So, I met a musician

Musicians are flamboyant people they say. Vibrant, classy, full of inertia, charming, crowd pullers, all in all an intimidating specie, if one could say. So, I met a musician today.
A small trek of 600mts and I was on the top of a small hill next to anjana beach. Boasting a cross which gleamed under the orange light of setting sun, peacocks which  jumped around like metro hookups, the geography was scenic to say the least and boats crossing the pathway of laid back sun rays, made it further suger coated.
At such a wealthy, yet an isolated place, you don't expect to hear the music exhaled by a saxophone, and here I did. One nervous peek and I saw a man in white lenin shirt and black shorts, sitting on the adjacent cliff, faithfully indulged in his own musical serenity. The man continued to play with no audience, no applause driven hands and no definite purpose, apparently. I chose to settle down on the next cliff, far from his site, yet close enough to flirt with his music. The sun did set in the same direction, with the same plight, but the music, the music just made it sleeker. The  moment stayed with  me, so in my camera, my instagram, my whatsapp but not the feeling , so much for technology.
The musician got up and walked off,  as darkness was almost knocking our door and that's when we made an eye contact. I was already having a fan boy moment by then, so I smiled and told him, how good a musician he was. He smiled back and believe you me, he must have been 45+, but that was the most good looking smile on a man I have ever seen. He said thank you in return, which probably should have been the least of my ode to him, for making this evening what it was, I thought.
My fan eyes shamelessly stared at him till his last glimpse as he walked down shaking his head as if he was dancing to some non-existent music. His right sleeve, hanging in air, kissing the breeze, flowing like a heart empty of inhibitions, while his left sleeve, occupied by his only hand, held his musical instrument.
Intimidated by his arena, I sat there, feeling lucky to be at that very moment, at the right time.
Inspirational, motivational, overwhelming, would be understating the encounter, magical probably would be the closest word.
To modify and quote from one of my favorite movies;

"Magic is all around us, all you need to do, is immerse"

(original quote) music is all around us, all you need to do, is listen. (August rush)

P. S; It's a small but gorgeous trek, the place has a white vintage cross, dark honest rocks, peacocks all around, and nice panaromic view of the entire landscape.

Colors Of Life

I took an empty canvas; I had the thought of painting something beautiful, something refreshing, something colorful. The constant honk of horns, the blazing fire of economy, the silent fears of failure and madness, madness of people, in people, to succeed, to defeat, to earn, to learn, to show off, to blow off whistles, it was everything that prompted me to take an empty canvas, a canvas where I can paint things, create my own world, create a colorful world, at least bare minimum, a black and white world and just not grey. I splashed colors on my white piece of paper, but nothing came upon, it remained colorless or in other words, sober. I tried paints, crayons, imaginations, definitions, everything, but nothing, absolutely nothing worked. In sheer accumulated anger I took out the ball pen from my pocket and scratched the entire paper and surprisingly it worked. I saw lines, blue, wide, bold lines. The paper responded, may be this pen was magical. I recalled from the faintest parts of my memory and I realized that it was a cheap, unsophisticated pen, which I didn't even intend to buy. The purchase was forced onto me by a kid who was selling pens on a traffic signal. To keep his assumed dirty hands off me, I bought the pen without any resentment, though I remember a smile, a little piece of smile decorated on his lips, on a 12 year old boy’s lips, who just made a sale, which might just feed his family and suddenly I realized why the pen worked. The canvas of life is actually full of colors we just choose to see through them. Colors born from passionate hearts, colors born from motivated souls, colors born from carefree smiles, colors born from innocent hearts, colors born from smiles of relief and so many more colors that we breathe rainbows every day. So just smile and open the windows of your heart, there might be a rainbow peaking in.

Young and Carefree

Sitting in balcony, sipping on his usual winter sun and keeping a track of every passing human being in order to not to miss a chance to greet the one he knows, unlike his friends who tend to tilt their heads down when they spot a known person just to bypass an extra second spent in conversations and bonding, which in fact really confuses him. A butterfly, colorful as rainbow and sparkling like a materialistic ruby catches the attention of his wandering eyes. Drawn to its beauty like a film star to his fame, he moves ahead forgetting the fact that he is barred by society, oh! Wait, by the grills of his balcony, attached to his house, located in his society, though still the same.

Anyways,  mesmerized by the little beauty, he runs out of the balcony, into the living room, the balcony door shuts back with loud noise, almost sounding like an explosion, an explosion of anticipation, mother shouts from inside, reacting to the large loud step. The boy nevertheless runs across the room, faintly tipping the glass table, grasping for breath, he unlocks the latch on door, the metal makes creepy sound, as the door opens and white light fills the entire room, light of eternity he thought in his head or he should have thought, but his mind was too occupied by anticipation that he virtually goes blank as he runs out, out of the house, out of the house situated in a society, marked by rules and orders, tradition and judgments, he runs, he runs to discover the lost visual of a tinny little beautiful butterfly, still so complex that it seems like a miracle. His head goes in left and so does in right, his mind goes in despair and heart goes in desire, his thoughts fluctuates between withdrawal and persistence, torn by the choice, his absent nervous system registers a blink of a movement on RIGHT side, it was the butterfly. He jumps in joy but as he lands his left knee hurts, his vision not so pristine and the power with which he cuts through the polluted air to reach as close as possible to the desirable creature seems like a faint sneeze. He notices that he actually aged while running behind his choice, his desire, and his adventure. But he is happy, he went against the rules, he was not bound by judgment or bruises, he ran like a wind, a free wind, he followed his heart like a child. It doesn't matter how old was he and what religion he followed, doesn't matter what day it was or which phone he owned, what matters, is his heart, his heart remained young and carefree.

“Hai guzarish itni tujhse, karun jab aankhein band mein,

Uss pal suraj ko thoda bhigo ke chamkana,

hawa ko befikra bahana,

fullon ko thoda aur rijhana,

lag jaye pata har jigre ko,

jaye na kabhi woh, jawan hai jo zamana”

Always Ass(istant)assinated Director

Why do you want to join films?

:Sir, since I was a child I wanted to make films, I have seen all your films, I am a big fan, I want to join you and one day under your guidance I want to tell a story hence make a film.

:First thing first, stop thinking about films, stop thinking that you can and you will make a film, you are just a kid, what 25-30 year old, na you can’t make a film, think of becoming a good assistant director, be my 23^rd assistant director, you will learn a lot.

This is what you hear when you first share your dream. Beginner’s luck they say and if this is luck, what would be the “un” part of it. Kindly stop reading here itself, if you have a weak heart or if you are below 5 years of age ( and damn these 5 year olds can actually ride phones, I already feel like fossil). This is not gonna be a fairy tale considering even if you lose your shoe or even if the watch hits the sweet pain removing, above 1 and half shift, 12 midnight, it will not end.

For the brave hearts from here on; they say you need to be a good assistant director to become a director one day. It is like training, you see, something which various governments across the world are considering to implement, to get the truth out of convicts. If and when you survive it, you can even be the president of this country, tackling bombs and blames every day.

Well it is true to a point, it is a ladder, which you gotta climb but the only problem is, this ladder is longer than the persona of bhai and tantrums of a newly married “lughai”( bride). The moment you believe you are getting close, somebody’s uncle’s nephew, director’s sister’s son, actress’s little brother, producer’s outdoor schedule and indoor schedule son, cameraman’s hi-bye sister and many such extremely talented people present themselves in your path, generating 2 packet cigarette smoking worth, healthy competition and you slog and slog it till your nose hair turns white.

Apart from little tiny hostile environment, there is one success mantra for becoming an amazing assistant director, which is, hold your breath as we are not going to mention talent but one single quality of accepting that you are NOT RIGHT. Yes you read it right but hey you are not right, you suggest something good which might even be accepted but wait you are not right, you arrange the entire scene, put everyone in place and suddenly director changes his/her mind and guess what, it’s your mistake, you off course Mr. are not right. You take the temper of producer, as actress is late, you take the temper of director, as producer is cranky, you take the temper of actress because hello she needs time for make up, you take the temper of associate producer, as shoot is not on time and wait, a shoot which you are not even heading, but guess what you gotta accept it, as my dear friend your bloody freaking hell not right. I wonder if Dhoni feels like an assistant director when Ishant doesn't make runs and Dhoni gets fired for it, oh wait! Ishant Sharma is a bowler, yeah! What is all that about.

And by chance if you finish your script, which some talent less people say, is good, you better not listen to them because the mighty Godly producer will rightly say, “first of all your script is crap, no item songs, no fight sequences, it has nothing, what are you making, a film or government’s five year plan and second of all, I see your resume and you have done good amount of assisting work but not directed any.”

Well sir did you produce before actually becoming a producer, did anyone direct without being a director, did cameraman shoot without a camera and did a child come alive without being born. Oh! Wait sorry, you are a MASALA FILM fan, how foolish of me to give you LOGIC sir. Utterly my fault, how can I forget, we are never right.

So if you are thinking of making a career in films, I am not gonna discourage you or either provide you illusions, but will surely tell you one thing, if you are here, imagine yourself sitting in a car, being driven in a Rohit Shetty film, it will jump and pounce every second but when it lands and how it lands, there will be applause, huge ear deafening applause.