Bottleneck

Published February 8, 2017 by Virgo293

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It has indeed been a while since I had a conversation in this blog. I know, what a cliché to begin with. But I guess it is honest. Writing things to put up here actually associates with a lot of such feelings. Such ‘clichés.’ Feelings that create a nostalgia that we so repeatedly speak about. Like a hot cup of tea on a rainy evening. Like the smell of wet mud on a Sunday afternoon. Like a barefoot walk on a sandy beach.

These aren’t just metaphors anymore. They are feelings so universal that you could bottle them, and put them on a rack and people will know them as flavours. These are crutches that people sail through this brutal world on. They work as a push. They pull you to themselves. They give you a kick unmatchable to the best kind of wine. And yet, you don’t get to experience them when you want them most. It’s a high you can’t choose. Life decides when it tickles you. Almost like your fate.

I wonder if this is an addiction. Actually, it is. I am addicted to this stimulation. I am addicted to inspiration sending shivers down my spine. I am addicted to being drawn to write. To being moved. To being reduced to tears. To rising up to new beginnings and to lying awake in anticipation. I am addicted, to being alive!

But fortunately, or unfortunately, this is a feeling that comes only in parts. Or in phases. In days, sometimes. And sometimes, just in moments.

You can’t help when it touches you. You can’t help its high. You can’t help anything to do with it. Not even the fact that you are addicted.

Days pass awaiting motivation. Awaiting that spark that will light up your mind. You are not sad or depressed. Not even unhappy. You are just empty. With a hollow that continues to surround you.

How then do you help yourself? How do you put your foot down? How do you take life in your hands? How do you trace the flavours back? How then, do you become alive again??

Persistence they say is the key. Hard work is what fits the bill. You must keep doing, they say. I wish they could also tell me doing what? What is it exactly that I have to do?

I can keep writing bad things; I perhaps one day will have something good. I might become famous with that one click. Life might become better after that. But success and fame isn’t what I signed up to writing for. I signed up to writing because it made me happy. And I wanted to be happy every day.

What do I do now? I am addicted to the high it gives me. And still, I have nothing to say.

As I put these thoughts down, it dawns onto me. I’ve to find something to say perhaps. Look for that high. That inspiration. It is the stimulation I’ve to seek. And until I find it, not write!

A miracle then, will perhaps happen. And in that search, of that new flavour to bottle, I might find my happiness, in the bottleneck!

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A Bud of Time

Published January 9, 2017 by Virgo293

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A Bud of Time is my tribute to the cinema of 2016.  Apart from being my personal take on what has been up with the movies, it is a congratulatory note to everything that has taken the industry a notch higher. After all, What can be a better way to relish the New Year, than raising a toast to the movies?

Wishing all my readers a happy, prosperous and beautiful year ahead. 🙂

Please find the link to the article here. It was originally published by Pandolin.com, A digital magazine dedicated to the art and craft of film-making.

This is second in the series of Film-related articles, that will celebrate, rejoice and elaborate the beauty that life ‘imprints’ upon me, in the form of movies! You can read the first article here. 🙂

 

 

Love You Zindagi

Published December 9, 2016 by Virgo293

At times little is more. Small is large. And trivial much more important than what a translucent interface makes it appear. Wobbly thoughts that threaten to fizz out at the most inappropriate times are what make us human. The constant tug of war between what to do and what not to, what to say and what to hold back, and most significantly who to be and how; is what defines life.

At these times, what has always helped me come to terms with myself, is putting pen to paper and edging out a patient call out to life. Dear Zindagi, translates one such messy and fluid letter to life, and creates a visual treat for anyone who has ever looked at confusion in the eye, and yet hasn’t known how to deal with it. For how long after all, can one shut oneself?

With an introduction as personal as this, it is visibly clear that this is no film-review. Nor an expert opinion, since there is seemingly little that anyone can know about the gigantic art or craft of film-making. And apart from this, a judgement is the last thing I want to draw from this film that inspires exactly the opposite.

What I want to do though, in my small insignificant way, is to put down this piece as a thank-you note to the film that made me laugh, cry and realize that no matter how silly certain dilemmas seem on surface, if you don’t feel okay, it is okay to look up for a hand. That the lull I feel even when the world around me is cheering in joy, is as existent as it sounds to my ears. But most importantly, it makes me realize that despite all of this, I have it in me to smile, love and spring to back to life, with faith and hope stronger than before.

I admit, with sincerity, that this might not be Shinde’s best; and I hope that she out-does herself in the time to come. I also know that there is a huge lot of people who have called the film a slog, called it silted and synthetic, a preaching sermon, or even a live session with a counselor. I do not blame them, and by no means am I trying to prove that the film is an immaculate piece of perfection to see and follow.

But what I am trying to draw spot-light on, is the attempt. How many times does it happen in our country, that one chooses an unconventional, insignificant almost, wearily taboo subject, and treats it as a premise for a commercial film? How often does a superstar stretch out of his comfort zone, to give way to a woman half his age for her to be able to display not just her talent and skills, but her weaknesses, unhappiness and specifically her insecurities? And how frequently in these attempts, does a film like this make it to the theaters, with a respectable three-week run and hopefully more to follow?

I respect the talent and expertise of all those who are critiquing the film, and not just criticizing it. I believe they know and understand what it takes to make a good film with conflicts and situations as internal and intimate; not to mention doing so in a funny, light-hearted and bravely straight-forward way. But there certainly is more to the point. I do not want applause for the film just on account of  advocating the beguile stereotype attached with psychology and its practice. Or for the charm and flair sported by the leading man and lady, in that order. Or even for the shots that beautifully camouflage the discomfort associated with the subject and her story!

What I feel the film deserves appreciation for is the attempt to cut out a slice of life that hasn’t been tasted before. For the pool of its flavors. That the taste, liking and savoring of this slice is diverse, can easily be an occupational hazard. The slice pulled out might be, and even is, disliked, loathed or even hated by some. But what is important is that someone is scooping this slice for us to stop and look at life, even if it is through misty glasses.

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This is first in an upcoming series of Film-related articles, that will celebrate, rejoice and elaborate the beauty that life ‘imprints’ upon me, in the form of movies! 🙂

Bullets and Daggers

Published October 17, 2016 by Virgo293

A strange silence has been following me recently. Not a hollow, a silence. A contemplative silence that nudges me to think about the so many moments that while away in life. The so many minutes I spend in my past. The so many hours that go thinking about what the future will look like. A silence, that constantly threatens me with the bullets of time. That threatens to take away the carefree spirit I have been trying to nurture ever since.

The constant question that keeps nagging me is ‘what if?’ ‘What if that meeting did not go well?’ ‘What if I did not finish that assignment?’ ‘What if I do not end up anywhere?’ They feel like daggers hanging on my head, these questions. They tend to make me escape lack of company, they force me to escape thinking, and they lead me areas so unexplored that I feel scared of being lost and never being able to come back.

And yet, what is constant, throughout this phase of bullets and daggers, is the light I see ahead. The feeling that this is all a conflict and that beyond this phase of uncertainties, this alleged lack of answers and this stern silence, lies a land of green. Where noise and discussions won’t seem so scary. Where abandoning lies and uncovering masks won’t be so difficult. Where little by little by little my patience and persistence will defy these powerful weapons; and the peace I so constantly seek, will shield my tired self.

That is when I guess, this silence will be more insightful. That is when the questions that pop up so naturally, will not threaten me of an unnatural death.  The dark cave I am so afraid of even looking at, will take me in and lead me forward. The present silence I’ve been shutting my ears to, will be a relief, from the world that offers setbacks and promises, together at once. And then, I’ll let the questions be, as they continue to hang in time.

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In the corridors of Time…

Published May 23, 2016 by Virgo293

A Line.

Published March 23, 2016 by Virgo293

Life is a line. A topsy-turvy, roller-coaster, straight yet curved, impossible to trace line. A line that goes up and down and up and down and up and down. In its wave form, the crests and troughs are difficult to gauge, predict and at times even deal with.

When you are just expecting a difficult climb, your tummy tickles with a sudden fall. And just when you are easing out for a comfortable drop down, it turns that you have to trek a rift all the way up.

It’s enough, believe me, for all of this to make your head spin. To make it go round. And round. And round. Enough at least to have you stop and look around. To seek a corner and sit. And take a deep breath. Even better if it is green, the corner. And below the stars. It still has to be in this world, unfortunately.  But trance, isn’t far away.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then, Open your eyes. Re-adjust your vision.

The smile, will automatically come back.

Lay back. Lie down. Look up. And give yourself a break. From the hop skip and jump. From day and night. From good and bad. From thoughts and feelings. From them. And from yourself.

There is a lot inside. Waiting to settle down. To relax. To take a nap. Or maybe some actual sleep. Give all of that a treat.

Close your eyes.

When you open them next, you’ll perhaps believe me. Believe me when I say that even through the stagnancy, you’ve traversed to a different point, in the same line.

Emoticonning

Published February 21, 2016 by Virgo293

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Glistening light, a smilie and a good morning wish. A text that says so much that words are unable to.

The same glistening light. A similar good morning text. Words again communicate so much. Yet, the smile isn’t just missing on your phone. It din’t appear on your sleep-ridden, heavy eyed, face as well.

It shouldn’t be a surprise how smilies have affected our mode of communication so much. They’ve reassured the world of the fact that there is so much that words simply can’t define. They are aptly called emoticons, because what they communicate, are pure emotions.

That blush on your face has no other way to travel the distance it so easily does these days, nor those stars in your eyes. Ditto for your heavy heart. They don’t just communicate feelings, these smilies. They make the reader feel.

In short, they do everything that I would like to do as a writer,  but with words. No wonder they put me to spot. I genuinely feel insecure.

Because no matter how hard I try to mix flirtatiousness to my language, the piece just remains incomplete without a wink. My heart felt poetry fails to convey anything, until I use a prompter. Even a formal email, becomes much more interesting, with the use of an appropriate smile.

I wonder if this matters though. Why can’t I just use them, make my job easier, and get over with the fuss. After all, this might just be a transformation language is going through. And I agree that words by themselves are too powerful to be afraid of a transition like this.

But writers, especially the ones like me, definitely have something to think about

Amidst all these thoughts, the only reassuring one is that no matter how hard they try, one thing emoticons can never win over is Silence.

Perhaps because this is the only one thing that words have never been able to triumph over. And perhaps because, the whole point of silence, is to gauge understanding, without expression.

How silence not being affected is of reassurance to a writer, is a discussion for another time. But I insist that they should keep writing, with or without emoticonning.

PS I am really tempted to put a simlie at the end of this post, but I won’t because I have to make a point. 😉

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