Classic dance sequences from Indian cinema

For the sheer wealth of talent which I am about to comment upon, I shall refrain from resorting to cynicism in this one post alone! The universe is well aware of my relentless criticism of poorly made movies,particularly from Bollywood or mainstream Indian cinema. My biggest peeve lies with the poor standards of lyrics employed by popular foot-tapping numbers in recent years. On the flip side, I derive a lot of pleasure in appreciating the choreography of a song which has been superbly crafted to match that song's musical excellence. Indian cinema today cannot really claim to boast of fantastic dancers of the calibre which actresses used to possess several decades ago. Yes,we do have Madhuri Dixit (God knows we hope she'll never stop dancing!) but in past years, we have seen some amazing women (and some men) enthrall audiences with their moves, classical for the most part. Here are some of my favourite numbers which showcase actors in Indian cinema for their talent in dance. They DEFINITELY are not arranged in any particular order as I cannot compare their talents and rank them.

1.Waheeda Rahman in "Piya tose naina laage re" (Guide)

I could try to suitably describe the magic that R.D Burman's music creates with Shailendra's lyrics especially when Lata renders it in her own style but as unforgettable as the music can be, it would be impossible to remember this song without Waheeda's graceful dance. If you are really curious to find out more about this number, click on the "more info" link found in the video link above. The description does justice to the video which I cannot hope to reword.

2.Vyjayanthimala in "Honthon pe aisi baat"(Jewel Thief)

Feast your eyes on Vyjayanthi's myriad expressions as she prances around the hall to entertain the prince and his court in Nepal while danger lurks everywhere. This is one phenomenally talented dancer, the likes of which we haven't seen since.

3.Kumari Kamala in "Abhinayangal.."(Konjum Salangai)

Bharatnatyam is probably the oldest form of classical dance in the world today and this song is a glowing tribute to its many nuances. Kumari Kamala does apt justice by bringing out the 5 'jathis' in the taalam(beat). The acts of creating portraits through the course of their dances may be an exaggeration but I would easily believe that such feats were(and are) possible by skilled students of this South Indian dance form.

4.Shobana in "Oru murai vandhu paarthaiya"(Manichitrathaazhu)

As a newly wedded wife who identifies with an alternate personality (that of a courtesan),Shobana etched this role to such perfection that the original Malayalam movie(featuring a Tamil song) was later remade in Kannada,Tamil,Telugu and Hindi. Shobana is an accomplished Bharatnatyam dancer herself and this song has been treasured by her fans as one of her best dances in Indian cinema. The jerky opening moves give way to refinement when she transports herself back in time to relive the romance she once had.

5.Helen in "Piya tu ab to aaja"(Caravaan)

Time to pay our tribute to the grand old dame of Indian cabaret songs. I'd love to pick a whole bunch of songs by Helen to bring out her versatility but this one's probably the most famous. Check out how infectious her energy is!

6.Madhuri Dixit in "Maar Dala"(Devdas)

Oh come now, can this compilation be complete without the lady with a million-dollar smile? In "Devdas", Madhuri plays a courtesan dancer who patiently waits to get her affections reciprocated by a dejected lover. In this song, she accepts a challenge testing to prove her faith in the lover's arrival at her chambers.

7.Madhubala in "Pyar kiya to darna kya"(Mughal-e-Azam)

Nine years in the making, this movie broke all box-office records in India when it was released in 1960. The film tells the tragic love story between the Mughal emperor Jahangir and a dancer,Anarkali. Madhubala was irreplaceable in this role and one can't help but wonder at the striking resemblance between today's Madhuri and yesteryear's Madhubala. You have to check out some trivia related to this song and the movie itself!

8.Rekha in "Dil cheez kya hai"(Umrao Jaan)

Rekha turned legendary after the runaway success of this movie. Her simple gestures and emotions prove that a terrific dancer can charm you from right where she is seated. The beauty of these lyrics add to her rich expressions.

9. Karishma Kapoor and Madhuri Dixit in "Dance of Envy"(Dil to pagal hai)

Jealous of the new girl on the scene, Karishma's character gives Madhuri Dixit a run for her money in this dance-off.We all know Mads can dance but the lovely KK is no less and clearly...kitty has claws!

10.Vyjayanthimala and Padmini in "Kannum kannum"(Vanjikottai Valiban)

Ah, but if you want to see a real dance-off, step aside ladies! No duo can come close to Padmini and Vyjayanthimala as they match wit,charm,poise and grace in this legendary song. now both actresses were accomplished Bharatnatyam dancers in their time and it was impossible to decide who should be allowed to win the contest. Enter Gemini Ganesan to the rescue who saves the day when he realises that things are getting beyond control. I wish I could post the English translation of the entire Tamil song but that'd make this post way too long! Just know that the lyrics to this classic are as beautiful as the dancers who give them form.

Vyjayanthimala and Helen in "Muqabla humse na karo"(Prince):Bonus!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jQmgcsRE44

Well!I couldn't really do justice to my obsession with Vyjayanthimala without including this one last number which pits her against cabaret queen, Helen. It's a sheer pleasure to watch them showcase so many dance forms in this number from "Prince".

Dawning

12.24AM.

I just got home after watching "Slumdog Millionaire", the new movie featuring a rags-to-riches story of a boy who grows up in the slums of Mumbai. While an objective review of the film could take me several hours, I must honestly admit that my first thoughts might get tainted with impulsive indignation about the poor light in which the city of Mumbai and the people of India are graphically portrayed. For those reasons, I'll refrain from attempting a review. I cannot criticize the director for being so brutal with his camera. Nor can I sigh in exasperation when a western audience gasps in horror at the sight of stark poverty, the likes of which they either do not see in their countries or choose not to. Life is what it is and things in India are the way they are. A million things contribute to their functioning and you really cannot expect to understand it unless you have lived in their midst. I can neither make accusations nor offer explanations since I am one of several million Indians who are aware of this economic disparity but do little more than comment in a safe environment or make a small donation to a non-profit organisation they might trust.

But I digress. What I can comment about is in fact something more lucid and indeed sublime.  The patriot in me often ignites in argument,protest and rage whenever my country and its people are cast in an unattractive light. I am learning to acknowledge that as much as I pride in my heritage, I cannot deny the existence of a plethora of problems which gain intensity mostly due to inaction. Thus it happened that I adopted restraint in the movie theatre when people around me turned away or let out soft cries when harsh scenes of wretched poverty burned in front of them. However, the same audience watched the movie for the story of a young boy, not for an education about cosmopolitan Indian living. They cried when he pined for his love just as much as they cried when he was beaten on the streets. When the movie ended, a soft applause broke out to celebrate the portrayal of a human story that transcends social differences, economic disparity and religious intolerance. That moment somehow triggered me to remind myself that we are indeed all human, no matter how trite that sounds. We want and need the same things in life, although they might be on different scales. And while prejudices may always exist between societies, they cannot prevail for long when individuals connect instead.

The other thing I noticed tonight was a truth more fleeting and definitely, more personal. There is a scene in the movie where Jamaal, the protagonist,  is on his way to the game show which might make or break his destiny. Stuck in a traffic jam, Jamaal looks out of the window of the car and is momentarily bewildered when a woman recognizes him on the street. Cheering him on his success, she exclaims,"Go win the jackpot, my son! May you have my blessings!".

To me, this scene alone was powerful enough to pack everything that is about Indian culture in a few seconds of cinema. The chaotic traffic  surrounding Jamaal reflects a complex amalgam of differences that thrives in Indian culture. The differences scream out much like the horns of vehicles which blare incessantly. A layman on the street walks on indifferently, weaving his way through this mess just as millions of Indians deal with the vagaries of life they are all too familiar with. It takes a person to get into a bubble in this chaos and observe what surrounds him to understand the bigger picture. Jamaal's bewilderment mainly arises because this is the first time he has been able to step out of his world and experience something more. Recognition for him has always brought pain or abuse. For the first time, he is recognized in fame. For a moment, he forgets about his nondescript existence and observes the functioning of the masses. For me, it took a journey away from home to pause and ponder the same way.

The revelation turned more poignant for me when the woman called out to Jamaal and blessed him with luck. The simple sequence plucked my heart's strings as I thought about all of my parents' friends and even other strangers who automatically became my 'uncles' and 'aunties', old ladies who became 'grandmas' and men a few years older who became 'brothers'.  A certain oneness exists between us as we acknowledge friends and acquaintances as family members do. The warmth that I felt when I heard this woman call to Jamaal as her son is a feeling I can never hope to describe perfectly but fully expect other Indians to understand. I don't mean to trivialize the beauty of human emotions in western cultures but this is a sublime emotion which I have so far experienced only in India or with other Indians. To me, the scene was powerful enough to make me yearn for my own mother and marvel at the unshakeable faith she has in my prosperity (as any mother would have for her child). When I speak to her over the phone and reveal that I am battling a cold or getting depressed at work, she tells me my troubles will vanish for she will pray for me. They might not, at least not the very next day. But hearing her say those words is immensely healing. And trite or not, the heart pines to hear such words of comfort from those dear to it. 

To this day, when people bless me as they'd bless their own children, I am humbled and struck by the power in this parental instinct which forms emotional bonds in the absence of biological ties. So powerful is this emotion that it made me rush to my computer and battle with words to try convey it in the wee hours of the morn. So powerful was this scene in the movie that it will forever evoke a tear for me every time I watch it again, much like it did tonight.

...."For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its mornings and is refreshed."

2.00am

Truth be told...

Nikhil paused his typing to look up and catch sight of him. Tarun was every bit as handsome as Nikhil had hoped he wouldnt be. Concealing tinges of lust and other emotions, Nikhil dropped his head to focus on the typing and steal glances without being too obvious. Tarun was chatting up with the baristas as he ordered a drink to go.Success hadn't been served to Tarun on a silver platter.Atleast, that's what the tabloids had to say. Graduating with top honours from the University of Madras,he had opted to work for the state's ruling party instead of taking a more convenient and lucrative opportunity to head west and seek his fortune in law school. The decision paid off in due course of time and at 33, Tarun was one of the youngest persons to enjoy the distinction of serving the Chief Minister in his team of advisors. It wasnt just his age which set him apart. Tarun brought a refreshing perspective to politics hitherto governed by conservative players. He never ceased to question why or accept compromise. The media celebrated his success and had already touted him to be one of the youngest successors to occupy the country's highest chair.

That day, his sudden presence in the coffeeshop hadn't gone unnoticed.Whispers started to float around and pretty soon people started to crowd around him. Nikhil peeped out the window to peer into the posh Beamer which purred by the sidewalk. Instantly he turned back and chided himself for his cheap curiosity. He had promised himself that he'd never resort to such fanaticism, even on the low side. Not in this case atleast.

"Do you think he's really gay?I don't believe that! It'd be such a shame!"whispered a girl at the next table.

"I don't really know. I read somewhere that he once had a girlfriend and that she might be suing him soon.", her friend hissed.

"Well I for one don't believe it. I'm sure some trashy magazine started that rumour to create gossip. Some lucky chick must have nailed him somehow.These yuppies always find a chick.Can you imagine what a fantastic wedding that could make for?I wonder if its going to happen soon!"

"It's not!", blurted Nikhil.

"Who told you?", the girls looked in his direction.

"I just know he isnt getting married.I know that for a fact."

"Bullshit!What are you?His best friend or beer buddy?"

"He is seeing someone. But there definitely isnt going to be a wedding."

"You know who he's seeing?"

"Yeah, uh...someone I know". Nikhil wondered why the word 'friend' didn't come out easily.

"What's her name?Come on!"

"His name.",Nikhil corrected," And I'm not going to tell you. Leave them alone."

He shut down his laptop and packed his stuff hurriedly. The girls were now snickering and giggling animatedly. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a pair of teenage girls gossipping about a gay romance. Walking out of the coffeeshop, Nikhil's thoughts returned to the estrangement he had subconsciously acknowledged. He was surprised that his mind had chosen to stick to the truth even though it hardly made a difference to the girls how Nikhil knew Tarun's boyfriend.

He strolled into a mall and tried to lose himself in a sea of faces. The drone helped him zone out and focus his thoughts in an unusual silence. It was this same mall where Rishi had met him to talk about his first breakup. Nikhil remembered the bench they'd sat upon when Rishi sighed in frustration at the end of a 4 year relationship. The chaat-stand they stopped at where Nikhil bought him some pani-puri and stuffed them in his face to bring a smile, the fountain where Rishi had claimed Nikhil to be his best friend, the parking level where he had hugged him tight before saying goodbye-Nikhil cursed his memory for remembering every minute detail of their friendship including all of their outings,conversations,moments of frivolity and goodbye hugs.

Sauntering over to a familiar table,Nikhil sat down and toyed with his earphones distractedly. He didn't notice a mass of bags occupy the seat across him and jumped up with a start when a voiced popped "Boo!".

"Priya!Jackass!"

"You were a sitting duck really. If I didn't know better, I'd love to make you feel more miserable right now, moron!", chirped Priya. She was one of Nikhil's closest friends and confidante."What's with the long face? I've seen basset hounds look more cheerful."

"Nah, just lost in thought."

"Good, keep 'em to yourself. Nothing works better!"

"Y'know, there's a free lecture tonight at the local community college about getting in touch with your female sensitivity. You should attend that.Maybe they can help you find where you lost yours."

"That's ok, Nix.You probably picked it up right where I tried to lose it!"

"Oh screw you.."

"So hey, I ran into Tarun Raghavan at Mocha Joe's nearby. Handsome man ! I'm gonna let him know that my evenings are wide open for him!"

"Yeah right. And they arent the only things about you that are wide open either!"

"Shut up!Anyways, isn't he seeing Rishi? I thought the two of them were something of an item now.How's Rishi, by the way? What's he upto?"

"No clue. You probably see Rishi more frequently than I do"

"That's weird. I thought you guys were like really close", Priya commented absentmindedly as she flipped through a menu.

"We were.But we hardly see each other these days. He must have forgotten me. " muttered Nikhil.

"Maybe you just pulled his leg too much. You can be pretty nasty sometimes.Ooh its been ages since I've had dahi vada. I am so gonna go for that right now!". Her attention had shifted to the menu.

"Definitely not the case. That fellow's hide is thicker than a buffalo's!"

Priya shrugged and started to flip through a magazine after placing her order with a waiter.

"He's just that sort of person, you know? Kinda flakey. Latches onto someone before he finds someone else.", Nikhil continued.

"Haven't you guys been friends for almost 2 years now?"

Nikhil felt his ears turn red and warm up. He felt ashamed for sounding petty.

Rishi could be very flakey and Nikhil's patience typically wore out with flakes very quickly. He preferred suave to silly.But it was this particular imperfection which Nikhil found endearing with the charmer.In Rishi,he found it easier to deal with things in a laidback manner, something Rishi had perfected.

"Yeah I know. It's not like we had an argument or something. He just gets distracted easily. I mean, look at his boyfriends. First there was Milind, Mayor of Flake city! Then there was the philosophy major who couldnt stop complaining about the world.And Chetan, the silly twit who could lose to a 5th grade student in an IQ test! "

"Why do you care so much?If he wants to date jerks,let him! That's his problem."

"I don't have a problem!", Nikhil spat out."I just feel sorry that he has to waste time with such guys.I mean, it shouldn't take more than 1 date to figure out that none of them really have what it can take for Rishi to enter into a relationship."

"Including Tarun?", Priya quizzed.

"Why not?I mean, it cant be easy dating someone so famous."

"They've been together for several weeks now , right ? Give him some credit. Maybe he has learnt to be smarter. And anyways, why are you so hell-bent on quickly spotting something which these guys lack?". Her eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"I just...I mean, I'm only trying to watch out for him.", Nikhil flustered.

"You sure about that? Seems like someone might be a tad jealous..."

The realisation bothered him.He was never one to openly admit a fascination for another person and he certainly had no intention of letting Priya find out about..

"You know you can never have him."

"Huh?"

"Tarun. If you're jealous of Rishi because he's dating Tarun, get over it. You're never going to get that lucky. He's wayyy out of your league!"

"You know its amazing I actually bother to even seek your advice!" Nikhil spat out. His pulse was racing.

"Oh come on, I see through you. You criticise Rishi every time he starts to date someone.Secretly you're happy when he breaks up soon and it's not some platonic bullshit about you wanting something better for Rishi. You just cant stand him finding someone and settling down before you do so yourself. And Rishi being in a relation reminds you that you're still single and alone. And after a string of losers, Rishi has found someone so awesome that your jealousy is getting the better of you. Grow up, ok?"

"You're out of your mind!",Nikhil bellowed. "You think I am jealous of him? He can date a movie star for all I care."

"Look Nix,I don't know why you're single. You're a prize package and any guy would be lucky to have you.I know you didn't expect me to tell you that but I do believe it and I'll only admit it on occasion. But you need to learn to be a bigger person here. You cannot let your own feelings of self-pity turn into spite this way. And Rishi is a good friend, for God's sake! You think he'd feel this way about you if you were dating Tarun instead?"

Nikhil buried his face in his hands."Maybe he wouldn't. But then who knows what he'd feel. I can't remember the last time we hung out. He probably wouldn't care if I were to date someone famous...". It was petty but it felt good to say it.

"What a baby! Cheer up and go find a date for yourself. And stop sulking,will you?You could put off a drunk guy this way!"

"Oh go stalk someone!", Nikhil muttered and stretched out.

"Anyways, I gotta run. Prithvi wants to go see a movie. Wanna join?"

"Nah you go on. I'll hang out here for a bit. Clear my head..."

"Call me if you change your mind. I'll see you later then.."

Priya hurried off leaving Nikhil at the table, confused, irritated and slightly guilty.

He knew he should have been more supportive. As flakey as Rishi could be, he had always sworn his affection to Nikhil, ready to take the blame and apologise whenever he screwed up as a friend. Nikhil also realised that a lot of his frustration came from his own impatience with Rishi-that he never learnt from his mistakes...in their relationship as well as in Rishi's love life. He should learn to control it and be a better friend,he decided. Priya was right.He needed to become a bigger person.

But why couldn't Rishi see things clearly?Why did he have to jump from bed to bed, carrying pieces of broken heart everywhere? It bothered Nikhil that his frustration was getting the better of him. It bothered him even more to realise that the frustration completely concealed something Priya had almost hit upon,but not quite.

With resignation,he looked down at the scribble his car key had made on the table and he hugged himself tightly.

It hurts so much,Rishi....hurts so much.

The way I see it....

fart=fancy snooty art
obnoxious=rudely get in your way and knock you over
symphony=singing pretentiously
ridiculous=group asking to be made fun of
idea=Drunk Australian proudly claiming to have 'scored'
style=fancy waiting rows for pigs

folly=person on a downward journey (usually painful)

dynamite=something you might die from

mermaid=listening device to pick up soft conversation

ipod=treatment facility for people with low self-esteem

laptop=petite escort

juicy=firm affiliation to Israel

radish=almost cool (will be in a few days!)

supper=1.teenager ; 2.bouncer at a bar

xenophobia=fear of the alphabet ending in "x"

For Auld Lang Syne

As I shut the door after the last of my guests had departed,I turned around to wade through party hats,confetti and balloons to sink into my couch and stretch. The evening had turned out to be more fun than I'd expected it to. With a sigh of exhaustion,I realised that this was the beginning of yet another year, yet another collection of stories for my journal, yet another endless string of lonely nights, moments of exhilaration,  possible triumphs,probably heartbreaks and infinite expectations.

Somehow, it seems like several years have passed in the last 365 days. I have learnt to be more independent than I have ever been in the past.I have made new friends, lost out on some old ones, made mistakes, felt pain and pride. My travels took me to the ends of the continent from icy slopes to alligator-infested waters. My confidence in my professional capability has soared even though prospects themselves have ebbed beyond belief. 

Above all, I have come to realise that I am now ever so closer to that moment I once dreaded but now am excited about. It will not be easy but it will have to be done. The wait has made me a stronger person who will not cower to pressure or yield to guilt. Every day I have learnt to be true to myself and expose that truth to the ones who truly love and care for me. 

I have not completely conquered my fears and perhaps that won't be such a bad thing. I have been fortunate enough to meet the kind of people this past year who have vowed to be there for me when the time comes and shoulder me in the aftermath. I am touched that they are anxiously waiting to hear from me when the time comes.

There are moments when people promise to be there for one another. In time, the intensity of their promise wears away and is replaced by the awkwardness of reconnection. Sincere words disappear and trite expressions save the day."I know! It's been ages!","Yes we must do lunch soon!""Definitely,we'll visit you guys soon".

But when friends make promises and check with you frequently to find out when they can be there for you, those are the moments you should treasure and revel in the joy of knowing that you are loved unconditionally.

Fortunately for me, these were the people who were present with me to ring in the new year.

Probably my most important one ever....

Miss you,friend...

I clutched my hemp haversack tightly and held it close to my chest. The shirt I wore that day was pretty blah and on any other day, I wouldn't have dared to be seen in public wearing such an unimpressive piece of clothing lacking style or finish. But on that day, I was ready to sacrifice style for the safety of anonymity. If I could just get through the day without anyone trying to engage me in conversation...

"Are you waiting for the SVCE bus too?"

I turned around to see a tall boy. His father was on a scooter a few feet away. The boy was dressed in a white shirt brighter than the sun. An obscenely large silver belt buckle flashed at his waist and the ensemble was completed by a pair of brand new sneaker shoes.

"Uh..yes I am.", I replied.

This guy was dressed to get royally raped, I decided. What was he thinking?

"Oh good.I'm Vadivel. They said the bus should be here by 8.30AM."

"I'm Vikram. Yeah,that's what they told me too"

In a few minutes, a particularly unattractive yellow bus rumbled along. The sign in front read "27 Mambalam". Here goes,I said to myself as I got on board.

The bus was fairly full and I was happy to find an empty 3-seater in the first few rows. I love occupying the window seat in any journey. After a couple of stops,Sharada boarded the bus in K.K.Nagar. Seeing a cheerful friendly face was reassuring that this wasn't going to be the most humiliating day in my life.

Four stops later, an attractive boy got into the bus. He was tall and looked strong. He was dressed conservatively in a checked shirt and nondescript jeans. He stopped to talk to a girl sitting a few seats away from me.He then surveyed the scene and noticed that the seats next to me were unoccupied.

"Can I sit here?"

"Yeah sure",I replied and got my bag out of the way.

We didn't say a word to each other for the rest of the journey. Later that morning,I found out that he was in my class. I was too preoccupied trying to maintain a low profile to bother striking a conversation with him.

I'd attended the same school for 16 years and I'd grown comfortable within that well,never needing to step outside and 'fit' into new circles. This was my first day in college and I'd heard enough stories about seniors 'ragging' incoming juniors to make me want to get through the day unnoticed. And who really knew if your own classmates were any better or different!

Over the course of the next few weeks, that boy sat with me regularly and eventually we formed a fun group of friends who took the same bus every day, occupying 2 rows of seats to spend journeys playing charades, music games, sharing gossip or cracking jokes so inane you'd think we were high on dope! It worked just as well that we were all in the same class. The laughter never stopped in batch "D".

After freshman year (or 'first year' as we call it), the bunch of us never got to take classes together as a group. Daily jaunts then became more precious since those were the only times we could forget the miseries we endured in our respective disciplines or bitch about them passionately.

As the years rolled on, our friendship was cemented by laughter,tears,fights and apologies. I sensed a unique connection with each of these people and I was thankful that I'd never have to pick favourites. I couldn't possibly.

The aforementioned boy became one of my closest friends as life let me discover eventually. His temper and blunt attitude masked a sensitive side he didn't always expose. His success and good luck was congratulated and often envied. He was the only one to call me on my behaviour and eccentricities. I hated his guts but that's what made me grow to like him more. He could hurt my feelings in a second but he was just as capable of punching someone else who did the same thing. I remember the day I showed him an insensitive message I'd received from a project partner regarding a difference in opinion. My friend turned so livid that he leaned back to yell in anger at the project mate who was caught off-guard.

I'll never forget that moment.

It has been 10 years since the day I first met that boy.

This morning I filtered through my mail as I gobbled breakfast. I paused to see a thick golden envelope. The decoration was ornate and an image of Ganesha beamed over the letters

"Sai Koppaka weds Sandhya Kanury".

How time flies...

Wings over my wind

Last night,Musicman invited me to join him at Anka gallery in Old Town. A group of people had been taking classes in "Process painting" and they were 'sharing' their work in a spacious gallery-the sort of open space where aficionados stand rooted to their spots lost in contemplation while the uninterested shift edgily,wondering how much time one spends looking at a work of art from various angles. To be honest, I didn't know anything about process painting until last night. One of the artists there explained to us that the form is all about putting emotions to paper in a continuous, unchanelled fashion where figures,shapes and colours aren't picked for a reason. In other words, you just let your creativity flow sans objective, aim or direction. Pretty soon, the creation begins to direct you instead. The experience is more about the journey than the destination itself.

What is the destination then, I asked. If you are putting expressions down on paper without any specific direction or vision, how do you know you're done with your work? Apparently, you don't on several occasions. It is a tough decision to figure out when you need to stop. The easiest way is when your creative source has been exhausted and you don't continue to feel that urge to keep painting.

If that sounded lofty to you, it seemed improbable to a cynic like me when the lady explained all this to us. The artists encourage visitors to pick up brushes themselves and explore their creative side for a few minutes. It was this attraction which made me resist the temptation to dismiss this method as yet another hoity-toity art jargon. After spending a few minutes examining several pictures (I won't share my honest opinion here since the artists insist you neither commend nor criticize one of their works), I felt the urge to don an apron and reach for a palette.

Musicman and I started working on 2 sheets of paper pinned to a wall. I felt a familiar rush as I reached for the tub of black paint. I could see it in my head. The idea excited me in the same way I favour my composition or craft project as soon as I have completed it. I am not unreceptive to criticism or comments (seemingly hard to believe given the title of this blog) but in some slight measure, I like to give myself a little bit of uncompromising credit for conceiving any idea.

My fingers flew across paper as rapid brush strokes filled up almost every spot with the idea bubbling in my head. Occasionally, I'd glance across at Musicman to find his brush casually caressing paper with soft curves, free-flowing forms and ultimately an attractive amalgam of colours. After almost 30 minutes (didn't seem that long), I stepped back to examine my effort in temporary satisfaction. More form needed to be included, white spaces to be filled and features to be detailed. But what lay in front of my eyes was quite satisfactory in no small measure.

In a flash, my bubble burst and with resignation, I informed Musicman that I was ready to go. Locating a funky coffeeshop a few doors away, we sat down with cups of chai to discuss the experience. Talking it out helped me put words to that bubble burst.

When I picked up my brush, I hadn't opened a door to my surge of expression. I had desperately tried to give form to a vision in my head, granted that vision germinated during the first few minutes I'd spent in the gallery. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it. When I put down my brush, it wasn't because I had depleted that creative source. It was because I knew I couldn't complete my work (a word the other artists actually don't encourage you to use) at that time. I also knew that I had filled up enough space on my paper to prevent another artist from continuing to express on my sheet (an idea these artists actually encourage, since the idea is about expression,not ownership). In every possible way, I had flouted the basic principle behind process painting.

And that was simply because I couldn't let go.

I like to think of myself as a creative person. But truthfully, it is channeled creativity that I actually possess, possibly due to my cultural upbringing. Eastern cultures almost unanimously insist on striving for stability from cradle to career. That stability almost readily comes from the next rung on an infinite ladder. Competition is so fierce that switching ladders or staying put on any rung aren't viable options. The need to succeed drives parents to egg their children to outperform their peers and strive for the goals they themselves couldn't achieve. I read somewhere that no parent wants their child to lead the exact same standard of life they had to lead. The aspiration is admirable indeed but the repercussion is equally damaging. Teenage suicide resulting from unsatisfactory academic performance (not failing) is probably the worst fruit this egging has resulted in. While this happens on a smaller scale (but happens nevertheless), the majority of children grow up with their parents' vision ingrained in their head, their own dreams either nipped in the bud or compromised with regret. One of the greatest tragedies in our lives has to be the continuation of our existence without an evolution of the self. When some of these individuals find themselves living and/or working in a western society, the discovery of tremendous opportunity is overwhelming and liberating to the point where it restores the self-confidence they had once lost to follow their dream.

Western cultures celebrate the idea of the self almost to the point of glorification. The development of the self and the idea of respecting personal space is of such prime importance that it is self-evident at every stage in life-letting babies sleep separately, assigning children to their own rooms with individual beds, allowing high school students to pick their electives, encouraging college freshmen to explore their interests before picking a major, urging working singles to date frequently and engage in relationships before ultimately identifying 'the one', relocating to a different city or country to experience a change, changing careers or quitting work to follow a dream. The consequence, in my opinion, is that people tend to be so focused on achieving what they want, they lose sight of a bigger picture. They spend hours trying to thread memories and experiences to explain why they are the way they are, where they have come in life and what it means to be in that position. A vast majority of them are constantly besotted with the dilemma as to why they aren't happy ever. In an ironic fashion, some of them decide to examine eastern faiths to understand the nature of the self and its purpose in this world.

I hasten to mention here that I do not wish to condemn or criticize any one faith or culture. I am perfectly happy and in many ways extremely grateful for the wonderful upbringing my family was able to provide for me. It has taken me this long to pause and understand what essentially defines me. While I am all for the idea of people discovering and pursuing what they truly believe in, I must honestly admit that I have grown to enjoy a good bit of control and stability in any undertaking. I find its absence very unsettling and the idea of relinquishing it absolutely impossible.

"I just don't know why I wasn't able to let go. I couldnt let my mind wander when I needed to pick shapes and colours. I knew I wanted orange right next to blue.I knew it'd bother me too much if I'd picked purple instead.I might be judging myself too much but I can't stop judging.Maybe it's not that I couldn't let go. Maybe I didnt want to let go..".The words gushed out of my mouth as Musicman stared directly into my eyes in that coffeeshop.

"I think you just said it there yourself. You can let go....you just don't want to.", he replied quietly.

Perhaps it is best that I stay this way. My behaviour might appear to be neurotic and in some ways obsessive-compulsive (talk to my friends!), but atleast I am now aware of who I am, what makes me happy and why I do the things I do.

I might have failed in process painting but I learnt a truth that day which was just as personal to me as the realisations every other artist has discovered in this class.