Sunday, December 2, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Family
The past few days i have been making regular trips to an elderly uncle's residence for some help translating an architectural manifesto initially penned in the French language, but soon to be published in 14 others, Urdu included.
There is a lot to be said about the joys of sitting with an elderly family member, the youngest and most alive of my grandfather's siblings, one who now spends his days writing about the experience of Partition, his political leanings thereof and resurrects, in vivid photographic prose, ancestors long dead and buried. i find myself putting off the actual work just to hear him quote Ghalib, Azad, Iqbal, Bernard Shaw or whoever else he draws upon at any given moment to elaborate his literary understanding of the world around him.
Something about the combination of a conversation independent of time and superficiality, a reflected expression of my own hopes, dreams and sensibitlites, of familial bonds and a sense of rootedness, of heritage, spread within me warmth, peace, and an awareness of belonging. I am seized with a strong desire to grasp this new understanding, to sweep out any cobwebs in my head that arise from the dislocated fragments that have been my education and conditioning to date, to subsume myself in the very thing i sought to flee. Was i frightened by its beauty?
Everything i aspire to has been arrived at by the people that populate my familial landscape through the cultivation of those very traits i seek to understand.
It's been done! This is the direction to take, to build upon! It is as if i am a child again, led by the hand through one of the many garden parties we had at home, being patted on the head approvingly by great aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers. This is who we are beta, how we do things and why. This is why YOU are the way you do.
Funny thing, life and living. Occasionally, certain joys choose to unfurl their petals and surprise you with the capacity of their modest,latent, passionate soulfulness. Makes me want to close my eyes, breathe in deep and smile.
There is a lot to be said about the joys of sitting with an elderly family member, the youngest and most alive of my grandfather's siblings, one who now spends his days writing about the experience of Partition, his political leanings thereof and resurrects, in vivid photographic prose, ancestors long dead and buried. i find myself putting off the actual work just to hear him quote Ghalib, Azad, Iqbal, Bernard Shaw or whoever else he draws upon at any given moment to elaborate his literary understanding of the world around him.
Something about the combination of a conversation independent of time and superficiality, a reflected expression of my own hopes, dreams and sensibitlites, of familial bonds and a sense of rootedness, of heritage, spread within me warmth, peace, and an awareness of belonging. I am seized with a strong desire to grasp this new understanding, to sweep out any cobwebs in my head that arise from the dislocated fragments that have been my education and conditioning to date, to subsume myself in the very thing i sought to flee. Was i frightened by its beauty?
Everything i aspire to has been arrived at by the people that populate my familial landscape through the cultivation of those very traits i seek to understand.
It's been done! This is the direction to take, to build upon! It is as if i am a child again, led by the hand through one of the many garden parties we had at home, being patted on the head approvingly by great aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers. This is who we are beta, how we do things and why. This is why YOU are the way you do.
Funny thing, life and living. Occasionally, certain joys choose to unfurl their petals and surprise you with the capacity of their modest,latent, passionate soulfulness. Makes me want to close my eyes, breathe in deep and smile.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
(Brackets)
It was Wednesday. Maths. Page 28
And I was already thinking about tomorrow
Thursday. Maths. Page 29
We were doing problems.
The ones where you have to remove the brackets first.
I was on question 13 and right inside a bracket.
When this strange phrase came into my head.
And before I could trap it in a bracket
It shot out of my mouth
Into the classroom.
'Bring on the dancing prunes!'
The room was silent
And 30 pairs of bracket-solving eyes
Swivelled in my direction
The teacher stopped putting crosses
In somebody's maths book
And looked crossly at me.
"What did you say?"
I could have told him.
But instead.
I put a bracket around my reply.
'Nothing.'
The teacher sighed.
'How would it be if EVERYBODY
Called out the first thing that came into their heads?'
And I was already thinking about tomorrow
Thursday. Maths. Page 29
We were doing problems.
The ones where you have to remove the brackets first.
I was on question 13 and right inside a bracket.
When this strange phrase came into my head.
And before I could trap it in a bracket
It shot out of my mouth
Into the classroom.
'Bring on the dancing prunes!'
The room was silent
And 30 pairs of bracket-solving eyes
Swivelled in my direction
The teacher stopped putting crosses
In somebody's maths book
And looked crossly at me.
"What did you say?"
I could have told him.
But instead.
I put a bracket around my reply.
'Nothing.'
The teacher sighed.
'How would it be if EVERYBODY
Called out the first thing that came into their heads?'
Monday, September 10, 2007
The Painted Veil
I saw The Painted Veil recently and was moved to tears. It is a lovely film, very well performed and beautifully shot with a haunting soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat. The film is based on a book by Somerset Maugham and its title comes from a poem by Shelley.
Pasted below is Shelley's poem which is the essence of the tale.
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
Pasted below is Shelley's poem which is the essence of the tale.
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
LIBERTY FESTIVAL 2007
Yes, i've been busy and hence quiet on the blog front. But i return with a colourful bunch of photographs to liven up my comatose blog;)
This Saturday, the Liberty Festival was held at Trafalgar Square. Yours truly was one of the people organising the 'Carnival Section' put together by Creative Routes. Here are some pics for the day...!
This Saturday, the Liberty Festival was held at Trafalgar Square. Yours truly was one of the people organising the 'Carnival Section' put together by Creative Routes. Here are some pics for the day...!
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