Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
But how did it do that? I have run errands, co-ordinated shoots, shot tests, compared results, done DI, checked prints, planned short films, read scripts, watched films, obsessed over the actors especially Marlon Brando and Steve McQueen, looked up dates for film festivals, caught up with old friends, mingled with family and made a hundred calls to both the acquainted and the unknowns -- and much more in the last one month. But its nothing new; with the exception of the actors that I chose to obsess over, the month before it was Paul Newman and Meryl Streep now its Brando and McQueen, I have repeated almost all the activities mentioned above with a certain torturous, self inflicted discipline. That's why the only things that mattered today were this day and the other day - the day that I was sick. My thoughts were exactly the same then - I need to get out of bed, start writing more, get in better shape, wake up early morning, join a Yoga class, finish reading Maximum City, start a new book, watch Metropolis again, silence the all powerful self critic and let my thoughts exercise the keypad, eat healthy, take care of my skin and hair and be more open to the world around me - absorb the sounds if not the smells, meet more people, take more pictures, cultivate a garden etc. That's why in my mind almost a month hasn't passed by.
Sometimes I think we, as humans, in our infinite desire to quantize every possible object or material or a phenomenon that surrounds us or happens to us in our lives, often over simplify and unitize everything in the most ridiculously simple and rigid manner possible. Then we relax and rejoice in the self proclaimed glory of our questionable intellect in having found answers to questions that we posed to ourselves. If we have used the same range of intellect (again defined by a set quantity, called the IQ) to ask ourselves the question and the same range of intellect to answer it, how great are our answers anyways? Aren't they limited by the intellectual scope of our question which is in turn is dictated by our ambition, narrow minded as it may be, to somehow find an answer or make one? Time is one such convenient answer. We wanted to give an universally identifiable stamp to all our individual and collective experiences. So we defined time; in sec, minutes, hours, days, months, years, centuries and so on...But what if the time as it really exists is not just that?
What if time is a humungus complex equation that depends on a number of variables, not just the arithmetic count of the ideal pendulum swinging in a gravity free, inertia less environment -- and what if you cannot ever ascertain its definite value, because its partly quantifiable and partly metaphysical? The quantifiable part is the one that's consumed by a million recursions of our everyday routines and the metaphysical part is the one that bases itself on state of the individual's mind which needs more than just repeated recursions for any tangible progress to register. And what if the Earth's total time is the amalgamation of the quantifiable and the metaphysical units of all individuals combined, in the past perfect, present continuous and the future progressive?
I am on the brink of sounding like a pseudo intellectual, posing questions and throwing random ideas without any solid equations and statistics to support my hypotheses so I will stop right here..The month as recounted above, has definitely passed me by, as per all the accepted definitions of time and maybe the fact that I learnt the usage and application of the new RED Epic camera in stunt sequences should remind me of it. But before I end it, I will leave you with the following:
Time (as defined by the first result in Google search) The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.
Imagine Tina Fey, channeling her alter ego, Liz Lemon of 30 Rock saying, "What the what?" to this. :)
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Thursday, August 26, 2010
In the constant state of flux that life is in, there is always a fear of losing out if we stop, if we don’t make that one call on our list, if we don’t work, if we sit around and do nothing. I, for one, can’t deal with not working for more than two days. It just freaks me out. I can’t sit still, I constantly complain about losing the precious time of my life and can’t help dwelling on the fact that I am not growing any younger. If I am not working, I have to write something atleast or see, like six films a day or do read a book or just keep at something until it is done. I even prefer completing my camera report books to relaxing. I guess I am a certified workaholic lunatic.
Last week, the Monday was no different than one of these restless break days. My hard working self was troubled as usual and the Monday blues weren’t helping either. Imagine having Monday blues even when you don’t have a 9-to-5 job or a five day week… Anyways I was at the window of my bedroom looking out at the non intimidating vastness of the sky against the meritless insolence of the high rises. Just then a crow caught my eye as it flew down from the 14th floor of a high rise to its 5th floor. It fluttered around a bit, pecked at a few potted plants and then flew down to the 3 ft swimming pool in the center of our housing complex that had recently filled up with muddy water. I kept watching as this crow touched the tip of the water and flew away…I didn’t follow it any more…instead I began to stare at the blue color of the swimming pool that permeated through the brown mud in the water. So strong was the blue that the brown couldn’t keep it down. Memories of the water camp that I visited almost five years back came flooding in to drown me.
There in the midst of the summer, on the outskirts of
I was almost uninspired for this hike until nature decided to set me up for competition. Suddenly the sun began to set rapidly as if the other side of the world was exorcising the night and the overall ambient light dropped like it were on a high impedance dimmer. I took the cue; I was racing against time. In my imaginary movie - like rendition of my life, I began rushing dramatically to catch up with my friend; background score (ref: Carmina Burana) running in my head, fierce expression on my face, ‘against all odds’ suddenly becoming the catch phrase of my life et all. Soon I caught up with my friend and then we raced together to the top of the hill. As we neared it, the sun had almost set. A minute later, we were standing on the flat top plain of the hill but the light had been just whip lashed from the sky. Almost. I turned to look at my friend, both of us still trying to catch our breath. He looked at me for a moment, smiled and then looked back at the horizon. In a split second, the light on his face brightened up. I turned to look towards the sea as the sun spilled out in its one last minute of eternal golden glory. In that moment, the sea became a resplendent green blue like a seamless sheet of floating diamonds and the sun ever so gently touched the diamonds but not the sea and made them sparkle; the sky became a canvas of all the beautiful magentas, oranges and pinks master stroked into each other lovingly, the air became heavy with the silence of the unspeakable beauty, the birds stopped chirping as if to gaze in wonder and my heart altogether forgot to breathe. I felt a lasting sense of peace, I smelled inspiration, tasted belief; things I couldn’t describe but only know inside. And then just like that, in the next moment the sun set. And everything went back to the time before that moment.
I turned back towards my friend. He was staring at the ground, still trying to catch his breath. He then looked up at me and said, “I am sorry, we missed it I guess.” I couldn’t understand, what did we miss? Then we walked back to our camp base without a single word, as if nothing had happened.
But till date that one moment exists in me like no other. And the deep blue of our swimming pool brought back the memories of that still life etched in time dwelling inside of me; a token of a miracle, an impossibility, an improbability; one of nature’s spectacles meant for the exclusive audience of me, my own personal brand of elixir. Was that the first night of the many dreams of celluloid I have had ever since? Maybe it was. Maybe not. I don’t know why but I feel that those still waters run deeper inside me than I can ever comprehend because I felt at peace thinking about them. I stayed relaxed all through that Monday and for the first time not working seemed much more productive than working itself. Just being still made sense and at the end of that day, I wrote much better than before….
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Have the words forgotten their way from my mind to my mouth? It certainly seems like that. They are lost somewhere deep inside the innermost recesses of my mind; their screams for help slowly smothered away. They used to define me; my thoughts, my perceptions, and my persona, skewered as it might be. And now they are just gone. Sometimes I think I have found a word or two to define, without any circumlocution, my transient thoughts at their moment of prime but those turn out to be just shadows, just hollow, pronunciation-less echoes in place of the words that used to exist in that mindscape. If I don’t crystallize what I feel, if I don’t understand what I think, I risk the chance of not changing into someone I could become. These words, these little indestructible chips of a language used to help me crystallize, solidify, assume and over a period of time, become.
This month, I finally found some time for myself, a time for introspection of what I have become. And at this very crucial time, my words have deserted me. I am unable to describe what has happened to me; it is a tragedy so unique and personal that it has no remedy or relief and quite ironically no description. Stranded amidst my nameless predicament, I scream but no sound emerges for the vocal chords have no phonetics to carve. Cause there are no words.
Sometimes I get the feeling that I am in a spotlight standing in a disgruntled, dingy place vaguely smelling of rotten wood. I am unaware of myself in a partial amnesiac way. And there are these non-entities staring down at me from all the sides. Breathing, moving non-entities whose shapes can’t be described. They don’t speak; just stare…as if incriminating me, admonishing me for some unspeakable crime. Daring me to confess, to admit that I had wronged them, repressed them someway….are these my words? Am I in their court?
Thursday, December 03, 2009
House: "Thank you. It was either that or get my hair highlighted. Smugness is easier to maintain.