Wall Fall

It is November 11th. Isn’t the 9th. I would have preferred it if I had written on the 9th. But, I am too full of myself to write about a happening, which is not remotely mine. Bu today, its me; the wall plays the sidekick.

The fall of Berlin wall, in popular history, is viewed as the ultimate symbol of the triumph of human freedom and brotherhood. The story goes like this – East Germany vs West Germany; Capitalists vs Communists; Economic crisis in East Germany; Rise of moderates in Russia and the East German Side; and the wall ceases to exist. Also, missed the (in) famous declaration made on the previous night by a governing member of the East German order.

Zoom in; during the wall days, people from East Germany had attempted to sneak into the other side for better jobs, soap operas and so on. Some managed, some didn’t. The ones who didn’t make it faced the ‘game over’, from the guards in the most innovative ways.

And then one day, the gate ceased to exist. Symbolically, on November 9th and a few more days to make it a physical reality. To think of it, what did it result in? The cold war ended and the world order changed. That’s big. But on the day, no blood and no sweat; just a peaceful walk to the other side with huge relaxed smiles everywhere. Now that’s unusually interesting!

What if the guards had fired a shot or two at the gate crashers; naively believing that they could be scared away. Just a few more ‘game overs’ as dutiful guards. Why didn’t they do it? Probably they thought it was inevitable and they acknowledged their helplessness. Probably they were keen to catch the evening show on the other side. Or probably they believed it was their ‘right’ thing to do. Whatever the reason, the guards, on that fateful day, decided to call the shots, regardless of the context they were surrounded with and in the absence of orders from the higher order. And the context; imposing it was; political ideology & military prowess at stake. Instead of being the ones who would have started the fire, they let the people pass. As if they were masters of the wall. In the process, making the process bloodshed free and smooth.

Now, this is not the whole triumph thing of dharma over Karma. What I take out of it is purely actionable.

When the human decides to act independent of the context, the end result is the most desirable. For me, this is what the wall fall signifies.

Key

It is a green key; I find it beautiful. Always? ofcourse not, nothing can be beautiful for ever; not even a lifeless piece of metal. But I stick on because I dont have any other Key. One fateful day, I find a red key. I wasnt looking for it though. I found it on marsh land. I walk slowly towards it to get it. I watch my step. You see i do not want to have a clumsy fall. I have never had one but the cynic in me has always felt i will. Anyway, I get my hands on it. I am all happy and i dream about the doors it will open. But, i really do not want to think about it.

Good people should like keys for how beautiful they are and not the doors they open.

I am in conscious love with the red. I am not looking at the flaws, which to my besotted eyes, arent many. I keep it on my desk all day. I know i lose interest easily and take pains that it wouldnt happen this time. Everything will be great and i would be deserving of the key. Its there everyday morning. I think i should find its door now. I wait for the morning next day. its already late in the night. But its always been late in the night. It has to be done NOW. I get up hurriedly in my boxers. I havent washed myself. I move towards my desk. i jiggle the litter on it around. To find it. It is there alright. It has got a scratch. I try to rub it off. Not working. I am supposed to love it unconditionally. Ok with it.
I lift it. It is not the same one. I find a filmy letter beside it. The key is gone with its owner. Turns out he was the rude guy next door. Keys can make such mistakes. They open doors to undeserving clowns. I think all keys do. But the strange inevitable part is it is my mistake. People pity my door-less-ness. I miss the key though.

Why the broker?

A look at these scruffy guitarists - the wow creature; and you know the world is lop sided. A finger here, there and here. They get most of everything. I wish i knew a skill and i am not talking about the logical ability, quantitative potential, analytical strength - those alcoholic elder brothers of the king, who never made it; a 'real' one which shows me a narrow inflexible but clear direction where it all would end one day. This constant flux of possibilities has got to me. Earlier, i called it my eagerness to survive; but after 1394049305900 of them turning out to be dampeners, i say enough.

But suppose, i become the wow creature; and suppose the world thinks that the sun rises from my ass every morning, then the divine force would say (ofcourse in the dreams, thats how it always happens; i guess because we are too sane to realise about such things when we are awake) 'here you are, now stop complaining'. Well maybe, i would stop complaining....for a month. But then the Indian woman who got dirty with the uncomfortably good looking Italian Plumber on her 1 month holiday, eventually realises she dint quite like the smell of the leaking taps. I start looking for other what ifs; BECAUSE all of these 'what ifs' have different 'thens'. ?.

So here i am, giving air to all these what ifs. The doors are never closed for me. This amazing sea of role plays i indulge in has been allowed by the 2 year life changing, soul cleansing, character building, personality shaping adventure i wrestled to get noticed in. So, i decide to play broker in day light. I humbly accept the the flux as a way of life. Though, I am working on the aspect of showering respect and obeying the Flux god through my actions. That will kill the oxymoron - an Indian guitarist who actually made money.

DEV DEE

I have always hated the inevitable fact that popular characters get transformed into, as in our marketing zubaan, generic names. So, Mr Devdas becomes the epitome of failed love and Mr chaplin the machine churning out slapstick jokes endlessly and mechanically. We chose to ignore the various layers portrayed by the brilliance of this characters. This is exactly where the movie chooses to differ and excels as a result.

(1) Devdas, as much as i know from my limited knowledge of shahrukh's and dilip kumar's man, is pained. But he chooses to cause self harm and thats what is interesting about him. Though the most noticeable quality, this is not what defines him. I feel he is a man who throughout his life wants to beat the ass out of his indecisiveness and his momentary lapse of sanity when he loses paro. This is a situation and not an individual's quality. (An afterthough: The best stories come out of situations and not individuals). DevD builds on this by negating the man's seeming tendency to self infict. Jus one of the many instances to prove this, he gives it back to the servant who claims to have romanced Paro. Thats a shock to the Devdas we know. But to think of it, it clearly defines the context without any cinematic aberrations.

(2) Another interesting thing is the way the characters are projected. When the stakes are low (like at home, with spouse etc.), one gets to know the real person (courtesy: an interesting management seminar). So. on a subconscious level, when a character is shown behaving in a low stakes situation, it is more believable and clear. But, it is totally against the cinema that we have seen from our growing days. Hero introduced in a concert never mind he holds the guitar like a lolly pop. But here, dev tries his shades irreverently in a showroom, throws money at the pimp, takes a case of bottles back to his home without any hysterical crap. These uneventful captures define him in a much more effective manner. Its to the point and crystal clear.

And what do i think of the movie? i think it is gud enuf to excuse the director for his indulgent magnum opus 'No smoking'.

Demons

I wanna Play
I really wanna
You think otherwise
That’s y I wanna play
I put my head to it
My back gets droopy
I pick it up
My eyes get sleepy
It s the analgesic
I take a walk
I am still playing
But there s this thing
I can do nuthin about
I have got my nails on the string

They r mine yea they r mine
They keep growing back
Of course I care
I think I can be better
The next time around
By the way
They are still hanging on