May 11, 2009

Walk in the park

So I was the youngest kid in the family of seven--dad, mum, brother, grand parents and dog.

Grew up with my tying my pig-tails with pink ribbons, wearing pink shirts, and devouring on gems packets. Barbie dolls became my plastic room-mates. Thought make-up was the best way of 'looking good', so tried convincing my ma to purchase a box of cosmetics, along with a new pair of pink high-heels ever year. Of course these demands were conveniently ignored. 

Evidently, I was the child of the commercial age. Mind you, my parents never encouraged any of it, but what did weave my notion of conventional good-looks and cosmetics, was the pure and simple lineage of advertising.

I brought myself up on a strict diet of television entertainment--obsessed with watching Bollywood songs and Khiladi dance numbers. At the age of four, I would sit cross-legged in front of the television, eyes glued on to everything that encapsulated within the four corners of the television screen, showing off my polka-dot panties off to the world with little care, and sucking on two thumbs. I was the zombie-kid.

Modelling became my ultimate goal in life (yes, I was sincerely very naive), since I thought that was all there was to life. Acting was my second option. Or reverse--either which way, you get the point. Of course all these goals soon were deconstructed, underwent a harsh series of experiments, and eventually (and thankfully) changed--but that's for later. 

Television constructed an ambiguous, ill-defined and unreal perception of reality in my mind, and I grew up ignoring and detesting news channels, being completely disengaged with other crucial issues which plagued the world. I was the anonymous product of the dumbed down era.

Up until the age of 20, I lived in my comfortable bubble--where men, music, poetry, literature, weight, clothes and telephones, superseded other issues in life. Pink however, was no longer my colour. My existence was terribly narcissistic in character, where I was happily disconnected from the world. Elections, politics, covert media messages, natural calamities were not of importance to me. I had poverty in information and knowledge.

Though brought up in a family of scholars, and surrounded by a plethora of books on science and history, I gifted no importance to them. I had intellect, but chose not to practice it. There were times when I brought myself to question certain things, but always suppressed them, thinking that even if I did actually
think about them, what good could it bring about? I always thought news was passe (as ironic as it may sound), and an element which formed a dominant part in the lives of those who had passed the age of 40.

Reading the newspapers, I believed, was boring, ineffective and 'oldish' in nature. I was young, I wanted to live young, and thought that drooling over Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise was what was 'hip'.

Mistakes. We all make them.

v. al. r. im-perfect.

Life at 21 changed. I decided to move out of the cocoon of my home and create my own nest elsewhere. Mumbai, I thought, was the best place to do that. I wanted to be independent. I was sick of parents literally breathing down my neck and controlling everything I did or say. I was a rebel (evidently inspired by James Dean). I wanted to break-away, thinking it was 'cool'.

What I got, was a kick-in-the-butt.

I reached Mumbai to do a post-graduation course in Mass communications, where pink transformed to black and white. I was forced to open the newspapers (much to my disinterest) and reality, not milkshake, was literally forced down my throat. I was given a different perspective to life. Films, theories, news reports, books dominated my life. I was forced to think. Forced to practice my brain, forced to question and challenge theories, concepts, norms, notions.

It was a good kick-in-the-butt.

Men lost their importance (not that I've changed my sexual orientations or anything, but love-affairs just didn't seem to matter so much anymore), my tastes in television viewing changed, I began taking interest in politics and issues that concerned the world. I became more passionate about films, and my ideologies steered towards the left.

Change is the only constant. Bring it on.

May 8, 2009

Senselessness in Sensibility

Inkstains creep on the paper:
Blots of imagination,
and wreathes of scribbled emotions,
Speak in curves and motions,
Of fictional characters that chatter in my head.

The windows clatter,
Reality shatters,
Idealism bleeds,
Words become avant-garde.


Voices. voice. vice. ice.

Lost. Losing. Letting go.

I sip my wine, unwind on the bed:
Lie on the bed. Lie on you. Lie to you.
Lovers lie. Liars lie.

I am one of them.