One Dialogue Wonders

When it all depends on one scene, one line uttered with utter concentration and effort, face contorting in emotions never seen before, by a face never seen before, then you know what you are being witness to. It is a one dialogue wonder, those people in the movies who have only a small part to play, only one line to say and less than minute to make their mark. I wonder how much time they spend on rehearsing in front of the mirror, repeatedly asking their near and dear ones if they are doing it right, pitting all their energy for that small and [in]significant part.

How does the director decide whom to cast for such roles? Are there any auditions? ‘Experienced actors wanted for the role of snooty bystander to scream at the lead/spectacled doctor informing mother that her son is critical(dead)/fat boss refusing employment to in-need garib hero, mediocrity of features highly essential, gender/age/height/width/complexion/accent no bar, flexible work timings’. I am sure such characters would be immensely proud of their contribution to the movie regardless of the success or failure at the box office, get all their friends and family free tickets(bought by themselves) for the movie. They would also explain to the entourage much before the movie the time of their entry, their exact dialogue and the way they said it. Sometimes this is how movies like Tara Rum Pum Pum manage to scrape through the overhead costs, just hire some more bystanders.

How do people come into this line? Maybe it is like one of those depressing aspiring-damsels-turning into-a-porn-actress cases, except here the only one getting off is the person concerned.

To New Beginnings

I have revamped and articulated your favorite blog (If you don’t read it or don’t care much about it then I really don’t give a rats ass) to make it more communicative of my inner feelings, thoughts and reveries. I have had this blog for the last 2 years, haven’t added much to it since the last year as I was drawn towards the slightly better yahoo blog (http://blog.360.yahoo.com/rexsjain), but now that blogger has added several new features, made it easier to get the constipated shit out of one’s system, I have decided to return to this blog.

This is also the time when I finish with my engineering course (it’s been 3 days) and will be starting work (in another 3 days), therefore marking a change of phase in my life. In this new phase I have decided to change myself, be more acceptable in society, try to get laid for real, not be an asshole in general, and smoke up more to deal with the failures in my life.

Hope you have as much fun here as I have after a good joint.

Snakes & Ladders

Me, I.

You.

Me & You.

You & Me. We. Us.

We are disappointed.

You disappointed Me.

I disappointed You.

I have You.

You have Me.

We have Us.

Disappointment is a feeling.

Disappointment is a feeling We have in common.

You had Me.

I had You.

We had Us.

Disappointment is the only feeling We have in common.

Disappointment is the feeling.

You and Me are disappointed.

You.

Me, I.

Faulted Dice, Faulted Board and Faulted Players.

What If?

What if?

Most of us are tempted to use these two words in situations of incomprehensible difficulties and cul-de-sacs. It’s as if merely thinking about the other set of possibilities, had we taken the other direction, the other path would somehow make things different. Maybe make the time spent less painful and the outcome less untoward. It is a good thing that the scenario remains a distant possibility to ruminate about and not an option or an actuality. Like most of our wishful thoughts, the culmination to any ‘what if’ would be nothing short of a disaster. If we come to analyse the precedent in which we revert to using these words, then the most common occurrence would be our realization that by somehow reacting differently in the said situation, the outcome could have been changed and hence everything end up as hunky dory. That by changing one single moment, one decision, we would have been able to alter the series of events that followed.

I disagree. Our actions at any point of time are governed by either our impulses or a careful thought process. To revere about a different selection would be the same as changing the very basic premise of our persona, the thing that defines us in our entirety. If at any point of time, there was a chance of that happening then we would have done that without waiting for a particular event. Thinking about a different set of possibilities would be being hypocritical and evasive. It would be the same as saying “don’t trust me, I am a schizophrenic lunatic”. Discarding the possibility of any person owning up to the previous statement, today I realize that it is a way of running away from the present and throwing a blanket over the demands of our conscience. That whatever we might have done at any point of time, the result would always be the same, it would always lead to the same pain and heartache. I realize that what happens is a conscious result of our actions which are driven by us, by the people that we are. It won’t change or deflect a dangerous possibility if we decided to act in the exact opposite way the next time we are faced with a similar kind of situation. Not because every situation is different, but because the person behind those situations remains the same. Deciding to act in the opposite way is superficial.

Understanding ourselves and others involved in the situation would be a better way to deal with the excruciating outcome. And sometimes that involves moving on. Being the person I am, and knowing how many times I get lost in ‘what if’, I know that’s the most difficult part. Maybe all this analysis is only meaningless jabber.

I have lost perspective all anew.

Black

The can of paint was put on the floor. A square black patch denoting the color of paint inside. Against the wall on the rich mahogany table there lay a wooden palette with six colors, in different shades of grey and black. The room had been shorn of its other furniture, and looked naked. He had been sitting in a dark corner, gazing at the white wall in front. Hands on his sides, he crouched in the fetal position, and shivered on the cold marble floor. His clothes lay in a heap on the table.

Rectangular slabs of sunlight filtered through the window blinds and the balcony door, and illuminated the wall. The room was silent, except for his occasional wheeze and cough.
He hadn’t eaten or slept in the last two days, his stomach churned inside, acid eating up the soft inner lining. His eyes were blood shot. With an effort he roused himself from the floor, and walked towards the table. His skin felt cold against the barren atmosphere of the room. His eyes riveted on a portion of the wall, he picked up the palette and balanced it on the fingers of his left hand. He started the portrait with the outlines, dim perception of the work to be completed, the face to be drawn. The movements were slow, steady and definitive. Never had he been able to sketch with such surety and accuracy of position. Did it depend on what is being sketched? Does the artists passion for the subject give it a certain responsibility, an endeavor where doubt is irrelevant and failure unfathomable?

It was after all, the face he had loved the most.

A point came where he halted, not in doubt, but in expression. What should the face portray? A smile of happiness or mischief, a frown of doubt or discomfort, or a sadness of the heart and mind? Maybe the answer lay in the face and the person behind the face. And so he continued, without pausing in thought and posture, sun burning his back, the sensation strangely exciting and excruciating. After he knew not how long, the portrait seemed complete. He took off the palette, and put it back. Oblivious to the pain in his arms and legs, he took a step back. He kept his feet apart, his hands on his hips and gazed at the face. The life that stared back at him made him smile. This was perfection, in way of the portrait, and the way he knew the person on the wall, in his memory.

He picked up the can of paint from the floor, and dipped the brush into the paint. In simple furious broad strokes, the paint spread on the wall. He kept on repeating the swift horizontal and vertical strokes covering every corner of the wall, every white square that was visible seemed to laugh at him and made him splatter more paint on it. In a few minutes the entire wall was black. No sign left of the effort of moments earlier. There was nothing but glistening black paint, on the wall, on his hands and body. There was an itch in his eyes and tears trickled down the sides of his face. He brushed over his cheeks, and felt spots of the thick fluid.

He came out of the room and stood on the balcony. He gripped the railing balancing his body on it and his feet let go of the floor. The air beat upon him, and the sun hurt his eyes. He closed them, and then he thought of the expression he had given to the face. It was a smile.

Guidelines for becoming a Prof in Dept. of mining engg.

Here are a few tips and basic requisites to join the department of Mining Engineering in NIT Rourkela. This manhole was established in the year 1979 and has ever since produced the best of leaders, politicians, cons, assholes, failures, and black soot covered frustrated-from-life-with-no-fault-of-their-own angels (basically anything apart from engineers). To be a part of those elite people, who help in the construction of such greatness, is not an easy job. It takes many a year of cribbing, back stabbing, conniving and such an acute form of unearthly in-the-face bigotry that only the very best are able to become the HEAD of the department.

The present HOD has been maintaining a hold on his position because of the following basic rules, and his following them to their basic essence.

• HAIR FARE: It is very important for you to lose your hair if you want to apply for a position here. However you shouldn’t be completely bald as it perpetuates a form of nakedness and perversion. Totally against our ethics. A monks circle works best.
• OLD DOG: Even in your late twenties you have to give the appearance of a person of advanced years, with a big paunch, haggard face, constant irritability, afore mentioned bald pate, and a nasty scowl.
• DO OR DIE: There are two groups in the department, one is the present HOD group, and the other is the going-to-be-HOD group. These 2 groups are at a constant tussle with each other, so you have to roll your sleeves up, tie a bandana on your bald head, and jump in the arena. It’s not important which side you choose. (However in one of the last fights, the HOD slit the throat of the lecturer who was close to becoming the next HOD. A very inconsequential thing, it should not scare you away. That is how a vacancy got created in the first place!)
• RAPE ME: You should also have an acute knowledge of student exploitation and marauding techniques. The two groups have to pull the students in their groups to maintain their position of HOD, use them to their full extent, and as soon as their task is complete, start treating them as cockroaches, making them run for their lives.
• TEACH? WHAT TEACH? : The department has no relation whatsoever to anything being taught in the classes. If you think that you are going to teach students, then you are grossly mistaken. It’s the last of the jobs expected of you, mostly an optional. You only have to concentrate on the above activities, and keep on lugging the students with shitloads of assignments and projects, of which you yourself don’t have any idea about. Don’t bother with correcting or checking these assignments either. The best time to grade a student is while you are taking a shit.
• YOUR WIFE, MY WIFE, ITS ALL THE SAME: It will be in the best of your own interests if you are not married. It has been observed that whoever used to be married, either got divorced, or is separated with the wife living in some other city, mostly with another guy. It has also been marked that if you are married, and by chance, have a beautiful wife, then the entire faculty, cleaning staff, office workers, and the 80 students start eyeing your wife and make lewd remarks, gestures, and physical contact until your wife divorces or leaves you.

These are the most basic requirements, but they are not the only ones. Once you actually join the department there would be a whole new learning session altogether, about the finer points of department hierarchy, politics in the independent India, and where to stab a person so that it will hurt the most.

Hope you enjoy your time as a mining lecturer. At least we as students promise not to.

Which Language Do I Speak?

Today as I was sitting in front of my comp, I was hit by divine knowledge, sort of a revelation, and the ultimate secret to life. Read on to know more.

The question which glared at me from the screen was… which language do I speak? Now, I started thinking to myself (which happens quite often in these soul searching crusades), does it really matter which language I speak? I mean, what is a language. It is a tool for people in a society to communicate amongst themselves. If we consider this definition of a language to be the most basic, then a lot of corollaries can be drawn instantaneously. Like, how many ways ARE there to communicate our emotions?

If we have to smile, we smile. Have to Cry, we cry. How does one smile in English, or how does one cry in Chinese? While we are on the streak of asking such questions, then why not how the hell we fart in Punjabi? The answer to all of these questions is obviously very simple. These everyday quotidian actions do not need a language for communication. They are sooner done than said!

This ultimately brings us to the supreme answer to all of life’s mysteries. The more I think about this solution the more it seems right and perfect. All the languages and cultures in this world are redundant. We are better off without the discrepancies of finer points of converting the meaning of shit from one language to another. We don’t require complexities of advanced society and epicures of modern living.

Magnifying the most basic emotions to a much grander level will solve all of life’s problems. If you are sobbing silently, then bawl like a weeping banshee. Smiling quietly? Burst out into a loud Nordic laughter. This will undermine the need for all other types of communication and world will become a simpler place. In fact, we can go back to being nomads, living in caves and dressing in animal skin. Catching our food alive, and eating it with the same gusto. Living from one moment to another, no worries about bank balance, job security, clean habits, class demarcation.

The best part of course, would be to fuck females until the world is full of 6 billion people. How I envy that time.