Friday, July 23, 2010

Through the Echoes . . .

Almost an year ago I knocked the door of the room in the hostel where I met my friend Almeiz for the first time. A well built Kyrgyz lad whom I'd disturbed from an afternoon sleep. The room was as all rooms are meant to be; so I will reminisce about something else. To my surprise I discovered that my friend couldnt speak English at all. And to his inconvenient awareness, I would do no better, as Kyrgyz or Russian to me were as new as today's rain.
Later, as we both started understanding each other through a new 'other' language: a result of our hardwork over the days in building words combined with some crisp sign-gesturing, we realized some time later that, on that first day itself, we welcomed each other with friendly intent.
But I would like to go back again to that first afternoon in the room. As I took seat against the table and looked in front, an unlit wall-lamp beckoned me to feel at home. The next moment my table was struck to life with the beautiful warm raylights of the bulb. The lamp had also lightened a portion on the wall on which I read words that I apparently took as most welcoming:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I knew immediately, reading lines from Frost, that words are sign(s) of things to come.
Re-reading the lines on the wall found strange echoes in my mind. While watching Bela Tarr's film 'Satantango' some time ago I had come across these words from a character:

“They haven’t a clue that it is this idle passivity that leaves them at the mercy of what they fear most”

I cherished the connection that these dissimilar ways of saying a similar thing impressed on me. And recently, did I find one more echo in Boris Pasternak:

Keep awake, keep awake, artist,
Do not give in to sleep . . .
You are eternity's hostage
And prisoner of time.

As I write these words, missing my friend who left few months ago, I hope (first, I don't sleep more than needed ;-) ) with nothing but words in my hands that the echoes live on, get echoed in more rooms, beneath more lamps and in the hearts of more Friends.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Second Coming.

Hey. Its been a while since the last post; quite a while. But this time I intend to remain active.
Want to start with a quotation ofcourse:

"A smile is the chosen vehicle for all ambiguities." ~ Herman Melville

I was reading these words few days ago somewhere. Couldn't help smiling myself.
How true Melville is I started wondering. And suddenly , like a whirlwind, I am reminded of numerous instances where, while reading the novels that we read, faint flickering smiles accompany our faces, just like our thoughts escort the writing's ambiguous paradoxes which (if considered naturally) help in rendering our own life experiences.
Ambiguity, sharing the most natural of connections with the Arts we create, render, imagine and yield to, reflects the essence of what we are. You might wonder and ask me, :"does it"? I reply, with an equally mysterious smile that Melville intends to ponder on through his words, "perhaps".