Friday, November 16, 2012

Re-living Tagore.



                 What was music and literature in earlier decades and to some people(for it's meaning) has become some sort of middle class ritual nowadays. As growing up, they were aware that there was always more to literature than him, 'they' were drawn to Tagore because they were drawn to literature and music, not as something they created a fuss about and lacked the basic knowledge of what it was all about.
                  The fact that one is drawn to a poet or a composer because one is interested in music or poetry seems secondary to the way people approach Tagore now.. understanding with what Tagore's doing with music doesn't really matter. His position in relation to world literature doesn't  really matter. What matters is Tagore. Yet, Tagore's not intrinsically interesting because he's Tagore but because music and poetry are interesting and he did remarkable things with both, which conveniently, we tend to forget these days. What we think is that there's something intrinsically interesting about him and his music, and so that, writing can be sidelined.

                   There's a reason why this has happened and is awkward. This relates to some form of nationalism and the way we are living in India right now. We rarely talk about music or literature(of course unless you are a music or art student and you want to discuss passionately and genuinely about it, some do it on Facebook or chats too) unless some way connected to the celebration of being Indian. Those who embody 'Indian Pride' become worthy of veneration - without what they do being of any interest at all. No one's really interested in literature or music - there's very little intelligent criticism. People aren't interested outside of certain talismanic identities these give us.

                  Bengal has lapsed from what it used to be - a very private but also very cosmopolitan culture. Tagore himself is an amazing kind of bricolage. For example, he's collecting music from everywhere, relocating this in all kinds of songs., ah, for a second I assumed he's still alive.. but isn't he? Probably.
What's presented is a very static version of bengaliness, where Tagore has now become a muzzak. It has been a very long journey from where it started, an unprecedented sort of experiment, converted to amusement. Also it says something that no one talks about.. let's say Beethovan was only available as muzzak, I'm sure a few people would be complaining, but here this passes without a comment.

                  He's perceived that way because of the romanticism in bengali aspect, which translated poorly, makes even his joyful songs sound sad. So many of his songs are affirming yet sung  as if funeral's being announced. Not only is life being welcomed but the fact that one is alive is celebrated in a radical way.. There's saying there are physical reasons that make it worth it. Otherwise it's not. People around him are dying, his own children are dying, but instead of writing adolescent poems about death and the hereafter, he celebrates being here now.
                 That's a philosophical move, rejecting a certain way of thinking, radically taking on another - I call it polemical; fascinates you about Tagore. But this whole business of remembering him as being an extremely sad poem is partly the way Bengalis have constructed him, despite him turning the here and now into a paradise.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

De-arranged. :\

Entrance: Revolving doors
Entrant: The evolving dour.

When the day begins with the thought: Why is that people who say nice things like "Have a nice day" don't really mean it and really mean it when they say "Fuck you" or for that matter any expletive ??!! Its a vivid moment in a day of revelations. :\

Ah! Wonderous is the thought process of the generic carbon based bipedal life form descending from an ape. Sometimes or rather most of the times for the thought process, the triumph of imagination over intelligence is exasperating. The thing with imagination being the undying patience it gets. As it's so felt, the motive of it goes as "Be patient...wait for long enough.....nothing happens". Erm. |:

Logic is supreme, but when tried mixing little logic and lots of imagination, what one can at best hope is a Hollywood movie with gregariously glamorized defunct personalities having obsessive compulsive disorders, which evoke Oohs and Aahs and also Ooze-Oomphs sometimes. XD

One of the supremely challenged behaviors belonging to the upper mentioned category is "procrastination". The imagination being the concept of climbing up the ladder by seemingly working hard "later" viz a viz - smart working. Well... it takes a lot of scratches on the head to ingrain the words. Procrastination can neither be created nor destroyed, but can be changed from one premise to other. (Do I hear someone patting me, Ah well, Its time I deserved some of it...Ouch! I mean a pat, not a hit. x\)

Okay! The verse of the aforementioned curse isn't any terse, for the work is made averse, with increasing hours. Hell hath no fury, but mismanaged late hours do hath.. like this, in my case. \:

Less words, great to go. *oomph(s)*

Monday, January 4, 2010

Resolution For The Sane.

Resolution. I wish to take it? Not really. But, I want to talk about a few things.

I want to talk about socialism. Does it have a future or has it become an outdated ideology in the 21st century?
Though it could just be a replacement of one class by another, I wish to know where we are going. Uninteresting it is, I know.
Let's talk about humanity. Actually, talking about humanity and/or communalism , you can do one at a time.

I want to talk about communalism. Of course, born on the same planet to fight for majority and who has got better theistical rules - maybe God needed some entertainment too. Seems the first thing on his mind as he didn't create monotheism. Interesting.

Relativity. I want to talk about it. Precisely how much time do you need to know someone, say, properly? I wish Einstein had a formula for it too. No he didn't and I can't be another Einstein, so I hope to follow the general social rules. Let's see.

I want to talk about Love. As some people don't and some do follow it, why can't it be a religion? And if it's not, what really is the religion of a child whose parents hail from different communities? Someday I wish to go deep into the issue, not right now.

I want to talk about Kabeer. The cutest little person on this earth. I know he won't understand, but whichever way he does, I wish to tell him how much I love him. Loves this computer so much that calls it 'componton' ! Though I have partial atheistic beliefs, guess God gives you some reason to stay happy when you expect it the least. Again interesting.

Last, I don't want to talk about me. That could be the worst topic of all. But yes, forget the resolutions.. Try experimenting? Get in search of something to fall in love with.. your career, your family, your spouse.. You! I think I'm done.
.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A Phase.

I was thinking of writing this for a couple of days. Kinnof still thinking..
why am I even writing this?

The person, anyway, is really good with words. Great actually.
With this immense power of moulding his expressions into words that
he has, took me somewhere aside my own boundry; knowingly or unknowingly.. I couldn't understand..

Those words never fall apart. Never, to be accurate. And were as sassy and
confident as him. Always, to be more accurate.

Something, I wish I could know. I wish I could know why I remembered
each little phrase/sentence/word ever said to me. Those words.

I started discovering a whole new me. I started expressing things
which, I had earlier presumed not that necessary, to be even said/told. Uh.
With him, fortunately, I learnt the art of expressing myself (and
when I did, couldn't get interpreted. My bad.)

The person still was the same, but I changed. Somewhere I was. Somehow.


I should have stopped right there.. but I didn't.
I tried, but couldn't.

Well, now it has changed. I can't find it anymore. The expressive
moments are gone. They are nowhere now.

Frankly speaking, I don't want to stay expressive anymore. I
don't care for those symbolic gestures, emoticons, stupid faces made
of punctuations and brackets anymore. I'm tired of being apprehensive
everytime. I have decided. I guess it's time for me to stop.

Sometimes.. it just changes one person. And that's what this story was
all about. That person happened to be me.


P.S. I'm not at all a romantic person (Liar!). Okay, calm down, it's true.
P.P.S. Let's see when I shall delete this blog as well. *ridiculous*
I need help.  Later.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Real Life This Time.

For a long time, it seemed to me that life was about to begin. Real life. This time.
But there was always some obstacle in the way. Something to be gotten through first.. some unfinished business, something I don't want to handle, something ready to ruin my own beliefs. Something.
.
Time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last, it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. And they still are.
But, the conscience that I can handle them, makes me believe in ME. Whether I habit it or not. Life always gives. It does. It never takes back.
.
And if someone thinks it's not, cerebrate : We are born wet, naked, and hungry. But.. Life's much better now. 

Random Thoughts Penned Down. Very Random! x')

कुछ एक अधूरी ख्वाहिशें तेरी संग आधी-अधूरी कुछ पूरी हुईं मेरी
काफी कुछ मिला है बरसों बंद पड़ी इस अलमारी में|
.
कुछ लम्हे गिर पड़े तेरे दर पर, कल जो आओ तो लेते हुए आना
दीवार घड़ी कुछ खुश नहीं है, आज|
.
आतिशें, शोला, चिंगारी सब छू लिया मैंने, अब जो समां है
बयां करू के होश कुछ कम है|
.
वो जो छुपा रहता है तेरी आँखों में कहीं, इक कतरा सा है
कम्बक़्ह्त मुझे दिखता क्यूँ है?
.
तेरी तलाश को निकला था जाने किस फिराक में, या खुदा
जो मिला तो होश तक गुम था.
.
घडी के कांटे रुक गए आज फिर हूबहू पहले की ही तरह
भूलने की कोशिश में याद किया होगा|
.
झगड़ा जो हुआ आसमां में टूट गिरा इक बादल का टुकड़ा
अब कई रोज़ बरसात न हो शायद|
.
अब जो रिश्तों पर गोंद लगाओ, पोंछ लेना भींगे कपड़े से
के कई शब अकेली भींगी हैं वो|
.
बीत जा मुझपे गर आना ही है, अनहोनी की घड़ी रुकने वाली कहाँ
घड़ी से याद आया, एक बंद पड़ी है बरसों से|
.
टूटा-फूटा नहीं जुडा-जुडा सा ही चाहिए, रंग नीला खूब फ़बेगा
ख़रीद-फ़रोख्त नहीं, ज़िन्दगी है|
.
मतलों-मक़तों की होड़ जो लगी ज़हन में तो सियाही न मिली
खैर हरेक को सबकुछ मिला कहाँ है|

बात तो एक है.

तुम ही हो बसे मुझमें हर पल
के खुदा रहता है बारहा तुममें ही कहीं|
बात तो एक है.

रात का घाना साया टूट गिरा
के उन पलकों पीछे बंद हुईं मेरी आँखें हैं|
बात तो एक है.

खुश हूँ आज बेवजह यूँ ही
के तेरी मेहंदी का रंग कुछ गहरा हुआ है|
बात तो एक है.

एक लम्हा तेरी जुदाई का है
के लूट ले गया सब कुछ मेरा कोई|
बात तो एक है.

तेरी आँखों से ढलके दो बूँद पानी
के तमाम उम्र बिन मौसम ये बरसातें|
बात तो एक है.

तेरी हर इक बात का यकीं यूँही किया
के इबादत कर दी कभी-कभार उसकी|
बात तो एक है.

कोई नयी धुन छेड़ी ज़िन्दगी ने
के तेरा नाम ज़ोर से पुकार गया कोई|
बात तो एक है.

रंगों से लिपटी तूलिका गिर पड़ी
के छू गयी उंगलियाँ तेरा हर एक रंग |
बात तो एक है.

बेवजह चल पड़ते हैं कदम तेरी ही ओर
के न ओर है न छोर इस दुनिया का|
बात तो एक है.

कुछ कहते कहते रुक गए तुम
के कहानी पूरी हो गयी ज़िन्दगी की आज|
बात तो एक है.