Things learnt along the way…

WordItOut-word-cloud-376600Ok then, after one entire semester and two Nukkad Natak performances, I have come at terms with the level of dedication the Dramatics Club requires. Having keenly observed our seniors and getting into the groove with the underlying reason why we do Nukkad Natak, I have come to realize a thing or two about the dynamics involved. Initially, I used to have this feeling about myself that I have a great passion for performance arts, that I have pretty good skills regarding dramatics and that once I go to college; I will be an asset for the Dramatics Club over there. Only if I had realized how gullible it was to think this on my part! Not saying that I was completely wrong and had made myself believe something like a fool, but that joining the IIT-J Nukkad Mandali has been an eye opener and that too, on many levels.

First and foremost, the club is a great leveler, and quite frankly puts things into perspective. You get to meet people, know their thought processes, and get to develop and maturate your own. No matter what mama said, you are NOT god’s special snowflake. There are 20 more of you in any given area. The only optimistic approach you will need when this realization dawns on to you is to find the people you love and a thing which you love doing and do it. People will notice!

The next pivotal part of this club is scripting. Well, I for one haven’t been the part of this activity being a newbie, but have certainly deduced a thing or two about the intricacy involved. Essentially, an “artist” with nothing to say is “retired”. Going by this adage, you really need real-life experiences, you need ideas and emotions flowing through you when you’re actively creating, and even more so when you are not.

As is the case with most of the acquired skill sets, one should always remember this – you’re not done learning. One simply can’t sport a know-it-all attitude with people he is working with. A highly flexible and personalized outlook is necessary to remain an active, versatile and productive club.

Now there’s something which I don’t associate to having learnt upon joining the club. It is something which I believe in inherently. Showing professionalism along with your passion towards pure, romantic art is not always a bad idea. Adding fresh dash of creative and commercial ideas apart from staying close to your roots will prove to be an added bonus. Having a plan helps, really!

Then obviously, talking about being the part of an extended and a special family, I should say I love being the part of this Bakait group. The level of fun and entertainment we have is surely unmatched. And boy, should I mention the jealous looks of my peers when they see me exhausted on returning from those frequent and well deserved parties?

It has been a great start, so to say. Desperately waiting for what lies ahead…


Afternoon Blues…


Calm, quite Sunday afternoon . . . Lull ness at its peak. You decide to take a nap. But hang on . . . you look outside the window, golden rays of sunlight are falling on the vivid carpet of green outside, filtered by the dizzy leaves of the giant banyan. At the far end of the lawn, a woodcutter is busy shredding a fallen tree into pieces. The shattering branches occasionally rupture the otherwise beautiful and stupefying silence. A level below, you faintly hear your neighbor softly playing the intermezzo “Dhoop Ke Makaan Sa Ye”. Even you start to hum the jazzy tune and decide to forgo your siesta to admire the apparent beauty and poignancy of the world outside at this odd juncture.

As you admire the progress your home grown jasmine flower has made, your inner voice sarcastically remarks, “How poetic!!” You sigh . . . From your perspective, there are two types of guys in the world. One lot of them is alpha males, high on adrenaline, unsentimental and forever pissed off at things. The other lot of them is new generation males, often found sitting in the lounges, enjoying books and music, having a good social life. Well, you belong to the former lot (so does your inner voice scathingly reminds you) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . or the latter one??? Aah, you’re always confused about this. You don’t want to delve into this line of thought and decide to ignore your inner voice for this once.

Somewhere in the distance, a few birds have started chirruping a fine melody. The refrigerator’s humming on its own accord and your clock chimes 4. The woodcutter has finished his chore. He leaves. Deathly silence. The day had been busy for you with you completing all the unfinished business of the week. While sipping your kirsch, you gaze around at the houses of your suburb. Your mind is blank. The water in the pool outside your house shimmers weakly as it prepares to bid farewell to the sun yet another day.

Silence is suddenly torn by your cell phone’s message beep. You decide to see to it later. For now, it’s only you and the sleepy silence around.

You begin to reminisce about your past. Those beautiful days and that emblematic feeling of freshness when you first came down to settle in this suburb, away from the world. The world has changed quite a lot from then, but not this suburb. The people hear are good. You sometimes play soccer with the kids; the next-door grannies occasionally offer you home-made brownies; friends frequently barge in your house for dinner. . . It’s a wonderful life out here.

You suddenly notice a lizard on the wall observing you intently. It is distracted by a fly in its vicinity. Zap, the fly is struggling for its life. Crunch, the fly is dead. You begin to ponder over cycle of life and death. Bah, it is getting too philosophical. As for now, you suddenly realize that you haven’t even switched on the fans and yet you are feeling comfy. Symptoms of afternoon blues, you guess. You finally decide to see who had SMSed you.

It’s Yatharth. Your lips curl into a smile. A series of accidental events made him your best friend. And since then, he has been your guardian angel. His camaraderie is one of the few things you cherish in your life because you are an introvert soul, always in doubt. Yatharth’s the one who understands you and gives you a reality check when you need it and … when (you think) you don’t. You remember you have to return Yatharth’s ‘The God of Small Things’. Having made a mental note of that, you decide to have a hot cup of cappuccino (why, pray???).

Within minutes, you are with your mug sitting on the swing outside and feeling the warm breeze ruffle your well-combed hair. As a child, you always loved warm breezes. Cold breezes made you sneeze. Strange why people like cold breezes!

Your suburb is a green haven. Gigantic and wizening trees stand like mighty sentinels on both sides of the road. Parched yellow grass with green patches ornaments the level ground which is occasionally pimpled with small hillocks. Neatly trimmed bushes ….flowers in full bloom ….a peacock strutting majestically along the hedges ….dragonflies hovering about randomly in the air ….little ants scurrying off in directions unknown. You wish that this momentary bliss was eternal. You wish you could dissolve away in the sweet smell of laburnum. You wish you could forever breathe in the intoxicating smell of wet grass. You wish you could be a part of this evaporating silence, away from the sickening pandemonium of daily routine.

As your body bathes in the departing sunlight, you wish this serendipity never ends and that every quantum of your body could shimmer in its exorbitant elegance. This moment is a poet’s dream, you chuckle silently. Romanticism is what is usually delivered in poetry after such encounters!!

A bead of sweat trickles down your face. You glance at your watch. 5:30. Tut, tut, time to go home (!!!), you remind yourself and whistle back indoors leaving a bit of your essence outside which eventually sublimes into nothingness. You seriously think that this mystifying experience has had an indelible impact on you, yet you forget about it the very next day….