Digging for Meaning

Love the way people dance in this video. Look at the women especially. So beautiful, so joyful, so full of life. Their movements come so easy to them - Like a leaf flows with breeze, their bodies move to rhythm - with a happy natural suppleness.  (Well, the song that plays is different from the original to which they danced, but you may check out the original ). It is as if they have turned their bodies into superconductors of happiness and joy - joy runs through their bodies with no hesitation or pretense or opposition. The others around them are not necessarily moving along in the same way, but they instinctively make space for each other, instinctively anticipating each other's moves.  They move individually, true to themselves, but in step with everyone. It is amazing how individualities can exist even when you are fused in a collective. Plugged-in to the collective energy of convivial togetherness, yet alive with unique expressions of the same energy. As against ...

Hands Such grace Creation chose the medium of creativity to be bestowed with such divine grace. They flow like water, and flap like wings. They deceive time, and deliver stillness. They break and they fuse. They play with air and water, and elements delight in their touch. They move and they feel. They are alive. They are life. They hold and they love. They fly and they jump. They nourish and they punish. They are us and they are the world. Our hands are sheer grace.

i am a big fan of fresh starts. why? cuz they are fresh, and as with things fresh, they smell nice and juicy.. full of ready-to-ripe promises. start cuz thats the best part of every experience. the attack of a note, the foreplay, the buzz of a conversation... starts define. starts command. why to follow up when starts have all the magic and the rest is only tragic hope and hopeless maintenance? no seriously, why? apart from some abstract certainty it gives us nothing. in turn it erases so many possibilities. worse, it erases even the buzz that stings pleasurably at the mere sight of a possibility on horizon. in exchange for certainty, it plants in our heads and hearts the insects of forever-n-ever doubt. doubt of things past, doubt of things could-have-beens, doubts of future. is it grace in present or is it simply dying a slow uneventful death? hmm... maybe certainty is that valuable. maybe. but until i get tired and my bones get rickety and my eyes stop gouging out with my mou...

i feel like robbing something beautiful. a life maybe. steal all the beauty, put my copyright and bury it in my 36 GBs of namelessness. lets start with some beautiful flowers in all their blue, green and red splendour. the colors are not all too bright and I won't let you play with its simple beauty on photoshop to tweak its contrast and hues. They are beautiful as they are. They are alive. They don't need your definitions. Let me rob you of the pleasure of seeing the flowers in their magnificient colors in punishment of your expectations transgressions. hmm.. even after stealing its colors, the flower shines with its grace. sublime curves. maybe in my beauty jihad, i should make them wear hijabs and throw black paint over this plate. but I can only stand still, and admire its grace. grace can never be kept hidden.

Mumbai. city of dreams. city of refugees. the camp city of private soldiers, who paste dreams made by private soldiers who came before them on their foreheads, and forge ahead. they maime, rape, throw at the city, extract returns in hope of enriching their real home; never knowing that mumbai won't let you leave you this soon having used her. they had removed their humanity like old clothes on the border of the city. they enter naked into the jungle. grimy serpents run on her back incessantly. little pesky soldiers pull up their sleeves, ball up the fists and fight to get inside the serpent. the door, that is always open seems like evanescent port to untold riches, to them. the ever open door, indeed is a port. a port through which the human transforms into a wild hog who just got untethered. once inside, they again transform into guilt ridden, gaze avoiding crabs. walking sideways. its only after getting out of the serpents, do they inhale some air, not fresh, but air nevertheless...