Romances

I recently came across this very special song by The Deewarists, and ever since, it has been playing on repeat on my laptop as well as in my head. Characterised by absolutely beautiful music, perfect rhythms, soft vocals, lovely background scores and extremely meaningful lyrics, it provides hope for a new world. A happy world. One reason for such an addictive effect the song had had over the past few days, I realised, was the subtle romance the music brims with. The idea of an entirely different world, a favourite companion, all the time spent together, conversations and laughter shared, happy moments and memories kept alive for ages to come: An excellent thought indeed. The notion of such a setting is refreshing, often makes me smile. 

There’s always a blur as to the ideas, people, places, and you keep adding to the jigsaw before you, pieces that best suit your desires. These pieces need not fit, they need to exist. The very thought of their forming a string of thoughts each knot reminding one of a distinct memory, is fantastic. All through the connecting activity, a happy suspense prevails- the guessing game of people, places, worlds, all so many! But the same romance, the same subtlety, happiness augmenting by bounds. All this brilliance is mostly always lost amid the robotic lifestyles we lead, hardly acknowledging the desires to travel to new worlds with new people. 

No wonder an ideal setting has always been a romantic notion.

Because Beasts Will Be Beasts

So, there are humans and there are beasts: the beasts with an irresistible urge to attack, conquer, kill… all the time; accustomed to a ferocious environment- even those who had begun with subtler killer instincts. They’re all charged up and waiting to pounce on the first edible human they can find, just like how caged animals have an enormously high level of potential energy, all their ferocity bottled up. In fact, these beasts are more fatal- they’re out in the open- no bars, no cages, but eyes constantly scanning fields. Piercing retina films, roars brimming with hunger. The humans are there too, non-aggressive, passive; but free- the former aspect submissiveness acceptable, but the freedom not.

Yes, this scene is hypothetical and extreme, more latter than the former, but in no way bizarre. If in case the humans resort to means which can secure the freedom they are entitled to and that they rightly possess, it would cause an unheard of situation: freedom is an asset only of the beasts. Where do these humans fit in? Or rather, where does their freedom figure? It’s a nonsensical conception, after all.

To add to this misery, there come the rules, and as ironical as it can get, these rules of the Beast Kingdom defy the Rule of Law (Oh, wait. Rule of Law, what?). The Rule, Part One- ‘The beasts are anyway aggressive, it is an inherent characteristic, and habits die hard. So, humans, beware! Exercise caution to save yourselves or your loved ones. It’s your responsibility’. An additional onus, a burden. The rationale is justified, right? Why else would you die by a beast’s attack if you yourself are careful? It’s common-sense! So, humans are to be extremely careful, exercise caution because… you do not want the beasts to attack. And this is YOUR duty. (Common-sense, you said?) The Rule, Part Two- ‘Do absolutely nothing to provoke the already hungry and deprived beasts’, “provoke” being the operative term. The humans are urged to remain their submissive selves (very conveniently) and take care so as to NOT incite the wrath of the beasts.

First, a burden on humans to protect themselves, owing to the inherent ferocity of the beasts; second, an onus to not provoke the beasts by acts lying even well within their realm of freedom. It’s not only horrible that the humans are worse-off, but also that there is a weighty onus on them, so heavy that they are already collapsing under that weight. Is there more injustice that can be done? It’s time to realise- irrespective of what the humans do, whatever caution they exercise, how many ever security measures they undertake, it would flow into nothing but futility. Why, you ask? Because beasts will be beasts.

The Emancipating Void

During an amazing experience to produce a debut theatrical performance, I was drawn to the Ranga Shankara, one of the finest stages Bangalore has seen, and fortunate to be gifted with. Having heard about its brilliance for an exhaustingly long time, but never getting the fortune of meeting the marvel till that fateful day, was indeed shameful. This made me cringe for a few seconds as I got off the rickshaw close to a creative construction that stood before me.    

Little did I know that behind that massive wooden door awaited an amphitheatre that could cause a spectacle. A subtle one, but nonetheless a phenomenon. The calm existence of the titanic podium, the seats welcoming the anxiety, the geometric succession of whose height directly proportional to the intimidation they caused, and… a sense of emptiness. The haphazard blend of the awesomeness the theatre was made of and the apprehension, excitement, confusion, began to seem beautiful, and reassuringly beautiful! And an eerie thought struck me, of how gorgeous void can be, and how inviting… yet silent.

As the dim lights spread across the elegant wooden stage, their soothing effect could not counter racing heartbeats. The quiet compelled an uncanny silence to fill my head and complement rhythmically with the heart’s function, so spontaneously. Stepping into the realm of the spotlight beam made me sense half a grand eyes focussing on every bit of the shivers that my spine must have felt. The space was gradually transformed into a fresh liberating sensation, as I filled its void.

The time had come to take that call- about firmly deciding that the emotion that the spotlight was trying so hard to compel, since so long, was not of intimidation, but of emancipation. With my eyes shut, I began to mutter a prayer to thank Him for all those mistakes that were forgiven, the frustration that was soothed, the fears that were braved, the ecstasy the day had brought...

A Frog-Princess Tale

When I started from home a fortnight ago, I had wondered just for a moment how my first experience far from home, in an unacquainted city and amidst new people would be. Staying away from all that familiarity, pampering and intimacy is not an easy task, especially when they had tightly coiled up over the years. (But isn’t change always deemed to be welcome?) This was also exactly why being distant is so hard to accept; and the oft-told story remains- a frog straight out of its well would never know how the Outside would be. Curiously, the story after the frog comes out has always remained a mystery. Whether it turned out to be a frog-princess, or whether destiny had other plans for it, no one would know for sure. Oh, so meet me, the frog.

The transition was sure to come someday, although I have never been able to figure out if I even wished for it. But contrary to general perception, the outside (I saw) seemed extremely hospitable as genuineness in affection became increasingly apparent. The most helpful part about unfamiliar newness (as I see it) is how close to your former comfort zone it takes you. New portions complementing beautifully with some old ones, which inevitably followed you into the newness, is a brilliant combination. You don’t complain about those old streaks, as they denote that familiarity you so longed for in the newness… something to fall back upon if the newness intimates: Shadows are (thankfully) meant to follow.

Now, putting abstracts aside… In this process of evolution, I saw a beautiful city. As packages, it brought along with it the heat, friendly towns, hospitality, festivities, hectic work, long taxi rides, rants and unexpected compliments, awesome food, conversations, waits; the best thing being the rare surprises that were reserved just for me, and the independence the Outside sought to teach. Memories dug out through silent waves at the Necklace, constant thoughts of home kindled, the occasional coldness and lowering of morale, intimate conversations at the Café, cribbing to finish incessant work, much-needed love and unending warm-heartedness- it was all a mix.

  So yes, the Outside has been special, for reasons both said and unsaid.

Bombay Blues

A series of disastrous exams, despite over a week’s incessant hard-work (mixed with sleep-deprivation, tension, crankiness) was soon followed by an adventurous and nail-biting drive to the Bangalore International Airport. In an attempt to reach the Airport in time, affectionate hugs were forgone and limited to mere hurried goodbyes, but eventually it only left me a few minutes away from almost missing my flight. The entire string of incidents was so ruthlessly quick that even a moment to squeeze in contemplating disappointing exams, a sigh of relief that they’re over, or the excitement that my Bombay dream was finally coming true, seemed like an impossibility. Nonetheless, as I boarded the flight to take a window seat, the only thing on mind was sleep- its taste forgotten, and its value unrealised till the current deprivation was felt. But the excitement of Bombay still unusually lingered on, poking me each time about how desperately I had longed to go see the city, since time immemorial.

Each trip is meant to have a purpose, they say. The known purpose of this one was an internship, a topic currently seeming all-important and attaining centre-stage in every conversation about future plans for life. On the flip-side, the unacknowledged purpose was how the internship had transformed itself into a fortunate façade- to be off to Bombay! A city I had never been to, but had heard so much about, a city renowned to have made many dreams reach fruition and caused renewed lives. Being absolutely unaware of what it has in store for me, or even what I actually expect out of it, I had barged right ahead to challenge the city to blatantly show me all that it has. After occasional human and air turmoil, and the flight ultimately landed, I walked out of the air-conditioned spaces of the Chatrapathi Shivaji Airport, just as Bombay’s heat waves welcomed me by hitting me in the face: its first greeting?

There was something refreshing about this city, instantly reminding me of my favourite hometown. Ah, now in retrospect, it must have been the warmth, or perhaps the hospitability that is so familiar... And I began to like the city, and embraced it with the same unassuming vigour it greeted me with. Now as I retire for the night, too exhausted to think, the expectation of a fresh day and a fresher desire linger on...

Unguarded, Yet Fearless

The Alapadma is a hastha that has always fascinated me. Being one of the most commonly used mudras in classical dance, its constant usage has only augmented its beauty and multi-dimensional tenses. Unlike the other single-hand gestures generally characterised by subtle final formations, the Alapadma is interestingly unique in its openness- fingers beautifully spaced out and fingers placed comfortably at maximum distances from each other. One striking feature about it, is how attractively open and unguarded it is, revealing all its possessions and being gracefully unravelled.

The unassuming form of Alapadma is probably its most distinguishing feature- it’s represents a state of happiness, a state where there is absolutely no need to suppress your inner self, a state when you let go, irrespective of any circumstance. It’s a bold representation of what it actually is, revealing its exact attributes and proportions, showing off to the world what entails its insides, and absolutely fearlessly. May be that’s the exact point of dance- emoting fearlessly.

Imagining an Alapadma forming a significant portion of personality, when fear overshadows conviction in reality, might be demanding too much of an idea. But the mere thought of having a guiding force of boldness in moments of insecurity leading from strength to strength is indeed beautiful.

Cocoons

Today, I'm on an expressing spree. This might be an indication of opening up to communication, which wasn't the case a few days ago... It's always when people are happy that they want to open up.

People are always hungry for happiness- when it exists, they secretly pray that it should stay longer; when it doesn't, they crave for it from the bottom of their hearts. When they are happy, they proclaim to the world as to its cause, effect, consequence... and rejoice its mere presence... Otherwise, it's their little melancholy cocoon that comes to the rescue- helping them hide from the world. Hiding from the world isn't necessarily bad- it helps the person recover from a disastrous event that might have shaken him to a great extent, it goes further to help the world run away from the wrath it might be subjected to, considering the agitated state of mind that the person might possess.

When they do hide, they again seek happiness (Remember the hunger then? The same one.) and mind you, happiness is tricky, because it's relative- people might take a peek-a-boo from the cocoon once a while, to see happy (or apparently happy) people outside- people who are genuinely happy plus the ones who adamantly refuse to get into their respective cocoons. You can't blame the cocooners again- it's human nature- to constantly look at others... and compare. It's all relative anyway. Some other times, when they peer outside the cocoon, they look out for people- loved ones- to call out to them. Or may be for the loved ones to glance toward the cocoon and wonder where he went and why? But, those loved ones might have been busy with life, routine is addictive... they might be in their own little cocoons, looking out for others to help... they might not really be the ones that loved, but the ones loved by the cocooner. It may all be cumulative, a bigger challenge. But such is life.

Everything is a puzzle: people in mazes, emotions in a flux, wrong signals having fun... and hope fighting its way through the playfully alternating drudgery and despair. But without such labyrinths, we would all be bored- either within the cocoon or outside... Even after realising how much subsequent sorrow the present happiness can bring, people will still crave for it, people will still run to their cocoons, people will still hopefully peer outside, people will still wonder why loved ones aren't wondering where they went...

If not for emotions, life would be dead, nay?

It's All About Showing

Is it that it often happens, or when it happens that it hits you hard that there exists so much turbulence and entropy in everyday dealings? Sometimes disturbing, otherwise desired… But the level of discrepancy between the two kinds and the turmoil itself seems to be amazingly high… or perhaps that is precisely the reason for the difference in emotions. The mere presence of the turbulence would suffice, but its varying extent- each time more intense and fateful than the former- would leave little precipitate. If it does leave deposits, they could be analysed as to the trigger, enhancer and aftermath of the phenomenon. However, the entire process seems to render itself so emphatically persistent that there remains no realm of question or even amazement- shock waves would not take a century to reach you; it would happen in a split-second… all eager to play with some serene waves. It’s fascinating to see how it is always the serene ones which lose the game… or may be the battle. They never seem to learn from experience or may have not been bestowed with the skill or courage to combat the turbulent ones. Or perhaps they know the taste of imminent defeat- they might have known that they would always have to lose, so some relatively brave ones would attempt to fight back, others would just give up even at the prospect of those arriving.

This might just lead to an exchange of waves… Others which have sufficient experience to realise the intensity of such confrontations would be knowledgeable enough to dare not question the strength of the opposition. It would be foolish to challenge the obvious, to go against the forces of nature, of things which were bound to happen anyway, whether they liked it or not… Either way, the exchange is inevitable- some serenity dies through willing surrender, some after a fight. Where did we hear that fighting back is always appreciable? When you know you’re going to die, fighting back would indeed be foolish. It is one thing to be known for bravery, to be known as a fighter who valiantly fought back till death deprived him of that, to be renowned to set an example by your deeds in times of crises… It is yet another to attempt a show of bravado, portray dauntless ability to encounter challenges and depict heroism. Irrespective of whether you can fight or whether you know the outcome.

After all, we are all eager to depict something through our actions- there is always a motive… life is indeed a play and we, definitely, actors on stage. It’s never about ‘being’; it’s all about ‘showing’. The capabilities of such showing are so amazingly tall that it causes that notorious discrepancy in emotions and entropy in everyday dealings… Just as relationships struggle hard to stay alive trying to view people’s acts in the light of ‘showing’, rather than for their genuineness.

Of Blissful Non-Existence

As I walked down my favourite avenue path, I paused and looked around, as a sense of stillness filled the morning air. It seemed to dominate over the weather’s attitude, as though challenging the signature cool, refreshing breeze that usually tranquilises my daily walking routine. As I took a few more steps ahead, the stillness walked along, dragged itself to accompany me on my destination-less solitary journey. There is a reason why I call the avenue a favourite- it is amidst the busy city pace and the amazing levels of composure that dawns bring along, a perfect blend of the two extremes.

But today was new- the stillness in the air had a gaze which troubled. It of course seemed to be a harmless entity- with no ability whatsoever to affect varied lives that were strewn across the avenue. It was as harmless as harmless could be, and it was then that the absence of the daily welcoming breeze hit my face with all its vigour. Perhaps I would have never felt the inertia in the air if not for the longing for the breeze that the stillness had reminded me of.

That’s strange, I thought. How can some undesirable element evoke emotions towards something extremely complementary to it, even in cases of its mere existence? Every single day till today I had walked past this thicket of trees, anticipating the freshness of the breeze that lovingly whooshed around playfully… every time the breeze stroked my hair, it used to instigate a train of thought, memories, emotions, everything! Of all the glories of life, times of fun, embarrassment, joys lost, people missed, good days, mishaps…

Today, in the absence of that prolific breeze and a contrasting panorama, these memories stirred in my head all over again- with the same confusion as they had initially began to take complex forms when they were first born. I could see them all- Distinct. Uniform. Detailed. Incessant. And more complex. May be the stillness in the air was not innocuous after all; it was in fact guilty of creating a desire, many desires. A longing for that freshness in the breeze that had not greeted me today… a craving for that one moment in the day when I stop and think how beautiful (or not) life actually is. Realisation then dawned and created a perspective- that the stillness in the air was not something different from the breeze, it was its mere absence.

Just as the breeze had earlier weaved innumerable emotions together, in non-uniform, and even absurd, formations, today, when I walked into the lifelessness of the path, it took me to a different level of introspection. Or even a better one, where it showed me the leeward side of the locale of the breeze- it was a better view indeed. As I began to savour the scenic mural, the breeze was all forgotten. The breeze which greeted me every single day and ruffled my hair to streamline ideas in my head? It elapsed, and happily. It could now come and go when it desires, and I would have no inclination to feel possessive- about the loving breeze or the favourite avenue. Absence itself can be serene, blissful… the presence of everything we desire would only shamelessly pamper. When we come to terms with accepting that “absence” can be delightful… and this happens in a way that we could never have imagined… it is then that we start walking along a wholly new avenue, contemplating about another breeze. Or may be its blissful non-existence.