Yesterday morning I woke up to a weird feeling inside.
It was the first day of a 10-day long folk festival celebrated back in my native place. While nothing had ever prompted me to indulge in any festivities of any sort, this one time, something seemed different.
I can't quite place my finger on exactly what caused this change. Perhaps it was the new iPod I had just purchased, which seemed to hange the very definition of many concepts in life. Or it could even have been the last movie I had seen, the one in which Brad Framer, the 2008 Golden Orangutan award winner, played the role of a gardener, who was gradually spiralling into a sweet form of dementia.
Both of these developments touched on themes very close to my sense of self. Music, the muse to countless despairing souls across the universe, has been one of the cornerstones of my existence. Everything, from the Golden 60's, to the modern day hip-hop, as also the infiniteness encompassed in our classical art forms, finds place in my "come-get-me-high" cortex, which I'm sure occupies a major chunk of my brain.
On the other hand, creative human expression, with which music intersects greatly, is another aspect of humanity which fascinates me. Couple that with the story of an unassuming gardener, growing ever more in love with the inanimate little nymphets all around him, and you get a recipe more potent than pot. There is so much here that begs to be delved into. The very concept of dementia, and its social strings, the intense trisection between genius, insanity and love, among many others that await their timely discovery.
Anyhow.
That is another aspect of Aankh Micholi in my eyes. 'Aanandam' is that state of immaculate, untouchable highness that one reaches, when one knows that one has just experienced something truly celestial. It could be anything that triggers off such a feel, from a concert by our living legends, to an unworldly goal scored by your favourite footballer, to even just a random discovery of old money in an old coat pocket. Depending on the context, the person that defines you at that instant, and several other variables, each of the above, and many, many others, has the potential to take one to aanandam.
And it is that state, that our Infinite State Machine-sque existences seek to achieve. And it is that, that smiling little muse, that plays the classic game of hide-and-seek with us. The hope of course is that one fine day, one shall discover much to one's delight, that the muse has quit the naughty teasing, and has come to stay for good. How one reaches there, I shall not try to speculate on, at least not yet. With time, we shall hope to find some meaning and direction in that ever-so-elusive space.
As for the festival, well, I was just about to leave my place for a social gathering downtown. However, as is very often the case perhaps, something happened, which changed the course of history, to put it in overly grandiose terms.
I got a call from Tanmoy, one of my best friends from my school days. While we had last met almost 4 years back, we both caught up to speed within 15 minutes. And that point on, how the next 3.5 hours flew past on Skype, well, only time knows, for the next distinct memory I have, is of placing the headphone-mic back on the table, glancing out of the window at some wedding band practising the latest hit number, and then rushing to the kitchen to answer my growling stomach.
Merry festivity it was nonetheless I guess, figuratively if nothing else.
Such are the beauties of life even! :)
--kandisa
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