Were what descended upon NSIT yesternight... Alumni Dinner et al.
Back to good old NSIT we all were, with the flavour of the ever-effervescent Moksha being an added bonus. In the midst of being called upon to judge events (read reliving the sweet, eternal judge-hunt travails of yesteryears) and watching one's own at the helm all around, one spent those few, distinct moments that one can look back on, and safely move to the folder named "Special".
Going insane with the people that had been one's partners-in-crime for the major part of 4 years;
jumping, singing, hugging away without a care to the world
sitting under the wisdom tree in a gentle state of self voiding slowness;
capturing a shot of a muse leaving the room into untouchable light;
shouting oneself senseless at the oooooo-sum wind tunnel;
EVERYthing, was put together, in a rare orchestration of the elements, arranged in a manner that can evoke the most amazing emotions, today, yesterday, and tomorrow.
The more one speaks of it, the more cliched it becomes.
Thus, I shall refrain from doing so.
What must remain, must remain in the one place it matters most.
Here's to that, and all that makes the crop what it is.
Cheers!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
My World (Ente Lokam)
What it is to me;
It is only to me.
What I see, is what I see;
And though you may find it hard to believe,
My blue is only my blue,
As your red is only yours.
In this tiny speck of time and space,
We find ourselves two poles apart.
Between us is a gulf of innumerable tears,
Singing a song for aeons, or so says Tagore.
I see not you, but the shape of your being,
As I do with every other void around me.
I live on the ground and all that it gives,
Longing for the ambrosia of the skies,
Not knowing of the longing of the birds.
I see not myself, or that which makes me,
I see only the other,
And in him, all that I am not.
The strains from a divine music reach out to me,
And add to my being, the element of the soul.
Shadaj-Pancham conspire to open my sleeping eye,
And with that, all is clear and free.
You are you, and I am I,
Yet a string passes through our mutual being.
In that intersection of infinite lines,
Two different worlds collide;
Collide, transform and enmesh,
To give one collective fabric,
On which are several reds and blues,
Each distinct, yet immovably same.
The eye looks for that which awakened it,
Only to find the notes emanating in the ether.
Tracing the lines back to their source,
It covers deserts and galaxies,
To finally reach the feet of the Master;
The One, who is, eternally and always.
I looks at the fabric draped on my senses,
My blue, resplendent and lively as ever.
Your red appeals just as well.
Soon however, everything blurs,
Your red mixes with mine,
As does everything else.
As I close my eyes,
The eye keeps watch
It sees the world converging to one point.
Finally, I too float on to the point,
And discover much to my joy,
That it is to my world that I have returned.
The eye glances to the side,
And finds you standing, all eyes opened.
And I see the oneness of both our beings, our reds and our blues,
For I no longer exist, and neither do you.
All that stands are two eyes,
Bowed down at the point of omni-convergence,
The music still playing, now and forever, at His feet.
It is only to me.
What I see, is what I see;
And though you may find it hard to believe,
My blue is only my blue,
As your red is only yours.
In this tiny speck of time and space,
We find ourselves two poles apart.
Between us is a gulf of innumerable tears,
Singing a song for aeons, or so says Tagore.
I see not you, but the shape of your being,
As I do with every other void around me.
I live on the ground and all that it gives,
Longing for the ambrosia of the skies,
Not knowing of the longing of the birds.
I see not myself, or that which makes me,
I see only the other,
And in him, all that I am not.
The strains from a divine music reach out to me,
And add to my being, the element of the soul.
Shadaj-Pancham conspire to open my sleeping eye,
And with that, all is clear and free.
You are you, and I am I,
Yet a string passes through our mutual being.
In that intersection of infinite lines,
Two different worlds collide;
Collide, transform and enmesh,
To give one collective fabric,
On which are several reds and blues,
Each distinct, yet immovably same.
The eye looks for that which awakened it,
Only to find the notes emanating in the ether.
Tracing the lines back to their source,
It covers deserts and galaxies,
To finally reach the feet of the Master;
The One, who is, eternally and always.
I looks at the fabric draped on my senses,
My blue, resplendent and lively as ever.
Your red appeals just as well.
Soon however, everything blurs,
Your red mixes with mine,
As does everything else.
As I close my eyes,
The eye keeps watch
It sees the world converging to one point.
Finally, I too float on to the point,
And discover much to my joy,
That it is to my world that I have returned.
The eye glances to the side,
And finds you standing, all eyes opened.
And I see the oneness of both our beings, our reds and our blues,
For I no longer exist, and neither do you.
All that stands are two eyes,
Bowed down at the point of omni-convergence,
The music still playing, now and forever, at His feet.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Dev.D OST
I realize this 'review' (more a song in praise!) comes rather late.
But anyhoo!
Dev.D's music is, in one word, a.w.e.s.o.m.e.
If one were to let go of the shackles of brevity however...:
The music exudes life, in all its countless shades: be it the dark alleys on the spiral of self destruction, or the complete lightness arising from letting the world, and the self be, or even the transitions between the two extremes, both ways.
What Amit Trivedi has gifted to humanity through his 2nd musical venture (which should've been his debut initially.. and what a debut it would've been!), is a collection of gems, each magnificent in its composition and lyrical value, each able enough to do justice to the richness of emotion resplendent all around it.
While on one hand, we see a decadent, obnoxious, spoilt brat courting his own end in a long and winding affair, on the other, the music plays out every detail of his conflict - the perceived injustice, the arrogance engrained in his very fibre, and the growing frustration, hollowness and disillusionment.
In his childhood sweetheart, waiting since eternity for her knight to return, one sees several shades of passion, childish innocence and that sense of longing and loyalty which can perhaps best be felt on the big screen. Though she remains perhaps the least well documented of the three (by the music), one finds every single highlight of her being, covered with the requisite portions of elegance, passion and love.
The last of the trinity to be introduced, the intriguing, seductive, yet intrinsically innocent little girl from Canada. Personally I believe her's was the most most challenging role to capture in music, in terms of the magnitude of change encountered by her character. The intricate mazes that became integral to her role were expressed with great alacrity. And to cap it all, the pivotal moment that changed the course of her life was mapped to the scales in sheer poetry. The transition was as beautifully done, as it was grave. Signor Tiwari, take a bow.
To all the elements that came together to bring those 18 amazing tracks out to the light of day, a thousand salutations, and many, many respects.
But anyhoo!
Dev.D's music is, in one word, a.w.e.s.o.m.e.
If one were to let go of the shackles of brevity however...:
The music exudes life, in all its countless shades: be it the dark alleys on the spiral of self destruction, or the complete lightness arising from letting the world, and the self be, or even the transitions between the two extremes, both ways.
What Amit Trivedi has gifted to humanity through his 2nd musical venture (which should've been his debut initially.. and what a debut it would've been!), is a collection of gems, each magnificent in its composition and lyrical value, each able enough to do justice to the richness of emotion resplendent all around it.
While on one hand, we see a decadent, obnoxious, spoilt brat courting his own end in a long and winding affair, on the other, the music plays out every detail of his conflict - the perceived injustice, the arrogance engrained in his very fibre, and the growing frustration, hollowness and disillusionment.
In his childhood sweetheart, waiting since eternity for her knight to return, one sees several shades of passion, childish innocence and that sense of longing and loyalty which can perhaps best be felt on the big screen. Though she remains perhaps the least well documented of the three (by the music), one finds every single highlight of her being, covered with the requisite portions of elegance, passion and love.
The last of the trinity to be introduced, the intriguing, seductive, yet intrinsically innocent little girl from Canada. Personally I believe her's was the most most challenging role to capture in music, in terms of the magnitude of change encountered by her character. The intricate mazes that became integral to her role were expressed with great alacrity. And to cap it all, the pivotal moment that changed the course of her life was mapped to the scales in sheer poetry. The transition was as beautifully done, as it was grave. Signor Tiwari, take a bow.
To all the elements that came together to bring those 18 amazing tracks out to the light of day, a thousand salutations, and many, many respects.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Sleep
Even though I might just belong to that select cult of individuals, who make their way through history on sleep more little than socially anticipated/expected, time has now and again been dropping hints of my distinct lack of sleep immortality.
This sequence is reminiscent of the grave views on life that I tend to subscribe to now and then. The contents of said subscription would take too long to elaborate now, and also would only be apt on the other forum.
For now, I shall try and suffice by capturing its essence in:
They are all lies. There is no respite, no reprieve; just a bunch of to-be-pursued dreams, each adding another layer to the illusion, and each facilitating the onset of an ever harsher, ever harder, yet essentialy constant truth.
Of course, sleep does not go to such depths as described above. The similarity may be considered restricted to the logical/causal structure. What this also means is that Sleep lacks the profound factor, that appears to be the only antidote to the sinking ship of a situation above. What that factor is, shall be revealed along with the due elaboration.
Till then, one may safely conclude that sleep issues require the following 3 step process:
1. Acknowledge,
2. Shuffle,
3. Sleep!
Cheers duniya!
And G'nite! :)
PS: Yes, Hypnos merits greater respects than those accorded to Him at present, or so it seems!
Jai Ho!
This sequence is reminiscent of the grave views on life that I tend to subscribe to now and then. The contents of said subscription would take too long to elaborate now, and also would only be apt on the other forum.
For now, I shall try and suffice by capturing its essence in:
They are all lies. There is no respite, no reprieve; just a bunch of to-be-pursued dreams, each adding another layer to the illusion, and each facilitating the onset of an ever harsher, ever harder, yet essentialy constant truth.
Of course, sleep does not go to such depths as described above. The similarity may be considered restricted to the logical/causal structure. What this also means is that Sleep lacks the profound factor, that appears to be the only antidote to the sinking ship of a situation above. What that factor is, shall be revealed along with the due elaboration.
Till then, one may safely conclude that sleep issues require the following 3 step process:
1. Acknowledge,
2. Shuffle,
3. Sleep!
Cheers duniya!
And G'nite! :)
PS: Yes, Hypnos merits greater respects than those accorded to Him at present, or so it seems!
Jai Ho!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Fulham... Be afraid, be very afraid.
The last week has been spent nursing the wounds from Liverpool's exaggerated victory over us at OT.
Messrs Benitez & Co. have in the mean time signed various new deals, making the most of one of those rare, "drive the word 'fluke' to its limits" weeks, where by the alignment of a million stars together, you thrash two giants back to back.
It remains to be seen when the Scousers fall their oh-so-characteristic fall next. Whenever that happens, what is next to certain is that the Red Devils will come out on the pitch with a streak of vengeance and retribution on a cosmos that chose to humble their might in a manner as overly and undeservingly skewed as what transpired last Saturday.
Anyhow, the match begins in another 15 minutes.
I'm sure the players are looking forward to this fixture with as much an appetite as I am at this moment.
Go on you crazy devils!
Claim what is rightfully yours!
Messrs Benitez & Co. have in the mean time signed various new deals, making the most of one of those rare, "drive the word 'fluke' to its limits" weeks, where by the alignment of a million stars together, you thrash two giants back to back.
It remains to be seen when the Scousers fall their oh-so-characteristic fall next. Whenever that happens, what is next to certain is that the Red Devils will come out on the pitch with a streak of vengeance and retribution on a cosmos that chose to humble their might in a manner as overly and undeservingly skewed as what transpired last Saturday.
Anyhow, the match begins in another 15 minutes.
I'm sure the players are looking forward to this fixture with as much an appetite as I am at this moment.
Go on you crazy devils!
Claim what is rightfully yours!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Mastishq, and the likes...
What started from humble beginnings, in the form of a random chat with an old friend, took on monstrous forms, even as the self wandered near the brook of insanity. Of course, a strong need was felt subsequently, to document whatever could be feasibly .
Though very much a part of 'my world', this is the 'type' that stays on the other side.
Hence, the link!
Enjoy!
And don't kill yourself!
PS: Do not be afraid.
Though very much a part of 'my world', this is the 'type' that stays on the other side.
Hence, the link!
Enjoy!
And don't kill yourself!
PS: Do not be afraid.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Sounds of Silence, and other such..
This piece doesn't quite relate to the immortal track by Simon & Garfunkel (that must be another post, another day!).
Rather, it tries to look at one (perhaps a few) small aspect of the infinite expanses of cinema, and the movies that grace our social consciousness today, through my small, very ignorant, but very impassioned eyes.
I have, over the last few weeks, managed to arrive at this one point, based on my many colourful observations spread over many many years.
I shall proceed to state it with brevity, before going all out insane elaorating on its significance.
An important factor in determining how well a movie has been made, is the manner in which it handles silence.
Most of what we're fed today, tries to follow the "there's never a dull moment" model. What this entails is a sequence of gags stitched together, with an equally cheesy soundtrack playing in the background. What most people have all but forgotten is, is that there are limits to which an industry can unrelentingly, without discrimination, rely on 'Suspension of Disbelief' to sell their produce.
It is not normal for every character of a film to fall into one of the stereotypes that we as a collective consciousness have given birth to.
It is not normal for every dialogue to have 'punch' in it, natural or forced.
It is not normal for every passing thought in the mind of every passing character to be verbalized to dialogues that get mind numbing in their redundancy.
(I shall not touch on the entire Size-0 issue, as that does not pertain to the issue at hand, and was handled to some extent, as part of a larger discussion, here.)
Silence is a monster.
It fills the entire screen when it arrives, eclipsing the mere mortals filling space besides it, above it, below it, and all the while getting wholly consumed by it.
Silence is thus boundlessly powerful in how it can devour the most elaborate of sequences and sets.
And thus, it scares the living daylights out of all those who straddle themselves with the tag of 'film maker'.
Nobody today, barring the exceptions that are 3 or 4 thinking souls, has any semblance of what it takes to delve into how this monster can be tamed. That it can be, is proven without doubt by the numerous such instances from our glorious past. But to look it in the eye, and then guide the countless little elements in a manner that lends some meaning and balance to its antagonizing existence, requires more than just some old tapes for inspiration's sake.
As one looks at the today's output, one is often left feeling insulted by the industry's blatant lack of respect for one's intelligence, as evidenced by the material that makes the cut to the final print. Yes, India is a diverse country, with diverse tastes, and highly varied expectation levels. And as I was told long back, the pseude, critical audiences shall always be doomed to the mute minority, thus perhaps rendering this entire post poignantly pointless. The free market rules I guess. What we all want, is what you and I get.
Perhaps out of the creatively frustrated ashes of this generation, shall rise another crop, hints of which are already visible; Pather Panchali may still be a far cry, but Dasvidaniya and Dev D still come by now and then.
(Much of the) Old was gold,
In today's darkness, in the cold,
Amidst the sparks that go unsold,
We look to the morrow, and behold...
Cheers duniya!
Rather, it tries to look at one (perhaps a few) small aspect of the infinite expanses of cinema, and the movies that grace our social consciousness today, through my small, very ignorant, but very impassioned eyes.
I have, over the last few weeks, managed to arrive at this one point, based on my many colourful observations spread over many many years.
I shall proceed to state it with brevity, before going all out insane elaorating on its significance.
An important factor in determining how well a movie has been made, is the manner in which it handles silence.
Most of what we're fed today, tries to follow the "there's never a dull moment" model. What this entails is a sequence of gags stitched together, with an equally cheesy soundtrack playing in the background. What most people have all but forgotten is, is that there are limits to which an industry can unrelentingly, without discrimination, rely on 'Suspension of Disbelief' to sell their produce.
It is not normal for every character of a film to fall into one of the stereotypes that we as a collective consciousness have given birth to.
It is not normal for every dialogue to have 'punch' in it, natural or forced.
It is not normal for every passing thought in the mind of every passing character to be verbalized to dialogues that get mind numbing in their redundancy.
(I shall not touch on the entire Size-0 issue, as that does not pertain to the issue at hand, and was handled to some extent, as part of a larger discussion, here.)
Silence is a monster.
It fills the entire screen when it arrives, eclipsing the mere mortals filling space besides it, above it, below it, and all the while getting wholly consumed by it.
Silence is thus boundlessly powerful in how it can devour the most elaborate of sequences and sets.
And thus, it scares the living daylights out of all those who straddle themselves with the tag of 'film maker'.
Nobody today, barring the exceptions that are 3 or 4 thinking souls, has any semblance of what it takes to delve into how this monster can be tamed. That it can be, is proven without doubt by the numerous such instances from our glorious past. But to look it in the eye, and then guide the countless little elements in a manner that lends some meaning and balance to its antagonizing existence, requires more than just some old tapes for inspiration's sake.
As one looks at the today's output, one is often left feeling insulted by the industry's blatant lack of respect for one's intelligence, as evidenced by the material that makes the cut to the final print. Yes, India is a diverse country, with diverse tastes, and highly varied expectation levels. And as I was told long back, the pseude, critical audiences shall always be doomed to the mute minority, thus perhaps rendering this entire post poignantly pointless. The free market rules I guess. What we all want, is what you and I get.
Perhaps out of the creatively frustrated ashes of this generation, shall rise another crop, hints of which are already visible; Pather Panchali may still be a far cry, but Dasvidaniya and Dev D still come by now and then.
(Much of the) Old was gold,
In today's darkness, in the cold,
Amidst the sparks that go unsold,
We look to the morrow, and behold...
Cheers duniya!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
