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?