The Irish Bar

She was sitting,

As everyone held their glasses

Filled with nothing but straws and left over lemon and ice,

She was sitting,

Staring and looking, by turn,

At the chaos around

She drowned in the noise of their chatter,

Hearing some, and listening to some,

Of what they spoke

She drowned in the fading tunes

Of the Guns And Roses

She was there, but somewhere else altogether

Not thinking much,

but thoughts hovered about her head

Why was she quiet?

That thought never occurred

Maybe, she wanted to listen for a change

Maybe, she wanted to do what she did most- Observe

The pool of dim light adding to the gloom

The random cheers from nearby tables,

Seemed to have no effect on her

Though she sat in poised sophistication,

On high bar-stools; She cheaply bit her nails

With one elbow resting gently on the cluttered table

Whilst her face bore no expression,

Her thoughts were seeking

A way of letting themselves out

Whilst her actions were

In a slow movie-like motion,

Her thoughts ran wild

It was her first time there,

Probably even her last

As her soul weakened

But she could say nothing,

As thoughts brimmed her heart,

That girl, in the Irish Bar.

Something true I stumbled upon :)

~As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let us down, probably will. You'll have your heart broken and you'll break others' hearts. You'll fight with your best friend or maybe even fall in love with them, and you'll cry because time is flying by. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, forgive freely, and love like you've never been hurt. Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances. you just have to live life to the fullest, tell someone what they mean to you and tell someone off, speak out, dance in the pouring rain, hold someone's hand, comfort a friend, fall asleep watching the sun come up, stay up late, be a flirt, and smile until your face hurts. Don't be afraid to take chances or fall in love and most of all, live in the moment because every second you spend angry or upset is a second of happiness you can never get back.~

It's weird,

It's different...

It's the pain you cannot explain.

Friends who Move Away

No more hearts,

No more memories

I don't fit into any pictures no more.

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Memories past,

Are held deep within

Newer ones

are Fewer made

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Phone calls, messages

Facebook, Skype

I guess all of us

Are through with that hype.

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Numerous trials

Hours, days and

Months of waiting,

Went all in vain...

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

A Painting

“Paintings have a life of their own that derives from the painter's soul.” – Vincent Van Gogh

The Singapore Art Museum, famed for its innumerous art displays all round year, is currently holding the art exhibitions of two very well-known artists, Cheong Soo Pieng and Natee Utarit.

Cheong Soo Pieng, Singapore’s very own artist, was a great influence to the modern art in Singapore. His works had progressed through several phases: From post-Impressionist to Cubist to abstract, semi-abstract and more. They showcase his versatility as an artist. The link between his works and his love for travel is portrayed beautifully through his paintings. He was greatly inspired by the culture and art in South East Asia and in Western Europe. His works also displayed a balanced blend of the West and the East. The portrayal of Traditional South-East Asian women, by using bold contrasting colors, is a great example of that. His style of works was termed the ‘Nanyang’ style or the ‘South Seas’ style.

There is a noticeable difference of style and technique in each of his paintings. Even when dealing with two similar themes, his approach to them is what makes his work memorable. He used different mediums, like ink, gouache, pastels, oil paints, batik and so on, on canvas or stone, or Masonite or metal, paper or glass. The most interesting technique and also the most unusual is the use of metal strips (which hard and strong), filled in with colored wax (which was soft). The only common yet often unseen trait of the two mediums is that they both are moldable.

He also often documented his work, which was unusual for the artists of his time. But, this proved to be an important way of ensuring his artistic legacy for future generations.

But alas, with the advancement of art like the introduction of digitally created images, the value of a painting seemed to depreciate somewhere.

Natee Utarit, through his exhibition, is all set to prove this technologically booming world wrong. In a world where paintings seem traditional, and old fashioned, Utarit revives the ‘traditional’ way of story-telling and silent communication, through none other than- Paintings.

Utarit believes that the world of painting is that world, where one actually sees. One is able to see two types of images in one painting. One, being any of the countless possibilities arrived at by perception and interpretation of the viewer. The other image seen is the image of something that links with what the painting refers to in the mind of the artist.

Utarit is able to bring about this dual-image perception through his series of paintings, ‘After Painting’, depicting mainly his love for the photography of the landscape and for his mother. Each painting is extremely realistic, and left me wondering in a kind of curious amazement. While I was thinking of what could have been the idea behind the painting, I was subconsciously linking it to my own memories and experiences. His portrayal of the different landscapes is simply fantastic and made me think of the different places I had visited which left a similar kind of imprint in my head, as it did with Utarit when he made the paintings.

The portrayal of his mother is very heart warming and endearing. It made me drift into two different worlds: One where I was watching Utarit in his younger days spending time with his mother, and the other where I myself was seeing myself doing the same with my mother. There is a very clear imagery shown in the pictures of his mother, which help the viewers to get a glimpse of their bond, and what his mother was a symbol of during his childhood. For instance, the paintings show his mother’s presence everywhere near the then toddler Utarit. It shows the motherly love and concern for her child, and this clear reference set me adrift into my own childhood.

Natee Utarit’s work sure does leave an impact. His work is the kind that one will always remember, because of the bond that the viewer himself makes with the painting. His expression through paintings is one of a kind, and not easily found in today’s times.

Utarit says “It’s what you bring back, instead of passively absorbing.” This feature shown so subtly, and so well in his paintings, is what left me with a smile on my face.

Tale Of Two Cities

Written on the 1st of August 2010, For 29th July 2010

I had been waiting for the day, when I would finish with my assessment, and fly back home, to my parents, my brother, my friends. I just wanted an end to all the sleepless nights, the tireless working hours, and the ton of work that I had. I really was waiting to bid goodbye to it all, and just be. Without anything to do, without any routine to follow, without any goals to be met.

And there I was all packed up, and ready to go.

I was delighted, overwhelmed with tears when I flung my arms around my mother. It felt so soothing, so comforting. I didn't want to move from there. I was so excited to be back to India, to be back to the place I call home. Time passed, day after day, and I was getting used to Mom's cooking, Mom's constant nagging to clean my room, sleeping in her lap; fighting with my Dad for fun, spending quality time with him, renting out movies; Brother's tantrums and then cajoling him, teaching him science and taking full advantage of chiding him; the pampering of the maids, always there at your beck and call for anything and everything; the driver to take me around wherever I needed/wanted to go; and my friends who begged I attended every party, who organized lunches for me, and all their warm hugs and letters.

I was actually doing nothing; just flicking the channels of the Television (which, I considered to be a great privilege). I couldn't motivate myself to paint, or draw, or exercise, or even read. Just somewhere between all the outings, and the rainy afternoons, and the lazy days with family, the holiday was ending.

In all this, I realized one thing. I only really understood what it meant to have all of this after I went away to college. No, I didn't take any of this for granted, but my respect and value of this just doubled and tripled. In all the fun I was having, I hadn't noticed how time had run it's race. It was time for me to go back.

For nearly three months, I was waking up at almost noon, where as, when I am at college, that's the time I sleep after having finished all my assignments. For nearly three months, I had been fed and made fat, with all food cooked with sugar, spice, love and everything nice. I gorged on my Mom's desserts. When at college, all I get is very limited vegetarian options, self-cooked food made on trial-and-error basis. For three months, my friends and I had been conversing on local rates, meeting almost everyday. But when I'm away, we resort to Facebook and MSN for conversations, and Skype, to have a glimpse of each other. For nearly three months, I was used to people around me. I was used to being dependent on them. But at College, I am always independent, knowing and setting my limits, willing to take on any thing that comes my way. I was unhappy to think about leaving India. I thought that the summer ended too soon. I thought that the dark, vicious clouds of the rain arrived too soon.

Yet, I was happy. Somewhere deep down there, I couldn't fool myself. I couldn't fool myself about the way I felt. I knew, I was looking forward to the new year, and the new friends I'd get to make, and all the explorations and experiences lined up for me. And at the same time, I couldn't smile in the pictures we took on my last day, and I couldn't watch my family bid me a safe journey back with all their best wishes. I ignored them calling out to me at the airport, and walked into its Air Conditioned confines with my trolley full of luggage.

And there I was all packed up, and ready to go.

For me, every four months shall see the change. Change in lifestyles, change in routine, change in activities. I shall always be stuck in the Tale Of Two Cities. I shall always be bound by the love of and for the two cities.

Image Courtesy: Drishti Kulshreshtha, Radhika Gupta

No More Procrastination

Homework. Check.

Presentation. Check.

Cooking. Check.

Cleaning. Check

Other Home Chores. Check.

If all's done, then why wait?

Why Procrastinate?

My dear posts, you shall be Conjured up today :)

Absence

I am absolutely aware of my absence from the blog.

But I do have a valid reason for it. I just got back to College (not in the same city and country as my hometown) after a three-month long vacation... I am getting back to the grind, the tiresome routines, the new academic year, the new classmates, and to the feeling of being by myself. It gives a good, and a bad feeling both, the reason for which is quite obvious, yet inexplainable.

Well, my point here is that due to the aforesaid reasons, there have been no posts "Created by Deekay". But, they're on their way, and will be up soon.

So just like I'm waiting to see them up, I hope you are too. I give you my word there's more in store. :)

Change

Change is the only constant in life... Hence the new and improved look of the blog...

Change, is the one most predictable thing.

The Ride Back Home

Waiting in the sea of immobile cars, while sitting in the driver’s seat, is not really the best thing to do. I was getting late. I needed to be home. But, the traffic is unbeatable. It’s frustrating. And at that moment, I wished to fly back home.

I’d turned off the engine (Yes, I like to conserve) and repeatedly cursed the traffic. The only sounds I could hear were the sound of my breathing; the soft, spitting rain on my windshield; whish-washing of the wipers that cleared out the water from the transparent screen in front of me; and the constant honking of the vehicles outside the confines of my car.

Suddenly, amidst this madness, I am lost. Completely blank in the head. Empty. Just when I thought that my brain wasn’t functioning anymore, I was proved wrong by my own voice questioning me “What has happened to you?” Did I have an answer? No. Of course I didn’t. I was completely blank. There was no repeated thought that capered about the grey matters of my brain. In fact, there was no thought at all. I was listening intently to the sounds around me and how they all united in an annoyingly calm and quiet cadence. Being sucked out of all thought for these twenty minutes gave me a kind of unexplainable peace.

I suddenly shook awkwardly, as though an unconscious patient rose to consciousness. I realized my comeback when the vehicles had started noisily honking behind me. And when I looked up, I saw that I had given off about ten meters of driving space ahead of me.

Startled, as well as slightly amused with the entire situation, I accelerated the car and waded home through the flooded streets.

All in all, I had been rid of all the weariness, and I was looking forward to a relaxing evening, listening to the Elton John’s tunes whilst lying down on my hammock in the balcony.

The World Outside My Window

They stood in the distance, twisted and motionless. They swayed with the gentle breeze that lingered over after the rain. I felt the breeze slap against my face, and out the window I saw them standing. Quiet, three Gulmohur trees, with the little sanguine flowers, that matched the setting sky in the background.

Out the window, my lost eyes fixed themselves into a constant gaze. The sight was breathtaking. Out the window, the world seems to be the delightful crimson all the time.

I was no more sitting by the window gaping at the view outside. I had developed wings, and I was flying like a carefree bird, till my silhouette frayed away into the sinking sun. I had conjured up a new world, where my worries were thrown aside, where everything was beautiful.

Out the window, my thoughts and wishes were no more a figment of my imagination.

I want to give the same flight to my thoughts as the bird does to itself. I want to be that bird all the time. I wish. And staring out of the window makes me feel so.

The bird grew out of sight, and slowly, the crimson turned from a lavender to the twinkling night. And as the stars gleamed, and led the way in the moonless night, I slid away from the window. The bird had flown away, bringing me back, slouching by the window.

Familiarity

It was a welcoming evening. An evening she had been waiting for. This was one of the few chances that people get to revisit their good old days. She was hoping to meet those, who once upon a time she used to see almost every day for three years in a row. She was excited.

She soon walked into a familiar enclosure with the others in tow. She looked around to see some more familiarity. Not just in the faces, but in the walls, with the peeling cream and beige paint. In the set of staircases, which once had her, and all others present there rushing up and down; to and from; and in between classes. In the curtains, which were changed exactly once a year. In the iron rod railings, with rusted edges. In the red-carpeted little narrow stage, on which lay the rickety choir steps which witnessed a fresh lot of singers each year. Amongst all those voices, she also stood one among the many sopranos. But, all these imperfections didn’t seem to bother her. Instead, today, they gave her a sense of homeliness, a sense of complete perfection. She looked around again and again moving in circles, to take in the sight she had been longing to see. It was after a year, she felt this way. It was after a year she was visiting. It was after a year that the school made her feel what she felt. Her alma mater.

She had been in this little four-storeyed building for merely three years, but it had been enough to give her genuine happiness. It had given her values which she knew she’d always keep. It had given her courage to fight for herself. It had given her true friends, who she knew would stay. It had given her sense and sensibility. It had given her the faith to believe in herself. It had given her the strength to conquer, and to lead. It had given her too much to express. As she recollected her first few days and the last few days in the school, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

Just then one of her juniors came up to her and asked her for some photographs with some friends. Although she fought her tears from flowing and disrupting the photo-session, the smile she smiled was genuine. A kind of smile she smiled after a long time.

She wasn’t really fond of crowds, but the crowd consisting of her batch-mates, her juniors and her seniors comforted her. Even the presence of those-who-had-once-been-friends-but-weren’t-anymore didn’t disturb her. She felt nice about everything there. She interacted with her teachers, who seemed equally happy to meet her. She spoke to them with enthusiasm; obliged some more photo-taking sessions; moved about from one group to another interacting animatedly with a different set of friends and acquaintances each time. She giggled with tears of joy incessantly flowing out of her mascara-smeared dark brown eyes, as she and her friends recalled the lovely times they’d spent there. She was overwhelmed with emotion, and felt herself beaming with a calming sense of happiness. She was all smiles that evening. She was back to Familiarity, and back to School.

Living A Dream

Life, as we all know it, is like a roller coaster ride, as clichéd as it may sound. But well, it has its own shares of ups and downs, victories and defeats, sorrows and mirth. Being able to keep a balance in this crazy, topsy-turvy kind of life is seldom easy, but mostly unmanageable or even frustrating at times. At times like these, all we want is to live in our own bubble and make-believe environment, where things appear to be the way we want them to. Our escape is our dream. There is in fact, a very thin line between our dreams and fairytale worlds. We all have our fantasies in life, and we all have dreams. We all have dreams that we want to reach. We all have dreams that we want to live.

What I have learnt, by experience, is that, it’s never about where we reach, or how far we get, from where we are today. It’s about how we got there. It’s about all those people we meet, all those places we see, all those things we did. It’s about all the memories we made along the way to get there.

It’s about having the dream. It’s about living the dream, and feeling every moment of it.