Friday, May 18, 2007

Addressing Anonymous


There is a certain romance, an air of mystery that surrounds the ‘anonymous author’, almost akin to that felt when one stands before the flame dedicated to the Unknown Soldier. What is it about the ‘A’ word that arouses the tinge of dissatisfaction that it does. The lack of a personal touch perhaps. For most people reading a piece is a personal exercise, a mute discourse with the person whose ideas have engaged his time and attention. A piece that moves you, which you identify with or even one whose humor obtains your seal of approval (read laughter) leads you to wonder about the individual behind the name who has been able to invoke such emotions in you. 

Anonymous may signify a dead end in this regard, however it is in fact a challenge to your imagination.The questions that can be asked are many. How much of an author’s personality is stamped in his work? Can you conjure up a caricature of the author through his work? Would it not be interesting to expend some of your imagination on what or who the nameless, faceless person is? Would that be the truest comment on the author, unmarred by the considerations of background, times or gender, based solely on the intensity of his/ her ideas?
In the world of anonymity, the concept of a pseudo name offers a brighter prospect of gaining familiarity with the elusive author. An anonymous and a pseudo name differ in many respects. Chiefly it can be said that while a pseudo name is a form of anonymity, anonymous is certainly not a pseudo name. You may come across another anonymous write up and never know if the anonymous-es were the same. On the other hand, a series of works could be published under a pseudo name.

This may sound a tad bit more interesting if you were aware of the fact that Mark Twain, Charlotte Bronte, Ayn Rand, Saki and even Voltaire were actually pseudo names. A pseudo name is a story waiting to be told. The reasons why an author would distance himself from his work by adopting a pseudo are myriad. Why Alisa Zinov’yevna Rosenbaum would want to be published as Ayn Rand is not hard to fathom, however there exist more complex reasons like wanting to disassociate yourself from the views expressed. So Salman Rushdie may have considered ‘Saldie’ if he cared enough for his head or if he belonged to the fairer sex.


Virginia Woolfe’s remark ‘For most of history, anonymous was a woman’ holds true in context of women authors who adopted names of men in order to be taken seriously. Though the concept of anonymity may have become redundant today, what with the onslaught of information technology, the emergence of liberal polities and the right to freedom of expression finding their rightful places world over. Yet the ‘A’ factor refuses to go away. Ever wondered where those forwarded messages on your cell phone come from?


Friday, May 11, 2007

MU-SIC(K)

The music definitely struck a chord. Unfortunately the wrong one. Tirades against remixes are now passé, remixes are now popular culture. Sometimes I wonder if popularity precludes debate and discussion. What I intend to do here definitely precludes any two way interaction, because I have chosen a self conceited form of expression called an article which I shall use as an excuse to be opinionated about something that I love enough to be opinionated about. Music.


I am sure I share the passion for music with many many people. There is something about music that completely takes you. Of course it is right up there, a recognized form of Art. And like all forms of art, the basic uncorrupted desire for perfection and beauty that music manifests, is what really enchants the human perception. A whole lot of highly worded ideals you may say, so I shall just do a simpler analogy. Now every musical piece has three essentials, the melody or rhythm, the words the lyrics and the spirit.




Leaving aside instrumental music which I think is composed of self-explanatory ‘notes’, the music that we encounter in our daily life, is complete with the words. Have you ever asked yourself why you like the kind of music you do? Maybe it’s the tune, maybe it’s the words…or maybe it’s both! As I have discovered, my own preferences lie in my heart and mind. Romantic as it may sound, it is not really just another cliché. The beating of the heart for me defines man’s urge for the making and savouring of all that is perfect in terms of its symmetry and pattern. Isn’t that what ‘beat’ is all about? In fact ever noticed how when in conversation, the bits that we appreciate most or get our most vigorous nods are those which we relate to, something which somewhere reflects our own reality? Ever gone to a disc and felt the dance beats, reverberate inside your own rib cage? Of course in discs the words are hardly of any concern, so there is also very low probability that you would fall in love with a song you first heard at a disc. Incidentally most people describe their dancing bouts at discs as ‘dancing like crazy’, which essentially further reduces the probability of your falling in love with a song there, since your brain anyway is not as interested in functioning as you are interested in impressing the cute guy/gal in the other group with your moves. So am I suggesting that even appreciating music requires brains?? Absolutely not. It just requires any brain, in fact the uniqueness of your grey- matter matters a lot here. What makes a song special to you is the kaleidoscope of memories, thoughts and sometimes fantasies that it conjures in your mind’s eye. Which is why I believe having your own choice in music is part of your person, you may copy song choices but you can’t really do the memory/thought/fantasy transfer business- yet.




My point is simply this, the rhythm of music appeals to your heart while the words even though they may touch your heart, are brought to life by your mind. Personally I would move to anything that makes me want to move, but I like only those songs whose words make sense to me, but those pieces which are really unforgettable are those whose spirit make me feel alive. The spirit of a song may sound like an insane idea, but it is actually the premise of the crime I am about to describe. Ok so maybe it is not a crime under any code, but what would you call lyrics like- babay where did you get your body from? Babay if you strip, you can get a tip cos I like you just the way you are… When are you going to give it up to me? I mean come on, why even use any words, just scream SEX! SEX! SEX! and get over with the song damn it. Frankly its not the overbearing ‘ I want to have sex with that hot girl/s / mama / s tone that I find nauseating, it’s the fact that the spirit of the song is not even sex. I have heard enough music to vouch for the existence of songs which musi-fy the same feelings of want, desire and lust without making you sick. To me the spirit of these songs can be best described in one word – F*@#. Considering how often that word has been used in the songs I am referring to, I am surprised we still use those beautiful graphics to spell it. Which brings me to another feature of this kind of music- repetition of words, lyrics and well noises – sometimes it really sounds like a woman faking an orgasm. The most creative lyrics I have come upon till now are from Will I Am (which grade English man?); In answer to his profound question- Babay where did you get your body from? The babay/s reply: I got it from my mama (Babay repeats this three times, I think the music director if there was one thought it sounded good. It did. but anything said in that ‘come and get me’ tone of a woman would) Taking the profundity to a new level the song then goes on to explain how “ if the girl really pretty, I guarantee she is pretty like her mama… if the mama really ugly I guarantee she is going to be ugly like her mama. Really??




For a moment let me leave the- it hurts my musical sensibilities argument aside, it even hurts my sensibilities as a woman. I have heard some very snide comments about the portrayal of woman in Hindi cinema and post-Ekta Kapoor in Indian Television, as being highly derogatory in nature. What with saree- clad sati savitris and sorry storylines. At the same time I have followed the music scene on the other side of the world from the time I learnt English- their English I mean. But from ‘Living Next Door to Alice’ to ‘ I Wanna Love You’ the tone and tenor of the songs have definitely undergone a not-so-subtle change ( the not-so-subtle bit can also be applied to Akon’s ‘I Wanna Love you’. Every time I hear one of those songs, I can almost see myself in da club, with men high on testosterone (or maybe Viagra) and women in as little clothes as there is sense in the song, waiting to be picked up. Yes! Waiting to be picked up, by the first man who calls her body sexy. The nausea that washes over my conscience is my tribute to feminism. Let us not forget that music after all is a product of a culture. If musical pornography has infiltrated the west, how can India be far ‘behind’? In my two decades of belonging to a generation which thinks it’s moral to ape the west, but immoral to admit you ape, for the first time I feel a disconnect. The Cultural Gap just got outsourced.




-19 years, 2007


Tears in a Desert




In the silent stony sands lies buried its fury,
In the play of the winds is carved its shapeless beauty,
The abyss prevailing as deep as its haunting vastness,
And life slips like the grains clutched in helplessness…

He walks. He stops. He looks. He hears.
The thirst is a scream against his ears,
The last meal. He struggles to remember…
In his stomach it’s now a burning ember.

You make your destiny, they all say…
The world belongs to those who find their way.
He had prepared for the journey, but this defeat?
He couldn’t understand, he had not chosen it.


Show me! Show me the miracle I seek,
Make me believe that thou are not weak
Here I am, the wounded soldier of the lord,
Not the martyr of an unforgiving God…

Water! In his eyes, a glint of madness, its reflection 
Alas! The water, the hope, the faith is an illusion
His soul alight, his words the cackle of dry leaves.
Of what use, a sky that on my grave grieves?

 Till the heavens open up above me,
Or from the depths of the earth life springs free
Like this I shall wait, I shall not fall
Let the lord know, the spirit of man stands tall…

But hollow barks shall break, broken was he,
Man must nurture a supple faith, a special tree.
They glistened on his palm, the light shone,
 In the dark of his eye, hope was sown.

Let not the soul within die,
My god is as strong as I.

-19 years, 2007