Proverbial Justification

All good things come to those who wait,
Am I holding on to it as a safety net?
I don’t wish to fall into a space where
I can’t deal with what I get rather than expect.
Content are those who have nothing
Must I resort to this to stop the tears?
Poor little rich girl who has nothing to give but
Her words of stupid stature.

Love lifts us up where we belong
So does that mean I’m lower than dirt?
I’m jaded by the thought of never being prone
To something as universal as Belonging.
Patience is a virtue best learnt
I scuttle through that lesson…. Can’t seem to find anything there

What did Aesop know about morals?
I devoured proverbs like cotton candy.
They melt like air on my tongue leaving a pale discolouration
There’s nothing to be learnt from something that not there!

Where'd all the good music go?

In a contemporaneous world, where back up dancers and skimpy trappings serve as a bigger attraction than the consequential lyrical content or the innovative rhythm pattern that a musical artist is supposed to impart, audiences are subject to so much more than merely auditory creations. The loyal music lover now has access to the Fashion Industry, the latest gadgets that the 21st century conceives, the scandalous world of Tinsel Town and catering especially to their female fans… the latest trend of diet disorders. Women in the music business may have established some sort of platform for expression but like women world wide, they too have superfluous obstacles to confront. Satiating their own amorous needs now comes with the option of titillation and unnecessary exposure which distorts what the legends have worked so hard to pump through the Vein of Music into nothing more than substandard lyrics clad minimally.
What Madonna did ten years ago by hiking up her hemline and converting smooth to jagged seems to have earned itself a business of its own cleverly concealed within the music industry. The difference lies in the fact that Madonna was and continues to be a mould-shattering Musician, constantly experimenting with styles, genres and religions. Pioneers like her no longer take their job as musicians seriously. Most female artists today aim at breaking records of a varying kind. Take the case of Miss Spears and her 55-hour long marriage, or Jenny from the Block showcasing her unusually large block, leading to a boom in the department of cosmetic surgery. It’s obvious that with unparalleled fame and glory comes unfathomable popularity and rapidly the bar is elevated with each new artist aiming to top the previous chart buster. If not for this imposition of responsibility on popular artists, we would never have been witness to rebels like Nirvana, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Alanis Morissette. I suppose it would be safe to assume that priorities have changed and that the bar has descended to mere erotica.
The job of true music appreciation with respect to rock music has deteriorated to the nominal task of recognizing original riffs, comprehendible lyrics and the underlying passion in the creation. It’s no surprise that at this years Grammy’s went to veterans like U2. Since the 80’s, pushing musical restraints was an obsession for breakthrough talent. A young Rasta moved Jamaica off its shrouded orbit and into the wider morally conscious universe, another coloured man forever changed not just the way a common name like Jimmy was spelt but also the face of Rock music…. Women used music to convey their suppression and broke all stereotypical notions that they were burdened with. The Bangles, Joan Jett and Janis Joplin took on the male dominated world with fervor and determination to show that women belonged beside men and not below. Picking up from where the Ladies of Rock left off, I now turn to artists like Ani Di Franco, Tori Amos, Sheryl Crow and Suzanne Vega for inspiration and the hope that some good music still exists.
Younger talent shows angry streaks with a pseudo rebellious visage. Spreading love has turned to spreading hate. Equally moving as the love torn singers that crooned us in the last era, Avril Lavigne, Fefe Dobson and American idol winner Kelly Clarkson prove to be extremely efficient at portraying their pain through lovable tunes. I’m not including Jazz artists of the younger wave because jazz as a genre is like clay…. Free for anybody to be inspired by what has been sculpted in the past and therefore encouraging people to experiment and personalize their jazz. Norah Jones, Michael Buble’ and Jamie Cullum can incorporate their own fancies into older tunes or reinvent by blending different genres into a basic jazz riff. Hence the saying…there is no such thing as bad jazz!!
Rock music on the other hand, if it were to deviate from its set-in-stone rules is then labeled as “Pop” or “Alternative”. The impact and incidence falls on the audience and loyal fans of Rock through the ages as they now have the terrible onus of filtering the original from the pretentious leather modeling boy bands. Just because Lindsay Lohan and Ashlee Simpson hold guitars and write about their “painful” adolescent experiences does not mean they qualify to be compared to Sarah Mclachlan and Shania Twain. I’m not suggesting that youth equates artificiality; in fact I’m desperately search out the best of these celebrities who try to do too much in a short period of time. I admire the fact that these determined young women are showing the world how fashionable too many feathers can be on one hat but when it results in un-necessary publicity and when musical admiration extends to simple teenagers replicating their lifestyles, the essence of a musician takes a place in the backseat. Women are particularly susceptible to nervous breakdowns and the obligation to be successful over achievers than the men because as female artists they are socially expected to visually cater to all audiences irrespective of age and the fact that they maybe tone deaf. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why T.A.T.U gained more popularity overnight than older, more skilled female musicians like Sheryl Crow whose career took more than ten years to launch.
What I am grateful for is that the trend-obsessed fan gets bored and moves to the next “in” thing in the cycle. This results in lousy, non-musicians to feel the pinch of their short-lived reign in the music industry and leave while they’re ahead of the game. Nearly half of these “have-beens” are then classified under One Hit Wonders while another section returns in the future claiming to be better, more attractive and free of all that was holding them down…. Bands break up and members appear in solo performances, soon collaborating with more musicians that have mastered the circuit, blondes turn to brunettes, while brunettes turn blonde, people shell out whatever money that remains from the glory days to pay for complete and irreversible make overs and dieticians. Change is the secret of their comeback and change in choice of music is the only cure for such an insipid takeover in the once hailed music industry. The only thing that the industry manufactures now is eye candy and glitterati. It would be extremely wise to follow what Marx told his followers after the Industrial Revolution….. Fighting the restrictive and biased view of the authority is inevitable when there exists discontent amongst the suppressed. A revolution is the culmination of all confrontation between those in control of the factors of production and the oblivious and helpless consumers. So why not use the same principle to alter the face of the music production houses? Why can’t we return to the roots of music and produce pioneers and legends instead of celebrities who rake in more money through the consumer driven impulses of their fans as opposed to the so called “Music” they are making? Till this urge to be content with what we see changes to judging musicians by what we hear continues, the question -- where did all the good music go?- will continue to haunt me.

Rise and Fall??

I'm restless.... and distracted... I can barely comprehend what's happening around me... I'm lost in some other world...a realm that deserves no immediate attention... Imagining how the future might unravel or how the past turned into relevant history can take the back seat for now...that's what my parents say!
My friends say i should follow my heart...which at this very moment is beating faster than the wings of a darting humming bird... My heart... it's the same one that led me to this unusual predicament...this nerve racking spot, that is gradually creating the illusion of a dead end. I better not start believing in full stops, they never finalized anything anyway... they're always a way of pushing through right.. after all we can't possibly equate death with closure..Breaking the cycle would never be easier! But my heart can't be a definate and singular choice to stick by...
Like those people on Guiness Prime Time, who balance three china sets on chopsticks, had we had conquered the art of balancing... promiscuous men would have umpteen successful affairs while the faithful one's would stay married till they saw their grandkids go to college! Women would have enough money to buy shoes and fetch the grocceries.. teenagers would not be sitting up at four a.m on a tuesday morning, anticipating {un-eagerly}, the obligatory coaching class, only to return to write about their puzzling life situations on their blog... IS LIFE MERELY THE ART OF INTERTWINING THE DICTATIONS OF THE HEART AND THE HEAD OR ARE THERE REALLY ROSES WE NEED TO STOP AND SMELL ALONG THE WAY ???
While this perplexity corrodes me on the inside, leaving me with migrains and absolutely no appetite for anything...food or otherwise! It's almost impossible to define this cloud hanging over my head... it's not a dark, horrific mood i'm in...i love the way life is proceeding but if only i could make sense of the way things are proceeding... i'm not upset for everything in life is satisfactory without me trying to complicate things... i'm not on the brink of any kind of breakdown or crisis... i'm certain of that...and i havent fought with anybody to be writing this as an outpour of a bitter argument...
This feeling frightens me only because it's the first time in my life that i know not what i'm doing, and therefore, know not what the circumstances of a completely spontaneous life could be... I sense a loss of control that i loathe more than anything in the world... i have to be the one at the steering wheel {in the absence of a better driver}...even if i'm tooh short to obtain a clear view of the road ahead...

Clandestine Mirth

This is my happy secret…
I laugh when no one is around
This untranslatable smile plastered to my face
I pity those who know me not
They’ll never understand what’s running through my mind
Most of the time, I can barely comprehend
What you did to me with words
Time and Patience confer and concur
How did this happen?
How could I be so blind?
And I thought my forte’ was reading vibes
Strike that off my resume
In retrospect, I couldn’t see how this unlikely transformation
Could have been improvised
You did your homework
Our teachers would be happy if this were academically inclined
I’m smiling still
But there also lies this vein that’s throbbing with fear
Fear of losing you, fear of losing myself
Fear of not being up to this unexpected task
I suppose perfection comes with Adjustment
I suppose perfection is not on the menu right now
While I adjust to this incredible new feeling
Thank you for placing this smile on my face!

It pays to listen..... Lend me what your vocal chords create!

An intellectually stimulating friend of mine{ who is better known to those of that read this blog as General Disarray in my comment space}, jump started something within that i presumed had died a couple of years ago.... the possibility to fall in love with someone outside my family tree. I was impregnated by a loathing for most men i encountered and like most causes i support, had no proper backing for save the painful experiences that revolved around certain men i allowed into my life.
In time i have healed like everybody else, and although i have found ways to forgive not only the men but myself as well... i doubt the memory will escape me anytime soon. I presume it was precisely this haunting recollection that formed the epicentre for the love-bashing previous posts. I admit i allowed myself to be overwhelmed by a feeling of incomprehension guised as contempt but i will not delete that chapter purely because it serves as a snapshot of sorts portraying a personal outlook to certain elements in life at a certain point of time.
Therefore this serves as a reminder to those bewildered by my bizarre opinions about love and men. I direct those words at those who presume that love is an imperative occurrance and take it for granted. I dedicate it to those who taint an abstract, affirmative emotion. I dedicate to certain categories of men and women who take advantage of the innocence that love could ignite.I dedicate this to the time i lost thinking the fault was mine alone.
General tell me if this clears the fog??

Let go!

Hanging onto something you believe in is easy... you always turn to the notion you aspire to obtain in times of difficulty, knowing that it can elevate your down-trodden state. But even when we are ecstatic and overwhelmed by excitement we look UPTO our dream.It's almost as if actually realizing a dream is an impossible task... probably because humans are never satisfied with what they get.
It's just something i thought worth pointing out. I've always been one to stick my hand into too many cookie jars, trying too much, too fast! In the end i end up with a tummy ache and the urge to switch to cream crackers.... satiating needs is impossible! humans are too vain to ignore comments by those they don't even care about, hence they can never just be! Even when they seek escapisms of sorts, they care about what strangers think.

Sour Grapes!

I loathe those capable of love
More than those who suspect they spread it.
I’ve heard of fatally contractible diseases known to have a lower a success rate of multiplication
Than the widely popularized act called Love
It’s more like a Donna Karen dress in the department window.
Shiny, fragrant, NEW and most importantly affordable
A season turns and the obsessiveness at purchase is now a just a ripped page out of an old issue.
Call me foolish to think I can avoid it. That the gods will leave me with no choice and I be privileged to live a life with Cupid and his blunt arrows.

I hate those who kiss by moonlight, who kiss by the book, the clock or the calendar.
It’s so passé.
To think that man had moved up the evolutionary chain to walk the planet empowered with facets our forefathers could not boast of
I take the leash only to be bitten by a rabid dog rather than a “ modern” man
That has to be it!!
I’m diseased too, like those sick, pathetic fools
Holding hands, waiting, wanting, Happy… Ignorant
Waiting…. True! Wanting…. Yes! Happy being unable to join palms?
Absolutely…says a lover of sarcasm

I hate Valentine and Aphrodite in their flawless, white robes and flanked by descending
petals
Crazy to pick some random day that Hallmark and Archie’s endorse and celebrate
Romance is dead…Creativity is annihilated and Compromise is settling for lust
The madness prevails like sunshine through a greenhouse, touching every bud
Heating every dew drop that hangs on the edge till it boils with fervor and falls
Pluck my eyes out before I look upon such zombies, mindlessly wandering the lonely planet in search of equally insane counterparts
With Cosmo-dictated qualities
Shame on me for presuming I could stoop to match such desperation
I am better than that. I am better than Love!

Ball Boy!!

What happened to happy days?
Who rained on my parade?
Did I do something to take you away from me?
Can I change that with a smile?
Would you stay for a little while?
Or did I ask for too much when you had none?

Take me back so I could do it over
This time I’ll try to go slower
Erasing all that caused you to leave
But I have a price that you’ll have to accept
I’m fragile so be kind or forfeit
Hope you see I can stand on my own
Pick up the ball…it’s in your court.

An ode to the death of reciprocity.

MBA....My Bashed Ambitions!

I enter the room and carefully pick my seat in the empty classroom enclosed by four walls with its paint peeling off. If i sit right in front i might exude overly enthusiastic vibes that could be mistaken for a will to participate, but if i sit right at the back,it might result in an erroneous presumption that i wish to challenge the tutor in everyway. Second bench seems about right!!
Within the next two hours i quietly endured what seemed to be days of torture.... i was propelled into eleventh grade again, where i couldn't comprehend the thick Telugu-laced accent that bombarded me with numbers and singular alphabets like x and y. As they were placed in a multitude of visually varying but equally disorienting sequences, i wished i could run out of the room, screaming bloody murder. But that would be too rude to the rest of the class{ or the mind numbingly juevenille bunch as i fondly refer to them.}, who were sinfully devouring each word the teacher{ who weirdly enough knows his material and yet can't get a better job than drilling aspiring MBA'S and me... Inspiring huh??} emits.
I enjoyed the mental jog i had although i wished it followed a more flexible evening schedule as opposed to the crack of dawn work out. I see the potential these classes could have... if only i could keep up with Einstein's offspring in my class... I keep telling my father{ whose brilliant idea this was.... I must be a terrible daughter!!} that he need not pay seven thousand bucks to see me humiliated and my ego obliterated. So here i am... recuperating from an extremely demeaning experience and praying for a miracle... that i survive the next 50 sessions!!
The only thing i can be grateful for is the fact that i'm suffering from a terrible eye infection which in turn has forced me to part with my contact lenses and place my oversized glasses over my nose. This serves as the perfect camouflage in the classroom filled with know-it-all-except-acting-my-aged people! Maybe i should pull my pants upto my chin, gel my hair back and throw in a "May i come in sir" with my arm stuck out into the empty space before me... then i'll definately be onto something!

The Rat Race...Run Stuart Run!!!

I'm back home but instead of being welcomed by a hospitable and comforting household...i find my residence in Secunderabad to resemble a battlefield of sorts. My mother and i bicker over the most negligible of topics like a damn cable not fitting into its respective plug point or the fact that we're both as clueless about my future that it scares us successively... one triggering off the other. I cannot believe that withtin the next year, i have to single-handedly figure out and establish an occupation worth talking about. Being the only child obviously has only negative points with respect to this field as I have to take up the onus of giving back to my parents, one tenth of what they gave me.
Just when i thought the summer of 2006 couldnt get better with me successfully getting into the Department of English Literature and being allowed to move out with one of the closest friends i have for next academic year. I feel confined, like someone's put blinders on me, forcing me to join the rat race.... the competitive world of job hunting and cut throat strategies awaits me!! The rigidness and the finality of it scares me.... Me and a job interview... Just two weeks ago i was fretting about the interview i had with my English teacher to decide if i get my major and now i have to hold onto this time bomb that is bound to explode in my hands since i have no idea how to dismantle it.... Could the answer lie with U2 or my newly acquired MBA course books.?? If only i knew!!