Beyond colours...

“I was hurt when someone told me that a shot in the film I worked was fantastic. He said he was so thrilled at the camera angle and lighting of that particular shot.” Cinematographer Madhu Ambat told the audience. I was attending the ‘Lights On session’ at Sathyam Theatres, Chennai two years back. For the surprised look of audience he continued “It was like saying “wow” that particular line in the novel was so touching. Until cinema is treated as a complete art work, what is the point of praising one shot and its excellence? As a technician I was happy but not as the creator.”

My cinematographer friend Anbu very often says “Machi, the chain of beautiful frames I see in a film is such a torture, after certain point of time. Is life that beautiful as they represent in films? Definitely no, then why do we create such spectacular visuals? ”. Listening to them, I learnt a lot from the veteran and the beginner on equal levels. Both of them are right. Recently I read the same from texts on Neorealist filmmakers and French critics. Last week my Professor, Dr. Jamie Sexton was taking a session on how IMAXs came decades back and how it failed to continue to excite people after the initial excitement. IMAXs are definitely back for sure. But I bet it will stay as a powerful medium only if the cinema remains an authentic piece of art and not a visual spectacle made only for that.

Without knowing anything about cinema, during my college days I asked Anbu whether the theatre can be in the shape of an egg and the audience can feel the screen all around them as if the are in reality. What if the theatre make you feel like you are in a battle field and from one corner a horse rider approach you and shoot an arrow right above you to the other end of the space where his opponent warrior stands. Even today I would like to see a cinema like that, but if and only if it is rooted on aesthetics and principles true to its essence and common sense. I am not talking about rules, which I never believed in. For that matter I don’t think any art is cocooned inside a set of rules.

All that disturbs is exaggeration beyond imagination, as long as an art claims to be the representation of societies, cultures and landscapes. My say has nothing to do with fantasy tales. I am still an admirer of comic books. Still read the Malayalam children magazines Balarama, Poompatta, Bobanum Molliyum and Pico classics with the same passion and enthusiasm with which I read them in my childhood. I still do watch Walt Disney cartoons and fantasy films. I was watching the Padmarajan film ‘Njan Gandharvan’ with my good friend Soma yesterday. It was still a magical experience, like a dream that leave you dream more... Andre' Bazin's concept of realism was very interesting to hear. Professor said that in Bazin's point of view cinema has a privileged relation to realism.

A little away

Away away

A way,a way

Again, again

A gain, a gain

With winds I flow

With waves I glow

Words of Hello..oow!

At world’s window

Alone alone…

A long I’ve gone…

Life of my life,

Left, I hope safe...!

Will you say,

With a will to stay !

"If you get me,

Few forget me..."

Away away,

A bit away.

A way again

Alone alone...!

I see me packing my bags for the journey from my home in Chennai… I see every single moment of it... The most sweetest day in my life. I can hear Mary Aunty and her last words to me. I did delay my journey to Kerala for a day, as she wanted me to be with her family on the day of Christmas. I never knew then, it was her last Christmas. Today when I rewind the time, that day’s delay remains so precious than anything else in this world. Yesterday, while video chatting with a wildlife filmmaker, I was saying why most filmmakers or videographers don’t venture into wildlife filmmaking. It is all about right action at right time capturing the right content for right audience. Cannot wait for the perfect light to arrive and subject to pose for the camera. I guess, doing is more important than a decision, for such people. I am one among them. Whether life or film, that is my way. Right or wrong, I don’t trust second thoughts. No regrets about life, while following the heart and intuitions, fully…sincerely. Doing is my decision, than deciding to do and then do. Mistakes remain experience. Regret of losing a moment eats me more than a possible mistake at that moment. Today, sitting back in my room in Newcastle, alone, I did rewind the time. Have I changed any bit? Not at all… I am not far, just a little away... to my true essence, in all sense.

Screening at Teeside

Yesterday, at Concept Film Night by Teeside University, Teeside we were asked to perform the task of telling a love story in 5 words. It was interesting to hear the imagination of various people and their one-line stories. I too quickly scribbled one –

“Wind Brought Waves to Beach.”

While coming back home I reframed it this way–

“With Wind, Waves Reached Beach”.

It was quite interesting to be a part of the fest watching some thought provoking short films by filmmakers from Northeast, sharing ideas with each of them and the audience. I was invited to the fest to present two of my own films and another one that I edited for my good friend Brijilin, under the banner of Cockroach in Cocktail and one in collaboration with Trinity Pictures and Rolling Coin. The films were My Paper Boat, Mission Escape and Face or Fall.

While seeing the films on a big screen - seeing it being enjoyed, understood and appreciated by a good set of audience - memories of the making of each of them, the cast, the crew- all flashed in mind so loud and clear. Even those tiny bits of fun and fights we had among us while realising them. Shooting of ‘Face of Fall’ at the street in front of my home in Chennai at mid night hours with an unknown autorickshaw driver as an actor, making fun of my good friends in Hexaware Technologies on their life with mouse by showing all the mice escaping from the computers in ‘Mission Escape’, travelling with the my film crew stuck behind me on the bike seat and the Paper Boat boy ‘Arjun’ in front of me on the petrol tank of my good old Yamaha Crux bike, and the camera bag and the tripod hanging on each of the sides – Well, I have answer to the audience to who asked what filmmaking is about and how much it cost. Filmmaking is sharing thoughts, love and ideas. It cost me nothing but friendship and a collective passion and vision.

As the other filmmakers who participated in the event James Harris, Richard MacLeod, Chris Bailey also suggested films are about passion and it costs nothing but passion. To be honest, one of the most thrilling moment for me was, hearing from Chris that he had seen 'My Paper Boat' in shooting people website, much before. It did surprised me on how far and wide internet can take short films. Glad to meet a filmmaker friend who even went one step ahead creating a campaign film to protect the only green space he claimed to have left in the middle of the city Middlesburgh with the film ‘Beacon of Hypocrisy’. While the animation film ‘Answer Yam’ entertained with jokes, films like Life for Life, Passing and Untitled left questions to think about. I truly enjoyed the evening. It was equally interesting to travel back with filmmaker friend Matthew Burge in his car learning more about the history and geography of North East of UK.

I did say this - I like it when films are not made, but happens from nowhere, the way it was always been in my life.

Precious Rubbish

I was involved in this film by best friends Claire and Pete of Skimstone studio with young people of Newcastle since March’10. What makes me happy about this is film is the way I was adopted by everyone as a part their family here… Now I truly feel Newcastle another home. So much of love in life… Hugs to you all. U taught me what is precious and what is rubbish too… :P The film was a brilliant new learning experience. Lessons I learnt from this set of first time filmmakers are definitely something no film school in the entire world can offer me. I bet, no film professional can teach me the same too. This film is an example of what can happen if a set of people joins hands to create a film purely out of passion and nothing else.

Precious Rubbish tells stories of several journeys of self-discovery through experiences of pain, happiness, despair and hope and explores the universal themes of life such as loss, sorrow, love, confusion, bullying and friendship. This is about identifying the precious rubbish in us. Precious Rubbish consists of beautifully shot, photographed and performed artworks by young actors, photographers and film crew in a four centuries old house in Westgate Road, Newcastle upon Tyne and other locations around the city. This project has enabled eighteen young people to work towards their national Arts Award.

Along with the film we had the photo exhibition of ‘Precious Rubbish’, and a special space for people to share their ‘precious rubbishes’ in life. Well, I too have one special 'precious rubbish' to put in – Cockroach in Cocktail and a favourite pic.

At a stage of life losing my trust in myself and world, this film and the crew came as a boon, supported me in a lot of ways in identifying the lost me. Ironically, I felt, the concept 'Precious Rubbish' created by the young people had so much to speak to me and my life too... In one of the hot seating sessions, when we asked the question to each other on what is that annoys us the most, I had this answer that I hate looking at the mirror coz my own eyes keeps haunting me as someone else and that I feel my face is not mine anymore...

After these many months, I have now identified 'the precious' in my life. I guess I love my life more sincerely, with a lot of romance and courage. The face that reflected the phase of pain, anger, frustration etc... was such a fake one that had no meanings to it. Two days back, in a funny mood, I changed the status message in Facebook to - I Scream, You Scream and We all Scream for Ice Cream... remembering the famous dialogue by Roberto Benigni in the film Down by Law. In seconds I got comments and messages form all my good friends - "Thank God, u r back. :)"

I now knows what my dear ones like me for and expect from me, and promise I am there screaming "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice scream." Cheers. Love you. Hugs. You made me realise that there is something 'Precious' in 'Rubbish' too...

Animated, Inanimated & Partially Animated

I don’t know whether he was at the right place or the wrong one when he got that phone call, or whether he started drinking before that phone call or after that. He did react to it exactly the same way I expected. First he decided to throw his mobile off from the cliff and then he thought he should throw himself off. But he didn’t follow either of those instant thoughts but sat down sipping his sixth peg of Gin and Lemonade, smoking the last joint left in his hands.

Joy Kuttan was born as ‘JOY KUTTAN’ for those proud orthodox Christian parents from Kottayam district of Kerala, who believed them to be the successors of one of the disciples of St. George. Unlike the other babies born around the globe at 10.30 AM on 21st Dec 1982, he was considered as a surprise… He surprised everyone by a laugh instead of cry as if he was so excited seeing the first light outside. Doctors claimed that he came out much early too. The next thing he did was winking at the nurse who cleaned him. The priest, Mani Achan, from the nearby church who happened to be there by chance, with all heart, wished him with the name ‘Joy Kuttan’. All the Malayalies thus started calling him ‘Joy Kuttaaaaa….’. For a few years he lived as ‘Baby Boy. Joy Kuttan’. When he once shared screen with Superstar Mammootty for a film as a child actor, his name was scrolled in the credits as ‘Master. Joy Kuttan’. Since then it took many years for him to grow up to the status of Mr. Joy Kuttan.
This is the history, geography and cultural background of this character. I had to stop for a while to clean the utensils in kitchen. While doing that I was thinking on what made him plan his tour in his dirty modified Mahindra Classic Jeep to the suicide point of Kodaikanal from his rich rubber estate in Kottayam… and that too all alone. I really don’t know… may be some kind of instinct. Well, we all do follow instincts! Don’t we? What do you think is the basic instinct behind Cockroach’s plan of writing about one Joy Kuttan in joy that no one seems to enjoy?

Though his intention was not clear, he was obviously not in the mood or the mode of killing himself. But the phone call did knock him down. The intoxication of Gin was so tight too. The phone call could be a rude one, an unexpected one or an unexpectedly rude one… what ever. He smiled at the sky and the dead-end for his jeep and the life, lying down alone at the tip of the cliff. After a while he did something really crazy. Even I didn’t expect that.

He opened his bag and pealed a paper off from the book that first got caught in his hand. (I forgot to say that Joy Kuttan was an avid reader.) It was the first page of ‘Broken Glass’ by African writer Alain Mabanckou where he had written the golden phrase ‘in Africa, when an old person dies, a library burns’. He hardly bothered to read it but scribbled “good bye” on the empty sides of the paper and said this loud in an insanely shivering tone “Thanks for those tiny indecent reasons of your own, that I am on my own from now on.”

In a few seconds, a paper rocket flew up from the suicide point of Kodaikanal. It had no emotions. It sailed in the sky- in the air- so aimlessly. The paper didn’t know the meaning of any African phrase. But it had a rich history of its own. It was once the part of a forest tree at Valayar region in Kerala. The tree was stolen and exported as forest wood, later cut and processed at various places. The paper that became the rocket in the hands of Joy Kuttan was once that portion, thrown as unwanted useless priceless pieces, carried away as waste wood and processed at Punaloor paper mills. A different fate was waiting in the hands of small time printers who sold replica of famous books. It thus became the first page of ‘Broken Glass’ of Alain Mabanckou carrying the famous phrase from Africa for a reader like Joy Kuttan, who never believed in gathering knowledge for big money. As I said earlier, that paper didn’t have any emotions by itself. With the wind it continued its journey towards yet another fate… as it was been always…

Neither the emotional Joy Kuttan nor the emotionless paper rocket found the presence of the third character in this story - ‘Joy Kuttan, The Rocket and Chinnu’. Yes, it is Chinnu, I don’t know her exact name so let me call her Chinnu. Well, we humans have this weird habit of giving names to anything and everything without their permission. (I am thinking of all those pets in our lives – David the dog, Ruby the kitten etc…) For my convenience I am taking the liberty of calling her Chinnu. She was a beautiful black ant, and the queen of her colony. Just like her companions she was living a simple life gathering food and bringing up her children. Her fate was quite simple and certain, until Joy Kuttan threw her into the complex and uncertain. It was not intentional. She was caught in between the gap of the paper rocket.

Chinnu’s colony was very near to the place where Joy Kuttan’s jeep was parked. She was disturbed by the noise of jeep while feeding her children, and thus came out to face the intruder. The tyre of the jeep was very near to her colony. She was not capable to understand what would have happened if it was parked one step ahead. For that matter, she was not familiar about anything else other than her little world around. How many of us actually know the ‘Actual World’? How much of the world can be explored by a small little ant, who has nothing other than a colony that can be placed under the tyre of a jeep, living with less than a hundred adult inhabitants and a probable thirty little ones.

The wind carried Chinnu caught in that paper rocket, to her uncertainty… I can’t explain what was going on her mind during the journey. Being a nonliving object, I am pretty sure that the journey didn’t make any sense for the rocket. But the black ant is a living being capable of thinking. May be she is not as intelligent as a human being, but she definitely had emotions. Chinnu was the protector of her children and her colony too… May be she is a creature not capable of keeping memories on their realities… but she definitely had a reality and the sense of existence.

The paper rocket floated up in the sky like a feather. A lot many times huge birds like the eagles and vultures tried to grab it confusing it to the pigeons and sparrows. But it escaped with the difference in the pressure of wind as they approached each time. Swinging and swaying it took nine days for that rocket to reach the surface of land… a village nearby… but by then Chinnu was dead and dried, stuck to the surface of the rocket…

I did imagine a situation a few years later… One day Annamma Saira Philip who was by then Mrs. Joy Kuttan, discovered a black stain right on the nose of the photograph of famous Dr. Joy Kuttan featured in an article that came in the Sunday Suppliment of Mathrubhoomi Newspaper. There was no more African Phrases by Mabanckou except for an always-dull photo with a black stain on the nose … and the paper didn’t have any emotion to carry by itself…

Demon & the Mermaid

Grandpa’s bedtime tales used to be mesmerising chapters of the epics Ramayana and Mahabharatha. Nesting our heads on his white hairy chest my cousin and me used to dream about the legendary jump of majestic monkey God Hanuman over the sea to Lanka overthrowing the obstacles caused by sea serpent Surasa and the monstrous mountain Minakam. Imaginations on mystic mythical beings are wild and vibrant since then. During the school days Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey gathered from the dusty old cupboard of Swamiji taught me how to ride on centaurs, dragons and unicorns too. No intention to compete with Vyasa, Valmiki or Homer…Framing neither an epic saga nor a fairy dairy. This is about the snowy reality of a Demon and a Mermaid, who are alter egos. Epics have quite a lot goons meditating to gain boons for options to hide their souls from jealous gods. This story is about such a demon. Beauty of any fairy tale is that they are the only literature on earth that cannot be questioned.

The demon - a silent creepy little creature - never longed for anything else except for following his devilish intentions and intuitions on his voyage to be a victor of the world. Gods were naturally jealous. Wherever possible they shot sparks of lightning shocks at him creating scars on his body and mind. Interestingly yet ironically they never knew where his life was. He was looked as a nasty being living with a violent heart and silent soul. The demon himself was surprised about his survival each time and the mystery behind his life.

On one of the rides on his centur at the grainy grey beech sand, he found a stained bottle caught in the net with an unclear message wrapped inside. The centur read it clearly to him. He discovered the sign of a mermaid living many oceans away who seemed to have written it. When the demon placed the bottle on salty water, a glimpse of her beautiful body reflected on the sides of the bottle smiling at him and in seconds it flowed down and dissolved in the shallow waters of the ocean. Demon immediately muttered a message in the ears of centurs and asked him to ride over the oceans and find her. Wagging his tail the centur jumped over the waves and raced on the ocean surface. It took many months for him to come back. But what he got with him was a visage filled with tiny drops of kisses by the Mermaid.

The next time when the Gods shot a lightning at the Demon, he fell deep into the seawater sinking down to the unknown in an unconscious state. The salty water entered into his ears and revealed the truth and mystery behind his life. The Demon heard the mermaid’s laughing voice echoing vague with the ripples hurrying to escape from the water. The visage of kisses opened and they covered all over his body, like tiny little fishes of rainbow colours. The streaks of light peeped in from the sky through the water scattering over the scales of the fishes. The demon felt the kiss of mermaid on his lips. He held her tight to his body and kissed behind her long neck. Her naughty golden hairs covered his face and the rosy lips whispered this, “ Your soul is safe in me, millions of oceans away. It is not for the Gods…”

As he opened his eyes lying at the grainy sands of the beach, to the beautiful red sun sailing high in the sky, many oceans away the murmur of his soul melted on her lips. Listening to her words drafted in an echo of laughter he stood high on the sand taking a deep breath of chill salty sea wind. While he exhaled, he whispered a name… Only the centur heard it… and kept it a quite secret in his heart.

A fairy tale cannot be questioned… until it is an experience. Grandpa never said this to me… but life did…

Sleeping with Camera

If someone ask me whether I have slept with a girl, my answer is no. But if the question is about a camera in the same way, it is yes. I really don’t know how many nights and how many postures that I have actually slept with camera. That includes sleeping with my very first Sony Hi8 Camera on the mat of Room no 169 of MCC to sleeping at the dry sand of Perunagar River of Kanchipuram hugging Panasonic M.D 1000. Can’t forget the mind-blowing sunrises I have seen with both these cameras.

One was after the turtle walk through Chennai beech at night for gathering eggs of migratory turtles and taking it to hatcheries in order to protect them from human and nonhuman predators. After the turtle walk I slept at the beech sand near the fencing of the hatchery hugging the Hi8 camera. The chillness of sea wind kept the body cold but in no time I was deep in sleep, as always without any clear dream. It was a beautiful sunrise that made me open my eyes. The sun was just out at the horizon painting the blue canvas of sky with shades of red and orange. He also placed a path way of golden red carpet with glittering rays on the waves of sea towards me.A fishing boat that passed through the tip of horizon created the feel of a black dragon slipping across the red sun.

The sunrise at Perunagar River was different but with a totally different feel. I was shooting a festival conducted by 8 to 9 villages of Kanchipuram at the dry riverbed of Perunagar. Each of the villages brought their own decorated chariot to the riverbed at night for the ritual of Garudaseva. After shooting the main rituals I slept on the river sand with the camera tight under my arms. My eyes opened early in the morning to a stunning visual of 9 chariots in the river sand, with the glittering sunrise in the background. It was like being in a war field like Kurukshetra of Mahabhatarha.

During the shooting nights of Tamil folk-art Terukoothu performance at Dusi and Takolam village of Kanchipuram, that Panasonic M.D 1000 stayed close to my body for many nights. That equipment can probably understand my heart beats more than the only girl who hugged me tight a few months back with the promise of being with me; but left in no time.

Hugging a camera and sleeping with it was never been any act of romance. I always did it to make sure that the equipment is safe at crowded locations and at night. But it always developed a sense of deep attachment with the gadget. May be that is the reason why I feel it as a part of the body while doing any shoot. Once I even had to bend down covering the camera with my body and run to protect it from a drunkard who tried to snatch it from me and on the process got beaten up by him on my back with wounds caused by his nails on my right hand.

I have never romanticised any equipment including camera but there is definitely a different feeling of attachment. Missing a moment or emotion on the location is more painful than getting a frame of camera right. I normally don’t wait to get everything in 100% perfection, because on the process I’m scared of missing something. Now that defines why I still carry the camera wrapped in bathroom towel or t-shirt on my back bag than the camera bag. I expect the gadget to be in hand and start shooting even before I think…

no more snow

Smile

The only thing the Little Tramp wanted was a little smile on her face… He smiled at her and so did she… Together they walked hand in hand, down a road at dawn, towards an uncertain future of new hope as the music ‘Smile’ flowed in the background. This is the climax of Charlie Chaplin film ‘Modern Times’. ‘Smile’ is a musical composition by Chaplin himself. My curiosity made me do a bit of research on this violin piece and happen to get a lot of surprises. A simple search to know about the versions of this song put me in an endless loop. My hunt for ‘smile’ made me fill my computer screen with countless ‘smiles’. In an hour I could find almost two hundred plus versions by various singers and I had to end the search… For a moment I saw the ghost of Chaplin smiling at me standing right in front of me. Can’t explain the feeling in the blog. I had to smile back… out of all my tensions. Chaplin was always been a role model whom I truly envy. I wish I could bring such smiles. Sigh! Well…Chaplin is Chaplin…and that is a film and not reality.

Smile, though your heart is aching,

Smile, even though it's breaking.

When there are clouds in the sky,

you'll get by.

If you smile through your fear and sorrow,

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll see the sun come shining through

for you.

Light up your face with gladness,

Hide every trace of sadness.

Although a tear may be ever so near,

That's the time you must keep on trying,

Smile, what's the use of crying?

You'll find that life is still worthwhile,

If you just smile.

I strongly believe that there was, is and will be only one brand called Charlie Chaplin. Sure, no one can be 100% in anything, but he did prove that there is a rank for being 99.99%. Who is this man? Where does he come from? Where did he go? And why? I have no answers… I am speechless each time I hear something new about him. How could he make people so happy?

The Chaplin’s version of ‘Smile’ was an instrumental piece that came out with ‘Modern Times’, in the year 1936. Later in 1954, John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons added the lyrics and it was sung by Nat King Cole. Since then, till date ‘Smile’ has had many versions, I leave you to explore. I had to quit….

‘Smile’ was also said to be Michael Jackson’s favourite… Michael Jackson recorded the song for his 1995 double album HIStory: Past, Present and Future, Book I. After his death in June 2009, the song charted due to legal digital download sales.

This is a sample list of others who sang it… well this is just some of the names I could search…… I had to quit…..

Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Natalie Cole, Michael Bolton, Barbra Streisand, Skeeter Davis, Judy Garland, Diana Ross, The Lettermen, Eric Clapton, Betty Everett and Jerry Butler, Timi Yuro, Holly Cole, Elvis Costello, Lyle Lovett, Julia Migenes, Steve Howe & Martin Taylor, Dalida, Michael Jackson, Michael Bublé, Maria Friedman, Petula Clark, Djavan, Sun Ra, Robert Downey Jr., Ray Quinn, Tony Bennett, Janelle Monae, Russell Watson, Josh Groban, Jimmy Durante, Barbi Benton, David Whitfield, Westlife, Harry Connick Jr., Charice, Nydia Rojas, Madeleine Peyroux, Harry Connick Jr, The Fureys, Charice Pempengco, Chris Botti, Ingmar Nordstrom, John Barry, Diana Ross, The Savage Rose, Chris Walden, Petula Clark, Hanne Boel, Ray Quinn, Roger Whittaker, Michael Bolton, Timi Yuro, Tony Bennett, Judy Garland, Rickie Lee Jones, Frank Pourcel, Manfred Junker, Lena Maria, Pierre Boussaguet, Palle Mikkelborg, Trijntji Oosterhuis, Jimmy Durante, Nana Mouskouri, Trini Lopez, Cyd Sharice, Chiquita, Ruby Murray, Sun Ra, Elvis Costello, Martin Nievera, Staffan William-Olsson, Tune Robbers,Holy Cole, Steve Brookstein, Sandie Shaw, Pearl Django, Linda Eder, Lucia Micarelli, Russell Watson, Ruth Brown, Joe Longthrone, Jimmy Scott, Sammy Davis Jr, Long John Baldry, Petula Clark, Tony O'Malley, Peggy lee, Spirit, Judy Garland, Amalia Gre', Amy Dickson, Atlantic Five Jazz Band, Johnny Mathis, Lisa Dawn Miller, Grace Kelly, Steve Tyrell, Jerome Jackson, David Whitfield, Danny La Rue, Lita Roza, Jacqueline Francois, All'Amore Ensemble, Simon Schott………..

Let's SMILE :)

Aerial Boundaries

"I try to live my life like I play my guitar" said Hedges, "asking, 'what happens if I press this?' I'm always pushing the boundaries of comfort."

While studying in MCC, in the year 2004, my friend Amit gave a music album called Miracles that was a collection of musical masterpieces by various composers around the world.

The music piece that immediately caught my attention was ‘Aerial Boundaries’ by American composer and acoustic guitarist Michael Hedges from Oklahoma. Since then I don’t think I have had a day in my life without listening to it. Slapping and plucking of strings or percussive slapping on the guitar body gives a totally different feel, which I guess is quite unique of Hedges. Except an ear for music I have no commendable knowledge of music, so I am not talking much on this. But acoustic guitar always remained a love and thus the songs based on it.

‘Aerial Boundaries’ always takes me to many mountain peaks and heights I keep imagining in life and the richness of my solitude. I often have dreams of rich green mountains touching clouds. Listening to it makes me experience the same, the touch of clouds and smell of raw and chill wind. I was reading about Michael Hedges today. Sorry to realize that he passed away at the age of 43 in late 1997, in a car accident. He was driving home from San Francisco after a Thanksgiving visit to his girlfriend in Long Island, New York. His body was found a few days afterward. The very next year 1998, his record Oracle won the Grammy Award for Best New Age Album. Hedges was able to let go of attachments and live the life of a true travelling troubadour, with a little Zen in his pocket says John Beaudin in an essay about him.

Michael Hedges was also a multi-instrumentalist, playing piano, percussion, tin whistle, harmonica, and flute, among others on his albums. Some of the techniques he used include slap harmonics created by slapping the strings over a harmonic node, use of right hand hammer-ons particularly on bass notes, percussive slapping on the guitar body etc. He also made extensive use of string dampening as employed in classical guitar, and was known to insist strongly on the precise duration of sounds and silences in his pieces. He also played guitar-variants like the harp guitar and the Trans-Trem Guitar.

My impatience definitely didn’t let me grab any knowledge of guitar, though I have tried learing it many times. There was always been a guitar in my room for no specific reason but as a showpiece. I remember that silver coloured one I had in mcc that was taken by hall friends for Saarang festival at IIT. I have no clue, where it had gone later, but sure it was there in Heber Chapel for one more year. Yesterday at Skimstone studio, my friend Peter gave me his old guitar, that I am now thinking of getting repaired… Don’t know what is its fate…

My Lost pAges

Introduce you to a new blog page www.mylostpages.blogspot.com that is short book I have written during my college days in in MCC. I thought I won't wait for publishing it but share it with those who like to read some real crap. :)

‘My Lost pAges’ is about a writer’s lost ages through his pages. It is a postmodern fiction without any conventional form or structure. It has neither a start nor an end. The structure is as of a book that can be read from any page - start to end, reverse or from any pages you wish to start with. Sincerely that is exactly the way that I have read all the books in my life. My favorite writer is Paulo Coelho. To be honest with you, I have not finished reading any of his books except The Alchemist.

I am not a writer in any weird sense, but in this write-up I am imagining myself as a great writer. ‘My Lost Pages’ are the pages this writer, lost from many of his personal notes as well as other works. Hence there are a lot of factual and fictional references.

There is no big thought process or targets while writing it, except the fact that I was writing with a fever of almost a 100 degrees and was unable to go out anywhere else from the room for three days. It was written during those days in the year 2004, in some alien mood that I can’t express now. Till today I’m unsuccessful to get the same mood to frame an extra page to My Lost pAges.

I’m dedicating this work to my family, 18 freaks of M.A Communication, Hexaware friends and that special someone who is my alter ego for past few years in pain and gain, whom I have never met in my life but known only through her voice and support.

Cheers,

Cockroach