Articurity

A few moments rotate within the circumference of each mortal life when your head spins-off to the inevitability of eternal aphorisms. Wisdom you always admired and knew it was there on that second rack but never actually bothered to pull down to the flavors of your diurnal chore. Then suddenly- a mild tremor-an earthquake shaking the private world-and in a jiffy you concede the potency of those very words you neglected all your life.
I received that pretty jolt today. I had gone to the Dakshineshwar Temple with my folks. The late evening had a chill of melancholy smeared on its countenance and mesmerized I reached for my ‘analog’ camera to capture the mood. All of a sudden out of no where from the blue, and wearing a green tacky shirt, came a wanderer from the temple office forbidding me to shoot. Now only those who have seen the golden sun dying on the shimmy of a sad and tranquil Ganga, behind the arches of a dozen Shiv temples can appreciate the aesthetics of the sight. I tried to reason with the gentleman but it was of no avail. He explained to me the security settings pretty clearly. Earlier no picture of the ‘Bigraha’ (idol) was allowed, but now the whole temple is a neo-Shangri La, no-snapping zone.
It was all the more saddening because I have been frequenting this spiritual haven since childhood (a rare Hindu holy place that doesn’t reek of squalor) and even last December I had a free reign strolling around with my handy cam recording video at will, with no zealot at sight and now even this petty Kodak is banned.
The point I am getting to is : This is the inevitable outcome of protectionism, security always rings the death knell on art. The very existence of the two is contradictory in nature; while security tends to restrict, art tends to emancipate us from the atrocity of routine. Security is shepherding the subjects, art is opening the window, security excludes people, art includes people. Most importantly however while security instinctively ‘suspects’ people, art restore our faith in humanity.
However all things said and done security is a ‘photosynthesis’ in modern life, a necessary evil you cannot do without in this age of global terrorism. How can I blame the poor harried officials for preventing me from snapping around knowing fully well that I can be just another suicide bomber preparing for my bloodiest battle. It’s the great Greeks who first commented that art is a peacetime activity. The restrictions imposed here simply highlight the fact that today we live in a constant no-peace, a quasi –war badgering our senses, numbing our nerves. And in such cloister security will prosper to build better walls giving us better mobiles to talk.
So unfortunately but perhaps not unsurprisingly Articurity, that esoteric medley of art and security where both co-exist in harmony is just another Utopian dream.

InOutcome

A lá Kolkata: Pujo is over for yet another season with its perfunctory dose of diversion- conventional methods of break taking – nothing zany, not too cocky, even adventure has its dosage stipulated here by the meters of pseudo communist intelligentsia. And so we exhale our trademark slumber – and Holy Ghost! Let’s get on our feet and dance to the itunes of the public vagaries! Hallelujah…
Now come to think of it Pujo (like every other concept in life) is a celebration of abysmal incompatibilities. I won’t dwell on the grandiose ones like “Village swivels below an aggressive Ganges in Murshidabad while the city shines its daggers” or the perennial urbane tear jerker like “No Light in 12 year old electrician boy’s Chandennagor house” meant to feel us calculated guilt that we promptly and how conveniently forget while thrashing that just nine maid servant again.
An overcrowded street. Its nylon excitement of the sweltering multitude coupled with that diabolical impatience to push forward has driven u to the edges of insanity. U fret , u grumble, mumble strange anathema on the asinine organizers now flummoxing their ruffled feathers, the liberal push surges u to the idol, u have already lost ninety three percent desire to view the damn thing, hundred percent to appreciate it………then RELIEF. The exit gate, u quickly step out and LO.an orgasm of cool breeze, post coital succor, the vivid hushness so much antithetical to the bustle next door. U need noise to feel the silence. And entry exit pujo gates can suffice that faith.

Proem

What's that maha mantra that connects William Shakespeare, J.K Rowling and me?
Of course other than being great litterateur churning out bestsellers at the flick of their wands (my one's on the way...its called "37 ways to prove Shakespeare was a Wizard"...in fact it gives the radicallest idea since relativity; that Globe Theater was actually the Hogwarts auditorium! it just stops short of claiming our Willie was old Dumbledoor himself) we share a common passion of inventing words. And as an ode to that potent ardor i describe my world floating around as "oddnauseam"
Of course all of us know the meaning of adnauseam.The oxford mini dictionary terms it as "to a sickening extent". Oddnauseam is a natural, lesser vitriolic extension of that. It charts not the pungency of detestation towards any-one or thing but rather the absurd rate of cosmic turtle turning round our head making us a further ridicule of our own existence with every passing moment.
Forget the myopicism of greed, jealousy. love or a gamut of other human emotions that drive our existence towards a concrete destiny-in the morning right from the word go as we wake up our exercise of delving into ludicrousness starts. We read the papers more out of habit than remembering things, we switch on the TV only to flick channels and scan the net not to scoop but to gaze at billions and trillions of data bytes inundating us. We get cross with others for wronging us, for being insensitive and then how conveniently transfer the same agony to someone else's psyche.

We want an honest government and yet are dishonest ourselves never realizing the truth that able administrators can only rise from ourselves. In every step we practice this dichotomy, this omnipotent dilemma-all efforts to discipline ourselves ending up accumulating further chaos. At the end situation becomes so hopelessly desperate we are forced to sit back releasing a self-derogatory chuckle.
These pages feebly attempt to be a screensaver from those life's little ironies. Stay put!
P.S - This blog is called solitaire (lonely in French) and yet it is released on the net for millions to read. Just oddnauseam. So much for loneliness!!!