Ever wondered how dangerous (even manipulative, talking in social terms) a woman is - when she is charming, sexy and attractive ( the word beautiful hasn't been used for a purpose) and is totally aware of it. Think back to Helen of Troy. And how naive is a woman who is beautiful but has never discovered what her beauty is capable of- for herself and the world?
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Trivial thoughts
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Character sketch #1
Serene - one word that would describe the beautiful imagery around him. A lush green valley, mellifluously flowing river and mountain tops covered with snow. "God must have been an artist", he thought.
"Bleh, cliches!", said his snide alter ego. Somehow, though, that thought invoked a strange feeling of pride within him. He thought of himself at par with the Source. That was the name with which he chose to worship God. After all, he was an artist too. Or that is how people saw him. In his own words- that is how people labelled him.
"Oh, so you're a painter. Does that earn you enough money?"
When asked what he did for a living, he'd smile and say-"It's pretty simple. I wake up in the morning and recreate my dreams on a canvas with these... these pencils, oil pastels and brushes".
"Oh, so you're a painter. Does that earn you enough money?"
"Well, it makes me happy. Isn't that living enough?"
The modest smile is now replaced with a difficult expression that tried to conceal the apparent arrogance in the answer. More often than not, this was the longest conversation he would have with most people.
He wasn't anthropophobic and aloof, as most of these people again, had labeled him. Being comfortable around a lot of people was never his forte. But he did have a heart. A heart of gold, I'd say. Of late, he even took the kid next door for a ride on his old rusty motorbike and share an ice-cream with him - almost daily. He did this because that kid made him feel alive. Just like the valley he was overlooking and the scenery made him feel full of life. Every Saturday he'd go to the old age home in his neighborhood and mingle with his extended family. Share whatever little joy he had earnt with people who didn't have a lot to celebrate about, just like him. Because the only lesson his father taught him was "Always share your joy with as many people as you can. That is the only way you can truly be joyous. That is the only way you can truly be rich."
But as with heart, it wasn't so simple with the mind- his mind was his greatest possession and obsession.
Which is why he perhaps loved being lost in his own world. His dilapidated studio, which, ironically enough for the world, was named as Paradise. The sight of a jhola hanging besides a pair of worn out jeans and khakis, walls spray painted with a peace sign, a John Lennon poster on one wall and the stereo playing old-school rock. This would hardly resemble the image of paradise the world holds in its eyes. But to him, this was his own world, his paradise. Rather, he he preferred seeing it as his universe. Where in he would wake up each morning, mix a few colors on his palette and paint a new world; as he saw it, as he wished it should be. Not how a few hundred people think it is or should be or as it was defined by the Source. Here, he was the source. He would create, recreate, erase and recreate until he felt it was perfect. Such was his obsession with being perfect.
This was his third visit to the mountains in the last week, where he biked up this distance to find peace that he no longer found in his studio. Wherever he sensed the immense presence of beauty in the surrounding, he'd just take out his canvas, mix a few colors on his old wooden palette and start creating strokes with the brush. And it would be a visual treat seeing his mind at work on the canvas. He would take just one good look at the panorama with his shiny blue eyes. Eyes that reflected passion and shone with such brilliance that it was almost impossible to look within and have a slightest hint of his sorrow. And then his golden hand would start painting the most beautiful strokes on the small piece of canvas. Create, erase, recreate. Yet again. Seeing him in action was as charming and elegant as a magician performing a magic trick. At sunset, the canvas would be complete. Thus, he would have created his own world. As he saw it.
With dusk approaching, he would bike down the treacherous slopes of the valley to come back to his studio. But paradise was hardly found. Yet he had faith. In himself and the Source. Like Milton's Paradise Regained, he too would find his lost paradise soon. If he stopped looking around frantically., it would appear right in front of him. As clear as his vision while making those master strokes on the canvas.
He wasn't anthropophobic and aloof, as most of these people again, had labeled him. Being comfortable around a lot of people was never his forte. But he did have a heart. A heart of gold, I'd say. Of late, he even took the kid next door for a ride on his old rusty motorbike and share an ice-cream with him - almost daily. He did this because that kid made him feel alive. Just like the valley he was overlooking and the scenery made him feel full of life. Every Saturday he'd go to the old age home in his neighborhood and mingle with his extended family. Share whatever little joy he had earnt with people who didn't have a lot to celebrate about, just like him. Because the only lesson his father taught him was "Always share your joy with as many people as you can. That is the only way you can truly be joyous. That is the only way you can truly be rich."
But as with heart, it wasn't so simple with the mind- his mind was his greatest possession and obsession.
Which is why he perhaps loved being lost in his own world. His dilapidated studio, which, ironically enough for the world, was named as Paradise. The sight of a jhola hanging besides a pair of worn out jeans and khakis, walls spray painted with a peace sign, a John Lennon poster on one wall and the stereo playing old-school rock. This would hardly resemble the image of paradise the world holds in its eyes. But to him, this was his own world, his paradise. Rather, he he preferred seeing it as his universe. Where in he would wake up each morning, mix a few colors on his palette and paint a new world; as he saw it, as he wished it should be. Not how a few hundred people think it is or should be or as it was defined by the Source. Here, he was the source. He would create, recreate, erase and recreate until he felt it was perfect. Such was his obsession with being perfect.
This was his third visit to the mountains in the last week, where he biked up this distance to find peace that he no longer found in his studio. Wherever he sensed the immense presence of beauty in the surrounding, he'd just take out his canvas, mix a few colors on his old wooden palette and start creating strokes with the brush. And it would be a visual treat seeing his mind at work on the canvas. He would take just one good look at the panorama with his shiny blue eyes. Eyes that reflected passion and shone with such brilliance that it was almost impossible to look within and have a slightest hint of his sorrow. And then his golden hand would start painting the most beautiful strokes on the small piece of canvas. Create, erase, recreate. Yet again. Seeing him in action was as charming and elegant as a magician performing a magic trick. At sunset, the canvas would be complete. Thus, he would have created his own world. As he saw it.
With dusk approaching, he would bike down the treacherous slopes of the valley to come back to his studio. But paradise was hardly found. Yet he had faith. In himself and the Source. Like Milton's Paradise Regained, he too would find his lost paradise soon. If he stopped looking around frantically., it would appear right in front of him. As clear as his vision while making those master strokes on the canvas.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Tonic
I have discovered that writing, to me is like a tonic. More like those Centrum tablets I take as a dietary supplement. They're just an additional source of the essential vitamins I might be missing out on my daily food. The same holds true for writing as well- this thing is my mental supplement. It takes out all those undocumented thoughts that keep flying around my restless head and puts them in place.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Thank you- Part I
Slowly but surely, the clouds seem to be clearing.
God, thank you for bestowing your grace on me! :)
Some more would be a big help :)
Kaushal
God, thank you for bestowing your grace on me! :)
Some more would be a big help :)
Kaushal
Thursday, October 6, 2011
iNspirationally yours
 |
| Steve Jobs 1955-2011 |
He ain't no saint, but ain't no loser either
Or in his own words, you can glorify, vilify, disagree with them or disbelieve them.
But you can't ignore him.
Because he changed things.
Because he inspired the Generation neXt
Because he inspired me.
Because he believed you should always do what you love.
Because he believed that aesthetics and simplicity of use lie at the core of any product that is engineered.
Because he believed that design is one of the most important aspects in engineering a product.
But in the end, he succumbed to a disease that has taken away two of my dearest grandparents.
Who, in their own lives and own little universe, had a similar influence, sans the conspiracies.
Amen.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The finish line
The finish line isn't far away. It is now in sight, but slightly out of reach.
Poise, calm and dedication along with a huge effort will take you there, where you have always wanted to be.
The finish line means a lot. The end of an era. And beginning of a new one.
This is the last lap and it would demand a lot more than what you have ever given. Let each moment of your life you live from this one to the one until the finishing line, define what your future will be.
It seems in sight, just fight it out to bring it in reach.
Dream, hope, pray and ACT to get there!!
Come on!!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Incredible India- Kya aapka character dheela hai?
This is actually a re-post. Pulled out from a couple of months old Facebook note I had written, when Delhi Belly was more important than Anna Hazare!
So, turns out that the much-respected movie star who promotes Incredible India, doesn't really feel much shame in promoting DK Bose for his nephew. Yes Aamir- We hate you (like we love you).
Truth be told, and be told first- I'm writing this after seeing the movie, and after being one of the first people to LMAO at the song that they've used to promote this movie. This post is coming up from someone who spews abuses in every sentence, and may seem slightly hypocritical. That said, this post isn't about ranting and raving how the Indian society and it's moral values have gone for a toss- there are people who can better me at saying and doing that. Neither is it a post from the heart of a self-confessed serial cusser, who finds fake approval for his ways from the movie.
There's a lot of things that stirred my mind to write this whole thing up, one being the snippets of the radio show I heard on the facebook page of RJ Dhvanit, on Ahmedabad (it's Amdavad, actually )Radio Mirchi. The spectrum of people who commented on this whole issue of the film being promoted in a vulgar manner, was pretty interesting- a prominent lawyer-politician, a well-known psychiatrist, and a renowned Gujarati contemporary poet/lyricist- all of these against a common listener who represented the youth and said he was fine with this whole thing. What commands respect is the way Dhvanit has been handling the whole issue- he's pledging his opinions and asking for people's reactions on it, and making it a very mature radio talk show, rather than making it a raging debate like they do it on the news channels.
At the price of sounding diplomatic, I'd say, I kind of stand somewhere in the middle. There's an interesting duality between films and society. Some say that films influence the mindset of a society and/or a generation, some say otherwise. Screenplays, stories and films aren't generated out of thin air. Yes, they are a figment of the writer/director's imagination, but to an extent, there is a societal influence to the whole thing. The writer isn't sitting at Mars and making his movie, right? What you write, what you express, always is influenced by what you see around you, consciously or subconsciously; too little or too much. That said, the reverse also holds true- my then 10 year old cousin didn't blush as much seeing Spiderman kiss his beau while hanging upside down, while yours truly, a product of the Hum Paanch and Small Wonder generation, had goosebumps watching Titanic at the age of 13.
Back to the movie- I'm no movie critic, and I NEVER take movie critics seriously because I feel they're those snobby people who ridicule every movie and love only the seemingly disinteresting and generally incomprehensible artsy ones. But Delhi Belly had a story, had some good performances, and some moments where you felt the director has a knack for making good movies. Yes, the promotion of the movie was a shame, and I remember reading this somewhere, probably in the Sunday Times, that the problem is with the Censor board adopting double standards for films like Delhi Belly and Pyaar ka Punchnama (recent personal favorite!) as opposed to censoring those b-grade Champa Chudail type movies. Agreed.
The sole point behind this loquacity being, unlike those movies back in the day, like Masti and Kya Kool Hai Hum, Delhi belly has a plot. At some points, the humor is crass. But it isn't as story-less and cheap as Kya Kool Hai Hum, the movie which, if I remember correctly first introduced the DK Bose term. You shouldn't trash a movie because it apparently glorifies a language you proudly use while fighting with a rickshaw river who scratched your Honda City.e
I wonder what Aamir would be singing right now- "Main karun to saala character dheela hai??"
~ A silent spectator sitting 8000 miles away and missing all the brouhaha over this thing in India :)
So, turns out that the much-respected movie star who promotes Incredible India, doesn't really feel much shame in promoting DK Bose for his nephew. Yes Aamir- We hate you (like we love you).
Truth be told, and be told first- I'm writing this after seeing the movie, and after being one of the first people to LMAO at the song that they've used to promote this movie. This post is coming up from someone who spews abuses in every sentence, and may seem slightly hypocritical. That said, this post isn't about ranting and raving how the Indian society and it's moral values have gone for a toss- there are people who can better me at saying and doing that. Neither is it a post from the heart of a self-confessed serial cusser, who finds fake approval for his ways from the movie.
There's a lot of things that stirred my mind to write this whole thing up, one being the snippets of the radio show I heard on the facebook page of RJ Dhvanit, on Ahmedabad (it's Amdavad, actually )Radio Mirchi. The spectrum of people who commented on this whole issue of the film being promoted in a vulgar manner, was pretty interesting- a prominent lawyer-politician, a well-known psychiatrist, and a renowned Gujarati contemporary poet/lyricist- all of these against a common listener who represented the youth and said he was fine with this whole thing. What commands respect is the way Dhvanit has been handling the whole issue- he's pledging his opinions and asking for people's reactions on it, and making it a very mature radio talk show, rather than making it a raging debate like they do it on the news channels.
At the price of sounding diplomatic, I'd say, I kind of stand somewhere in the middle. There's an interesting duality between films and society. Some say that films influence the mindset of a society and/or a generation, some say otherwise. Screenplays, stories and films aren't generated out of thin air. Yes, they are a figment of the writer/director's imagination, but to an extent, there is a societal influence to the whole thing. The writer isn't sitting at Mars and making his movie, right? What you write, what you express, always is influenced by what you see around you, consciously or subconsciously; too little or too much. That said, the reverse also holds true- my then 10 year old cousin didn't blush as much seeing Spiderman kiss his beau while hanging upside down, while yours truly, a product of the Hum Paanch and Small Wonder generation, had goosebumps watching Titanic at the age of 13.
Back to the movie- I'm no movie critic, and I NEVER take movie critics seriously because I feel they're those snobby people who ridicule every movie and love only the seemingly disinteresting and generally incomprehensible artsy ones. But Delhi Belly had a story, had some good performances, and some moments where you felt the director has a knack for making good movies. Yes, the promotion of the movie was a shame, and I remember reading this somewhere, probably in the Sunday Times, that the problem is with the Censor board adopting double standards for films like Delhi Belly and Pyaar ka Punchnama (recent personal favorite!) as opposed to censoring those b-grade Champa Chudail type movies. Agreed.
The sole point behind this loquacity being, unlike those movies back in the day, like Masti and Kya Kool Hai Hum, Delhi belly has a plot. At some points, the humor is crass. But it isn't as story-less and cheap as Kya Kool Hai Hum, the movie which, if I remember correctly first introduced the DK Bose term. You shouldn't trash a movie because it apparently glorifies a language you proudly use while fighting with a rickshaw river who scratched your Honda City.e
I wonder what Aamir would be singing right now- "Main karun to saala character dheela hai??"
~ A silent spectator sitting 8000 miles away and missing all the brouhaha over this thing in India :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)