Jun 25, 2015

Waiting for the right bus

Everyday, after college I would walk home with my friends. Wandering around and talking about future. What will we do? How will we be? How much will we change? Ideas! Ambitions! Life!!!

Everything always tumbled down to a cup of tea at a near by shop, where we were regular visitors. A sip of tea and bunch of thought provoking questions and contradictions. All intelligent and weird minds searching for the answer to a common question - the meaning of life. Trying to find that right path towards salvation. Complete Consciousness!!

Now and then we would simply get lost within ourselves, in the midst of the crowd. Thoughts wandering far beyond the time frame. Everyone building their life on their own dimensions. Confident. Lost. But hopeful.

Like some lost sailors on a boat, every one of us would be looking at different directions hoping to see some signs of calling. But then we wouldn't find any. "What are we searching for ?", would be one damning question in every one's mind. But the pattern would repeat itself and we would find ourselves in a never ending  loop, looking at different directions with our backs facing each other.

It was an isolated space we had created for ourselves, safe from the outer worlds. I think that is what friendship does, isn't it? It creates a space within this chaos of life, where we find ourselves secure and submerged to own-self. A space untouched by the judgments and its overpowering expectations. But for how long?

With the stretch of time, the space would soon collapse into the fabric of social norms exposing each of our vulnerabilities and weaknesses. A bubble of cocoon waiting to burst dropping us into the ocean ruled by sharks. And here in the arena of death, we all would find our own harbor. A war of life!

All these thoughts would connect us telepathically when we are not together, creating a surreal experience of becoming invisible in the crowd. But again, for how long?

At times, I would find myself disconnected and standing alone, facing the wilderness of the world. Alone, but among crowds, waiting for the right bus to come and take me home.

These rides would be just as experiential as a conversation with the philosophers of the world. Dangling with people, popping out of all the open spaces, bus would come screeching at you. As people struggled and jostled towards the opening of the portal, I would distant myself to observe and wait for the bus with the right number. Is it even coming?

Like a trained sales person conductors would scare you that its the last bus tonight, no more is coming for you. But the experience has already told me to ignore them in disbelieve. He is totally lying, I would say to myself. How is it even possible? There has to be the bus with the right number coming for me. Its only 8 PM. I would then wait in the darkness.

Time can be cruel, specially as the darkness begins and struggles for its own existence. Often I would wonder, should I have just rode on that last bus, no matter what? It would have at least taken me somewhere - safe and sound.    

Then, I didn't realize much, but when I think about it now. May be I was waiting for one of those Hayao Miyazaki's magical cat from "My Neighbor Totoro" to come and pick me up, take me to the world of dreams. Ya exactly the same way.

But I would always end up riding a bit early in one of those dangling bus, defeated by the wait - not really the friendly Totoro which I expected. Among the midst of human slaves, I would find myself indifferent. Its one of the contradiction of a society, which I find amusing. Some how we can always cocoon ourselves within our own existence. People generally blame technology for this indifference but its there, inherent within ourselves. Over time, the technology has only replaced the anchor of safety, but the anchor has always existed. The anchor that holds our emotions safe within the confine parameter of control. If that anchor is loosened I am not sure what kind of emotional calamity the world will have to face.

Faces filled with experience and sorrow. I have never seen a face that carries the experience of happiness, its always that long scar of sorrow that we all carry. Even behind a smiling face, lies some untold stories. The ways we carry our sorrows are different than the ways we carry our happiness. Happiness is like a shooting star, it comes and goes within seconds. Sometime you even doubt yourself, if it even existed. But sorrows are like billions and trillions of stars just staring at you every night, watching you and making you watch them in return. You will never be able to run away from them.

I am never sure what we wait for the most - for the sun to rise, or for it to set. Thoughtful contemplation!

And sometime I would just wait and wait. But there would be no bus to take me home. Like a soldier who had lost a battle, I would walk all the way back to home. I am not sure till today, if I wanted to get to home or somewhere else. But every night I would always end up in my room with a bag full of unanswered questions.

The fallacy of dream is that its unreal and based upon memories created through your weak senses. Its a place where the questions of the day would finally find itself slowly unraveled but wrapped into a mystic symbolism. Conflicts, fear and all your desires painted into a canvas like some abstract art.

Neither you nor the painter can understand the meaning behind it. All your years of experiences is distilled into this one night's dream. And this abstract form of art is nothing but stacks of paintings layered one upon the other. Upon close observations you can notice fine brush strokes from your past, still clear and sharp. And just when you feel like you have understood, you are awaken from the dream with a fresh canvas of memory waiting to be filled by the day.

But what if at that moment of wait, you would not walk to your home and keep waiting. Even if the streets are cold and empty with an unbroken vow of silence, what if you didn't move an inch. Killing your every instinct to hide in your burrow, what if you stood there motionless like there was nothing to fear. What if all you had was your conviction that the right bus would come. And even if it didn't turn up at the dawn, would you still have guts to wait for it every other night?

May 17, 2015

Tic Tok

I didn’t do anything,
I just sat there, 
keeping silent,
eyes closed,
heart beating,
mind wandering,
long breathing,
in and out,
just breathing,
just waiting,
for nothing.

I just didn’t do anything.
I just sat there, 
holding down the tears,
listening to tic tok,
tic tok
just listening,
just waiting,
for nothing.

when i opened my eyes,
tears rolled down,
mind went numb,
heart stopped,
no more tic tok
i had lost it
i realised
I whispered to myself
i had lost it
took long deep breath
and just sat there.
just waiting 
for nothing.

- bexdeep

Image taken at Allahabad

Apr 8, 2015

Graduation - A recurring dream.

I didn’t go to my graduation - I couldn’t make it. There was no cap swinging or photo taking celebration with certificates and friends. Like many other moments of life, it simply skipped without a knock on the door or any hello and goodbyes.

May be thats why, even after so many years I still dream of graduating. Its one of those recurring dreams where you are still at your final year of college. The dream typically starts with the confusion of not knowing the exact date of your examination and you are frantically calling you friends to confirm the date.

I always find myself in my old room, surrounded by notes and books. Nervous and Confused. Within the dream, sometime I keep questioning “Am I back in home? How and Why?” Then as the time passes by in the dream, the day of examination comes closer and things gets hazy. I try calling friends, no one is there receiving my calls.

There are multiple routes in the dream. In one, I make to the examination hall and end up realising I studied the wrong subject and stare blank at the question paper - knowing that I am not going to pass this exam. The other one is more confusing, I end up reaching college after the exam is over and seeing all my friends discussing the question paper. Both way, the result is always the same - I am not graduating.

This tense feeling and realisation of being left out, goes beyond explanation. But some how, every time my conscious self fights back to bring me back to the reality. And when I finally realise that its a dream, I am sucked out of it.

I end up waking up in shock and look around to see if its real. And I try to ensure to my self - have I already graduated?

Mar 24, 2015

Lost in thoughts

There I stood
Lost in thoughts
Consumed by life

Not be to forgiven
But to be understood

Not for the answers
But the right questions

Not for the miracles
But an honest direction

There I stood
Lost and consumed
Hopeful and Secure

Not about the future
Nor about the past

There I stood
Lost in thoughts
Consumed by life

- bexdeep

Mar 23, 2015

Sound of fear

Dark dungeon
He walked into it
Without a sword
But a dimly lit candle

A drop of water
Echoed from the darkness
Pericing  his heart
A sound of fear

Clutching his fist
He walked in silence
Eyes wide open
Ears all sharp

A tiny whirlpool of wind
Underneath from ground
Tickled its way up
he stood  petrified 

Motionless and super conscious
His bone crackled
Twitching his eyes
But he didn't step back

With candles half burnt
Not a soul encountered
Up he looked
Curious and undeterred

A whiff of fresh air
He could breathe
Hinting him to
The new direction 

As the candle lit off
He stumbled down
To notice a beam of 
Light far away 

With a smile
He walked into it
With nothing
But a passion

- bexdeep

Mar 22, 2015

Unreachable Memories

There he walked
soul less
all alone

lost within the
unreachable memories
from his past

He paused and
closed his eyes
lost within the sounds

As his heart
quenched with pain
tears rolled down

This is where
he remembered
had killed her


Jan 31, 2015

Scripting - Directing - Editing and Product Design - Passion

I am not a movie buff. Which means I don't watch any and every movies out there - not to mention even the best one. Unless I am killing time with friends. In which case anything works.

Nevertheless, I do have passion for watching movies from directors that I admire. To me they are like a class where I get to learn or unlearn things about story telling from the masters. As a result, my movie watching procedure usually starts with the identification of a director or an actor - mostly directors.

I take lot of inspiration from storytelling art in my work and what ever I do. One of the most important thing about my admiration for directors is their unique taste and vision for storytelling. It is not just the matter of a story or characters, but the way they decide to introduce them to us. As a director, it is their job to make decision on how the story should be narrated to the audience. They bring their passion and taste to it, making it a wonderful experience. And more importantly, these directors don't compromise with their vision.

Compromising would mean making certain scenes in a way to please the audience or the stakeholders. In other words, driving your decision based on the money it is going to make. That would mean compromising in scripting, directing or editing, and ones craftsmanship.

This is where I like to draw parallels to product designing. Product designing comes with a similar process or problem identification, designing solution and implementing them. In this whole process, the project leader makes decision as to what to emphasis and what to discard. These choices are going to decide how the product is going to function. After all, product is an emphasis of things. Products are not destined to do everything. They come with their own limitations. It is the matter of the product designer to make sure that the choices based on the priorities of the use cases.

The difficulty in putting emphasis on things are similar for both directors and product designers. They are to first understand the problem in hand and make choices - take risks.

Movie watching experience sometime lets you into the minds of the director and the way they are thinking. The way they decide to tell stories and why they decided to do so. Most of us judge movies based on the story line, plot and performances. These are basic qualities, but there are more to appreciate in the movie than simple story and characters.

This brings me to Editing. A process where things are eliminated and brought together. A good edited movie is tightly connected and wastes no time of the audience. Similar to a good designed product, where it makes sure not to waste the users time.

Both requires certain focus on style, flow and storylines. The main reason I ended up writing this post is because I came across some videos which demonstrates the complexity of scenes done by great directors.

Here are few of those videos. Have fun.

The Bad Sleep Well (1960) - The Geometry of a Scene from Tony Zhou on Vimeo.

Akira Kurosawa is one of the legend in Japan whose movie has inspired directors like George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and many western movies.

Satoshi Kon - Editing Space & Time from Tony Zhou on Vimeo.

Satoshi Kon's animated movies are the best with intricate story telling methods and visual treat. Though Hayao Miyazaki's stories and characters are still dear to me, Satoshi's movies has its own space. If you think Inception and Black Swan was great, let me tell you some of the schematic style of Inception match 100% to that of Satoshi's Paprika. The infamous scene of zero gravity fighting scene in Inception is one of the intro sense in paprika and many more.

Jan 26, 2015

Ghost of an Idea

What nags you in the middle of the night? A nightmare or an idea. While growing up, I used to be awaken by nightmares and it still does.

Few years back while I was visiting my home, I had to sleep in this old room. It is located on the ground floor and has a dark passage towards it. The switch to the lights are on the other side of the floor. My room use to be on the top floor, now there isn’t any.

I never liked the room, as growing up. It was always dark and cold. I still remember when I was a kid it use to be my parent's room. My dad would bring projector from office and show slides on the wall. Photos from his recent Europe visits and that of his friends. I particularly remember one photo of a lady in her mid 30s wearing a red dress, she had very red lips. May be it was then when it all started - the nightmares.

Soon, my dad was transferred to eastern part of the country and we all had to move along with him. The house was left empty for years and all the belongings were stored in this room. Once in a while, during our city visit we use to come to the house, clean it, have noodles at the near-by shop and spend a day. The area was located far from the city and had a very few settlings. But now, its one of the booming part of the city.

It was during one particular such visit, I remember entering the room. My grand mom usually accompanied me, while I went through the old belongings and toys. That night I had a high fever, my grand mom suspected a demon and she practised a small ritual trying to free the demon away. Since then, the event has stayed with me.

So few years back, when I had to spent a night at the room, I was a bit apprehensive. Anyways, I didn’t take it too seriously. The room also use to be occupied by my close friend and his family, when they were living with us. During those times, I had spent many nights at the room. So there I was.

That night, suddenly at the middle of it, I was awoken by a terrifying nightmare. It was one of those recurring dreams that I always have, since I was a kid. For me there is one specific dream which has a recursive pattern of black and white. After that I couldn't sleep the whole night.

It was the ghost of an idea.

Jan 13, 2015

Purposefulness of Idea

Yes, its been a very long time since I have posted anything. And it all boils down to the "purposefulness of idea". I have not been able to publish anything because I am not able to find its purpose, its relevance and its place. For me blogging is more about a conversation and nothing more. And I have not been able to put up with it.

This is an age of "war of words", where you hardly find any conversations. Instead, we come across opinionated arguments about right and wrong. I fail to see the significance of being right and wrong and having an opinion at all. Simply because, it doesn't matter. My opinion about this world is not going to change anything, unless I do something about it.

An idea is like a pending task waiting to be assigned to someone who is responsible enough to execute it. Hence the purposefulness of an idea is realised when someone decides to do something about it. Most of us are possessive about our ideas, a result of our false assumption that we own them.

No one owns an idea. It has a life of their own. Like a living organisms, it strives to exist and spread from one conscious being to another. A truly great idea is infectious. “Eureka!!! I have got it” is one of the expressions used when one gets infected by it.

Lets imagine a place, where all the great ideas are locked in. And you get to dive into it. What do you think will happen? Do you think you will be able to handle it? A single wonderful idea has the power to carry you to the world of ecstasy. Hundreds of them would certainly make you unconscious.

So, have I found the purposefulness of an idea? No I have not. But I have neither found the purpose of not expressing them. Noting down every single hint of great ideas into a notepad and locking them in a personal vault is an exhaustive task. But writing about it and letting it go is more satisfying. It will at least let the idea find its right destination.

The day I dreamt of becoming someone

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