An Icon, is it?

When you’re an icon, you’re not just a person—you’re a myth.

In fact, the myth Is what transcends into reality when it’s a face you recognise the myth with. An icon is a representation of the ‘wow’ factor a celebrity carries along with him/her. The persona and the attributes we assign to the icon are largely created by the media, be it any. Human in its form, but an icon dazzles, an icon fascinates, an icon is worshipped. An icon, at times replaces God. Their life in reality is of absolute negligence in front of their reel life which is relevant, exciting and in all its content ,all  set to be evocative.

But what is it , as Herwitz puts it, “What is it about film and television culture, the star system, and consumer society that have made the shift from the human form to icons”? The answer lies in our aspirational values, our human abilities of acceptance  and dependence on the media to create ‘opinion ‘ and thus, perspective. We let the icon rise above the culture, above the masses. If we give it a thought, the icon seems powerless to an individual, but  in fact  we, as individuals and a social set up are powerless to the awe, excitement it generates or carries. We submit, subconsciously or consciously to the larger than life image that has been created for the icon..

Plus the brand value an icon generates is immense, for they themselves rise from being a  brand to a cult. It helps a brand stand out, stand tall, adds to the brand recall and serves an an assurance. They are the communication and the communicators for the brand

Despite the fact, that the life of an icon may be short lived and  at the end, its the paparazzi that makes an icon , the icon he is. His reality does affect it.  But the power bestowed on them to shake the emotional appeal of masses is immense, and perhaps, the reason for them letting go of the real to be the reel.

वो अनकही सी बात...

"वो चुप चाप खड़े एक कोने में

घंटों बस निहारती थी

उस शेल्फ पर पड़ी किताबों के धीर को

निहारना तक तो ठीक था,

पर जब जाती थी उसके करीब तुम

तो सोचता था , की काश,

काश की मेरी धधकन उन किताबों में समां जाती

जान पाति तुम की तुम्हरे देखने भर से

कैसे मेरा heart rate कर लेता था normal  को पार

सोचता था , तुम्हे घंटों निहारते हुए उस library में मैं

की ऐसी कोंसी थी बातें , जो करती थी तुम उन किताब के पन्नों से

देखा तो होगा ही तुमने मुझे वहां बैठे हुए, मुझसे आके कुछ कहती, में सुनता बिन पलक झपकाए

कभी कभी ये नाचीज़ सोच बैठता की सिर्फ मेरी तरीकें हैं मेरी attention पाने के,

शायद  पगला सा जाता है ये मनन , जब खुद के लिए धधकना बंद कर दे...

जाने कितने ही पन्ने यूँ ही पलते हिं मैंने,

कितनी ही पंक्तियाँ हैं लिख डाली

तुम्हे ताकते ताकते, इसी कुर्सी पर बैठे

शायद ग़ालिब भी एक बार इस आशिक की शायरी ज़रूर देखना चाहेंगे..

हाँ शायरी से याद आया,

वो जो ग़ालिब की किताब में वो शायरी का पन्ना मिला था तुम्हे

जाना चाहती थी उस शायर को जो जाने कैसे करता था किसी की हया से मोहब्बत,

डूब गया था किसी की आँखों की गहराई में इस कदर की मुरजिम वापस निकलने को न था तयार..

दाल दिया था उस किताब में सोचकर की शयद जान लो की वो मुरजिम मैं ही था ...और वो आँखें थी तुम्हारी, वो हया थी तुम्हारी...

काश खुद देने की हिम्मत होती

जब कुछ दिन आई नहीं थी तुम लिब्ररी मैं, तो मचला सा जा रहा था ये मनन, ज़िन्दगी में पहली बार तुम्हारे घर फोने लगाया था मैंने उस दिन.

याद है वो, " can you please return the book you've issued, I need it for my research"

बस बहाना था तुम्हे बुलाने का...

इतना कुछ था कहने को तुमसे ,जानता नहीं था की कैसे करूँ हाल-इ-दिल बयां मैं..

बस, येही कलम थी, और येही पन्ने, इस आशिक का बयां..

बहरहाल सुना है, की कुछ दिनों में लाल जोड़ा पहनने वाली हो तुम, क्या ये...

वाही जोड़ा है जिसमें हजारों बार देखा है मैंने तुम्हे?

हां.. सपने भी ना..."

आज ये Diary मिली है उसकी,

बहार उसे देखने गयी,

तो जनाब नाच रहे थे, बारातियों के साथ...

घर के रहते थे तुम इतने पास

फिर भी फोएँ घुमाया था जिस दिन

सोचा था मिएँ शायद कुछ ख़ास बोलना चाहते थे तुम

हां.. ख़ास..

किताबें सिर्फ पढ़ती थी, ताकने का शौंक नहीं है मुझे,

पर याद हो , तू तुम बैठा करते थे किताबों के पीछे वाली row मैं,

कहते हो की मुझे देखते थे, तो कभी मेरी उस तिर्चि नज़र को क्यों नहीं देख पाए जो तुम्हे मुझे देखता देख , मंद मंद मुस्काती थी...

जान तो गयी थी, की ग़ालिब साहब की आड़ में तुम्ही शायरी को अपना अंदाज़े सन्देश बनोगे..

पर इंतज़ार था वो सब तुम्हारी जुबान पे आने का...

इतनी हिम्मत नहीं थी की खुद का हाले दिल बयां का पाति तुमसे,

हाँ, लाल जोड़े में ही कड़ी हूँ मैं..

जानती नहीं , की तुम्हारे खवाबों वाला ही है के नहीं...

पर हाँ. जिसके लिए पहना है,

ये ज़रूर मालूम है , की वो...

वो नहीं है जिसे खवाबों में मैं  देखती आई थी...

हां... सपने भी ना...

I too have a dream!

Deep Inside, In  chambers within the chambers of my heart  that are visible.

Stemming out of all the dreams I'v had about them, thus far

out of my unexpressed passion to achieve them

out of my unexplored capacities

out of my unrealised potential

Dreams

Thankfully, I never pushed them deep down, and cover them up with the mud of my restrictions and failures and fears

They have always been that deep rooted.

I wonder how , how they survived the failing times,

how they survived when I cleaned my slate of dreams and desires.

how they survived the myriad attempts to Kill all that was inside the heart.

how they survived the ruthless being I had become

how they survived the coldness of my heart

perhaps, i need not  contemplate the 'why' and the 'how'

'They did survive' is what matters.

its like that old picture you find, which you'd been looking for. That old crush's phone number, you stole from the school register. That old memory that strikes randomly leaving a smile.

lemme now take charge.

After all, My dreams too have their dreams of seeing the morning Sun. !

Mumbai Local and that thing with him!

" I think we need to move on" Said she He disconnected saying the voice was cracking and he could hear naythin.

this left her confused and awkward in its own right. She after so much of inside struggle had finally confronted him that they needed to separate their ways, they needed to look ahead of their relationship in life which was drawing both of them back, She finally had told him and herself that she wanted to move on, it just wasnt working for her.

but now it was a strange situation she was left with. was it that the guy ignored or more so, intentionally didnt acknowledge what she said or was there,in reality, a network problem. Standing at the railway station, lost in this dilemma, she had already missed her train to Andheri. She was on her way to meet an old friend. He had just returned from a long vacation in Mexico. Mexico the land of enhancement, a land that still held culture, a land of folk and art, a land of People, a land of Latino Musica! Ah Mexico.

She had been a traveler at heart. Right from the time discovery showed this show on travel, and she used to ge up at 8 in the morning to watch that on holidays, to just before her PG time, She had just been traveling and now she had this 'oh so common in a B school photography keeda' as well! Well honestly, she had already been into it, just that she could now flaunt it with her so called DSLR! Anyways, We'd return to her interests and her , in a little while!

So, she had already missed her train to andheri and the next train coming her way was a Bandra on, that gave her more time to ponder over 'what may sound like a normal conversation to anyone outside of radar of what was going on' and she might seem so silly for investing so much of her time in just thinking about it.

so she decided to just sit down. luckily or unluckily, she found a place to sit.

a old women, came and stood beside her. The station was not that empty or that full. She offered her  a seat, but the women didnt wish to sit. I would call her aunty for the ease of it and infact that's how the protagonist here, addressed her. So, aunty was  a lean old women dressed in a gown so to say. Being from Mumbai She could guess that aunty was a Parsi. yeah, We do assume, we do see people though 'Stereotypes'!

So they started chatting, infact it was more of a monologue! Aunty wanted to speak and decided to do so!

our girl was lost in her own translation of things, but aunty went on!

... to be continued!

We Never Kissed!

We never kissed. except for a few early ones, when the flavour of the month was the 'New found attraction' ,mistook as love by a few. Post that he never really cared bout kissing, since he passed the 'awkward, wait a little, lets not rush' phase.I wanted to kiss. I wanted to feel his love, in the way his lips touched mine, In the way he put his hands around me, in the way it would transcend into passion, the way he would cuddle, the way he would hug , the way he would kiss the forehead.

I used to feel weird, for the kiss that actually drew me towards him, was missing now. Yes, there was more stuff, but i wanted that kiss. I longed for it. It made me feel being cared about, it made me feel being strong with him, it made me restore my faith in love, it made me go in a different world all together, it made me feel that he stepped in the world as me too. Perhaps! our world was same but we were different destinations.

Later he told me, that he's not really into kisses. Once a while, just to please the other was fine. Just Please?The romantic in me died there, again.

Was I going to be, what I had thought I would be..

So, its a guest Faculty teaching some Bla BLa of customer Retention and All i could think of was how have I changed in the last year. From the socially active. revolutionary, argumentative Indian(as I was called), never part of a single group female  to this 'stay in group', lethargic, silent, known for her pictures in a Bschool and not much concrete, Girl. (thats all my presumptions). How my focus from doing something for the people, travelling etc had totally shifted to all the jazzed up stuff here, which  never really meant anything. How my goals of the things to be achieved in the second year were waiting to be warded the dust off that paper where they were written. How Unclear about Life had I become.

The entire first year didnt give me anytime to comprehend life. Infact, my time management had gone for a toss(which anyways was never too good). The Good part about second year was, it gave me time to think(of course in the classes i.e)

So coming back, to this Guest (Faculty) , that brings me to this other class on design, which more than design management taught me to get my life's design in place and I really have to Thank the prof for that. Staring at the white board for the 45 mins outa the 1.15 hour class, made me think. Think Hard. There was a session in which he asked what you wanted to be. I didnt have the guts to raise my hand, cuz my aimbition in life was wavering. A few years back what I strongly wanted to be, no longer was it hitting hard to come out my mouth as my goal.  It hit me! had I in the past few years nto thought even once what I aspired to be! May be a few years down the line? I dont think so.

Lot may people had many things to say, and many choose to remain silent . May be they were in the same dilemna , may be they wanted to be secretive about it, or may be they didnt feel the need to share. But I knew where I was standing. I didnt Know!

what was the way forward.. I tried writing diaries, I tried taking to my self, i tried being awake the entire night to figure out, I tried to concentrate on my goals in life in the classes, i tried Talking .. I still dint know where do I stand. There was this fight within .

Amaltas did help! In the 3 walls and a window side of my room and music from the two sides on, I was going through my pictures. The ones I had clicked. The moment they were clicked in, the settings at times I did for them. The fondness I had for the subject. The want to click more. The light in my eyes before taking a picture. The want to translate my idea of sumthing in a picture. I loved clicking. Clicking on the Go..

I knew atleast something which for sure i was going to take up.  PHOTOGRAPHY. people photography, street photography, candid photography... Sure, I  gonna find spot for the rest of my aimbitions. I have two terms of classes left !

My Shadow, Free!

My Shadow, free

For it moves beyond the confinement of my body

for it breathes the fresh air when I stand behind The caged window,

For it roams the streets when I can muster courage to step out in the balcony, 

My shadow wanders, Free.

That Light source that lights up lives, Gives birth to my free existence.

In my shadow world, I can be everything I’v ever dreamt to be.

My shadow world lets me... explore the naked body, for my clothes don’t matter there.

Beauty products are not relevant, for My Face is all black there.

There I feel young, Un-wrinkled by the words of the wise old Real world 

The Dupatta covering my head here, slips down and spreads wide to become my wings there

My hands always tied up on the bed or in action to feed the dependents, become birds taking a flight or a fish exploring the beyonds of the ocean

My shadow world lets me be, The Me-reality never allowed me to be.