The Fiddler's Den

An Insane Search for Sanity

2010-03-24T17:55:00.001+05:30

Across the sunshine of the velvet morning, into the half light; i fly..
Taking a hard right through the dark voluptous clouds of sanity; i glide..
Overcoming the steep hairpin bend over the euphoriating sea; i slowly descend..
Grazing past the towering wilderness of metaphorical solitude, and the rough contoured hills of Maya...
I fanally land on the plains of disdain..
my flight is over..
my search ended..
I have not found thee..
anger and resentment set in..

A mystic minstrel, camouflaged as a sage, summons me..
he gives me water to drink.. and herbs to calm my wounded feet,
he looks deep into my eyes, with a smile in his calm and subtle countenance, and says
"you will never find her like this"..
I ask " how then?"
"look inside your heart and you will see her,
befriend the wild wind and you will hear her talk,
stroll through the garden and you will smell her hair,
lie down on the grass and you will feel her comforting you,
she is everywhere, you will have to stop looking and start feeling.. "
The sage smiled and returned to deep meditation..
I lay stipified..
Was is Nirvana?
It all started coming back..
I realized and screamed from over the hills,
"between nothingness and eternity lies thee,
my passion, my grace, my fire.."

Paleontalogical inclinations!!

2009-11-12T23:03:00.002+05:30

I have paleontological inclinations cocking in the grooves of my gray matter, waiting to come out in the form of a giant reptile egg!
I feel like dancing with the dinosaurs in the dark wilderness of africa!
I feel like sharing my lunch with a herd of pygmy soldiers, who are as tall as the elephant grass of Zaire!
I take a lazy stroll by the Amazon, cutting through countless branches that cover my way, into the dark forest,barefoot, mercilessly squashing herds of killer ants and little tarantulas,making the "black widow" proud of its name by annihilating its philanthropic husband!
I carry only a pocketful of dreams and a handful of magic powder!
The piranhas stare in hunger as I eat one hazelberry to the next.
they laugh at me, at my inconsistency, they think I'm a lunatic, high on some wonder drug, life!
Swaying like a crazy pterodactyl, I fly across Scarlett oceans and infinite spaces of time.
A black hole confronts me;
it asks, are you willing to come inside and take a look at your insanity?
Chilling my nerves with an anabolic self propelled euphoria, I agree to go in, it sucks me in like a hungry tyrannosaurus rex!
It engulfs me, deep within, a dark never ending vortex of anti gravittional force lifts me off the ground and raises me higher and higher, into the heavens, into oblivion, in the sanity that i crave for.
I am bewitched, I am a dark ensemble, I am filth.
Will you join my quest for sanity?

For the love of a regulative Spinal Cord!

2009-11-12T22:50:00.004+05:30

Have you ever felt a regulator inside your spinal cord?
Have you ever tried to control, manually, the impulses that travel to and fro?
How gray is the grey matter inside?
Is it whiter than usual? or is ut darker than the hyde of a moron?
I pray to thee, CA's of the world, grant me one wish, a wish so pure that only the holiest of sages could ask for; I wish for sanity!!
Is it a great ask? Yes, you can grant me that can't you?
If is ask for wisdom, you are mum;
If is ask for power, you are jealous;
If is ask for money, you are a freaking miser;
Hence I ask for sanity..
Please please, give me control over my spinal cord!
I wish just for a regulative spine!

Just a vague intuition

2009-11-12T08:46:00.003+05:30

A few days back I asked an old friend what in her opinion was the elixir of life. Interestingly she said love and artistic expression. As eloquent as her answer was, i could not help but think of the opposite end of it. What could be the elixir of Death? Is it hate and non-aesthetic inclinations? I dont know! am i dead?

eery feeling!

2009-11-08T15:36:00.001+05:30

You'll find me in Autumn, in some distant boulevard. Walking down a paved sidewalk, flooded with golden leaves. The shy sunbeams of the sunset shall fail to tan my cheek, as it struggles to get me from between the leaves of the evergreen. I shall be with my friend the leprechaun, listening to his tales of astral wisdom and learning a few conjuring tricks. My old friend the poltergeist, would also walk with me, sharing his extraordinary affair with the gargoyle of Rosemund! The fiddle case in my hand would seem heavier as it bears a heavy heart, not understanding why i laughed at the demise of my love, veronica! Behind me would be my sweetest friend Grouchy smurf carrying a wheelbarrow full of books CA, MBA, tintin, Paulo Coelho ,Dan Brown, Eroticas;
grunting and swearing "i hate books".

Concept of a short film - never worked on it though.

2009-11-08T14:38:00.002+05:30

COMPROMISE:
Glimpses of the city.

Introduction:

Narration:
This is my city. The city of joy, Kolkata. Here, smiles of sorrow and tears of joy is an accepted truth. A truth that prevails in each and every heart that struggles to break free. A cheap mentality, lots of determination and an undaunted spirit is what you need to survive here. Here Mukherjee's and Banerjee's, Dutta's and Gupta's, Rahman's and Verma's all fight each and everyday to quench the thirst of humanity. They are all into different lines of duty, some in the private sector, some in a more laid back government sector. However there is one particular bond that binds each and every soul together. That bond is what we call 'compromise'.

Music

Character entry:
Subhojit >> entry from 'L', lights a smoke.
Indranil >> exiting main entrance of the house freezes while doing a pronaam, Ashfaque >> climbs into an auto looks at his phone.

Video freezes when narration starts. Video starts on second character entry but once again freezes when narration starts.

Narration:
This is Subhojit Gupta. A college going youth still living off his father's income. Football is his first love, like many in Bengal, english heavy metal songs is a close second, unlike any in Bengal . His journey begins from Bhawanipore.

Meet Indranil Banerjee. He hails from the same kind of middle class family as Subhojits' but is categorised as a Brahmin. He is a talented violinist and guitarist. Still college going and pennyless. He resides at Bowbazar.

Say hello to Ashfaque Raza. Doesn't have any special talents but is an avid collector of pornographic MMS clips. Mr. Raza had to bunk college to meet his friends and has to travel all the way from Rippon Street.

Lets embark on a journey into their minds and witness the truth behind a kolkatan's thoughts. Lets watch them compromise!

an insight!

2009-11-08T14:32:00.001+05:30

I was taught to use only a portion of the bow hair as I drew it over the strings...and this was by a classical musician. In experimenting with playing with all of the hair as compared to tilting the bow slightly and catching approximately 1/2 to 3/4s, I've found that there's a little more harshness to the tone...it seems that it becomes a little more scratchy too. When playing with a slightly tilted bow, it seems to tone down the overall tone....and offers more pleasantness to the tone. Maybe it's my violin...not sure why.

Flute Playing Raya

2009-11-08T14:18:00.001+05:30

The sound of thy flute brings forth a magical transformation in the contours of my mind.

I hear it with awe not knowing how it teleports me from one emotion to the other.

Glimpses of sages carrying incense across the Himalayas, of the genesis of cedar trees and how it bore its first fruit, of an infant's smile and of an old man's theatrical mishap rush through my inconsistent brain, coagulating my thought process to the extent of an outright euphoria.

The summer wind gushes across my hair as i crave for more, the blue sky is clear with bales of cotton clouds.

The dried leaves of the water deprived rose springs to life to the sound of thy jewel like notes.

Then suddenly you stop, you realize that i'm listening, shy as you've always been you walk away towards the field across the pond.

You know that I'll follow you and stalk you forever, because thy music makes me feel like i'm in a bizzare love triangle.

You are scared, sweating, you heart throbs like you just had an undaunted orgasm; i can't see you, i can't read your face, i can just read thy music.

I have deja Vus looking at you and listening to your unfathomable breves and minims of birth and rebirth.

I get mum but I've got lots and lots to say and even lots more to play back.

You smile at me, those eyes, those lips, that touch, that extraordinary pitch, the feel, the sound, its all a colossal enigma.

I want you in my arms, just to kiss you, a deep passionate kiss, for who you are and what you make me!

"Play"

2008-11-18T21:33:00.003+05:30

The Violin is my summoner, I am the summomed.
My soul is on fire, and so are his eyes.
They burn with fury, fury of loneliness and sorrow.
All is full of love, gleaming with bright colors that holds me.
The wind is blowing fiercely. The leaves on the tree falls, falling upon him.
I am beckoned to the call of the violin.
Sweet melodic sounds play at my ears.
They bleed with the joy of the melancholy,
with the quiet sounds of tears and laughter.
The violin is my master. I am its slave.

Balcony

2008-11-18T20:13:00.001+05:30

Take a deep breath,
Listen to the sound of the gushing air,
Rejoicing and revelling, shemelessly smirking at the old ceiling fan
which had orphaned it.

Look up, outside the window, you see their balcony, their plants,
Beautiful red and crimson flowers;
The lady who used to pick the little brats, yes, the same one who had lost
her husband last year, is down with tuberculosis,
She's got a son who is as old as my sister,
Are the ungrateful flowers aware of this? Maybe they are!

As you look at the horizon, you see old television antennas,
Standing tall, weathered, like the bones of a prehistoric creature which once ruled the planet;
STalwart and emotionless, like ancient kings, they ignore the puny cable wires
And the atrocious "Dish TV" hubs.

You see old houses, withering in pain, their skin falling off,
revealing a maze of skeletal brickwork;
Do you hear them crying for help?

The street lights are on, silence prevails,
a bat flies past the balcony, or was it an owl,
The green leaves of the Baganvelia are transformed into saffron wreaths,
By the dazzling of the neon light outside.
The grandfather clock strikes one,
The occilating soundwaves break through your eardrums
And reaches your heart,
You look back into your room,
Dirty cobwebs have spawned all over the ceiling,
The tubelight has become dim with dust,
The mirror is stained with the glue of old "Bindis".
The fan moves slower,
Time moves slower,
You close you eyes and arrive somewhere,
But not here............

Good Old Days!!

2008-11-18T19:10:00.000+05:30

Remembering the mesmerising days of our school life sometimes forces me to shed a tear.
Specially being a socialite and irregular college goer, Reminiscent thoughts of buying Idlee from Anna or playing violin in chapel, taking a walk with the various "mamis" or being the most irresponsible character with the badge of a prefect; everything concocts in the grooves of my grey matter. They say you never get a second chance in life, if by god's grace you do, Dont forget the Best days of your lives (unless ofcourse you an amnesia patient) .