The Last Prance

He was walking,

coolly, calmly, no hint of resignation.
The traffic moved around him,


honking, horning, in no state to stop.


With his saddlebag and black umbrella,
he ambled past shop owners,
beggars,
and street children playing at the signal.


Fifty for one, hundred for three shouted some,
he did not pay heed.


People bargained, shopkeepers did not relent,
he kept on walking,
and then


the traffic rules he bent.


The green shone on, the yellow of the taxi in the distance.


He saw his chance, he hesitated, he ran.
The taxi rammed. Into him and ran. Off into the night.


Silence entrenched for a moment,
people looked and ran to help.
It was, but, too late.


A life was taken.
His choice or by chance.


The little feet of the children, after that, never did prance.

The Soundtrack Of My Life!

Irrespective of whether a movie is good or not, one always remembers the soundtrack to a movie. No matter if the soundtrack contains an obscure "Sarkaye lo Khatiya" or a raunchy "Munni Badnaam Hui" or a superhit "Ande ka Funda" in a forgettable film. Inevitably even if the film is a dismal affair, the song will always register even if its heard after many years. And if the song was based on an iconic scene (Rocky's Eye of the Tiger) or used in a good film ((500) Days of Summer's You Make My Dreams), then it becomes an unforgettable experience.


What matters is, is that these songs always make for a splendid background to the happenings on screen. How I wish that I too had songs playing during some moments of my life. So now I list a humorous list of which songs I'd like playing at certain moments in my "dramatic" life!


Well, the songs listed below may not suit the moment musically because I'm going more on the lyrics here. That too, just a few appropriate lines!


My overall theme song: "...I am one of those melodramatic fools; neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it..." Green Day's 'Basket Case'.


While ranting on this blog: "Do you have the time to listen to me whine?" Green Day's 'Basket Case' again.


Completing impossible assignments: "I am in misery, there ain't nobody who can comfort me..." Maroon 5's 'Misery'.


While watching Inception: "Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you." Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On'.


While driving drunk: "Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel" The Doors' 'Roadhouse Blues'.


While dealing with PR agencies: "Just have a little patience..." Take That's 'Patience'.


When I'm in a mood where I can't decipher how I feel or how to put it into words: "I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight..." U2's 'I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight'.


After the ticket seller at the ticket counter on the railway station closes his window: "If you change your mind, I'm the first in line..." ABBA's 'Take A Chance On Me'.


As an alternative to the four-letter F-expletive: "And I will try to fix you..." Coldplay's 'Fix You'.


When spreading message of peace and love: "Everybody's gonna love today, love today, love today..." Mika's 'Love Today'.


When I'm being too desperate: (Next two lines) "Anyway you want to, anyway you got to, love, love me..." Mika's 'Love Today'.


When writing a person's profile for a feature: "Tell me baby, what's your story, where you come from and where you wanna go this time?" Red Hot Chili Peppers' 'Tell Me Baby'.


While having sex ::wink:: : "Now I'll fly you to the moon and back, if you'll be, if you'll be my baby..." Savage Garden's 'To The Moon And Back'.


While jumping onto a moving train to catch the window seat: "The kids don't stand a chance" Vampire Weekend's 'The Kids Don't Stand A Chance'.


When with friends: "You know I can't smile without you..." Barry Manilow's 'Can't Smile Without You'.

Madness Personified!

Note: This is a feature article I wrote for my Feature Writing assignment in college. Since it has been described as "unRuncil-like" and it also was a topic pretty close to me, I have put it up on this blog. :)

On May 22, 2010, Paras Sharma attended Blow Up Bombay – a photo exhibition on the streets of Bandra, where after viewing the photographs, he was allowed to take them home for no cost at all. Blow Up Bombay was organised by a duo called BLINDBOYS which had already organised such events in Bangalore, Paris and Delhi. Paras loved the idea which eventually coupled with a few others germinated into an art appreciation and sharing society of sorts – Madness Mandali.

Paras mentions that it wasn’t his idea alone. He was also inspired by the Wall Project 3 and encouraged by his friends who had similar ideas. Thus was born Madness Mandali – “a maha mash-up of creative minds, each of whom express themselves uniquely. But when their powers combine- the results are bound to be crazy!”

So what does Madness Mandali do? Paras responds that their book of visual poetry comes out in November followed by book readings. They also intend to start their own line of t-shirts, and although they have not planned anything concrete for their next project, they do have photography and music in mind.

But Paras and his group did not start Madness Mandali with any intention of making it huge. “For me it was about meeting like-minded creative individuals and having the opportunity to work with them,” asserts Paras, but also assures that the Mandali can really grow in two to five years as it helps unearth a lot of “under-the-radar” talent.

Keeping that in mind, all the Mandali members’ efforts are now poured into the Visual Poetry project, a compilation of poems and illustrations, by artists, that represent the poem. But who pays for the cost incurred, considering that most of the core group members are students?

Paras informs that the Visual Poetry book will be a self-published print-on-demand one. And as they already have the creative capital to produce the book, they won’t be spending any money in designing it.

But how worthwhile can this idea be? After all, many campaigns begin through Facebook and fizzle out later. Their Facebook page has 347 members as of now and the numbers are growing day by day. One look at the group’s wall on Facebook shows the vibrancy of its inhabitants. Photographs, paintings and poems make for a perfect blend of uninhibited chaos. But will people participate? As Proshant Chakraborty, a first year Arts student at St. Xavier’s College, Mumbai affirms, “This group is very unorthodox when it comes to something like publishing; it’s more like a writer-artist initiative and it’ll continue to be a great platform for creative individuals.”

But were they, themselves, not afraid of failure? Paras refutes the notion of failure saying that one couldn’t define success or failure in their context. “I am aware our book won't give Chetan Bhagat a run for his money but I also know that it will find its own audience,” says Paras confidently. “The only thing we care about at this point is acclaim for our ideas. And at the risk of sounding cocky, with the kind of talent we have in our ranks, I've never been afraid that our ideas won't be appreciated,” contends Paras.

Madness Mandali made tremendous use of the internet to promote themselves and their ideas. Although it started off with just Facebook, it eventually spread to Twitter as well as Blogger. Word of mouth too helped in the long run. As Paras puts it, “We love seeing the numbers grow on our Facebook page, but we don't want to be another group with thousands of people on it that finally produces nothing. The numbers really grew once five-ten of us met in person and then went back and shared our ideas with our friends both online and offline. I guess no matter how internet savvy you are, word of mouth still remains a very effective way of promoting an idea.”

Another impressive strategy adopted by the Mandali is their advertising tactics. The language and style used in their posters, blog or even while conversing on the group wall on Facebook grabs your attention. Indian English is the norm of the Mandali; and their posters, created by Mira Malhotra, a fellow talented Mandali member, are a “celebration of kitsch”. Bold in colour and striking in style, the Mandali-esque posters have struck a chord with everyone. For Paras, a fan of Nissim Ezekiel, “Very Indian English” is something that he indulges in everyday. “When we converse in English, grammar goes for a toss and no one bats an eyelid, so why shy away from writing exactly in that way? Writing our posters or mailers in any other style would be just plain pretentious according to me,” upholds Paras.

The longlist for the Visual Poetry project was out recently and the book releases in November, something that Paras can’t wait for. “Once the book is out, it’s going to keep growing and I can't wait to see that happen.” And grow it will, because as Zena Yarde, a participant in the Mandali says, “There are many people who are waiting for their opinions and work to be appreciated. Madness Mandali gives them that platform.”

This November doesn’t seem like the usual cold and dreary month for the arts circle.

Oh! Sweet Sorrow

Oh! Sweet sorrow,

enrapture me.

Take me away from this madness

into a world of serenity.

Time stands still,

memory hazy.

We can dance into the trembling night;

indulge in passion

That which I never had.

Come close to me,

hold me,

don't let me fall.

Answer me,

caress me,

assure me you're mine,

that's all.

The night falls apart now,

daylight streams through.

You. A distant memory.

Oh! Sweet sorrow,

kill me.

Pain is my pleasure.

Fragments from Class...

Written during a boring lecture while waiting for it to end...


Fragments from Class...


voice droning.
facebooking.
eyes drooping.
class goes on.


laptop switched on,
minesweeper.
caricaturing teacher.
class goes on.


students paying attention,
a rare exception.
teacher's very irritating.
class bores on.

Goodbye

Cecilia was sitting on a bench, rather uneasily, waiting for me, when I reached the place. She had decided that we would meet here, for the last time. I still couldn't understand. A cemetery?


The cemetery was silent - the kind of silence that glides over your skin and pierces you, making you want to break its steely grasp - a silence to be afraid of; the silence before the storm.


The breeze blew the leaves that crowded my path marking for me a clear road to Cecilia. I walked with fast steps towards her. She stood up, while I hurried to tell her to continue sitting.


"No need," she replied in a cold tone, "we came in through this end of the cemetery, we can walk to the other end. And talk too."


She wore a black kurta laden with golden embroidery. Contrasting colours - and I guess even more ironic for the occasion although it suited the location. The usual kohl under her eyes was missing today. Her long flowing hair was restricted to a bun.


We walked with slow, perhaps unsteady steps. There were thousands of gravestones around us. Some were sparkling white, few were freshly dug and the soil was uneven. Most were greying due to neglect. Some of the crosses had fallen apart, the angel's wings had come off. These untouched graves provided the famished atmosphere for us to talk in.


"So, should we get on with our talk?" I asked, knowing anyway what was to come.


"It's not working, Charlie," she said, looking away from me, "you know it too."


"There's nothing that can't be repaired, Cecilia," I protested, "there's still time. We can convince your parents."


"You say this after knowing my parents. I don't know if that's arrogance or ignorance."


"It's neither. It's just plain hope."


"Or living in denial," she retorted.


That swift tongue!


We continued walking. I saw a gravestone that bore the deathdate April 7, 1985 - my birthdate.


"So, you want me to forget you? Just like that? After all this time?" I asked. I was on the verge of pouring all my anger on her.


"See Charlie," she said hesitatingly, "I know it's difficult, but..."


I stood rooted to where I was, ""Difficult? It's not only difficult. You think it's very easy to forget that we went around, kissed, shared the same bed - all in one go? It may be easy for you, but not for me."


I was shouting now and my voice echoed because of the stillness around. A few mourners at a nearby grave had stopped the rosary and were looking at us. 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.'


Cecilia shrieked, "Don't you raise your voice at me, Charlie."


"You've given me reason to do so."


She stayed quiet. I became aware of the breeze blowing the weightless, dead leave around. I heard the whispers of the mourners praying again. I heard myself breathing heavily. I heard sniffles of despair.


She looked at me, straight into my eyes, perhaps for the first time that day.


"I know what I am doing to you is unfair, but life is unfair. It has been unfair to me too. You don't have to listen to the abuse I receive everyday, you don't have to feel the pain I feel everyday. It's the cycle of life Charlie, we just  pass on the unfairness that we have received to someone else. And in time everything gets alright. You too will be fine, Charlie."


"But," I protested, "the love we shared was..." I was at a loss for words. Was our love pure? Eternal? I was even beginning to doubt whether it was love.


"The love we shared," she whispered, "was good while it lasted. It's over from my side now. I think you should get on too. There's a time and season for everything, right? You used to sing that. Our's has just passed."


We had not moved since we had last stopped. Cecilia turned to face the opposite direction.


"I'm sad we couldn't finish our little walk."


Little Walk.


"I'm going back from here. I have to meet Jude."


Jude.


"Take care of yourself. I'll meet you perhaps to give you the invitation card."


I looked at her. She was looking in the other direction. Her voice was shaking. Why couldn't she say it looking at me?


"Goodbye Charlie."


"Wait Cecilia," I quivered. Trying to strengthen my voice, I said, "I want one question answered."


"Okay, just one question. What is it?" she asked impatiently, still not looking at me.


"Why here? Why the cemetery?"


The still air blew furiously now. The leaves flew around, some into our faces.


Cecilia turned around, and for the last time faced me. Her eyes were red.


"You always say your last goodbyes here, don't you?"


And then she turned around and walked away, never to return again.


The mourners were at the end of their rosary, signing themselves.

Oh Sparrow!

Oh sparrow,

So freely you flitter around,

No cares, no worries surround,

So delightful your chirping sound,

You don’t care.

Oh sparrow,

Why can’t we be like you?

Just flying like nothing’s true,

In those skies so serene blue.

Why can’t we?

Oh sparrow,

You amaze me at every sight,

You only make my mornings bright,

Now I feel like setting things right,

As it should be.

Oh sparrow,

What has never been said,

About you in your glorious stead.

Your path we want to tread,

Your elegant path.

Oh sparrow,

Teach us to overthrow our fear,

Believe in God our Saviour,

He’ll be there like no other peer.

Just like you, also for me.