Show Me The Light!

It is so simple to show people a situation as it happens and all in an attempt to make the person feel that he is being cared about, isn’t it? I know it’s a vague and rather heavy note to strike up a thought or discussion but it is true.

Let’s try and explain this in a little detail. You have a difficult case in front of you, for instance, (which you need to sort by making a decision). More appropriately, a choice. Now, you know this situation. You know that I have choice A which I can’t live with or without and I have choice B which is, again, as important. You naturally turn to a friend/concerned person who you know might be able to guide you through it. Invariably, this person will land up asking a million questions. You answer them like you were sitting on a couch in a shrink’s clinic, waiting in anticipation for a light to shine through. What do you get in return? A profound, deep throated statement which sounds something like, “So, as I see it, I think you have a situation here which is not very difficult. You just have to make up your mind and let’s boil this down to a choice between two things. Forget everything else. You have here choice A where XYZABC things will happen and you should look at choice B where PQRST things might happen. Just sit over it and think about it. Once you decide, it will all be over. It’s only a phase, buddy, just hang in there”.

You know what’s worse? You get up and shake his hand and say, “thanks man, I think you put it all in perspective for me. What would I have done without you?”… I know what I would have done without him… I would have found an answer to my problem without him.

May the downtrodden be “UPLIFTED” by God!

I am hurt.

It is a major issue, slapped on every page of every news daily of this country. The entire “reservation against reservation” bit is draining me of all thoughts that are pro-education. I don’t know if my two bits about this matter would really be of much interest and much less of any use but for the sake of one more voice in the cry for justice, I shall voice my opinion.

I, for one, refuse to have a less qualified, DALIT doctor (who by the way, is no better than the rich-man’s-brat, who bought a seat in a college and does not deserve it AT ALL) to touch an ailing body of my family or friend and trade a simple solution to a simple illness, for DEATH. We all know better than giving away a doctor’s or an engineer’s seat to people who don’t deserve it. Fine, if he or she gets the marks or grades required for the entrance, then I am for having them pay a lesser amount, vis-à-vis an open category student, as fees. If they are intellectually at par with a hard working student of any category (which, unfortunately, can only be judged by the marks he/she reserves in his/her graduation exams or entrance exams, which I am not very happy to accept but… oh well…), then it is fair to grant them a higher education for a lesser price. But if you are saying “let’s trample all over the open category student just because we are a minority” then go take a hike. Worst case, let them get their reservations in fields that are not risking lives, something like management or PR or such-likes; but please, spare them from being doctors and engineers. These are professions dealing (directly and indirectly) with human life.

The open category is mistaken to be as high as the statistics show in the papers. There are ‘freedom fighter’s’ and the ‘government servant’ quotas that are being overlooked. Next you know you have 5% reservation for ‘unemployed bar dancers’ or 10% reservation for ‘Kashmiri militants’ whose fathers died in a shoot out. Why have ‘open category’ at all? Just divide all seats and distribute them amongst the ‘poor and suppressed’, while you are at it. I have been in the eye of the storm. I know how many of these ‘poor and oppressed’ lot really want to study and make something out of their lives. They are there because they have the safety-net of such reservations granting them their seats. They are there because an engineer will make more money than a union leader amongst factory workers. They know that a doctor will be able to buy a nice car within two years of his practice but a street urchin who strives and manages to run a chai-katta will not be able to achieve that dream in a lifetime. They know that the stupid government is meant to be gullible and by making a noise about their ‘poor’ state of affairs, they can manage to beg and get away with the ‘sympathetic’ government granting them their ‘rights’. Sydenham had a bloody OBC for a principal and an SC for a registrar… I challenge anyone to get a positive feedback about Sydenham from any of its alumni, from the past decade. The idiots (read management) don’t have common sense and what was even more pitiful was the fact that they were both Ph.Ds. Guess how they got their doctorate… CORRECT, reservations!

I am sincerely thankful to the Lord for giving me a wonderful family which is well off and touch wood, will always be… But then again, why are they not ‘poor and oppressed’? I would have had it much simpler then! (You get the point, don’t you?)

Coffee time vignette

I was revisiting my memory bank to see, what are the things I have truly left behind? Soon and sure enough, I landed in a debate with myself.

Amongst all the things, a substantial chunk was of ‘people’. A bunch that I, very loosely, called ‘friends’. So the debate I was speaking of was, if I have called them friends, I wouldn’t leave them behind and if I have managed to get over each one of them, then they are not ‘friends’, in the truest sense of the word. These were acquaintances. That’s where the debate, pretty much, ended.

Then there were some fond memories that sort of felt like wiping dust from a photo album and smiling at the moment captured on film; a moment that was never to return. Some were embarrassments which made me slink in my chair and still a smile was felt running from one end of my lips to another, albeit, I couldn’t see it. A lot of these things, we might say, are taken for granted but I refuse to accept that. These are things that keep you going. I think it works like a pendulum; if it does not go in the opposite direction, it will stop moving. A trip down memory lane is not so much of an adventure as it is an evening walk. At least, that’s what I would like to believe. I have no siblings and I have never been able to share a funny moment from history with anyone in the wee hours of the morning, when I can’t sleep, so I tend to smile to myself and think nothing of it. But I have rarely pulled out an album from an old drawer and I kept feeling it was rather ‘old-ish’ to do such a thing. Felt like I was sixty nine and my children had settled in the states and I had nothing better to do than to stare at pictures and wile away my (remaining) life. But I was surprised to have a reaction which was quite contrary to this popular belief. I actually refreshed myself for a new day when I saw the album with my pictures with different relatives. Playing in the arms of an annoying aunt or of a nice uncle who passed away a few years later. Having my hands around an old pals shoulder, who I have not called or heard from for eons. The funny picture of the girl I would flirt with and still never got around calling her for kicks…. So on and so forth (I’m sure all of you are now finding this a cliché because I have started sounding like an ad for retirement solutions). Actually, I really have nothing much to discuss, just felt like writing such things down for posterity. I mean, what else does one do with a blog?

Next on the list: old greeting cards.

Eh? What am i doing here?

I was reading some blogs just so I get inspired to update mine (as for the sake of good old public demand… after all that’s what keeps such futile sites ticking, right?)

What I realized is that, all of them were updates and not works of thought or literature, so I guess I shall not break the trend.

Job: none.
Searched and searched and could not find one.
And so my father, like all fathers would,
Asked me to do something with my wasting boyhood.
And my mother stood far and gave me a stare,
“what?” I asked. “do you really think I care?”
She shook her head in shame and said,
“son, you need to get out of bed
and help your old man in any way you can.
There are responsibilities of a young man”
… so here I am in a dull, cold room.
Doing a bit to keep away the gloom.
But I feel like I have a duty that calls.
The world needs me to help it stand tall.
There is something waiting to happen out there.
If only I knew where, if only… I knew where…

Na, I’m fine. Frankly, I’m at the brink of getting a nice placement in a place I want to be in. I shall put it up as soon as I am sure I am through. Until then, I shall glare at customers and passers-by. You can stop glaring at the screen. Go away! (Phbbt)

Radio Ads

I hereby present to you the final radio ads of the class… you may download them by clicking the links below…

Grp 1:
Feviply

Voice Over:

Bijoy

Grp 2:
Ishtaa
Ad1
Ad2

Ad3

Voice Over:

Mahtab Taraporewala (main VO)
Najeshda Deshpande (tagline VO)

(All background sounds done by the group members)

Grp 3:
McDonalds Playschool (Stepping Stones)

Voice Over:

Kavitha Mani (main VO)
Binita Kuruvilla (tagline VO)

Grp 4:
MoPlay

(MP3 players by Fastrack)

Ad1

Voice Over:

Clayton Gomes (main VO)
Rakshit Doshi (intro and tagline VO)

Ad2

Voice Over:

Rakshit Doshi (all VOs)

Grp 5:
Snippets (greeting cards by Cadburry's)

Voice Over:

Clayton Gomes & Sharmistha Nagarkatti (main VO)
Divya Chandramouli (tagline VO)

Grp 6:
Peter England Shaving Cream

Voice Over:

Rakshit Doshi (main VO)
Binita Kuruvilla (Tagline VO)

(Any discrepancy in the above information should be immediately communicated to me by the group at rakshit.doshi@rediffmail.com)

... and the fat lady sings

I saw the best of times and the worst of days, these last few months and I realized that it takes no time to walk in and out of warp zones. Just as one is about to embark on a journey, the destination is reached and one forgets to enjoy the journey while he is still feeling euphoric about getting on the boat. What I am trying to say here is, I did not realize where the nine months of ADMA flew past. I remember being interviewed, watching my name, first on the list of short-listed students, jumping around with the sheer joy of just getting an admission. The orientation, the first day, me being elected as CR and woosh! The last day of the year. The rest of it all just never registered, saving a few great moments and achievements (which I choose not to enlist here).

The memories of the Kune trip still linger on, the film shoot and radio recording, still seem fresh. I mean, these thoughts are like these eighty year old grannies, trying to take a seat on a low chair. They are still seeping in. I wonder if I will ever find a batch so amazingly smart and sensitive as this one.

To ADMA 05-06, may the fat lady die before she even begins to sing on us. This opera will never end. Cheers!

DHISHKYAANNWW - The Shoot...

It has all come to a fulfilling end.

Almost two months of planning and fighting and mental torture has come to a close…. Actually a semi-close (if there is a term like that) with the shooting of the ad yesterday. A crazy month has flown past me and I can’t remember anything but “Peter England” making its way into my blood stream. The group of ten, aspiring ad makers has done some good work, I might say. We brainstormed our way into making a brand extension called Peter England Shaving Cream and now we have finally finished a tormenting shoot and it was all well worth it. I don’t want to get into the description too much but the way I see it, it takes a lot of foresight to make the d-day pass smoothly (pun not intended). Some solid pre-production work and minimal interference of one person's opinion in another's job can pay off by making you complete your shoot two hours before pack-up time. What we really enjoyed was the anxiety a day before the shoot.

It so happens that my apartment in Juhu (which is our location) is to be given out on lease the day after and hence is undergoing renovation. Two days before the shoot, the ceiling is pealing off, the marble on the floor is being polished to a shine, the fittings of all the washrooms are removed and the house is not in any condition to be lived in. At any given point in time, there were 13 people working, on every wall of the damn place and our blood pressures were on a rise. There was no chance in hell of it being completely ready on the day of the shoot and well, we had almost given up hope of a successful ad. An alternative was out of question because we had decided on the story board, the props and everything to do with the shoot well in advance. It would only mean changing the script. The lack of a back-up, needless to say, was making us bite our nails, fingers and palms. And we, in our infinite wisdom, went and decided to shoot first. It is only I who knows what went into standing there for twelve hours straight and getting those electricians, plumbers and painters to finish off the area in which we were shooting and obviously my group who stayed there with me, realized the anxiety I was faced with then. Two whole days were spent on set and that’s when the fun began. The best part is, we get the place done up at 5 p.m. in the evening before the shooting day. It was interesting to watch myself doing carpentry and my dear father doing some amount of drilling and nailing walls. Thank god for him and my mother, we managed to set the props up by 1 a.m. and it looked fabulous. The next day, the model was running a little late, few last minute hiccups were giving us the feeling of a major blunder but it all smoothened out and we finished the whole shoot at 4 p.m. that day. The pictures shall now speak.

This pack was designed by the group members and is not a commercial product

“Kudos to group six”, says our professor and it was an experience of a lifetime. My first ad shoot… only I know what the high is like. I shall retire to bed now. Sleep is a forgotten phenomenon as far as I am concerned.

Erm... Hello... !

Ahem!

absolutely no apparent reason to do this but... oh well some colour is good...

fine fine... i admit... i was just bored of the black... :P

your two bits are welcome.

Back with the same, old whip...

A series of weddings followed the series of projects and at one point, they both intersected and that is exactly the point where I forgot I even had a blog to myself.

Hello all ye patient readers of mine. I’m sorry for this delay in my rant but quite frankly I dint have anything to rant about and when I did, I didn’t have the time. Funny part is, now that I have the time, I have let go of all those reasons and topics that invite my foolish banters. So, let’s see if I can come up with something totally different to talk about.

One thing I noticed in these weddings of friends and cousins and random others, is that there is a lot of waste of talent. (Actually there is a lot of waste, period). The food, for instance, has different counters. In one of the weddings, the Rajesthani counter was so empty that the fellow who was serving there had dozed off. The stuff was really good, though. And then there was this Italian counter that had a line of people standing behind a mob of the front-enders and they stood with their plates held up like they were A1 class prisoners being served Italian food in their concentration camps. It was a sight worth a click. I mean, rationing shops probably look relatively demand free compared to this pizza-and-pasta table. Then there are the decorations. Orchids, people… each costing Rs. 20 or so, just lying around the corners of the food counter or the backdrop of the stage or some even picked up by little kids who were pretending to play “i-love-you” games with their fictitious girlfriends by wooing them with these ORCHIDS! For Christ’s sake, stick bamboo shoots and they will still go unnoticed. Let me not even start on Lighting! It seemed like they picked up all the flood lamps from the Vankhede Stadium and placed them there. It would look appropriate for me to wear dark glasses at ten in the night, I would say. As if those were not enough, there were lights stuck on the floor, facing upwards, to light up coir mats on GOLDEN backgrounds. No! We need more lights, so bring on the camera-man with his, very own, flood lamp. I could have gotten tanned if I didn’t leave in a hurry. Somewhere at the fag end of the ground in a corner so far away that it would take a bored individual to notice what I did (yes, Einstein, I WAS bored!). Three individuals resembling the Guns-N-Roses with a set of Tablas, a keyboard and I think an octo-pad, stood there and played ‘Tujhe dekha toh yeh janaa sanam’ and such likes. They had medleys of old songs firing back-to-back, for an audience that would rather chase rats than listen to their music. Waste! Waste! Waste! And more WASTE!

Why cant people make marriages an occasion to be remembered for the right reasons? Is it so important to have people repent their presence there? My friends and I were dead by the end of the day. Our feet, backs and shoes were killing us. We couldn’t sit for more than five minutes and the heat would make us want to rip off our suits and dive into a swimming pool. Somehow, the fact that there was no pool there to dive into made us save our suits. Having said that, I still can’t figure the point of such functions. The groom and the bride are stuck under the burning lamps for hours, the guests are dying to get home, the immediate families are tired out of their bodies trying to attend to the million who they short-listed from a billion to be invited, the gift obligations, the plastic smiles, the flustered waiters, the traffic, the traveling… why?

I’m getting married in a court… No one is invited. I shall post the news here and you are welcome to greet me by hitting on the Comments link, just where the post ends. Like so…

the circle of life!

How small is this word, ‘sorry’? Sometimes it can work wonders for you, if used at the right place, at the right time (ironic, no? sorry is used when you are in the middle of a ‘bad’ thing, right?) and then there are these precarious times when nothing seems to work. Again, the ironic part is, it is always useless with the ones who are closest to you. Offend a stranger, say sorry and story ends with ‘they lived happily ever after’. Offend a loved one, say sorry and the bomb just blows up instantaneously… the world just turns over its head and the story climaxes with a ‘what’s the point if don’t mean it?’ or a ‘do you have the faintest idea of what that word means?’

It’s a scary thought to be a part of a drama where your character was not even given a script. You just behave naturally and try thinking that your counterpart at the receiving end would ‘understand’ you but sometimes it just gets interpreted as ‘being taken for granted’. Now, how do you explain these things? Where do you draw the line and make one understand that what you were doing was a part of a reaction and not a planned assault? Then you start wondering if what you have done is right or not. Then the questions take mammoth proportions. The funny part is, initial questions are unanswerable but progressively they start getting answerable with options at first and then, if you go further, they start having clearer, streamlined answers. Allow me to illustrate…. Why did I react that way? or What was I thinking? (Unanswerable). I am sorry but should it make any difference if I said it? (yes, at least he/she will know that I’m sorry if nothing else) / (no, he/she will only find it much more irritating. Leave him/her alone). Now the questions transform into rhetorical ones…. Will I be able to go on like this for the rest of my life? What will happen if this person keeps reacting this way in small trifles like this one? Now, you are scared. Now you want to forget about it and say ‘it’s just a goddam phase!’ you don’t want to answer anymore questions. You want to be exculpated and then you want things to fall into place, miraculously, if you will. Wonder of wonders, they do fall into place. All smooth again and the calm waters start waiting for ripples once again. What comes along can be a ripple or a wave or a tsunami and then the same questioning helps you swim through. Strange, true and completely fascinating, this human nature of ours. I am surrounded with optimism now. Happy thoughts about having to find solace in such cycles and ‘phases’. I learn and I write like this. Then I feel good about cracking the secret to not being affected… if it helps anyone of you, I shall be glad.

Two scores and a four... thats it and no more

I was just reading my own post that I posted on the last day of the year gone by and thought to myself, “even though I know it is a phase, I still react to it.”

It has been twenty odd days since I last wrote and a series of things (I shall choose not to account for all trifles) have happened ever since… bad news, to begin with… my twenty fourth birthday. I am two dozen years old. I am a year away from being one quarter of a century old… I HAVE LIVED MORE THAN ONE QUARTER OF MY ACTUAL LIFE ALREADY…!!! (Breaking into cold sweat, spasm, convulsion… glugging water, breathing deeply, coming back to senses.) No seriously, it’s a crazy feeling to be this old. Anyway, the interesting part is, rather was, that I had one of the best birthdays in years. As always, a series of calls at twelve, ringing their way into half past midnight. Forty winks and then to college. A short lecture and then a delicious lunch with my dearest sweetheart (with red wine as fine as Rosé and Kailua cake for desert, if I may say so.). A surprise cake in college from three friends, and a cake for the 60 dear fellow ad-enthusiasts (curtsy, mamma dear.) Cake at home and pudding at my Nani’s to wind off my day. But amongst all this, the sweetest gift I got was this card that was made by Revati and Rithika, which had been passed around the class (outside my knowledge, of course) and each one had written a line or two for me which really meant a lot. I also received an extremely beautiful poem from my lunch date ;) and sufficient cash from my family. So all-in-all, my life looked decent that day. Come to think of it, all these days have been hectic and all of that but they have been crazy fun. The final module about ad-film making has commenced and so has the module on radio advertising. Oh, not to mention, we had a lecture with Jaggu and Tarana from Go FM as guest faculty along with Prachi from Radio City. It was so cool. Also a lecture on music appreciation and how the different hours of the day, the mood in those hours and the appropriate music, works in tandem with one another. One day we had a decent but not up to-the-mark, lecture with Mr. M.G. Parmeshwaran (who is the MD of FCB Ulka, the fourth largest ad agency in the country and maybe in Asia.)

That’s that, as far as updates are concerned and quite frankly I have nothing beyond that to say. I love saying this in good times and bad…

It’s all GOOD!

Later then… write in about your new years etc. if you will… it’s about time this site got interactive… ;)

Don't read if you wish to smile!

Tie me up. Tape my mouth, sack me in a gunny bag and throw me over the wall of a bridge. I swear to the lord, I will not utter a squeak to voice disapproval of an act as benevolent as this. Tear me to shreds and I will oblige. Kick my soul till it dies in me. I deserve no more than a dead soul. Look for my brain, if you find it, look for the part that has some dreams stored in it and pull it out. Now hunt for the memories of a past day or even a year. Please remove it and destroy it so no one can find out how happy I was (and in effect, prove my potential of being happy even now). Use a pair of tweezers if you like, but pick out the little remains of smile from my face, my eyes or even my forehead. Every time I smile or have smiled, I have been on a secret mission. Undercover, if you will. I was told to blend in, to mix into the crowd and look for secrets hidden behind those very smiles. I know they are all disguises. Sometimes the mirror too, lies. I don’t want to be a part of that mission anymore. I have become one of them… pseudo-artists. Masters of the ‘you-will-not-find-me’ clan. The year always ends on a note that jolts me out of reality, or into reality, I don’t know which. I want to slink away in my couch and watch life on a fourteen inch screen. Somehow that is more believable than what I see around me. Every day there is more bright lies and brighter smiles to cover the lies and I hate wearing the glares on the last day of the year. Every bloody year.

Have a lovely new year all ye unfortunate ones who read this disturbing piece, while I find my remote control and bag of chips. Well, Titanic is a good movie after all.

:-s

A weird thought was expressed yesterday. I was speaking to Karishma, a very old friend who is pissed at me for not having kept in touch, and she asked me about some relationship and girlfriend issue. Her thought is that there are two kinds of relationships… dating someone is never the same as loving someone. She was convinced about this and I don’t know if I should be, but I was close to being convinced. I really found it funny in hind-sight that a friend first gets to know the other person and then probably starts dating when there the show of slight interest. If things do go well, they fall in love. Otherwise, two people meet, fall in love, start dating and then things just go right. Another alternative, people meet, start dating, know each other and fall in love or maybe two people fall in love over the phone, meet and then start dating… whatever it is, I doubt they are mutually exclusive concepts (dating and loving). Then again, dating is more frivolous, according to Karishma; and loving someone is a total different ball game. The next link in my chain of thoughts was… have I not grown out of this rubbish yet? Have I not understood that it does not matter what you call it as long as you consider a person to be special and more important than others? Is that not just it? It is! To love someone is nothing but to consider the person special. It could be mother and girlfriend alike. So what’s this ‘dating’ and ‘loving’ business?

All this thought was about thirty seconds worth of my time. I then started watching a funny movie on HBO and pretty much left the thought unthreaded. I just wrote this because I had not posted for a while and I was bored this morning. Do not think too much of it, I would suggest. Cheers!

On a different note, I have had some great times in college. Party sharty, project voject, good fun. There are some random pictures I would like to post. Providing with details would require time and energy… don’t have enough of them both as of now, so hang on till I feel like writing again… Muhuhaha!!!

Catharsis

Have you ever felt like you were never born? There are times when I want to ask my life why it even exists. There are times when I want to ask God to pick up this ‘strip’ of a few days and cut it out of the ‘reel’ of my life so the smoothness is not spoilt. Imagine, you sleep on Tuesday night and wake up on Wednesday next week; and all because the week was going to be a really pathetic one. I don’t know how to complaint about things happening to me when it is not even my fault. Innocence and thoughts of self respect are all questioned in times like this. No, if you are waiting for me to blurt my issue, I will not.

What I have learnt in the process (and this is the most important part) is that taking responsibility is a job that demands responsibility. Stop frowning and twisting your face… you know EXACTLY what I mean. Sometimes it never pays off to be the one doing the entire math. A friend of mine told me, “It’s a thankless job to be a responsible person taking charge”. Now, it’s different when you are running a company or a business because there, you are paying the buggers and they jolly well listen to what you say. But in a class of individuals where each is as important as the next, you can’t be bossing around. The funny part is, you take initiative and if the idea that you took initiative for falls flat on its face, you are blamed. But if the idea works, it qualifies as a ‘job profile’ of the representative. If you do something nice you get three individuals (from amongst those who know you and love you) to come and say, ‘good show’ but if you screw up… fifty faces frowning at yours and fifty voices (which sound like seventy) shouting in your ears about ‘this-is-not-done’ things. It’s not like one gets paid to hear this crap, right? And there are no privileges either. I still have to submit assignments with the rest of the class. I still have to get graded on the shoddy job I have done because I was busy fixing dates with the faculty who could not make it on a Saturday because his aunt’s third cousin’s elder son ran away from home. I still have to be in time for lectures because the attendance is going to be taken by me and it doesn’t matter how late the rest of the class comes because they can shoot their numbers out like I was there to play housie or bingo or something.

Oh forget it! There is virtually no point ranting to a keyboard. No offence to you, dear reader, but in front of me is only a keyboard. I just had so much brewing that it spilt over. I guess, “With great power comes great responsibility”… actually it’s the other way round… but then again, who came first, the chicken or the egg?

From the attic

I mined through my drawers again… lo and behold; I find some of my old poems, again. It has been years since I wrote any of this. Actually, I have just lost that urge to write the way I did but I still look back at these works and wonder if it really was me who managed to write this way… no its not about my ego being converted to a blimp but I just appreciate the fact that I ‘voiced’ my feelings in different ways vis-à-vis others. Probably, I never had a good enough outlet that I could trust but what it manifested into was quite a memento that I could treasure and refer to in years to come.

This one, for example, was written for that one “perfect” woman who I could spend my life writing about. Strange (and still true), I feel the same way even today. For the records, this was written about six years ago. No, I was not seeing anyone then and did not see anyone for years after that. But today, I feel this has come as close to reality as it can… one of my favorite creations dedicated to one of God’s favorite creations.

NATURE AND YOU

We’ve walked a long distance in the sea-wet sand,
A while singing, a while moaning, we’ve walked hand in hand.
Your praise seems so little all the more it’s said,
When you walk on open roads they are like carpets red,
The day would threaten thunder when you hide your face and cry,
When you look up and smile the clouds clear the sky.
When you speak to nature the blue bells ding-a-ling,
When you stand in the open, the mountains seem to sing.
When your fingers slide through your hair,
Giving them a brush,
The dark night would sigh,
The waterfalls would blush.
The moon watches you sleep, the stars staring too,
Would you be dreaming of nature while nature is dreaming of you?

Ah! The sally of youth…and the gifts thus found…

:-)

Lego: bring on the brief!

We were made to write a creative brief. (what?!?!).

Explanation: in the world of advertising, when a client (the advertiser) meets the client servicing executive (the guy representing the agency to the client) and takes notes on why he wants to advertise and what is he expecting the agency to do for him, is called ‘taking a client brief’. The other department, ‘Creative’, requires to know what kind of an advertisement they are to create for the client. When the CSE converts the client brief to a sheet of paper which gives the creative department the relevant information, it is known as ‘the creative brief’.

Our assignment was to write a creative brief for an ad already made. In effect, work backwards to know what influenced the creator to make such an ad. The ad was that of Lego.

The ad:
Two cars (limos if I am not wrong) roll into a compound and black suited men step out in regal style. They make their way to a room and open it with utmost care and walk in. they stare from behind dark glasses at the activities of a five year old who is sitting on the floor playing with his toys. A lady dressed formally (probably the boss of these men) walk in while the men make way for her to come up front to the child. The child looks at her and hands over a simple white box. The apprehension builds and the lady looks at the men before she anxiously opens the box. Just a peak and the light through the box delight the people watching. They are impressed and the next thing you know is this child being hounded by press reporters. He is made to sit in a press conference with a hundred mics in his face and camera flashes all over the screen. He is being loved and respected by the entire country. His picture is in every magazine, on every news channel. He is shown parading through what looks like London, in a sedan and with guards in front and behind.

The screen now has a Lego logo on it and the punchline that reads: "every idea begins with imagination".

Now I might have killed the ad for those who have watched it but that’s the best I could do, so, sincere apologies.

Everyone had their own way to draw up the probable brief. Some wrote poetry and some wrote three lines as their assignment. I don’t know how many others have done what I did. I recorded a speech and gave it some music; something like ‘Sunscreen’, if you have heard the song. It’s a pity I can not play that brief but I can post the text at least. So this is what I said:

I once asked a child, what is your dream… what do you want to be.
He said, “I want to be an engineer”.
On asking him why so, he replied with eyes that had the glimmer of a creator, “I want to build the world”.

Children have dreams, when they grow up they have aspirations. The difference between the dream of a child and the aspiration of a grown up lies in the fact that the child has no preconceived logic in his dream… no rationale… no inspiration from that which has already been created. It is independent of logic, of gain, of selfishness, of winning the race against humanity. The dream to create resides in the area of impossibility and the truth of the dream has more credibility in his mind than the credibility of matured logic in the mind of a grownup. I once saw a child play by himself. He was talking to the floor, to the air, to the light, to the sky, to himself, to the fictitious man who in his imagination was the hero of the world. He was pretending to be the partner of this superman and went around saving the world. He had his own flying car, his own speed bike that could turn into a robot, his own light saber, his own jet that spoke to him and obeyed his commands, his head quarters from where he operated. As I watched our young messiah answer a call on his very own voice activated computer, he jumped up and shouted out to his car. I was watching him as he strapped on his jet packs and took of to the crime scene. Then I watched him as he blasted the bad guys with his specialized ray gun with proton beam mode and then I watched as his mother took his hand and dragged him outside the room to feed him his boiled vegetables. The words I heard from her tore me into shreds. “you look crazy when you keep jumping around shouting to yourself. Don’t be such a retard, you are ten now.”

I stand by it; no man can think like a boy. If each dream that a boy had, was given shape, if each child was given a tool to make his dream a reality, if each little brat was given a chance to be heard, the world would have found ideas that would make these children take over the government, the business, the people… the world. We can not be those dream weavers but what we can do is to give the child a gate to take his imagination one step closer to reality. We take children seriously because the world is built on bricks of thoughts and all thoughts are built on ideas but all ideas start with imagination.

The track I used is called Ave Maria. It’s an old Celtic kind of a song by a composer who’s name I forget. This particular exercise really opened my mind up to possibility. I have always been a nice observer but this is the first time I put it to some creative use. What I was proud about was the fact that I actually managed to pull it off well, all by myself and I like this piece of literature I typed out with no predominant consciousness or any particular reasoning affecting my flow of thought.

Oh well, the grades should be up in a while so, more then, or before that, if I have any other ‘proud works’ to display, which I sincerely hope I do.

Weave your dreams with a strong thread and they will become reality, and this time around, for once, a reality you can possibly handle and take responsibility for.

Cheerio!

So I Learn…

For I stand to watch the fire burn,
I stand to watch and maybe, learn.
I stand and see why they fret to find,
The hidden lessons in the flames of time.

I see the mild blow of destiny in my face,
I love divine affection and grace,
I hate the scorch of human hate,
And I keep learning as I wait.

I smile at sorrow for he is my teacher,
I call on angst, my homely creature.
I look up to see the moonless sky,
The stars are clearer so I wonder why.

I cry when I hurt that, which I love,
I cry when I hate the heavens above
And ask them Gods their reason to test,
My choice of what I thought was the best.

I bundle myself in pain as I see,
My freedom being taken away from me,
And when I find my space in time,
I can open up and begin the climb.

I worry for those that worry for me,
My faith but lost in false company.
I seek answers and question them too,
Who am I? Who are you?

They seem to see no sign of sense,
In watching me sitting on the fence.
They feel I can not judge the world,
And then at me, a question is hurled

“You only see the black from white,
And never see the grey inside,
And never loath or love you show,
Forever saying ‘let it go’”.

“There is balance”, I do reply,
“In every step of the walk, through life
And when you see that balance go,
You will find yourself fall and so…

Know that not all are the same,
And each one plays his own game.
And for what they do, we are none to judge,
They may balk when they want and budge when they budge.

We should give each one their space to learn,
For each ones road takes its own turn,
And why be pointing at the passers by,
When YOU can’t be perfect, however hard you try”.


Then they say that the world is going to be mean to me
And I’m just too naive to see,
That some things need the skeptic’s eye,
For not in everything does goodness lie.

I never have seen just the goodness in all,
There could be faults in things, big or small.
But all I want the world to know,
Is “SEE” the dark but “WATCH” the glow.

‘Cause there is not just good or bad,
‘Cause no sadness is completely sad.
For there is failure in every try,
And in every stone does a crystal lie.

So live your life a moment a time,
For the niche is found in each step you climb.
And there lies beauty in every person you meet.
A different smile each time you greet.

So, I stand to watch the fire burn,
I stand to watch and maybe, learn.
I stand and see why they fret to find,
The hidden lessons in the flames of time.

Party On!

I always held ‘cousin weddings’ in utmost contempt. I always hated the idea of ‘plastic smiles’ that were a mandatory requisition for any such function. I hated old aunts that I last met in 1761 and now they talk to you as if your mother was less bothered about your future than she was. I almost throw up when your most distant cousin wants to keep you company for the entire time that you are in the said party and not step out of the circle measuring 3 cm in radius, around your body.

But surprisingly and fortunately, last night was a different story. In fact, this cousin who is getting married is one of those who I respect as a person because he and I are similar on many counts. So I did want to voluntarily go for some of his functions (three out of ELEVEN bleeding functions that the rich family has organized, to be precise). The good part is that these were three very well thought out programs that only money could buy. One being a sangeet night… now on a normal day, a Sangeet night is one where the kids of both families dance and their steps have been choreographed by professionals. It usually takes place in a nice hall with food and drinks. But mama dear, went and booked The Grand Intercontinental out… the entire hotel. Then he invites Falguni ‘the Dandia Queen’ Pathak to come and perform with her band there. A good twenty, thirty lacs blown up. Nevertheless, it was a lovely party. The energy was tremendous and the performers loved it. The next one was where he booked out an auditorium in Bandra and invited the entire team of winners at the Great Indian Laughter Challenge to come and perform. Now these guys (for those ignorant of such shows) are a bunch of stand-up-comics who compete to win the crown of the Laughter Champion and do so by audience poll. This was a mind-numbing show. It was the first time that these guys were performing for a private audience and they went on for four hours. It was so hilarious, people were rolling off their seats. The third, which took place, last night, was not an innovation as such but a good break from the normal eat-heavy-food-and-die-of-acidity scene. He organized a “DJ Night” at The Club in Andheri. It was complete with a DJ and booze and psychedelic lights and masks (like the one used by Zorro). I discovered that my mother was a great dancer. I mean, when was the last time you went clubbing with your mother? The old aunties were scantily clad, to much shame, and the uncles that were otherwise pious looking souls, were found grabbing a glass of Smirnoff and Pepsi every thirteenth minute. I had never seen my father shake a leg before this… my cousins and close aunts and uncles looked (as much as I hate to admit this) cute! The sad part was, all the hot women around turned out to be my cousins so I pretty much gave up gazing around for visual-feasts. It’s strange how such parties bring out the dormant devil inside each one. I mean my 110kg aunt was dancing so beautifully on Dus Bahane… I also jived with my mother… How cool is that?!!

So we have come to a verdict, not all relative oriented parties are bad. One should arrive at the scene, sense the energy, examine the food (how could I miss that?), and if any of the above are acceptable, stay; or complain of a stomach ache and scram. Oops! I am not supposed to blurt these views out aloud now, am I? :-p

Clickety clack

We have learnt the fine art of holding a camera…

I’m not being sarcastic there… cameras are not easy to handle. Think about it, we have spent about eight hours in a classroom trying to understand what is the purpose of a bloody camera and why is it more important a tool than being a box that captures memories. Eight complete hours of understanding what a ‘good picture’ is. Eight hours to know how a camera works, how to operate in conditions that are unfavorable to the photograph’s beauty, or shall we say, potential beauty. I have been a half-decent photographer for a while and have loved capturing frames that seem slightly wasteful to the Scrooge who wants a family member in every photograph clicked. But this program just gave all those funny frames a meaning, a name even. Concepts like composition, symmetry, light angles, geometry, pattern, color composition, the rule of the one-thirds, color temperature, sharpness, blurring, focus… a million things that go into making a picture perfect. My recent trip to Raigadh, with friends, was one hell of an experience and gave me a lot of scope to explore this sublime art with a twist. The other three with me, looked at me funny and whispered amongst themselves, doubting my mental state, as I bend over a patch of grass with stones and stare into my camera lens for a while before clicking an absurd composition. They were quite cynical about my new found hobby and kept asking me indirect question so as not to hurt my feelings, while expressing their subtle disgust towards wasting damn good snaps. But let us not digress. I always used to wonder why photographers are gaga over some monster of a camera called the SLR. It is a digital age and the era of ‘smaller and lighter’ but these professionals or aficionados were always swearing by SLRs. It is only after this session that I want one for my own and trust you me, I am ready to part with my savings for it. The kind of things one can do with a Single Lens Reflex is only a figment of fantasy till you actually hold one in your hand. It is fantastic to be able to manipulate a natural frame in your mind and then actually capture it the same way you pictured it. I am so thrilled by the fact that this module on photography is actually making me learn a new form of art and in turn appreciate it too. I was so shocked the day I was standing in an art gallery with my finger on my chin making sense of pictures taken by a professional in a heaven like place called Kashmir. I was with fellow classmates and I caught myself staring a a picture scratching my cheek as I said, “the depth of the picture is so amazing. The pattern of the v right here in the center is totally giving an amazing dimension to the whole frame. Oh and check out the juxtaposition of the red and yellow, amazing!”

I am quite disgusted by the fact that I have been using a Yashika single shot, no frills camera all through my life and now a Sony Cyber-shot that belongs to dad (which is also not good enough). I want an SLR and I want it now! Any one ready to sell me one or give me money to buy one? I also accept gifts with a lot of gratitude.

Excuses to squander and how...

Mumbai has officially gone insane… I don’t even know where to begin. This evening of November 1st, Van and I decide to take a ride to either of the sea faces to watch the fireworks on Diwali day. All is nice till we pick up our parcel of pans and start riding to Marine Drive. Now, there was name calling happening. The traffic thickened like milk to butter. The cars just looked like they were on a mission to block roads up. Once we entered the Chowpati area, the only expression on my face was, “what the F**k”. The traffic grew and the crackers sounded like WMDs. To add to the noise were the constant horns. I swear, Van and I felt like we were in the middle of a war. Rockets zoomed past our heads, hit cars and people on the side-walk lit those sparkle showers in the middle of the bloody road. The entire area was like a time bomb ticking and ready to blow. I was worried about the cars getting it in the petrol region and if there is the slightest leak, I don’t want to think about what could happen. The minute we found opening, Van zoomed as fast as possible and we finally made it to the Sydenham lane. There too there was enough traffic to keep the honking alive. I couldn’t hear myself talk. I couldn’t think straight because the crackers were so loud. The sky looked like it was being shot every second and it bled thirty different colors and screamed and wheezed and did not have anyone listening. We had to move to a quiter place or I would have got a migraine attack. We found some peace at Charmichal Road where we stood and spoke about this very insanity that the city is dealing with. The number of fireworks was mind-numbing. I mean, you might as well pick up a stack of hundred or five hundred rupee notes and set them ablaze. Why bother giving that money to some poor who can’t afford a sweet for his family on Diwali. Blow it up instead. Why donate a hundred rupees to a blind school when you can see five hundred rupees being shot into the air to display colors that lasted three seconds. Ridiculous to say the least. If not donate that money, get yourself a CD player, or cake or chocolate or have a booze party with friends or just drive around in the city for the equivalent in petrol. But this is downright insanity. We crib about the roads being unkept. We crib about them being dirty. We crib about flyovers not coming up. Traffic, pollution and Mumbai wanting to be Shanghai… where does it all go when nights like this come around? You should see the roads the next morning… breathe the air and I will lose any amount if you don’t catch a cold or cough your lungs out.

I know it’s a matter of likes and dislikes and all the jazz about subjectivity in democracy but this night defied all logic in its basic form. It gave a whole new meaning to the word, ‘waste’. God bless all. Happy Diwali to you too.