You are amazing. Simply amazing!

Hey He-man,

I couldn't have brought myself to write this. It hurts my ego. I have met people along the way. To some I have been good, to others I have been great and to others a bit spiteful. You know here that I am very good to myself and wouldn't go to the extent of hurting myself. It's been tough for me to suspend my ego and let my emotions come to the fore. Sometimes. Only sometimes. At those times I have lost myself. The self I prize myself to be. But look at you. You went away, faraway. You tossed you turned, you stirred, you groaned. God knows what else! (sorry for laughing at you) but you still remain the same. Ready to be lost again. Ready to love, loathe, lie, lie (:)), lust, live. Yes live. You live you live in your today in your yesterday and in your future. You'll live. I am not trying to give you a push. But yeah, you can say I am trying to give you a push again :) You live not in your past but in your present. At the moment. I love you still. You know that.

Kisses

Cecilia

Something's gotta give

I thought somethings gotta give. Somethings got to give in. I was feeling like a conduit where all holes had been plugged and where the wall was made of clay. I am hopeful in a very extreme kind of a way. My mind begged me to just give up while my body still had the little bit of energy left after a few free style strokes. However, things stood still like water in a pit, not even a ripple. The feeling was uncontrollable. Then walked in bio energy healing.

At my new job at the bioenerygy healing clinic, I noticed that my body wasn't divided into meridians only. My healer Jude, quite well understood that I had stiff shoulders as he worked with the static electricity of my body and weaved his way through my upper back. I felt the radiation. It was a sudden release. I could see him work through my abdomen as I felt the spike at the bottom of my spine. I wondered it if it's the effect of the jagran of the manipura chakra at the bottom of my spine, or if it's a weird western take on it. I was right it was western, but it wasn't that weird. It was quite rational and didn't go by the chakra philosophy of oriental thinking (precisely Indian.) It was more ruled by the instinct. Before I comment any further I better explore bio energy healing a bit more to find out. Hope you make an effort too, if it's slightly intriguing, that is.

Life's a Carnival!

I was at the Nottinghill Gate Carnival last weekend and it wasn't a semblence of the violence-ridden celebration that the British press has been making it out to be, for the last few years. What I saw was -- fanfare, lots of summer barbeques, gypsy-loads of gyrating Jamaicans and a another truckload from the Caribbean Islands.

Though I shouldn't brag about my race-identifying skills infront of my cousins, lest we get into another scuffle we got into, infront of the "House of Fraser" at Oxford Street-- "The man in the back-seat is Mexican/Bolivian/Indonesian/Philipino???!!Now, I'd say he's Polynesian (after a year of solid British education, and I mean it in a good way. :))

Talking about Nottinghill Gate, I have never heard so much Reggae on the streets and the whiff of corn and burning meat is quite something else. The security at the barricades had barely volunteered to take in the aroma of the food being prepared that the pungent smell of burning BBQ meat made them stop short. I loved it honestly, when the slightest drum roll in the distance would make some of these feathered women twirl and twist as if they were in some kind of a reverie.

The young kids were busy trying to show the oomph often exhuded by little kids wearing saree or pajama panjabi during Durga Puja in my city Calcutta and the carnival at Nottinghill Gate (without any exaggeration) is reminscent of the procession at Kumartuli or Jadavpur. Okay (spoiler alert) we Bengalis are very likely to say, "Oh the French, they are quite like us in their food habits," "Oh, the Spanish they are very close to us in terms of weather." Like all self-respecting Bengali I'd say, 'Oh, the West Indians are so like us when it comes to celebration."

Therefore, I am part West Indian. If I didn't have the camera with me I'd shake a leg with the feather-ridden crowd. Or, better still, I would have recalled my swagger with the mike and Papa Joe. Life is indeed a carnival (read "everyday" after the fullstop.) :D

Game Over

The whole truth of marriage is:

"I don't believe in marriage. Marriage is when small-minded men decide to keep the women at home and out of their way. Now that is delusional. But, when two people who are in love with each other and who are almost as capable of making each other miserable, can vow open-eyed. Yes open-eyed. Now that's not delusional, that is radical." -- Frida

SHE

Emboldened to do what she does

Happened to be born in August

She sings aloud to the skies

And leaves no friend who's left behind

With a heart of gold and the smell of fleurs

She isn't just an ordinary one, because she takes soul energy from the Sun

Her yogic poses woe betide can awaken anyone who died

She is lonely when she's together and perfectly happy when she says 'never'

Her feelings take the better of her, her heart just plays a game of lure

She isn't the hard-hitting feminist, with brandishing fist and eyes full of mist

She is the one who can stand the test of time, resilient, and go dutch when it's the dime

When nudged she can be a-n-g-r-y, but isn't that because she's honest and free

She scoffs at half-baked ideas and loves the subtle adventures

At home with her friends and family, moments spent in company bring her glee

Loves the serenity of a beach or the solidarity of high mountain peaks

If I could be like her, well that's another story

Maybe I could play her part with glory

Never too bored to play or sway

Tomorrow for her isn't just another day...

Adaptibility

Of late my perception on situations have gone for a sixer. I have managed to unlearn all that I learnt. Yep, I have the dubious distinction of being a thinker and a profound one at that. However, it is perhaps the best channel for my communication-- the head, the intellect, the action and when all three have worked in tandem, I have managed to create a sanskara(a habit.) When they haven't, I have just given in to the situation.

I am still willing to go with the head when I am dealing with myself. My education and upbringing has taught me that schooling the mind is good. It is the way forward. When you school your mind to try and be good at something, it has reaped dividends. When you let it go haywire, it got scattered. Yoga has been of considerable help to me in terms of the mind and the body working together, in other words called the 'Yog' or connection with your divine self.

Otherwise, I learnt to teach my mind through classical music. The note 're' sounds better when you meander from 'sa' to 'ga' and so on so forth. In that case, jumping to a 'ma' directly creates a jump in the harmony. However, musicians don't always work the notes. There's nothing in a piece of paper that would tell me what the creator was thinking of the notes when he created them. That's when the magic word 'improvisation' takes over.

My tryst with jazz music of late has given me a whole new perspective on music. I found out that jazz is more about adaptibility. Say if one pulls a tune over MJs 'Billy Jean' or Madonna's 'Holiday' they'll chip in with their interpretation.

Small wonder then jazz musicians experience a certain taste of freedom when they go 'by the notes.' Disparate sometimes and yet completely in tune. Classical music surprised me by using some of the elements of modern day jazz.

I didn't expect to listen to some scatting with a violin. Like Mr. Morrison said that it's all in the perceptions.

An Indian dream

Punjab Sind Gujarat Maratha
Dravid Utkal Banga
Vindya Himachala Yamuna Ganga
Ujjchala Jala Dhitaranga

These words echo in my mind today as I remember my forefathers who fought 62 years back to give me a dream. A dream where I am hoisting a tricolor on top of the sunrise peak and chanting 'Vande Mataram.' The swadeshi he believed in gives me the power to say, I make my 'own goods' and I have my own gram panchayat. 60 years hence the Incredible India he dreamt of hasn't belied his expectations for most parts. Though the occasional gum-chewing youth with his KFC may have miffed my grandfather during his life time. The growth of consumerism and food chains that prepare food faster than a fly could lap up a crumb of bread didn't sit well with him either.

Let's face it, we live in a different India today, the India with sprawling paddy fields and gorur gari (a cow drawn cart) ambling down rough terrain look good in RK Narayan's short stories. The khadi that my grandfather prided his country for is now the 'in vogue' thing. But for a totally different reason. It is chic and a breathe easy fabric. Let me make no mistake but these are India in it's very core and will always be.

However, generations change and we carry on. India now is a pot pourri of cultures, both eastern, mid-western, and western. History has given us a gift. Perhaps that's what makes India exotic. I am not getting into the miniscule details of Indian hygiene sense or the railways that have a reputation for not working on time. But I am going to look at the positives now. A nation that earned it's own status of being 'independent' and dealt with increasingly hostile neighbours with little to offer by way of foreign treaties or economic advancement. I am going to say most of them (our neighbours) for us are now a liability.

I lost my great-uncle a Colonel in the Indian army during the 1971 war, whose body was mutilated and thrown into the jungles of Arunachal Pradesh while he was stocking the amunitions after the war he thought and we thought was settled. Winning was a different story altogether. We still haven't made peace with our neighbours.

However, we have travelled a while from the 1960s India, be it the overrated IT or the prevalance of the English language. Or even Bollywood. My India looks different from what my grandfather perceived it to be. A far cry from the communist manifesto or the gram panchayats that did little justice to women who went against the patriarchy.

India is still in transition, but I am not in favour of a rapid one. I would rather hope that it takes another decade to let the changes seep in.

For the most parts, I am proud to be Indian. Not just today, not just this month. But for every day of my life.

Thought for the day

'Astonish me!' I just wished to beam these words into my conscience today. :)

Testing time :)

Paying faint attention in class, writing a sloppy piece of work and then learning the ropes to pack a punch in the new write-up.

Toggling between windows (one of them being Facebook :x) only to find out that the glass door behind the macintosh has a loud sign saying -- "Don't forget glass doors are transparent and I can see your facebook account, ta."

Rubbing nose against the radio room mike to eliminate the ubiquitous hiss only to be told in class, " I like your creativity, but there's the editing and there' the editing."

The not-so-sober-party nights at Marylebone, hunting for a byline, capturing scratch on the hard disk to find that it hasn't 'captured a scratch of video,' seeing the last shiny train dwindling in the background.

Bringing the world down to get a single student discount.

And saying out aloud in class "I'm snappy, tired and edgy today, therefore, I make a good journalist today."

The thing called Scatting

Dum dee dum duh dilly-lilly doo, scap a wap a doo a doo...

Scatting is what I am talking about, the art of spurting out words (nondescript) sometimes to lend a rhythm to music. Hip hop does it, jazz does it and surprisingly enough classical music does it too. In case you can sing and play a western instrument you have it. But it's not an empty 'daba daba daba duba dee' that's called scatting. For scatting you need a background that lends itself to the words. Perhaps a tenor saxophone, piano, techno beat or anything you have, or would like to.

While discussing music with musicians across london I came upon some interesting explanations and one of them is-- "A little pin-head in a vast universe that blows itself out of proportion when treated by a true blue musician, that's what I call music." That's what Danso (the double bassist) calls music. "It's almost like that thing that snips between your fingers but when you let it drift away it creates history. "

I have been trying to understand features like scatting. It's fun, it's fluid, and very spontaneous. The Scatman of the 'I'm a scatman' video is a good example.

I'll keep posting more on my quest, just keep scatting around. ...swap a wap a doo a doo...

End of day rants

Full screen FCP, chocodips, tenor saxophone, coffee and an overdose of freeze frames

Gaping hole in the timeline....jeeez more work more work. :_( still smiling still smiling :)

"The sound in the imported file is a bit tinny, you see that?" Get lost.

"I gotta improve my closet singing." Go for it Haver(sham)

The semblance of perfection in *shooze* sequences. Been there done that.

In a new headspace now.:)

too much love will kill you

A video I found touching. The lyrics are quite meaningful but it's more than words:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EceOhfqYQhw

The Blur

My mind settles on dust from your table, I play with the white paper you left in my heart

It doesn't feel like a void, it just feels a bit weird that you're not around anymore

I don't see the morning sun shine on my eyelids and wake up to your emails anymore

You touched that part of me I didn't know ever existed

I mellow down my thoughts and begin to pack up, I have to make a new journey now

It doesn't feel the same anymore, the birds sing but I don't feel the tune; the leaves rustle but I don't feel the dust rubbing against it's veins

The dotted dress I used to wear doesn't smell of you anymore

Why do we have to go on, why can't we tarry. Why do we hit the next button?

My life drops into silence for a week and I wish I were reborn a new being.

But who has seen tomorrow?

I have learnt to...

I have learnt to swim today through thick and thin and tinges of gray

I have learnt to sing today as clear as an echo inside a chimney in the warfront

I have learnt to sleep today as peacefully as the butterfly drops itself on a tiny flower

I have learnt to write today as much as could fill my little desk with crushed paper and blotting ink

I have learnt to lie today as much as could help me cheat myself again and again

I have learnt to let go today as much as I could wade through a sunkissed cornfield and never worry about returning home

I have learnt to fly today as a free bird that flaps it's wings through thin autumn air

Have I told You?

When I woke up this morning and washed my face in the sublime rays of the morning sun, did I tell you that I loved you. When you drank the last dregs of tea from your porcelain cup and looked at me with your still heart, did I tell you that I loved you. When your memory that is made of smoke, of light, travelled light years, did I tell you that I love you. When the dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul, did I tell you that I loved you. When in your eyes the flames of the twilight fought, did I tell you that I loved you. When you were happy as embers, did I tell you that I loved you. When you were sad as a mendicant's monotone, did I tell you I loved you. When I watched my words from a long way off, did I tell you that I loved you. When my words were more yours than mine, did I tell you that I loved you. When you climbed the same damp wall and blamed the cruel sport, I loved you. When you filled everything, yes everything I loved you. When hurricanes of dreams knocked over at my door, did I tell you that I loved you. When my heart exuded a joie de vivre, did I tell you I loved you. When the orchestral sounded from the trees I loved you. When the newly born took nourishment from nature I loved you. When you freed the flock of arrows in a frenzy I loved you. When the numberless hearts of winds were beating over our loving silence I loved you. When the wind waved the clouds like white hankerchief on a blue sky I loved you. When your solitude lingered and lengthened like the afternoon shadow I loved you. When you walked barefoot in the wet streets I loved you. When we swam upstream in the midst of outer waves I loved you. When you undermined the horizon with your absence I loved you. When a piece of the sun burnt like coin in my hand I loved you. When my heart closed like a nocturnal flower I loved you. When birds fled and migrated south I loved you.

My Evening Cup

Today when I sit sipping tea in the heat

To this dilemma beat

And give you a treat

Not cheat

Or mislead

Those are things you don't need

Or greet, at the end of day

I can make hay

even make the sun stay

And hold the light of day in my palm

You know it from the 23rd Psalm

That "the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want"

In his light I lose the 'me' and make it blunt

and when I travel into his subtle world beyond the corporal

I feel I absorb his purity, love, beauty, happiness and wisdom

I see not with my eyes or hear with my ears

But through them.

I find equal happiness in his subtleties

And, equal eternity in my follies.

What is Happiness?

...Happiness is a yoyo; one that lights up each time it bounces, one that reels out of control and comes back to itself.

...Happiness is a handful of sand; that trickles from between the fingers and is enough to cover the feet and protect it from rushing waves.

...Happiness is a willow shade that brushes the sides of a shallow stream and caresses each hard rock at the bottom of it's bed.

...Happiness is a grafitti wall (see picture) that tells a thousand stories and yet remains strong and still. A wall that spills many pallettes and laps up the energy around.

...Happiness is words (pure, distorted, unadulterated, and figurative.) Happiness is utterance.

...Happiness is an image of yourself, the perfect that can be or has been. One, where you walk the walk and talk the talk as you so desire. It's YOU at the highest level of perfection. You are your inspiration.

Sushi

Have you tried making sushi at home?

Shining nori seaweeds gently laid on a plate

A warm knife dipped in hot water awaits,

To cut a two inch strip with it's steely head

And separate the seaweeds and the union abate.

Oh dear nori seaweed! How it must have hurt

To know that the tiny grains of rice

Is going to be taken care of by you alone now

Cuz your family is cut into a abyss of two inch flattened dough

Have you tried sticking rice to a nori seaweed?

How it gently sticks to it's sides as a lover leads

You to his gentle embrace and folds you lovingly into his arms,

As the grains of Japanese rice in the embrace of nori seaweeds stay calm.

Have you tried slicing avocados into a sushi roll

How the slimy piece of mass slips into the knoll,

Of rice and crushed fish chunks and a dash of rice vinegar

How their world seems happy and the smell of bliss lingers

Have you tried separating makhi zushi rolls?

Did it not jar your conscience to invade into it's rolled up world

What were you you thinking when you passed that knife into it's stomach

Like you were carving a sculpture or perhaps a lame duck

Oh sushi roll, you smell so sweet; like my love who blows a thousand kisses when I meet, his tender voice

He makes no noise. He stays still and calls me from the other side of the hill,

So still that it fills my living soul with your warm scent

A love I seldom repent.

And when I reach the bend of your sides, the corners that avoid the sticky rice,

I look at you one moment still. You are so tasty and you my stomach fill.

Like the twilight bridges both day and night,

You bridge my wait with delight.

Twelve Times Twelve

My day passed off in a jiffy, but some impressions stayed with me. Here are twelve imprints from my day, today:

1. "Who are we, not to be brilliant?"-- Nelson Mandela

2. The mind loses it's creativity when thoughts don't follow the path from the mind, to the intellect, to the sanskara, and then finally to action.

3. "You cannot solve the problem in the same headspace that you created it."-- Isaac Newton

4. A camera's depth of field increases with the angle of view.

5. Mint is the best dressing for lamb dishes.

6. Youngsters today have a short attention span of less than 3 mins (I am a youngster but I don't subscribe to this view.)

7. Portamentos are the best copy of human voices.

8. God's favorite number is 6. (not the 666 for devil, please.)

9. Where the energy goes, life flows.

10. Watching your thoughts in slow motion might be a good idea.

11. Love fills.

12. I once heard somewhere when you repeat something/anything twelve times it becomes a sanskara (habit.)

My Subconscious has a Sense of Humour

My subconscious has a sense of humour. Ha ha, funny am I? Why doesn't my subconscious have a sense of humour? Why can't I parse through my dreams and filter my nightmares? When the wheelbarrows of the mind hit the dregs of the skull and the eyes see a colored vision, the mind goes reeling and out of control. During these moments of frothing activity my subconscious slips into an overdrive and registers all that can be conceivably registered -- but in puzzles. They all come back to me in bits and pieces at nightime.

This is what I see-- I walk a pebbled beach, hand in hand with Ahmadejaan discussing Obama's effects on Iran's psyche, and Kate Moss tottering in her six inch heel with Gungun and then both of them cooling their nails at a nails salon, while her professor yells at her. It's really not my fault. It's my subconscious that makes me see what a Bollywood version of Pride and Prejudice could have shown me. It's strange how the mind works.

Yes, if my subconscious had a sense of humour I could even have put PG Woodhouse to shame. However, if my subconscious had a high brow sense of humour I wouldn't have seen slapstick comedy in my dreams :

Laloo wallowing in the waters of Malta
Euro vision song contest being won by Armenia
Mayawati doing a cameo at the Tomb Raider sets
Prince Charles eating badam bhaja at Golpark's golchokkor with Helen

Who says my subconscious doesn't have a sense of humour? If it hadn't, I wouldn't have humoured myself to write this piece.