Back and forth...

Drops of rain crash against the window pane, like kamikaze pilots they were,
Sombre faced they sacrifice their lives to impregnate the earth with life,
The trees they sway as if to a divine orchestra they belong,
Scavengers they circle the sky as if below was a scene of death,
The clouds they are drooping, hanging heavy with all they rain they have,
I, childlike, stare at the stage of life, watching with awe and wonder this cosmic spectacle,
Life, it goes on like this,
The seasons, they change, babies are born and corpses are lifted,
I do my daily routine, like the rest do theirs,
In this entire cosmic equation where do I figure I don’t know,
But I drive to work and drive back with my favourite song playing,
Probably I am a spoke in the wheel of fortune, probably I am not,
I’ll drive to work with my favourite song playing and I will drive back,
Day in and day out….

Every now and then....

Every now and then the meaninglessness creeps in and I fight it,
Sometimes I succeed and sometimes I don't,
So I fall back on the bed and look out to the vast blue sky,
Every now and then I create my own reason,
and then I feel why do I need the reason,
but I do need it, I need an idea, a person or just something to carry on,
to fight the meaninglessness and live one day more,
I do not run towards the enemy's machine guns,
nor do I face the heavy mortar shower,
but I fight it every day,
the enemy inside, the biggest of them all,
to carry on one more day when the meaninglessness creeps in....

Hey look you...

Hey look you, I am not here to judge, probably sometimes, if you need it, but I am not sure though,
I guess we'll screw up when I just see me and not you, and love you for me and not you,
Meanwhile, I want to ride down the bridge, her shoulder on my head, warm cheeks against mine and little droplets of rain crashing on my lips,
I guess that's all that makes sense, we'll earn a buck or two, please let me know about charity, whether I'll make you a helpless beggar or alleviate your pain,
I don't want the question to 42. That I think will make me sick. I am happy here, making the mindless joke, feeling the breeze ruffle my hair.
I'll walk with you down the beach, listening to the great song and venting some emotion on pieces of paper, seeing the kid smile and bringing us one step closer to equillibrium.
That's about it, for now though. For later I dunno, maybe yes, maybe no.

Making the world go I, 2, 3...

In a small village hundreds of miles from Tokyo, Japan, young Yoshuki Azami is gyrating, swirling, skipping, hopping and intermittently thrusting her chest forward. Her facial muscles contort in every fashion, grimacing at times, and looking forlorn on others. Following Yoshuki in rapt attention are a group of about 15 to 20 boys and girls. After a high energy session of dance they get together, sipping water and chatting animatedly; their faces are covered in beatific smiles. Yoshuki has been teaching these girls and boys a new dance form: Bollywood.

A few decades ago Bollywood was inconsequential, probably a misnomer for Hollywood, but no longer. Bollywood stands for the Indian film industry and much more; it stands for an industry that churns out the most number of films a year and whose audience follows nearly each one of these films with fervour and religious deference. Stars are not merely stars, but demi Gods. Temples are built to honour them and any insolence, even unintended, could spark the goriest of riots.

However, in helping Bollywood create a niche for itself, one aspect has played a near irreplaceable role, and that is: Bollywoood Dance.

For many of us uninitiated to the nuances of Bollywood, a lover grieving the loss of his beloved to suddenly start singing would make us feel weird, to say the least. To Bollywood, Indians and many other nations, it isn’t anymore. Bollywood song and dance has been seamlessly incorporated into the narrative. Scenes conveying complex emotions, heartfelt overtures or mundane messages are a part of storytelling and rendered with equal passion and distinctiveness. At times, the song and dance has revealed the character of an actor, at times it has taken the plot to the next level and at times it has simply served as an entertainment value (read item number) for front benchers to revel and producers to fill pockets.

Whatever it be, song and dance has been a part of Bollywood from day one. While it has received its share of flak from the country’s intelligentsia, being labeled as ‘running around trees’, Bollywood Dance has arrived now. And arrived big time. Its stars have a global fan following. From Germans, to Japanese and Londoners, Bollywood is a rage now. The reasons are myriad, Bollywood is essentially a mélange of all dance forms, it includes Indian traditional, Western Classical, Contemporary and Bollywood’s very own moves and shakes. Others include the rise of India in the world order and Bollywood's refreshing no-ideology or no-philosophy offering. Dance is simply dance, a true expression of your feeling, whatever it may be, thrusting your chest or batting your eyelids. If that's what you feel, then that's what you do. There is no deeper meaning, though the necklines could be deep ;

Bollywood Dance has pervaded Indian society, it is music for weddings, birthday parties and even an exercise form: Bollywood Dance to lose weight. Talk about a counter-culture!!!

A loyal partner to the story, moulding and adjusting itself to the socio-political climate of the country, Bollywood Dance has stood with the story through thick and thin. From the innocence and the enthusiasm of the 40s, the feel good Kashmir shoots of the 60s, the rebellious 70s or the promising and optimistic 90s, the song and dance has upheld its allegiance in an unwavering and unflagging fashion. Though the new breed of 'serious cinema' may look down upon the song and dance as kitsch, Bollywood Dance is here to stay. It's mainstream popularity, slightly escapistic nature (sometimes needed to counter the killing stress) and avant garde form have cemented its place in the annals of Indian, and probably, global cinematic history. Join in folks, the party has just begun.

Checkmate

I think we were too quick to judge him; it was as if we were waiting to pounce on him. Yes, what he had done was objectionable, but then that was it; simply objectionable. We judged him way too much, and that’s the thing about judging; there’s a thin line in judging a person, and which side one should be on is something I can’t say with certainty. I saw him leave that day, hurriedly, escaping our glances, putting up a poor show of face saving he ran. I am never going to see him again. He could have wept alone. Was it really something he could avoid? Was it something he could really be held responsible for? Alone, yes, that’s what he must have felt. All those glances on him. Alone, yes, terribly alone. And yes, we judged him a little too harsh for what he deserved. But where does one draw the line between judging and letting go? And how does one be sure of it? Probably that bit of unpredictability is the nature of things. Probably that's the bit they call life. Grey.

14 Rs for an hour of happiness Sir!

I stood there for a bit, she had not yet come. There was an eerie stillness to the place, eerie because it compelled me to look inside, unlike the din of the city which always managed to steer me away from myself. The bicycle stood parked against the backdrop of lush dancing fields and the semi-circular horizon. The cumulative effect was very peaceful, yet extremely disturbing. There were huge boulders to my left, placed precariously on top of each other; I constantly wondered how they managed to stay that way. To me this arrangement seemed the work of a little boy, collecting pebbles from a gurgling stream and then carefully placing them atop each other. Once he had accomplished what he had set out for he would jump in a triumphant glee, but soon they fall apart. I imagined his face, and the inconsolable dejection it would bear. The boulders seemed a natural fortress to advancing armies, there were none I knew, but probably at some point of time there might have been. I felt secure being shielded by the might of them. There she was, approaching me hurriedly. We cycled down the small slope then, we never knew there was one, but once we encountered it, it brought out the most genuine emotions of exhilarations from us. The bicycles meandered through the fields, under the peaceful blue skies and the unconcerned trees. Every single second seemed ecstatic. Then the road ended and we crashed on the bare ground. My chest heaved and thin drops of perspiration raced down my face. Even in that apparent exhaustion there was serenity and a peaceful smile on my face. It would have made a lovely photo and if the two of us in some way related, a beautiful and heart wrenching story. There were none to click the photo and we were just two apparent strangers cycling in an unknown part of the country, but this moment was a very memorable one, probably because I was so much at peace with everything.

The voices they are lost in the oblivion, drifting away into the vast emptiness of space they shall never turn back. You’ll are now dispersed like the frantic birds on a branch, each in search for his or her own sustenance. I’m still here, far away and distant from you, in a while even I will fly away and get lost in the chaos. I shall drown your beautiful voices in the pursuit of mindless and self-created ideals. Then one day we all shall give way to the immutable laws of nature. Will our voices still echo here then?

NH 4 to Hampi

Rohit was fast asleep as I stared at the ceiling. Only a few minutes ago had I come to know that Rohit knew as much about Hampi as I did, which was: nothing. This had made me extremely uncomfortable for it had been 5 years since I had ventured out for a decent vacation. This had to click, I told myself. Before I could imagine the two of us were sitting in the sumo and making our way through the maddening roads of Bangalore. I wondered about cities like Bangalore, huge maddening cities, cities with miles and miles of traffic jams, chaotic cities, dirty cities, cities where if you wanted a spot of solitude you’d probably have to drive down 100s of miles. I wondered what made majority of mankind stay in such cities and the remaining live with aspirations to be a part of them one day. I love cities too. They are fantastic places. They are vibrant, full of life, home to innovations and some of the brightest minds, but honestly, I have never felt like a city person. I have had the overwhelming urge to get done with this bit of my life and move on. Probably some day I will.

Anyway, the Sumo meandered its way through the megapolis to pick the remaining party for the trip. Once that was done we hit the roads. Getting on the road brought along with it a strange sense of satisfaction. It gave me a sense of purpose. It told me that I was headed somewhere, quite contrary to the feeling which I experience on a regular basis, which is: I am going nowhere. We did hit the roads, but irony is the sweetest weapon of the Gods. Vajra, our driver, who had done a full day shift, was sent by his rather cruel, stupid and insensitive employer to do the graveyard shift as well. Vajra, exhausted by driving the entire day now simply couldn’t manage to focus on the roads and kept nodding off. For the first few minutes when Vajra related this to me I felt a deep sense of compassion and affection for him. I despised his employer for treating him so cruelly and blatantly exploiting him and his situation. Nonetheless, in the course of the trip I would come to know that Vajra was not as innocent and gullible as he appeared. My overtures of gratitude and kindness to him made me feel stupid and cheated.

Taking notice of Vajra’s condition I thought it would be in the best interests of everyone to engage him in a dialogue. The dialogue had to be about him, for Vajra did not come across to me as a person who had a keen disposition towards current affairs and stimulating conversation. He seemed a man very set in his views and would not tolerate any opposition to them. Probably years and years of traveling the roads of India had given him experiences which made him the man he was today.

So I asked him about his family, his education, his upbringing, his career and his life so far in general. People love to recount tales of their experiences, the pearls of wisdom they have gathered in their journey so far and the fundamental philosophies that they have formed over the years. Vajra was no exception, even in the state of utter sleep deprivation he spoke enthusiastically of what he’d learnt on the roads. I listened keenly and imagined his life as young boy and wondered about the sheer disparity that existed. Here I was, nearly the same age, traveling and enjoying myself, and there was Vajra, fighting his sleep and keeping awake coz he could not afford to displease his employer. And all this for a meagre 5000 Rs a month. Unfair, utterly and completely unfair.

As we sped down NH 4 the moon emerged and disappeared into the clouds. We had left the city far behind and with it the chaos, the rat race and unfair comparisons in human life. Every once in a while we stopped for a cup of chai, reinvigorated we moved ahead. Hampi seemed like the elusive truth, always tricking us into believing that we had reached it, but the moment that we thought that we were there it seemed far away.

There is a moment, a moment between darkness and light. A moment when darkness bows down, acknowledging that its tenure is over, it is now the turn of light. Then light cracks through the vast, unfathomable canvass of the sky, reaching out to the farthest points. It is as though it swims into the sky to a loud cheer from the human spectacle. The darkness recedes into unknown corners of the universe, it shall come back again only to balance the way of human life.

Light danced on the swaying fields and mountain tops. The birds had come alive, they chirped and sang and flew in abandon across the skies, like little children playing on the field. A solitary figure walked down the highway, he seemed old, about 70, looking at him I wondered he must’ve walked down this road all his life. What could he be thinking now? Was he thinking that was his life worth living? Was he thinking about the mistakes that he’d made? And what if he’d not made them, how would life have been then. But before I knew we’d left him far behind. I would never, ever see this man again. I did not know him, but for those few seconds I felt a very strong sense of attachment to him.

9 hours had passed now and the day seemed to grow in its beauty as we progressed. We passed the river, I believe it was the Krishna, it was huge. It seemed to have originated from the Horizon, calm and unending it seemed to me. The whole setting was ethereal.

Finally we reached Hospet. Everybody was awake now and eagerly looking forward to Hampi. The landscape had changed tremendously since Bangalore. Huge concrete towers were replaced by unending fields and cars by make shift type of two wheelers. But above all there was a tranquility which I can’t describe. We were in Hampi……finally.