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.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
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…
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…
Monday, January 30, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, January 23, 2006
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… ;)
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… ;)
Saturday, December 31, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
:-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!!!
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!!!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
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?
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?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
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…
:-)
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…
:-)
Friday, December 02, 2005
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
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
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
Friday, November 11, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
If only a sigh could have said it...
I like nit-pickers. I know that’s the most absurd way to begin a post but I do. May be not nit-pickers who are irritating but those who are touchy about small errors, faux pas, if you will. The kinds that love to read a beautiful poem written by an amateur and smile while reading it and suddenly jump and point out their index to the small comma and say, “that is wrong, it should have been a semi-colon!”. The ones who comb their hair/ tie up a bun like it were a ritual and if the sacred geometry was moved by an inch, the gods of symmetry and perfection might never forgive them. The ones who carry two kinds of tissue napkins (course and soft) for cleaning hands and wiping face respectively. I love to watch them clasp their wrists while their eyes move on black words on paper in front of them. Sometimes they look down upon the book in a tone so condescending, as if to say, “be glad I’m reading you, you little insignificant thing” and their backs propped up and neck perfectly aligned to the spine, legs joined at the knees and feet, heel-to-toe, perfectly parallel to each other. Their gorgeous language that can sound sweeter than fresh sugarcane juice and if well read into, can cut like a sward burnished in cold blood of many that fell prey to it unsuspectingly. Fastidious, nastily demanding and still making one feel it were their honor to give them what they are asking for. Those, who can not stand the thought of catching a cold. If the thought does dare to surface, the fortress of cotton ear-buds and socks and mufflers and rugs is built in a matter of seconds. I love them, when they tilt their heads and smile while listening to the most irritating man on the planet and say nothing more than “I see… oh Good God, is that true…?”. The ones who sheepishly laugh at a sarcastic statement they have made and has not hit home as far as the incumbent is concerned. I love their politeness and diplomacy. Ambiguity that is clear and clarity in their ambiguity. Exactly like the sentence you just read. The fact that they wash their face after every three and a half minutes of exposure to five dust molecules that might have settled on their flawless skin, is not only fascinating but so arrogant and royal. They don’t wear perfume but the smell lingering, is their shampoo and conditioner and in all probability, the aroma of the candles that they had lit while having their bath: a two and a half hour one at that. I love to see them sitting out in the sun on a cold winter morning, watching sparrows and other fowl peck on their grains or on the flowers planted in their garden. I love to hear the deep throated sigh when they are actually convinced that the world has a few more nice people than they suspected. When they laugh they sound like little babies chuckling at the bright colors of the world and if you know them well enough, you know that the laugh was the loudest one you heard in a while and that he/she was really, really happy. I love to watch them walk. Their steps are measured as if with a scale and each one resting itself on the floor like it did not want to disturb mother earth while she snoozed on a dull dreamy Sunday afternoon. And when they stop to admire the much forgotten nature, they seem to stop time, dead in its tracks. When they stand with their hands folded in front of their torso and legs perfectly straight, their hair playing with their thoughts and the wind playing with their hair, they seem to be commanding the heavens to descend immediately or the Gods were in deep trouble. Their concern woven in their wisdom and their affection glistening in their eyes like snow flakes on the window sill of a wooden cabin, somewhere in the Alps.
Ah well, I can probably go on forever and come across as a ‘wanna-be poet’, but its true, I have finally had the pleasure of making these observation from someone I am proud to know. Let’s leave it at that now, shall we?
Ah well, I can probably go on forever and come across as a ‘wanna-be poet’, but its true, I have finally had the pleasure of making these observation from someone I am proud to know. Let’s leave it at that now, shall we?
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Exodus
I have been hooked on to my class like a limpet on a rock. The much awaited sabbatical has arrived and the out-of-towners have fled home. Friday was a mellow one. The individual excitement of each outsider was overshadowed by the cumulative effect of them missing this city. What can you blame? Afterall, this city is addictive. That day I felt closer to them a lot more than ever and so did most others (as they vouch for, in so many words). I have had the tightest of hugs and the warmest of handshakes from almost all those who were off for the next fortnight. There was a four hour presentation session and not one of them felt any nervousness or complained about any ‘midnight oil’ getting to them. The mood was low, dim would be more apt but it all seemed positive. I don’t know why I am trying to explain this feeling in words, but it was so palpable that I felt like trying to lock that feeling up in a jar and preserve it for future gaze. This was the closest I could get to doing it. A few friends and I have decided to hook off for two days to my place at Khandala, so expect some reports in a short while. Maybe some photographs too, since we have an assignment on hand. I cant believe this course, you have to take a vacation to do an assignment… what more can one ask for?
On a different note, this is something I downloaded a couple of days back. I used to listen to a lot of Ghazals in the days of yore but somehow I lost touch. I got into the mood for it recently and this ghazal by Mirza Ghalib took my fancy. Prima facie, it looks difficult to understand but if you give it a closer dekko, it makes so much sense. “If you want to be a writer, show me your wounds”, says George Bernard Shaw and I couldn’t agree with him more. Rendering it in English was quite a task but nevertheless its still got a flavor one can taste from words that could fill only Ghalib’s genius mind and cloud ours. Who else could do it more justice other than Jagjit Singh? I love this ghazal.
Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi…
Hazaaron Khwahishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle,
Nikalna khuldussir aadam ka, sunte aaye hai lekin,
Bohot be-aabroo hokar, tere kuuche se hum nikle.
Mohobbat mein nahi hai farq jeene aur marne ka,
Usi ko dekhkar jeete hai jis kaafir pe dum nikle.
Khuda ke waaste parda nakabi se uthaa zaalim,
Kahin aisa na ho yunhi, wohi kaafir sanam nikle
Kahaan maikhaane ka darwazaa Ghalib, aur kahaan vaayiz,
Par itna jaante hai, kal woh jaata tha ki hum nikle
Hazaaron Khwaishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle.
On a different note, this is something I downloaded a couple of days back. I used to listen to a lot of Ghazals in the days of yore but somehow I lost touch. I got into the mood for it recently and this ghazal by Mirza Ghalib took my fancy. Prima facie, it looks difficult to understand but if you give it a closer dekko, it makes so much sense. “If you want to be a writer, show me your wounds”, says George Bernard Shaw and I couldn’t agree with him more. Rendering it in English was quite a task but nevertheless its still got a flavor one can taste from words that could fill only Ghalib’s genius mind and cloud ours. Who else could do it more justice other than Jagjit Singh? I love this ghazal.
Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi…
Hazaaron Khwahishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle,
Nikalna khuldussir aadam ka, sunte aaye hai lekin,
Bohot be-aabroo hokar, tere kuuche se hum nikle.
Mohobbat mein nahi hai farq jeene aur marne ka,
Usi ko dekhkar jeete hai jis kaafir pe dum nikle.
Khuda ke waaste parda nakabi se uthaa zaalim,
Kahin aisa na ho yunhi, wohi kaafir sanam nikle
Kahaan maikhaane ka darwazaa Ghalib, aur kahaan vaayiz,
Par itna jaante hai, kal woh jaata tha ki hum nikle
Hazaaron Khwaishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle.
Monday, October 17, 2005
A weekend with not-so-weak end!
Saturday was an odyssey to be recorded for life, in books that can be read out to the generations of the 60 students who awoke to a morning of hell - unbound. It was a day filled with tension, unreasoned causes of migraine, violent thoughts on the verge of manifestation, critical overload and frustration personified. For the first time ever in the history of our four months of XIC education, we had a presentation at an unholy 10 a.m. People worked the night out and just about managed to drag themselves to college and not die in the process. But I receive the first call of the day from the lecturer who was to take the presentations, an hour before d-line. In a very husky ‘I-just-woke-up-yawn’ voice she tells me, “can we keep it at eleven, I don’t think I’m going to make it before that”. Excellent, there goes the temper of sixty zombies. And I am the ‘harbinger’. So how much more could I ask the lord for (grumble mumble!!). Sure enough she walks in at 11.15 and we start presentations by 11:30. There was no chance in all hell that she would finish twelve groups in three hours. I had to decide something fast because we had a guest lecture at 3:00 and we also would require a lunch break. Nothing clicked. Then there was a deep cry of remorse from someone behind me who said, “Cancel the next lecture man” and I, almost as a reflex action, picked up my cell and called our lecturer. I requested her for a twenty minute extension which we got, so now our lecture would begin at 3:20. But no, the woman had to talk to the group for ten minutes after a fifteen minute presentation about how they DID NOT do what she wanted them to. Sick! She went on till 3:35 and I was shuttling between a pissed off guest and an unprofessional blonde who did not realize that what she was doing was wrong. The icing on the cake (I wish we had some that day) was that no one would get a lunch break now. The technicians were pissed, the faculty was bored, the blonde was unaware, the students were losing it and I broke a pretty Chinese fan that belonged to Binita who was in turn mad at me and the day alike. After the blonde is done, in comes the regular marketing faculty who had brought in the guest to talk about market research. She fires the people who longed for a lunch break and threatens to give a C grade to those who didn’t return for the lecture in ten minutes. The attendance drops to thirty nine. So anyway, we went on with the lecture and the lecture went on till eight. I had nothing to eat and a few glasses of water were the only intake for the day. Post the lecture (which I personally did not like) we had a pre-planned get-together at my place. I had last counted ten odd people but I was not surprised that the number shot up to twenty. Nineteen of them stayed back and Viraj had a doctor’s appointment so had to go.
A night of revelations and long talks ensued. It was amazing, the way people gelled like never before. Quite frankly, the only reason I wanted this party was because the term was closing and people would have been on their way back home. In the past few months, no one has gotten around speaking to each other beyond their group projects and I just wanted the not-so-close people to get to know each other. Not that they have a closed mind but there was an opportunity lacking to have them open up and let their hair down for a while. My purpose was served. Booze flowed in small quantities but I promise, everyone was high. That was the best part. I had Van and Ankit join in and was not sure if they would gel in fine. I was pleasantly surprised that they mingled in minutes of their entry. The legendary game of truth or dare followed the sit-down-and-bitch-about-the-world session which is another amazing way to get to know people. The music was curtsy Rakshit Bahadur, (yup, I have a friend that has my name, at least one who has a weird name like mine) and it brought in the required life. I felt really nice to see all my rooms filled and balcony choc-o-bloc with classmates who spoke their hearts and screamed their lungs out (some smoked their lungs and drank their guts out but that’s how it should be). Since we had a Divya ‘the nightingale of adma’ in the house, we began to sing some oldies. Poulomi took over the Hindi bit and Pankit went all out on Sher-o-shayri. Man, the night grew younger by the minute until three or four in the morning. The moon lit the sky in white and navy blue. Clouds refracted the moonlight to give the moon an aura-like halo. People talked like never before. Some slept like they would never get up. The following Sunday started off as lazily as a Sunday could possibly be. Most left and what remained was nine individuals who were too bored to go back home. A plan to lunch out at shiv sagar materialized abd a walk at the beach and ice-golas brought the day to a fitting end. But my highlight was a bioke ride home and I was Rakshit’s pillion. The most dangerous thing I ever did in my entire life was when I dozed off on the bike and I dozed for nothing lesser than twenty minutes. Damn, it was scary when I woke up. Little did I know that my friends from Sydenham would call me the same day. After a long time we met at Barista and watched Monster-in-law. A perfect day I would say.
Its interesting to note that something that misbalances you is only there for you to try balance it out again. Case in point: the lousy day at college. Everything seemed to go wrong but it all added up for everyone and from ten guests we had a 100% increment to twenty frustrated souls ready to loosen up a little. If this would not have been the number then the party would have added to the fatigue and that would solve no purpose. Have a look at some crazy people here.
A night of revelations and long talks ensued. It was amazing, the way people gelled like never before. Quite frankly, the only reason I wanted this party was because the term was closing and people would have been on their way back home. In the past few months, no one has gotten around speaking to each other beyond their group projects and I just wanted the not-so-close people to get to know each other. Not that they have a closed mind but there was an opportunity lacking to have them open up and let their hair down for a while. My purpose was served. Booze flowed in small quantities but I promise, everyone was high. That was the best part. I had Van and Ankit join in and was not sure if they would gel in fine. I was pleasantly surprised that they mingled in minutes of their entry. The legendary game of truth or dare followed the sit-down-and-bitch-about-the-world session which is another amazing way to get to know people. The music was curtsy Rakshit Bahadur, (yup, I have a friend that has my name, at least one who has a weird name like mine) and it brought in the required life. I felt really nice to see all my rooms filled and balcony choc-o-bloc with classmates who spoke their hearts and screamed their lungs out (some smoked their lungs and drank their guts out but that’s how it should be). Since we had a Divya ‘the nightingale of adma’ in the house, we began to sing some oldies. Poulomi took over the Hindi bit and Pankit went all out on Sher-o-shayri. Man, the night grew younger by the minute until three or four in the morning. The moon lit the sky in white and navy blue. Clouds refracted the moonlight to give the moon an aura-like halo. People talked like never before. Some slept like they would never get up. The following Sunday started off as lazily as a Sunday could possibly be. Most left and what remained was nine individuals who were too bored to go back home. A plan to lunch out at shiv sagar materialized abd a walk at the beach and ice-golas brought the day to a fitting end. But my highlight was a bioke ride home and I was Rakshit’s pillion. The most dangerous thing I ever did in my entire life was when I dozed off on the bike and I dozed for nothing lesser than twenty minutes. Damn, it was scary when I woke up. Little did I know that my friends from Sydenham would call me the same day. After a long time we met at Barista and watched Monster-in-law. A perfect day I would say.
Its interesting to note that something that misbalances you is only there for you to try balance it out again. Case in point: the lousy day at college. Everything seemed to go wrong but it all added up for everyone and from ten guests we had a 100% increment to twenty frustrated souls ready to loosen up a little. If this would not have been the number then the party would have added to the fatigue and that would solve no purpose. Have a look at some crazy people here.
Thats Van sleeping through the chaos 
Revti sleeps with her legs sticking out like pegs from a barrel and the other fellow would be Devang
Melroy massages Pulak massages Pankit. Talk about our ansestors being monkeys... we might be going back to basics.
Pankit sleeps during a lecture. Who would blame him on aa day like that Saturday.
Thats Gaurav from Sydenham at Barista. what a brilliant day.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Collage in progress
Vignette 1
I love the wind in my face, wind in a pace enough to make my eyes shut themselves into a dreamy trip. Which is why I love traveling on bikes. Thanks to van, this happens every second or third day. last night was just one of those short trips to a pan shop and then to a sea face. Endless conversations, meaningless, inane and disjointed. If you have ever visited marine drive and sat at the end point of it, opposite the NCPA premises, you will know what I’m going to be talking about… we realized that the Queen’s necklace was so semi-circular from that perspective and so straight when one is actually traveling on the road that shapes the necklace. And this thought lead to a revelation: we are so small… one little spec of dirt. I know it’s a known and understood fact but the ‘gotchya-off-guard’ type revelations hit you where it hurts.
Vignette 2
Finally got a DVD burner… it is the loveliest feeling for this time I put in my money that I had saved and had not taken any permission for it. I also got fired for it by dad and I was hurting all night after what he told me (which I will not go into, lest I dampen the excitement) but all in all, great feeling man. Bring on them DVDs…
Vignette 3
Holidays are approaching fast. 22nd of this month is when they begin and I am in half a mind to run away to some city. Any suggestions on what one must do in such free time? I am quite annoyed with the fact that I will kill days like a ruthless, homicidal convict out on parole. Going to a place unvisited by me shall top the ‘to-do’ list but need backups.
Vignette 4
Recently, (this Sunday to be precise) a group of friends from college managed a trip to Mocha at Churchgate. The journalism people hosted a nice party which pretty much fell flat on its face for the lack of attendance, post which nine of us felt like sitting around and not do much. At mocha, that night, we dwelt upon one another’s strengths and weaknesses and as far as I am concerned, it was a trip to reality (with a little icing and sugar nonetheless) which gave me a chance to have an insight about certain issues that need immediate attention. It was a brilliant time spent and invested if I may say so. the good part was, we were people who have not really had a nice time together outside the campus and this made a lot of difference. Not to mention, we succeeded in coupling up a few people for god-alone-knows-whatever reasons. Here’s one…
I love the wind in my face, wind in a pace enough to make my eyes shut themselves into a dreamy trip. Which is why I love traveling on bikes. Thanks to van, this happens every second or third day. last night was just one of those short trips to a pan shop and then to a sea face. Endless conversations, meaningless, inane and disjointed. If you have ever visited marine drive and sat at the end point of it, opposite the NCPA premises, you will know what I’m going to be talking about… we realized that the Queen’s necklace was so semi-circular from that perspective and so straight when one is actually traveling on the road that shapes the necklace. And this thought lead to a revelation: we are so small… one little spec of dirt. I know it’s a known and understood fact but the ‘gotchya-off-guard’ type revelations hit you where it hurts.
Vignette 2
Finally got a DVD burner… it is the loveliest feeling for this time I put in my money that I had saved and had not taken any permission for it. I also got fired for it by dad and I was hurting all night after what he told me (which I will not go into, lest I dampen the excitement) but all in all, great feeling man. Bring on them DVDs…
Vignette 3
Holidays are approaching fast. 22nd of this month is when they begin and I am in half a mind to run away to some city. Any suggestions on what one must do in such free time? I am quite annoyed with the fact that I will kill days like a ruthless, homicidal convict out on parole. Going to a place unvisited by me shall top the ‘to-do’ list but need backups.
Vignette 4
Recently, (this Sunday to be precise) a group of friends from college managed a trip to Mocha at Churchgate. The journalism people hosted a nice party which pretty much fell flat on its face for the lack of attendance, post which nine of us felt like sitting around and not do much. At mocha, that night, we dwelt upon one another’s strengths and weaknesses and as far as I am concerned, it was a trip to reality (with a little icing and sugar nonetheless) which gave me a chance to have an insight about certain issues that need immediate attention. It was a brilliant time spent and invested if I may say so. the good part was, we were people who have not really had a nice time together outside the campus and this made a lot of difference. Not to mention, we succeeded in coupling up a few people for god-alone-knows-whatever reasons. Here’s one…
Saket and Chitra.... Chow chweeeeet!
I’m sure I had some more stuff to write… damn, I’m growing grey in the head… what the hell, they are still vignettes… you get the ‘picture’ now, don’t you?
Sunday, October 09, 2005
A night-in-gale (blown away)
Have you ever felt like God has dosed off and instead, Murphy is watching over you? If not then please know… IT HAPPENS!!
I had a lousy yesterday. The day opened with a shrieking alarm that reminded me of a Monday morning and still, it was a Saturday. I had animation classes (the ones in 3D if you recall from a frustrated post a while ago). As I drag my oversized body to college I fear getting late, coupled with a statement that rings in the heads of all who are zombie-fied at unholy hours; “screw the class, who care, BED, PILLOW, SLEEEEEEEEP!” All ok in the class but then starts the ordeal of some godforsaken term called ‘brainstorming’. Another project, another group effort where group works to the extent of opinionating and balks right there. Then the onus falls onto three or four self-actualized individuals who take the driver’s seat to actually execute this plan. Needless to say this post is filled with self-pity and empathy for all ‘drivers’. So the group goes back home and I get all lazy and not in a position to work, and then my guilt machine goes off. By now I want a drink. “TAVERN… OH GOD, TAVERN!”
After inane conversations with Van and constant persuasion, the plan to go to the ‘temple’ for some ‘prashaad’, is formalized and we also have a Sachin and an Ankit to go along with. We meet at 11 and set out to relax our minds down. I picture all my pressures being washed away by a sea of beer. The customary homage of white ‘incense’ was purchased en route and we were encountered by various temptations to just sit around at all other places except for Tavern. We some how discarded all options and headed where we were supposed to. Enter the corridor of Farias and I get a call from a group member. Harrowed and disturbed, she was resorting to the final option of giving in and dying for the night. All was justified and I felt bad that I had an option to get out and these others did not. Maybe some chose not to get out and have a drink but I was the only one running away. The rest are standing in the lobby waiting for me to hang up and walk in. I signal them to carry on and I shall join later and Van shouts “it’s shut you ass!”… I, in a complete state of awe and disgust, continue talking to a bothered friend. Once I hang up they say one word that breaks all dreams into pieces smaller than sand grains… “DRY-DAY”
After a short trip to Symphony (regular panwala) we drop Sachin to his abode and head straight off to the sea face (Worli). The remainder of the incense are lit and puffed with joy and tea and coffee consumed in small quantities add to the beauty of the night. And ofcorse some there are some biscuit packets lying in the car that served as ‘bites’ with our ‘drinks’. The sea roars, the moon hides, a quaint plane flies past at a great height and an even more inane conversation about the plane follows it. Bitching about life and its definition of ‘irony personified’ continues into another smoke filled night-sky. Deep sighs of remorse and acceptance of a downfall of hope in the Saturday evening of much too many desires are breathed and all head back to respective residences to sleep off the regretful night. I have no idea why, but it was the first time I was that pissed with fate. Sorry, but it’s not done. I ask for beer and they gave me coffee…
God should party more often on Saturday nights and let Murphy take a break. Honestly.
I had a lousy yesterday. The day opened with a shrieking alarm that reminded me of a Monday morning and still, it was a Saturday. I had animation classes (the ones in 3D if you recall from a frustrated post a while ago). As I drag my oversized body to college I fear getting late, coupled with a statement that rings in the heads of all who are zombie-fied at unholy hours; “screw the class, who care, BED, PILLOW, SLEEEEEEEEP!” All ok in the class but then starts the ordeal of some godforsaken term called ‘brainstorming’. Another project, another group effort where group works to the extent of opinionating and balks right there. Then the onus falls onto three or four self-actualized individuals who take the driver’s seat to actually execute this plan. Needless to say this post is filled with self-pity and empathy for all ‘drivers’. So the group goes back home and I get all lazy and not in a position to work, and then my guilt machine goes off. By now I want a drink. “TAVERN… OH GOD, TAVERN!”
After inane conversations with Van and constant persuasion, the plan to go to the ‘temple’ for some ‘prashaad’, is formalized and we also have a Sachin and an Ankit to go along with. We meet at 11 and set out to relax our minds down. I picture all my pressures being washed away by a sea of beer. The customary homage of white ‘incense’ was purchased en route and we were encountered by various temptations to just sit around at all other places except for Tavern. We some how discarded all options and headed where we were supposed to. Enter the corridor of Farias and I get a call from a group member. Harrowed and disturbed, she was resorting to the final option of giving in and dying for the night. All was justified and I felt bad that I had an option to get out and these others did not. Maybe some chose not to get out and have a drink but I was the only one running away. The rest are standing in the lobby waiting for me to hang up and walk in. I signal them to carry on and I shall join later and Van shouts “it’s shut you ass!”… I, in a complete state of awe and disgust, continue talking to a bothered friend. Once I hang up they say one word that breaks all dreams into pieces smaller than sand grains… “DRY-DAY”
After a short trip to Symphony (regular panwala) we drop Sachin to his abode and head straight off to the sea face (Worli). The remainder of the incense are lit and puffed with joy and tea and coffee consumed in small quantities add to the beauty of the night. And ofcorse some there are some biscuit packets lying in the car that served as ‘bites’ with our ‘drinks’. The sea roars, the moon hides, a quaint plane flies past at a great height and an even more inane conversation about the plane follows it. Bitching about life and its definition of ‘irony personified’ continues into another smoke filled night-sky. Deep sighs of remorse and acceptance of a downfall of hope in the Saturday evening of much too many desires are breathed and all head back to respective residences to sleep off the regretful night. I have no idea why, but it was the first time I was that pissed with fate. Sorry, but it’s not done. I ask for beer and they gave me coffee…
God should party more often on Saturday nights and let Murphy take a break. Honestly.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Taking a break and still at work!
Its ironic sometimes. My class managed to piss a lecturer off a week back and we salvaged our reputation by offering him a presentation of the topic he was then dealing with. So the class goes all out and starts working on some kick ass presentations. I am pleasantly surprised with the amount of effort put in by each group. We were nine of us who did an amazing presentation on Powai. What’s more, we went to the place and had some awesome time there. What follows is a photo blog but a brief on what we did…
Binita ‘I redefine perfection’ Kuruvilla made the most amazing host ever. so our trip begins with lovely filling lunch, followed by a mind-blowing cappuccino ice-cream and the most amazing Swiss chocolate ever. Imagine eight people on a brilliantly dressed table with warm food and Simon and Garfunkle playing softly in the background. We began to move through the Hiranandani area via the woods and then to different places from there…
Binita ‘I redefine perfection’ Kuruvilla made the most amazing host ever. so our trip begins with lovely filling lunch, followed by a mind-blowing cappuccino ice-cream and the most amazing Swiss chocolate ever. Imagine eight people on a brilliantly dressed table with warm food and Simon and Garfunkle playing softly in the background. We began to move through the Hiranandani area via the woods and then to different places from there…
from left clockwise: binita, pulak, paresh, rakshit, khyati, chitra at nirvana park
Nirvana Park
pulak and me
Left to right: Paresh, Khyati, Devang, chitra, Binita and pulak (being gagged)Tere are more but u get the idea dont you? It wasw a fabulous day out and a lovely presentation ensued this trip. oh darn, have to get back to some other mundane, stupid, silly, boring work now... cheers!
Skeleton in the closet…
It is so much fun to clear the old drawers. I was on a total cleaning spree a day or so ago. I did not spare a spec of dust. All redundant papers were brought to justice. Every ‘un-needed’ reminiscence of painful memoir was removed out of existence. But I stumbled upon this one piece which I had written then. I don’t remember when was ‘then’ but it was in the last year or so. it was a song I wrote, for a band recording, for a “Break Dust” come-back and it was an acoustic wonder. I had conceptualized its music first and then on approval by my colleague, I wrote these lyrics. They are rough and not my best work. I liked the feel of the words simply because it went well with the music. If you do bother reading through this song, DO NOT judge anything about my state of mind from what the lyrics say. I had my share of angst but this is a slightly ‘exaggerated’ version. It was written on this little piece of notepad paper. A 3x5 inch rectangle. All I mean to say is, the piece written was nothing great but just digging it out of its grave and reading it was a pleasure one has to experience to know. The song was never recorded but I guess I shall ask my other music-aficionado buddies to help me do the same. I want to render it, for the sheer joy of vintage value that I associate with this song. Read on… constructive criticism is always welcomed but hey, euphemism is a nice word too! (kidding, go ahead, rip me apart…)
BLAME
They say I lost my sensation,
They found me behind my smile
They asked me why was I in so much pain,
I had been that way for a while.
I cried my eyes dry every night
And climbed the roof-top to laugh,
It felt like I left myself alone,
As one half killed the other half.
But I knew it was not so bad somehow.
I knew it could not be.
I could not have pained you ever,
The only one to be blamed was me.
I saw my dreams drifting away from you,
I lost the smell of your skin,
I could remember no taste of your lips,
Lost our night as the dawn broke in.
I promised myself to stand up again,
No whiskey could ever knock me out.
I will never trust you to take care of my heart again,
Never put myself under doubt.
But I knew it wasn’t so bad somehow.
I knew it just couldn’t be.
I could not have pained you ever,
Cause it wasn’t bout you,
It’s all about me.
BLAME
They say I lost my sensation,
They found me behind my smile
They asked me why was I in so much pain,
I had been that way for a while.
I cried my eyes dry every night
And climbed the roof-top to laugh,
It felt like I left myself alone,
As one half killed the other half.
But I knew it was not so bad somehow.
I knew it could not be.
I could not have pained you ever,
The only one to be blamed was me.
I saw my dreams drifting away from you,
I lost the smell of your skin,
I could remember no taste of your lips,
Lost our night as the dawn broke in.
I promised myself to stand up again,
No whiskey could ever knock me out.
I will never trust you to take care of my heart again,
Never put myself under doubt.
But I knew it wasn’t so bad somehow.
I knew it just couldn’t be.
I could not have pained you ever,
Cause it wasn’t bout you,
It’s all about me.
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