship, I also love the fact that without women, the race would not exist. I love the world as it is, I question however, the curiosity springing in me about how, how exactly one is to handle a situation involving a half-empty glass of water, turning into a three-year-old topic leading to something leading to the best line of all! ‘you always do this, *sniff sniff*’…’FAAAACCCKKK!!’, the death tears, the next day, after the night, when one needs to call….”your balance is nil, kindly recharge your phone to-“. It sucks. The whole night, destroyed.
It might be my luck, or is it that, movies, sports and cars make little or no sense to them, the hungry hunter of that royal teeny-weeny small piece of self-respect and pride filled ever-longing ‘free-run’. A free-run is a man’s rise to power.
But, I also believe that the woman makes the man complete, she is the negative, while we are the positive, but can there ever be an end to this debate, it still leaves me well, curious. Nevertheless, I love venting.
The woman, is so difficult a term. It leads me to define the inexplicable demise the dilemma of the other half, we refer to as the opposite sex.
Watching tv, the lakme ad, somehow I get pulled into this world of how they sing, dance, work, play and most of all, think.
Do they ever think like we do? The way we look at them, the way we make an opinion, the way we compare, the way we use our empty ‘man’ minds to do our thing so to speak.
How would she react to talking about boxers and string bikinis (ahem, speedos too! I am no sexist!) and hairy legs, as we to lingerie, satin, cotton, and edible too.
Would she try and think about how the guy looked naked? at first glance.
Why do they do what they do? Does this lead to the age-old boys vs. girls debate? The simple things somehow complicate most of the situations when involving both the sexes, how is it that the importance levels of the not-so-important in practical life amenities make so-much-more sense when the dude and the girl really get their thing going.
I understand a relationship, I understand the feminine balance in a relationship, I also love the fact that without women, the race would not exist. I love the world as it is, I question however, the curiosity springing in me about how, how exactly one is to handle a situation involving a half-empty glass of water, turning into a three-year-old topic leading to something leading to the best line of all! ‘you always do this, *sniff sniff*’…’FAAAACCCKKK!!’, the death tears, the next day, after the night, when one needs to call….”your balance is nil, kindly recharge your phone to-“. It sucks. The whole night, destroyed.
It might be my luck, or is it that, movies, sports and cars make little or no sense to them, the hungry hunter of that royal teeny-weeny small piece of self-respect and pride filled ever-longing ‘free-run’. A free-run is a man’s rise to power.
But, I also believe that the woman makes the man complete, she is the negative, while we are the positive, but can there ever be an end to this debate, it still leaves me well, curious. Nevertheless, I love venting.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Fuel.
Part 1
Call it my drug, or my obsession, New Delhi.
The city's name on the television, or the radio, or the ever-impressive plane ticket. It lightens my spirit, and i usually tend to wonder, why?
My folks spent their whole lives moving, and when it was my turn to adapt, because i understood the meaning of the word now, things started to fall into place, i found reason, i found character, i found existence.
probably, the main reason for me doing my bidding in this innocence-long-lost work of art. Yes, it is, it is as passionate as a painter's vision and as abstract as his work. For me it brings harmony to my decadent, deceitful educational life. Education here does not persist its boundaries to my engineering facade, for it barely makes a nibble of the real deal. I greet, i meet, i learn.
I might be a little philosophical in my approach towards looking at a city, but it is worth my time.
Part 2
Gelled hair, Fast cars, diamonds, legs.
wondering why i put them all together? it is because i could not put them anywhere else to explain how it is to me.
Its not the look, its the idea behind it. People look good, they do like to look good and i am completely up for it, for i do tend to like when i do see, i listen, i think and then i hear and i decide.
Conversations remain constricted bordering closely from television, movies, food, relationships to the vague excerpt from one of the Delhi-ish.
"Bhenchod, tujhe pata hai main kaun hun?"
"teri gaand tod sakta hun main abhi"
(out comes the cell phone and the various speed-dial numbers ranging from the father to the goon.)
Part 3
Why?
A friend, A brother, A sister, The ex-girlfriends.
Part 4
Stoned in Saket.
My latest experience, which was my most enlightening of the lot was to reach a level of observation which i did this time, in saket.
The movie theatre just about masks the rest of the village when viewed from the street, it is a buzzing life-form in itself. Hundreds gather every evening to celebrate its existence, for it is and will be the essential.
As we make our way, the usual walk around the place, a friend decides to bring in an act of nobility, she rolls a joint.
McDonalds doesnt seem so bright anymore, Azzuro remains mysterious, Planet M is beautiful, for they are paying tribute to Pink Floyd, 24*7 remains the saviour, Barista is the old man in the corner, Bennigans is the snooty bitch i dont want to see, Ruby Tuesday is red, for it bleeds any paying customer to 'fucked for a fucking salad' state, Pizza hut, who gives a fuck? and Cafe coffee day, that idiot just had to be there now, right!
A corner houses a woman's obsession towards accessories, and books line up to make the pirated world a little more respectful than a decaying carcass. They buy and sell lives in books, numerous characters penned by thinkers of magnanimous capabilities.
There are herds of the hunters, there a groups of the hunted, the 'potentially awesome for the hunt', there is also the occasional marital bliss, and the overly excited tourists.
I do relate to man-woman chemistry when i mean the hunt. It is balanced, so feminists...who are u kidding?
i looked through them all, i do not know if i did see, but it's what i like looking for, they seem shallow, but they aren't, the true self shows in exceptionally dire circumstances, for which i long...
I enjoy New Delhi. Call me a cynic in this world of Diamonds and rust, but its the thrill of thought that gets me, and i get to think a lot about there. My Drug remains, and will.
Call it my drug, or my obsession, New Delhi.
The city's name on the television, or the radio, or the ever-impressive plane ticket. It lightens my spirit, and i usually tend to wonder, why?
My folks spent their whole lives moving, and when it was my turn to adapt, because i understood the meaning of the word now, things started to fall into place, i found reason, i found character, i found existence.
probably, the main reason for me doing my bidding in this innocence-long-lost work of art. Yes, it is, it is as passionate as a painter's vision and as abstract as his work. For me it brings harmony to my decadent, deceitful educational life. Education here does not persist its boundaries to my engineering facade, for it barely makes a nibble of the real deal. I greet, i meet, i learn.
I might be a little philosophical in my approach towards looking at a city, but it is worth my time.
Part 2
Gelled hair, Fast cars, diamonds, legs.
wondering why i put them all together? it is because i could not put them anywhere else to explain how it is to me.
Its not the look, its the idea behind it. People look good, they do like to look good and i am completely up for it, for i do tend to like when i do see, i listen, i think and then i hear and i decide.
Conversations remain constricted bordering closely from television, movies, food, relationships to the vague excerpt from one of the Delhi-ish.
"Bhenchod, tujhe pata hai main kaun hun?"
"teri gaand tod sakta hun main abhi"
(out comes the cell phone and the various speed-dial numbers ranging from the father to the goon.)
Part 3
Why?
A friend, A brother, A sister, The ex-girlfriends.
Part 4
Stoned in Saket.
My latest experience, which was my most enlightening of the lot was to reach a level of observation which i did this time, in saket.
The movie theatre just about masks the rest of the village when viewed from the street, it is a buzzing life-form in itself. Hundreds gather every evening to celebrate its existence, for it is and will be the essential.
As we make our way, the usual walk around the place, a friend decides to bring in an act of nobility, she rolls a joint.
McDonalds doesnt seem so bright anymore, Azzuro remains mysterious, Planet M is beautiful, for they are paying tribute to Pink Floyd, 24*7 remains the saviour, Barista is the old man in the corner, Bennigans is the snooty bitch i dont want to see, Ruby Tuesday is red, for it bleeds any paying customer to 'fucked for a fucking salad' state, Pizza hut, who gives a fuck? and Cafe coffee day, that idiot just had to be there now, right!
A corner houses a woman's obsession towards accessories, and books line up to make the pirated world a little more respectful than a decaying carcass. They buy and sell lives in books, numerous characters penned by thinkers of magnanimous capabilities.
There are herds of the hunters, there a groups of the hunted, the 'potentially awesome for the hunt', there is also the occasional marital bliss, and the overly excited tourists.
I do relate to man-woman chemistry when i mean the hunt. It is balanced, so feminists...who are u kidding?
i looked through them all, i do not know if i did see, but it's what i like looking for, they seem shallow, but they aren't, the true self shows in exceptionally dire circumstances, for which i long...
I enjoy New Delhi. Call me a cynic in this world of Diamonds and rust, but its the thrill of thought that gets me, and i get to think a lot about there. My Drug remains, and will.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Evolution of popularity.
Language was invented with the sole purpose of explaining one’s position. Head of the herd could communicate well, hunt well, was sought after by the women. Natural instincts of women could not be suppressed anymore, they said what they felt and did what they thought was right. Civilization was born.
From Neanderthals to the later stages, Man had someone he could look up to, an ideal idol. Gods were born, Kings were sought, Queens pampered, and the pattern of popularity started varying; now there were multiple podiums with numerous popularity-seeking individual identities.
Conquests and centuries later, when unity amongst one species was completely destroyed, and the world was defined as a map, countries distinguished, superpowers established, Project: Third World; a success.
Popularity still seems to be part of one pattern, Television, Movies, Glamour, Fashion, Pretty faces, handsome faces, and sports.
One may poise the question of how this pattern never seems to change, and take a new turn. I have that same question, is it the hypocrisy of the world population, to establish an identity which would in one way solve all their problems, for they would be popular. People would talk, they always do.
From Neanderthals to the later stages, Man had someone he could look up to, an ideal idol. Gods were born, Kings were sought, Queens pampered, and the pattern of popularity started varying; now there were multiple podiums with numerous popularity-seeking individual identities.
Conquests and centuries later, when unity amongst one species was completely destroyed, and the world was defined as a map, countries distinguished, superpowers established, Project: Third World; a success.
Popularity still seems to be part of one pattern, Television, Movies, Glamour, Fashion, Pretty faces, handsome faces, and sports.
One may poise the question of how this pattern never seems to change, and take a new turn. I have that same question, is it the hypocrisy of the world population, to establish an identity which would in one way solve all their problems, for they would be popular. People would talk, they always do.
Friday, September 21, 2007
The balcony.
The balcony, yes. That's all i needed, the last weekend was all about that corner of the balcony, the corner with portals, the corner with clarity, the corner with the ultimate visual bliss.
Change was supposedly my hidden curiosity towards experiencing unexplored happiness, every moment if savoured with a taste for perfection in Nature's unfolding imperfect ways, one realises most changes with the sense of peace whilst acquiring vast amounts of knowledge together.
Engulfed by the wave, and still standing tall. The salt from the water stays on a little longer as if to carry the message of the abyss, the vastness, stating its respect for them still standing tall. They live on, in tandom for millions of years, respecting the presence and stature of eachother.
Brilliance, Nature. A fighter by 'nature'. A soldier of the army of the power, the divine supreme.
The ships sailing towards the harbor were since childhood, my secret valued possesions. The reason i loved sitting out at the bay for hours and hours as a child, viewing the lights from the vessels. Huge and powerful, moving slowly towards a certain destination, as a defined livelihood. They never realised the inspiration they provided to me, they were my jewels. People would go to savour the saline air, i would go to witness power vessels on their journey gently gliding over the part of the world, where they flew in their own space.
Sunrise, The hill shaped as a dolphin hides some of the burning king, the existence we are thankful for, we are.
Change was supposedly my hidden curiosity towards experiencing unexplored happiness, every moment if savoured with a taste for perfection in Nature's unfolding imperfect ways, one realises most changes with the sense of peace whilst acquiring vast amounts of knowledge together.
Engulfed by the wave, and still standing tall. The salt from the water stays on a little longer as if to carry the message of the abyss, the vastness, stating its respect for them still standing tall. They live on, in tandom for millions of years, respecting the presence and stature of eachother.
Brilliance, Nature. A fighter by 'nature'. A soldier of the army of the power, the divine supreme.
The ships sailing towards the harbor were since childhood, my secret valued possesions. The reason i loved sitting out at the bay for hours and hours as a child, viewing the lights from the vessels. Huge and powerful, moving slowly towards a certain destination, as a defined livelihood. They never realised the inspiration they provided to me, they were my jewels. People would go to savour the saline air, i would go to witness power vessels on their journey gently gliding over the part of the world, where they flew in their own space.
Sunrise, The hill shaped as a dolphin hides some of the burning king, the existence we are thankful for, we are.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Different night...
Nine pm, Saturday. It ends tonight, he ran through the plan in his head once more.
As she walked back through the entrance, the path leading to the dance-floor lit, signaling the queen back to her domain, she obliged. Emptiness was never a topic to be pondered upon by the dancing creatures of the night, it was a thinker’s theme, she thought. For she felt strange somehow, empty inside, every aspect of her vagabond life with all its shortcomings laid out in her head with conscience bombarding her with weapons of guilt, fear and angst.
The music was pumping, lights were dimmed, liquor was flowing and the entire room was filled with smoke. She couldn’t keep still; she tried to make her way outside, away from the crowd, the superficial. She noticed that she made it through the people easier than usual, she didn’t knock a glass over, or step on someone, and no one seemed to notice her anymore, they ignored her, as if they had known that in her mind at that exact moment, she betrayed them, she saw through them. What was so different about tonight? Why had no one seemed to notice that she was the queen?
It had gone as planned, it worked. He felt a sigh of relief as he ran through the possible consequences once more in his head, with the ticket in hand and the visa stamped. They did not seem to matter much anyway. The phone rang, his heart missed a beat. Had they known?
“hullo, hullo?”
No answer, strange.
She felt every second of her remorse, bizarre remorse. Never once in life, had she bothered about her ailing mother, or the hopeful father. She wanted to fly, and she felt more to the ground than ever before. Why tonight? What had happened tonight?
The shrill sound of a woman’s nerve-chilling scream startled her, there was panic suddenly, and they started whispering words that she never thought she would hear. She felt everyone’s gaze on her suddenly. But they looked down elsewhere.
She walked to the centre of the gathered circle, through the people. No one stopped her. There she was, asleep. Sleeping as she had been through the pointless life. Lifeless, still and cold. She fell to her knees, at the feet of the fallen queen. If only, she knew how. Her life would never be complete. Not in this lifetime, not the next.
As she walked back through the entrance, the path leading to the dance-floor lit, signaling the queen back to her domain, she obliged. Emptiness was never a topic to be pondered upon by the dancing creatures of the night, it was a thinker’s theme, she thought. For she felt strange somehow, empty inside, every aspect of her vagabond life with all its shortcomings laid out in her head with conscience bombarding her with weapons of guilt, fear and angst.
The music was pumping, lights were dimmed, liquor was flowing and the entire room was filled with smoke. She couldn’t keep still; she tried to make her way outside, away from the crowd, the superficial. She noticed that she made it through the people easier than usual, she didn’t knock a glass over, or step on someone, and no one seemed to notice her anymore, they ignored her, as if they had known that in her mind at that exact moment, she betrayed them, she saw through them. What was so different about tonight? Why had no one seemed to notice that she was the queen?
It had gone as planned, it worked. He felt a sigh of relief as he ran through the possible consequences once more in his head, with the ticket in hand and the visa stamped. They did not seem to matter much anyway. The phone rang, his heart missed a beat. Had they known?
“hullo, hullo?”
No answer, strange.
She felt every second of her remorse, bizarre remorse. Never once in life, had she bothered about her ailing mother, or the hopeful father. She wanted to fly, and she felt more to the ground than ever before. Why tonight? What had happened tonight?
The shrill sound of a woman’s nerve-chilling scream startled her, there was panic suddenly, and they started whispering words that she never thought she would hear. She felt everyone’s gaze on her suddenly. But they looked down elsewhere.
She walked to the centre of the gathered circle, through the people. No one stopped her. There she was, asleep. Sleeping as she had been through the pointless life. Lifeless, still and cold. She fell to her knees, at the feet of the fallen queen. If only, she knew how. Her life would never be complete. Not in this lifetime, not the next.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
She-Topper
I waited for an hour before being 'spotted' by her, apparently she was caught up at college, looking up a case study and got carried away. WTF? that was the first time we met outside the college, the canteen had been my ground, and she was the library princess.
Considering the fact, that it had been almost two years since i had been a fresher. I did not have a library card. I did not read, nor did i know how many subjects i had that semester, but i do remember her beautiful lips, if lip-read, would say 'cos 90' and 'sin 120' through the sound-proof clear glass windows of the reading section. At that moment, trigonometry was the hottest thing on the planet.
She was a nerd, a hot one. If she had a caption it would read, 'difficult dame, disappointment inevitable'. oh, how they were right. She hated everything that did not have a hint of numbers, formulas or books. I was the king of this kind, the kind with no affinity towards paper other than the cigarette one's. Numbers, i was good with. I calculated the amount of money spent on every bottle, and how economical the 'other' bottles would have been.
I could not help but notice her everytime she walked past me, it was almost as if i had been struck by that big fat book of AUTOMATA in her hand. She had topped the last four semesters with no second place in close proximity. She was lusted for by them toppers themselves, God-forbid if she fell in their hands, they would make her do problems all their life, they would give birth to bigger and fatter books. I could not and would not let that happen, what a waste!! I had to do something, make my move,
'excuse me, i was wondering if you could help me...'
That was it, she smiled and came my way, i did not ever think that i would thank a book, but i did, i thanked JAVA in my hand. She came and asked me what it was, there was the bomb, i did not know JACKSHIT about java. I think she understood what it was, she looked at me slyly and walked away. I did not sleep that night. I passed on grass, which i must stress on is very important in engineering, it is almost the elixir of engineers.
The next morning was as good as the first, i had been asked to leave the first three lecture halls because i did not know the name of the subject, and i had loyal friends with me, who did not know that we had actually registered for the fifth semester, they thought it was still the fourth, hey! I am sure it was a mistake, shit happens.
I kept watching her throughout my only five minutes during every class, it was divine, she radiated brilliance, not her's but god's, his plan worked, she was perfect, she was the one I wanted.
As she entered the canteen, i just said it. 'I have trouble with automata too'
That was it, she was in love. I had just been promoted from 'careless bugger' to 'coming around and i must help him' boy. HEHEHEHEHEH!!
YEAAAAAAA! We met, i waited and it was a success, i learned that automata is a bigger bitch than it seemed to be, and that she was the youngest of three, the other two being older and being men. We talked more about ourselves, we left the bitch to rot! i hope to god that she does. It's still on, i'll keep posting.
Considering the fact, that it had been almost two years since i had been a fresher. I did not have a library card. I did not read, nor did i know how many subjects i had that semester, but i do remember her beautiful lips, if lip-read, would say 'cos 90' and 'sin 120' through the sound-proof clear glass windows of the reading section. At that moment, trigonometry was the hottest thing on the planet.
She was a nerd, a hot one. If she had a caption it would read, 'difficult dame, disappointment inevitable'. oh, how they were right. She hated everything that did not have a hint of numbers, formulas or books. I was the king of this kind, the kind with no affinity towards paper other than the cigarette one's. Numbers, i was good with. I calculated the amount of money spent on every bottle, and how economical the 'other' bottles would have been.
I could not help but notice her everytime she walked past me, it was almost as if i had been struck by that big fat book of AUTOMATA in her hand. She had topped the last four semesters with no second place in close proximity. She was lusted for by them toppers themselves, God-forbid if she fell in their hands, they would make her do problems all their life, they would give birth to bigger and fatter books. I could not and would not let that happen, what a waste!! I had to do something, make my move,
'excuse me, i was wondering if you could help me...'
That was it, she smiled and came my way, i did not ever think that i would thank a book, but i did, i thanked JAVA in my hand. She came and asked me what it was, there was the bomb, i did not know JACKSHIT about java. I think she understood what it was, she looked at me slyly and walked away. I did not sleep that night. I passed on grass, which i must stress on is very important in engineering, it is almost the elixir of engineers.
The next morning was as good as the first, i had been asked to leave the first three lecture halls because i did not know the name of the subject, and i had loyal friends with me, who did not know that we had actually registered for the fifth semester, they thought it was still the fourth, hey! I am sure it was a mistake, shit happens.
I kept watching her throughout my only five minutes during every class, it was divine, she radiated brilliance, not her's but god's, his plan worked, she was perfect, she was the one I wanted.
As she entered the canteen, i just said it. 'I have trouble with automata too'
That was it, she was in love. I had just been promoted from 'careless bugger' to 'coming around and i must help him' boy. HEHEHEHEHEH!!
YEAAAAAAA! We met, i waited and it was a success, i learned that automata is a bigger bitch than it seemed to be, and that she was the youngest of three, the other two being older and being men. We talked more about ourselves, we left the bitch to rot! i hope to god that she does. It's still on, i'll keep posting.
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