Everybody Gonna Dance Tonight

Everybody gonna dance tonight
Everybody gonna feel alright
Everybody gonna dance around tonight

He was just so happy! So this is what happiness was, eh? Well, he thought, its worth it all. Its definitely worth the work. He was walking...no, skipping...down the crossings, across the roads, along the walkways. He hit some of the pedestrians, rushing about in a hurry, and apologized smilingly. It was such a beautiful world. He looked at the skyscrapers, gleaming mirrors of the sky and of buildings adjacent. The sun shone on them, and he had to shield his eyes off the reflection. They were so glorious. He looked at the clean streets, and the cars whizzing by. And couldnt help but smile. Why were they in a hurry all the time?

Everybody gonna dance around
Everybody gonna hit the ground
Everybody gonna dance around tonight

He walked into gardens and parks. He took his shoes off on the cobblestone paths. He'd look up under trees, to watch the wondrous greens, to watch thin bars of golden sunlight stand through and hit the ground below. He'd lie down on lush green grass, run his fingers slowly and smoothly over the blades of grass, feeling every one and knowing each one. It must seem so silly to everyone passing by, he thought. He looked at them. In double-breasted suits, carrying leather bags and briefcases, they were going to work, their faces grimly set in determination to the day ahead. They would be on their phones all day, in and out of meetings, pondering over papers and typing on laptops. They would be doing their important things.

But for what? Ha ha! He knew, they didnt.

Well you can come on to my place if you want to
You can do anything you want to do

Everybody gonna dance tonight
Everybody gonna feel alright
Everybody gonna dance around tonight

People who saw him, noticed him over their cellphones and their papers and their laptops, raised their eyebrows and wondered who he was. And what in the world was wrong with him. Some smiled contemptuously. He wasnt worth the thought. There was big, big important work. They were big, big important people. Some others smiled curiously. What was he damn happy about? Why was he bloody grinning like that? He has no business doing all this on the streets, they thought. He has no business running in the park like a six year old, they thought. But they envied him a bit too. Then their worlds brought them back to the earth. A phone rang, or someone spoke, or the laptop announced a new work-mail. And they promptly tossed him aside, without another thought.

Everybody gonna stamp their feet
Everybody's gonna feel the beat
Everybody wanna dance around tonight
Everybody's gonna dance tonight

He'd woken up this morning, wanting nothing. It was a strange feeling, he wondered then. He'd always wanted the next level, and wanted the next prize. And this was very odd now, to not want a thing. He thought over it a long time. It had broken him down. He felt he could die.

He'd sat on his bed. And as he pondered his death, for surely there was nothing ahead now, he reflected back. He thought of his promotion the previous day. He thought about his share in the company's profits. He thought of graduation. He thought of days spent studying diligently to get here. He thought of the hours of overtime and work. He thought of single-minded dedication to get to what he wanted, and then the new prize and then the new peaks to rush to. And a thought came rushing up from he knew not where - What for?

And he thought of his wife, who'd stood by him all the time. His loving, caring, indulging wife. He thought of the sports in school days. He thought of the parties in college. He thought of the new cars he had outside. He thought of the beautiful house he owned. He thought of all he had. And he realised, he had come a long way.

So much to be happy for. And so little time given to really indulge the feeling. There had always been so little time. Slowly, luxuriously, an old warmth rose in him. It came up his toes, it ran over his legs, it rose up above his stomach. It lightened his knotted head. It twinkled on his fingertips. His face loosened from a frown. It turned around, and he smiled. He grinned. He chuckled. He couldnt help but laugh. He was so warm. He was so light. He was so happy. He could jump for joy. With more energy than he thought he had in mornings, he ran outside. He wanted to celebrate. He ran, and he skipped, and he hopped, and he smiled at everyone. Laughing eyes looked at everything anew.

Everybody gonna jump and shout
Everybody gonna sing it out
Everybody gonna dance around tonight

Mohra - The Story Of Two People Fighting A Bad Guy And Winning

I saw this movie a few days back. I didnt get to see the whole thing, which I was very eager to do, but only a part. It must have been about half an hour of the movie. And its left an [i love this word] indelible impact on me.

Cinema is a reflection of a nation's ideas, thoughts, beliefs, judgments. It is a gauge of the sensitivity of a mass of people. It is a measure of their enlightenment. It depicts the prevalent social values. It shows that what follows the following of such ideals and values. All this stuff is, well, technically true. But it doesnt always stand for Indian cinema.

Our cinema is escapist, and quite eyebrow-raising most of the times. Our cinema has often showed that what we would normally condemn, and taken it to the peaks of righteousness. Concepts of regular love, inter-class marriages type of love, running-away-from-family-and-marrying-and-dying-in-each-others'-arms sort of love, college romances, guy-guy love, girl-girl love (albeit only in soft porn) and so on. It may sound like we only work on love themes. But that wouldnt be fair. I can distinctly recall 2 to 3, even 4, movies that werent centred around love. Its like a lot of other things too, that I would normally want to go on talking about, but shall have to skip over, since it has nothing on earth to do with my subject today. Sorry for drifting, people. Think of it as an item song, or an Uday Chopra comic scene.

So...cinema is this and that. But Mohra, surely, has an entirely different class. My watching of it began at the point where a guy escorts Sunil Shetty's sister to a dance, an act which alone should get him a R&W Bravery Award. She has selected a nice white frock for the occasion, the kind a girl might be repulsed by once past her 7th birthday. As obviously always happens at such occasions, she drinks a spiked drink prepared by bad boys. As obviously happens at such occasions, her date is snorting cocaine in another room, and is oblivious to the matter. Of course, he's an angel otherwise. Now, as would obviously follow such a setting, she gets raped. As is far too obvious now, Sunil Shetty, with girlfriend in tow, enters her hospital room just as the doctor gets round to covering her face with a white cloth. The white chaddar which is a sign, since time immemorial, of someone passing away. The doctor looks regretfully at Sunil Shetty's, thinks about offering words of solace, but chooses to scurry off to safety somewhere instead. For even he knows what will obviously happen next. For what happens next is too obvious for me to even bother to re-iterate. I shall simply take for granted that you already know that Shetty kills the bad boys one by one, just as loudly screamingly, as if he were the one being knifed himself. Err..I mean, kills them all in an abandoned amusement park, where the gang usually chills out by the carousel ride.

Included in the film for her subtle acting skills and unmatcheable abilities to convey so much without a word or a look or a scene or even a freakin' clue for God's sake, is Raveena Tandon. She, journalist, wants information about blah-blah case from Akshay Kumar, playing inspector-cum-stuntman. In true Amar Akbar Anthony style, in which Shashi Kapoor suffers the same from his leading lady, she next day lands up at his house, already on chitchatting terms with his bhabhi. And that is a role, you must know, which has only one identity. So I shall not deem it necessary to specify the bhabhi's widowhood. 'Tis obvious. One follows the other. Not only does she (Raveena) plant herself there, but also convinces her (bhabhi) of Akshay and her being an item. She (bhabhi) does not mind, as is so obviously noted in the fabulous lives of Bollywood middle-class families, living only part time on actual food, and usually just on love and faith and pyar ke yeh atoot bandhan. Akshay Kumar, quite obviously, looks nonplussed, wtf-ed throughout the scene, partly because he was naturally taken aback and partly because thats his other well-practised expression.

So are laid the seeds of a great Bollywood romance. Oh, and what an epic it is! They had shared just two scenes. Both involving smouldering looks from Raveena Tandon, and the good-cop-sneers-at-beautiful-distraction looks from Akshay Kumar. We, who are grown cold to the pangs of love and the affairs of the heart, scarcely understand that two such scenes are enough. Especially when followed by such a third. And so, naturally obviously, after a couple of wasted scenes of actual dialogue, follows a wooing song the likes of which can never be equalled again. Its not easy to get your man, when he is so dedicated to his job. Its not easy at all. It needs patience, and it needs stamina. It needs acts of bravery and audacity. It needs serious hip-thrusts. After four gruelling minutes of gyrating in the rain in (obviously) a slippery sari in an abandoned construction site, Raveena Tandon finds her true love and admiration returned by her leading man. I was choked. I was gushing and I was blushing. I felt so good for them! It was too much for me to handle. I almost cried out in joy. We read about in books, we see it in other movies. But never with such perfection is it depicted as in this masterpiece. The start of an eternal romance and ethereal love based on trust, understanding and lapdancing against a spiral iron staircase. Everyone wants one such.

Or two.

It was only a few minutes after Akshay Kumar had begun reciprocatively embarrassing himself in the rain, that the lights went off. They came back on soon enough, but cable was still out. I screamed (silently) and ranted, but to no avail. I begged. I pleaded. I cajoled. I even stroked my television set gently. I wanted to see the seemingly blind villain I remembered from long ago, when I didnt understand the marvellousness and sheer epicness of this marvellous epic. I wanted to see how police officers go to the extent of wearing red turbans with black goggles and dancing with 50 overweight women to nab blind, evil people. I wanted to hear Sunil Shetty's roar another time.

It didnt happen. I would recommend this movie to all students of great cinema, to all devotees of the item number, and to all worshippers of whichever God it is Sunil Shetty cries out to all the time. Yeh cheez badi hai must.

Pardons, For I Am Tired Of Hitting The Squashball Tonight.

I want many things.

I want to play guitar like Led Zeppelin. If I could play the Rain Song, just as it is, or the extended solo to Stairway To Heaven, I cant express how absolutely accomplished I'd feel. I want to knock sense into the people who run this country. I want to yell at them, plead, reason with them, even hit them with umbrellas, and just for once get them to do something good. So much is needed. So much is so horribly messed up. I want to be learned and knowledgeable. I want to be able to quote in Latin, converse in French, woo in Spanish, and abuse in German. I want to write Elvish. I want to read the entire works of Homer. I want physical fitness, equal to any athlete anywhere in the world. I play enough of squash, and enough of badminton, but I want to be better than anyone else. I want to run faster, play harder, win everything. I want to write a book, about what I think and what I want for the world. I want it to sell millions and millions of copies, and I want everyone to read it. I want them to proclaim each of themselves as heroes, and to win all their battles. I want someone to make a documentary of Led Zeppelin. I want them hailed as the greatest band ever created, and I want Led Zep music to play on every radio station. Alternately, I would settle for someone ruthlessly and brutally murdering Himesh Reshammiya. I want to make a movie. I want to make a Schindler's List, and a Forrest Gump, and a Braveheart. And after all this, I want it all to be simple and untangled. I want to be strong enough for that.

But simplicity is impossible, it seems. Headaches always prevail. Worries will always come, when least wanted. People will disappoint. Things will go wrong. And so, in the end, disillusioned by it all, we learn to fail ourselves.

Well, what I want needs no one else to play a major role. What will I make of it now?

It was the only thing I ever really wanted. And that's the sin that can't be forgiven--that I hadn't done what I wanted. It feels so dirty and pointless and monstrous, as one feels about insanity, because there's no sense to it, no dignity, nothing but pain--and wasted pain....Katie, why do they always teach us that it's easy and evil to do what we want and that we need discipline to restrain ourselves? It's the hardest thing in the world--to do what we want. And it takes the greatest kind of courage. I mean, what we really want.- said Peter Keating, who lives in each one of us. (Ayn Rand's 'The Fountainhead')

Umm and Err

Nevermind-ing away what may have been good advice, I shall post it. My 2nd fictional thing, this is, after a long time. I dont do much of fiction. Not that this place has ever had, or is likely to have, any resemblance to any person living or sleeping, or all that many places. But still, this is a story, which is something I usually dont do.

*gathers up the defenses nervously* So, here goes.

------------------------------------------

Strategem


“Believe me,” he said softly. “Its going to be okay.”

“You still believe that, do you?” she asked half mockingly and half wonderingly, “I cant anymore. I’m sick of it! And I’m tired. I’m just too tired to go on like this.”

This couldn’t be happening, he thought. No. It wasn’t happening. He just needed to give it some more time. Keep the words flowing. She would come around. Of course she would.

“Look. I don’t know what to really say, or do. I’m really very sorry. But it will be fine – ”

“Don’t keep doing that. Don’t you understand one bit? I know it all already!”

He could still work it. He knew he could. He felt the confidence, which said this would be fine. So he smiled again, his winning smile, that first thing that had worked for him.

“Why don’t you calm down? Lets slow down. Not rush things. I mean, anger wont help na?”

He paused to look at her face. For some clue that he would win. She gave away nothing.

“No, it wont. Nothing will help. Go away.”

Why was she being so stubborn this time? Almost like she really wouldn’t… No, he shuddered. That wouldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it happen. He had to work something. He had to think fast, speak faster.

“I don’t understand you. Whats the matter? What do you want?”

He regretted those words the moment they came out. It wasn’t planned. They’d just slipped. It wasn’t his way.

“You want to know huh? You want to know? Now you do?”

“No no! That’s not what I mean. I slipped…I didn’t mean it like that. Wait! Look! Its just…Its just…”

“Its just nothing. What’s the matter? Cant talk your way out? I know you too well now. Listen to me, for once. It wont work anymore.”

“It will! I mean…what am I even trying to work? What are you talking about?”

He was losing. He couldn’t. How so suddenly? Looking back at their past few months, he couldn’t see anything. Nothing wrong. He swallowed. Unless he really strained, he couldn’t even see anything. But that thought was suppressed, before it strengthened enough. He had to try again.

“I don’t get this. I know its my fault. But I’m really very sorry. Why don’t you see that for once? It will be fine. Its not that big.”

It wasn’t working. He could see that very clearly now. Her face didn’t have any compassion, or hurt, or sadness. It was set, not because she was straining to have it so, but because she really didn’t care. How? He felt a weakness in his knees. He stumbled, and supported himself against the wall. He was actually going to lose out.

“Why do you think its about winning or losing? Its not supposed to be a game. Its supposed to be far too big for that. That’s what you said. You always said it was so big and so important. And you always joked about it too, didn’t you? You turned it around and around, keeping me swirling so I didn’t see anything. Now you cant have it back.”

He was losing. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. She knew him, even if he couldn’t tell her at all. It was a game. He’d always made it so. Nothing less, and nothing at all more. It hadn’t worked though. The rules didnt involve him being hurt like this. It should not have hurt. He was at a loss for words. It was a rare feeling, that. It left him defenseless and bare. He shivered.

“So, goodbye. Don’t bother with the cheap tricks. You’ll just run out and feel depressed with yourself.”

The goddamit of it was that she was so right, right till the end. He walked away, grimly anticipating the depressing days ahead. What would he do? He needed to work something. But what? His head was a furious blank. He had to do something.

And she walked away, praying for him to stop doing this to himself.

Rejoice! Celebrate! Boogie!

A wise man once said - Sometimes, departing from usual practise, happiness comes in the smallest, black, sexy packages. And when we find ourselves so blessed, i.e. we're happy and we know it, we find ourselves duty-bound (since nursery days) to clap our hands, click our fingers, and/or do other things I regretfully forget. This is such a time. Ladies and gentlemen, its the time to dhinkichiki! So howl and holler in your abominable manner. Grab your partners and do a great song and dance fooooorr....iPod!

The iPod has returned to its master! Me, that is! So yay! Celebrations were held, and euphoria is being expressed in joyous leaps and bounds around the house even now. Kashmir was chosen as the inaugural song to usher in the new battery. Things are running smoothly since.

In other fantastic, rousing-cheers-and-thump-in-the-back good news type, I bought my first electric guitar yesterday! Black hotbod, white in the bridge, and a wooden neck. It simply rocketh, ladies and gentlemen. Would put up a snap, but I'm lazy and cant be bothered. I'm hoping that my elaborate, single-sentence description shall suffice.

So now, I have both guitar and iPod! Both! Both! Understand, both? Both! I is most happy and pleased with life.

Kashmir has started playing again, so depart now we must. Shall I leave you with something deep to ponder over? Sure thing? Cool.


Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dreams.

I am a traveller of both time and space, to be where I have been.

- Kashmir, Led Zeppelin.

Ufff! What Bishti!!

Enough's enough.

I'm building the ark.

Nationwide call for people who know people who have lots of wood.

And cabin-space is kept aside for females, for the noble purpose of furthering the species afterwards. All incredibly beautiful women are invited to apply. For I see an incredibly beautiful future.

And since you must have noticed, yes. Space shall be provided for more than one awesomely gorgeous female. My generosity knows no bounds, eh? I know. We are like that.

Century On Debut

Oh. I didnt realize. What with Sachin missing it twice now, and my life so busy spreading sweetness and light, not to mention raging at the raging purple sky these days, it utterly escaped me. Until now, of course.

I would like to thank all of you. Each and every one. Those who come every day, those who come once a week. Even the ones who flitted past briefly touching my blog-strings with half-pornographic links, never to return again. I dont know if everyone who reads this place comments or not. I wish you would, if indeed you exist. I thank you too, in case you do respire silently in the dim lights.

Blogging, I always say and force to convince, is a solitary exercise. As is all writing. But those who read my blog matter to me. Its a funny thing. As I look at that previous sentence, I hesitate over what to address you all as. To call you "my readers" would seem too presumptuous. To call you "my crowd" would be too self-adulatory. To call you "my people" would just be a whole new Moses complex. I do personify all of this routinely, of course. I have been presumptuous to the point of pomposity. I am self-adulatory enough to run down Narcissus. I have been a far greater Moses than Moses was to his people, when it comes to addressing you. But I wont do all the naatak just now.

It matters greatly that people read and people comment. Its one of the things keeping me going. Sometimes, it gives me fodder for new things to yap about. I enjoy irritating people sometimes, just pushing them inch by inch to see how far I can go. I like to outrage people, the same way.

But today, ignoring the other reasons I blog, I would just thank the people who read me. And say nice things sometimes. This is blog post #103. Somehow, by lucky accident, my 100th post has been exactly the way I would have wanted it to be. A profound, spiritual journey to find my inner being (and its porn-star name).

This is a profound journey too. Fortunately, with lots of fellow travellers.

A Wonderful World Of Reality In Illusion

Life is an illusion, and how we live and what we do is just utterly pointless. Materialism wraps us in ties stronger than steel. And every new day finds us more deeply in its grip. We try and we try, but we cannot find the meaning to life. Everything is an illusion, and nothing is real.

Or it could be an illusion, and what of it.

Life is for the sake of our 'illusions'. What if that is the meaning of life? To build around you what you can, and what you want, with what you have and what you can make. Some would call it illusion, while I could choose to call that true reality.

Now, what if the truth was supposed to be bare and stark? Empty? Until we designed our meaning for ourselves?

Glacial, Frigid, Or Icy...Basically Very Very Cold

Ya. So, in very, very cold response to what Kyra dares to remark, I would like to remind her and every single one of you that this blog is independent. It is its own sovereign nation, which cannot be ousted, bullied, cajoled, pushed, provoked, threatened, subliminally convinced, re-directed, steered by another hand or forced into doing anything it does not wish to do. Ditto for its owner.

You shall not have a post, to humor you, to gladden your heart, to reveal your secrets merely by speaking of its own, to be your comrade through dark times, to provide comforting words of hope and solace, or for anything whatsoever that you want, simply because you feel you can demand it.

(On an aside, try and read the italicized bit in a French accent. I find it gives more 'feel'. Also the rest of this.)

I refer to this. How dare you, Kyra, feel that you, who herself retires to the same old excuse of writer's block every month or so and does not write a post for weeks on end only to break the ridiculous abstinence with a silly little one-liner about how shtupid she feels, can actually come over here and ask me for another post? Just because you feel bored, and need me to supply you with wholesome food for thought, or a gay and amusing laugh, or just something you can return to over and over when you find yourself in times of trouble and Mother Mary doesnt come to you?

I refuse! I positively am outraged at your audacity! I shall not be your lap-puppy! No! I shall not! Tra la!

*stalks away, with cold dignity and unmatcheable grace in his gait, his visage, and oh everything he does*


*pregnant pause of about 5 seconds*


*door opens again slightly. appears just the upper half of a face, with raised eyebrow, the eye belonging to which looks carefully about the room. slowly enter the rest of a majestic figure*

I just did it again, didnt I? I think this could just be called a post. I wonder about myself sometimes, when I find time from pondering over the miseries of all the others, towards which my selfless, giving soul perenially directs me.

And I wonder, do I seek to please? To offer myself as whatever everyone wants? To make myself whoever you prefer at the drop of a hint? Unconsciously, as in? Dammit! Subconsciously, I mean? I did try to consciously avoid such tendencies of mine, but I think the germ just got back in with a different, cleverer disguise. It still operates. But I dont see it all the time.

I also wonder what I can do about the...subconscious...display, execution, usage, presentation, utilization, or is it a form of seepage of this damned thesaurus inside my head. Refer to paragraphs 1, 2, 4 and this damned one, for what I mean. Not that I'll bother with this one. Its a bit of fun. A dash of local colour, perhaps?

I dont even know what I'm rambling about, really. This is partly bloody just because you said you wanted a post. So here you are. Happy?

I saw Ocean's Twelve today. And it was confusing. I saw glaring loopholes, which could be either because I didnt get it, or it was a really bad movie. I dont think it was a bad movie, was it? In case its just me, let me forewarn you that only shows of sympathy for my tender, innocent mind are invited. You are asked to not be sarcastic and vampish about it.

In other news, there is more to be sorrowful about, yet. Yes, I know. It does seem like all the sorrows of the world are falling upon my head. Its...the iPod. It still doesnt work. Nothing seems to be working. Now the people, they say that the batteries need replacing. I'm almost welling up now. *he almost wells up*

Just like that, *clicks his fingers to show just like how*, they say the batteries need to be replaced. Just like that, *again*, they want to discard the old ones. Reader, I most humbly request you to join in me in observing a minute's silence for my deceased, faithful battery. It lived its time. It served well. It died a tragic, untimely death all too soon. We had some good times. It knew how to rock 'n' roll. May Led Zeppelin play it into the gates of Heaven.