A few minutes back I was trying hard to sleep but to no avail. Well, on a day like this when pretty much everybody took me for granted and had his way, why would the 'Sleep' come easy. Flustered from the way the day had proceeded, I finally decided to retire myself but as I said: sometimes, nobody obliges. I had to get up a few minutes later and soon I found myself busy on my bookshelf. I spent some time here and there and then I decided on my old favorite 'Notes to Myself'. Somehow, it has always proved why it deserved to be my favorite.
As always, I opened a random page and found Mr Prather, the mind reader, smiling at me. Again, he precisely knew my state of my mind and he knew it will calm me down if he allows me to use that page as a mirror to my mind.
Here is another excerpt.
"Boredom or discontent is useful to me when I acknowledge it and see clearly my assumptions that there is something else I would rather be doing or happening to me. In this way, boredom can act as an invitation to freedom by opening me to new options and thoughts. For example, If I cant change an activity, can I look at it more honestly?"
followed immediately by:
"I have recently noticed that intermittently my mind takes a quick internal survey to my activities up to that point in the day to determine my progress. This process is spontaneous, almost unconscious, and seems inherent. If what I have done does not appear to further my advancement, I feel slightly depressed and enervated, and I sense a desire to head in a destructive direction. Any direction seems preferable to no direction at all. But that is not the actual alternative."
Sometimes, when there is no real solution or salvation to a flustered mind, mere reflection or being able to express it helps a lot. Guess I can go to sleep now :)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A poor play and afterthoughts
It was a bunch of strange feelings. Disgust, sweetened with jealousy. Appreciation, compromised with condescension. I could have went on and on with my tirade if not held back by Shweta. She does arrange some good fodder for thought when I tend to ramble. She was very right. How could I lambast somebody for at least attempting something which I have always boasted of being much better at. Boasting is all I have done. Words sans action. Well may be I do not deserve to be in critics shoes today but spare some thought for me, will you? I went hungry, I went willing. I was promised the nectar and I was offered shit. So may be I have never cooked but I certainly wouldn't take shit without rubbing it back in the face of chef.
Last sunday, I somehow fell for a trap I had fallen into one more time in the past. A friend of mine lured me into watching a play he had directed and was to be staged in one of the better known theaters of the city. He was also kind enough or may be smart enough to get me the discounted ticktes. I hadn't watched a play in a long while so I was rather too eager to approach him, talk about his play and his works. The guy is a smart-alec, the kind I do not appreciate much but the attraction for theater got into my head and I succumbed. He was good to talk to (a little boastful though) so he somehow made me agree to come watch his play.
This was the time I was on Anurag Kashyap dope. I had watched DevD and Gulal in succession and was adoring the guy already for his creative depths. So when this friend in my office tossed the name 'Anurag kashyap' and told me that he was on talking terms and more so, on first name basis with Anurag, it impressed me more than it should have. On my way back home, I kept cursing myself for being so lame and lazy lately and not being able to do anything creative. I genuinely waited till the day came. Picked up the Tbird and rode all the way on those creative thumps to Nehru Auditorium. The environ was ecstatic, may be something was in the air. We had a few vadaPaavs with Pepsi. Identified a few familiar faces, shook a few hands unwillingly and then entered the hall. I was welcomed by the absolutely gorgeous poetry of Gulaal. They were playing the song 'O ri Duniya'. It made me smile and we took the seats quietly.
All these events so far were enough to raise my expectations to the everest levels. My state of mind was of a person who was about to witness something great but they started getting bogged down even before the play started. A lady made few announcements and started introducing the play. I got immediately bored by her unenthusiastic voice, newsreaders' style of narration and a rather fumbling accent. By the time she was finished with plesantaries, I had almost made up my opinion about the play. However, I tried to calm myself thinking that may be this guy couldn't find a good opening announcer but the play might still be good. First impression may not always be the last impression. Hopes were still kept alive. Little did I know that they were soon to be completely thrashed, smeared in mud and just thrown away like a soiled toilet paper.
The curtain opened and the disaster began. For purely professional purposes, it may not be a good idea to narrate the story (or lack of it) over here but I can barely keep my mouth shut about its being pedestrian to the last thread. One always wins some resounding whistles from the crowd for any on-stage obscenity but that cannot be mistaken for an accolade. The play was disgusting, highly unimaginative, poorly acted and did not qualify even to be termed Hackneyed. The sequence of events was so boring and quality of acting so ordinary that Shweta and I had to leave the auditorium at the interval.
Well, excuse me for digressing from the topic suddenly but may be its a logical extension and I am already bored talking about the play. If I keep going, I will only start dishing out expletives. Let me not do that.
I have been part of many debates where people end up defending the B or C Grade movies and even the gloriously pathetic news channels of modern times. There plea is that 'it sells' means there are audience to it and as long as there are audience clapping in some part of the world, this remains a form of art. The self-proclaimed connoisseurs should not poke there noses and call it stinky. People enjoy it so you must pay respect. This sort of logic puts me off. Partly because it sounds correct and mostly because I am always unable to find a formidable counter logic to it. This is clearly a conflict of interests. People have right to entertainment and since they are getting it without hurting others, they are not violating the rules of democracy which puts them on an even keel with those who claim to have an eye for the 'Classy' stuff. We have long been using the cliche that a particular movie or a piece of art is meant for 'Classes' and not for the 'Masses'. Certainly, the people who use this cliche claim to belong to former category. So in a democratic country (read society) like ours where even the most critical decisions are done on the basis of vote rather than logic, these classy people are at the maximum risk. Obviously because they belong to this classy minority. So is it really logical to term the masses as non-Classy? and with what right?
I consider myself to be a person who always respects others opinion, irrespective of my agreement or congruence with it. But when it comes to my tastes in art (which primarily includes music, movies, plays and books), I always tend to contradict my beliefs. For some reason, I am not able to digest that others may like things that I consider below par by all standards of choice. This is a philosophical cul-de-sac for me. Can somebody show me the way?
I would like to conclude by declaring that if someone can show me the way convincingly, I will probably re-write the review of the play I described above.
Last sunday, I somehow fell for a trap I had fallen into one more time in the past. A friend of mine lured me into watching a play he had directed and was to be staged in one of the better known theaters of the city. He was also kind enough or may be smart enough to get me the discounted ticktes. I hadn't watched a play in a long while so I was rather too eager to approach him, talk about his play and his works. The guy is a smart-alec, the kind I do not appreciate much but the attraction for theater got into my head and I succumbed. He was good to talk to (a little boastful though) so he somehow made me agree to come watch his play.
This was the time I was on Anurag Kashyap dope. I had watched DevD and Gulal in succession and was adoring the guy already for his creative depths. So when this friend in my office tossed the name 'Anurag kashyap' and told me that he was on talking terms and more so, on first name basis with Anurag, it impressed me more than it should have. On my way back home, I kept cursing myself for being so lame and lazy lately and not being able to do anything creative. I genuinely waited till the day came. Picked up the Tbird and rode all the way on those creative thumps to Nehru Auditorium. The environ was ecstatic, may be something was in the air. We had a few vadaPaavs with Pepsi. Identified a few familiar faces, shook a few hands unwillingly and then entered the hall. I was welcomed by the absolutely gorgeous poetry of Gulaal. They were playing the song 'O ri Duniya'. It made me smile and we took the seats quietly.
All these events so far were enough to raise my expectations to the everest levels. My state of mind was of a person who was about to witness something great but they started getting bogged down even before the play started. A lady made few announcements and started introducing the play. I got immediately bored by her unenthusiastic voice, newsreaders' style of narration and a rather fumbling accent. By the time she was finished with plesantaries, I had almost made up my opinion about the play. However, I tried to calm myself thinking that may be this guy couldn't find a good opening announcer but the play might still be good. First impression may not always be the last impression. Hopes were still kept alive. Little did I know that they were soon to be completely thrashed, smeared in mud and just thrown away like a soiled toilet paper.
The curtain opened and the disaster began. For purely professional purposes, it may not be a good idea to narrate the story (or lack of it) over here but I can barely keep my mouth shut about its being pedestrian to the last thread. One always wins some resounding whistles from the crowd for any on-stage obscenity but that cannot be mistaken for an accolade. The play was disgusting, highly unimaginative, poorly acted and did not qualify even to be termed Hackneyed. The sequence of events was so boring and quality of acting so ordinary that Shweta and I had to leave the auditorium at the interval.
Well, excuse me for digressing from the topic suddenly but may be its a logical extension and I am already bored talking about the play. If I keep going, I will only start dishing out expletives. Let me not do that.
I have been part of many debates where people end up defending the B or C Grade movies and even the gloriously pathetic news channels of modern times. There plea is that 'it sells' means there are audience to it and as long as there are audience clapping in some part of the world, this remains a form of art. The self-proclaimed connoisseurs should not poke there noses and call it stinky. People enjoy it so you must pay respect. This sort of logic puts me off. Partly because it sounds correct and mostly because I am always unable to find a formidable counter logic to it. This is clearly a conflict of interests. People have right to entertainment and since they are getting it without hurting others, they are not violating the rules of democracy which puts them on an even keel with those who claim to have an eye for the 'Classy' stuff. We have long been using the cliche that a particular movie or a piece of art is meant for 'Classes' and not for the 'Masses'. Certainly, the people who use this cliche claim to belong to former category. So in a democratic country (read society) like ours where even the most critical decisions are done on the basis of vote rather than logic, these classy people are at the maximum risk. Obviously because they belong to this classy minority. So is it really logical to term the masses as non-Classy? and with what right?
I consider myself to be a person who always respects others opinion, irrespective of my agreement or congruence with it. But when it comes to my tastes in art (which primarily includes music, movies, plays and books), I always tend to contradict my beliefs. For some reason, I am not able to digest that others may like things that I consider below par by all standards of choice. This is a philosophical cul-de-sac for me. Can somebody show me the way?
I would like to conclude by declaring that if someone can show me the way convincingly, I will probably re-write the review of the play I described above.
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