The air felt warm and sweet, transpired with bits of champagne and last night’s pleasures, forced through nostrils into the dura mater, refusing to stop permeating all of my membranes. It was bright and iridescent morning on the Mediterranean, letting the aroma of delicious artisan breads and sweets engulf your senses, while visually stimulating every neurotransmitter within me. The rays of the morning sun did not burn, but rather caressed your body, fooling you, teasing you…letting the warmth block out any sense of consciousness.
The reality felt off key, somewhat askew, perverted and yet inviting. Sleepy streets began to awake, radiating life into every particle of air around them, bringing the noise level to a humming, lively background. The smell of freshly washed streets and garbage trucks navigating the medieval dimensions resonated along with mothers calling out to their respective off-springs to hurry up and get to the lyceums. It was déjà vu and I was in it for the first time.
As the bus approached our hotel, terracotta shine of the building and its tall, grandiose windows seems to be in striking contrast with the renaissance almost like feel of the city. This was a bright and stoic monolith, nestled firmly between its more exotic cousins. The doors felt heavy and smelled of cigar smoke. The knob felt almost velvety, transferring the oils of many hands before mine, entering this strange domain. The inside was very Hollywood and quite abrasive to the pure essence of the sleepy town right outside its doors. I inhaled a very stale whiff of air, mixed with a laundry and cheap liquor and hint of saffron. This was the beauty of this hotel: it’s own and as raw as I let it be.
When the door to the room opened, the unassuming décor and dim lighting made it feel small and uninviting. I felt almost suffocated, bombarded by yet another round of dark furniture and bourgeoisie-like wall paper tones. The sudden urge to flee came and then dissipated, as I noticed a ray of light gleaming against the lacquer headboard. My eyes travelled to the source and I was greeted with an amazing view of the Nice skyline, with it’s laundry lines and graffiti on each roof, pigeons migrating in swarms and architectural geniuses glistening in the sun’s rays. This was el paradiso, le magnifique! The window was abundant in its size and light in its frame. I felt that my excitement may damage its already fragile state…but, could not resist leaning on the sill….and inhaling the aroma of Nice, with its smelly seafood and fresh bread, cheap cigarettes and dark alleys, rich and poor strolling along side the beaches and artistic flames engulfing within you simply upon the mere act of breathing.
After the initial melting sensation, my eyes moved further towards the horizon, to take in the Cote D’Azur and its emerald beauty. Waves were foaming and aggressive, jerking the yachts, left and right…as if trying to tare apart the man-made demons encroaching on its territory. Seagulls flew close, hoping to catch a few tasty morsels of the menu de jour. Everyone’s white linen attire and tan bodies mixed in like buttery nuggets floating amidst the summer air, superfluous and elusive and yet rather philistine. This was simple and unassuming summer day, without a doubt a pinnacle of provincial pleasure. Provence...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Provence
I fell asleep slowly, listening to the murmur of Irish songs resonating across the streets of a sleepy town, filled with excitement of rugby and good wine. The street lamp kept twitching, evoking a spooky hint of nightly horrors, yet the screams and laughs from café below gave it a comical undertone. The Aux-en-Provence was falling asleep and so was I…
The dream transgressed into a rustled, awaken state of hurriedness….today was the day that we were to experience epicenter of Provence, the heart of the culture so engulfed in beauty and raw nature, the cradle of human creativity. I could not wait to get downstairs to the hotel lobby…but, lingered by the incredible bathroom window, with rusty frames and unclear glass parts, eluding sort of a mystical aura about the morning light. It’s unkempt and almost dangerous state; combined with smells of freshly baked bread and mopeds speeding away along the shaded street…made this window worthy of a comparison to a glimpse of heaven. This was heaven, earthy and real, dirty and fresh, picture-perfect and hidden. You could almost taste the freshly brewed coffee and see the baguettes popping up behind everyone’s tailored sleeves, perfectly arranged, yet unassuming outfits covering the petite frames and monotonous trickle of French, lingering, making you crave the sound more and more. Cigarettes, blue-eyed kids with little curls (resembling Michelangelo’s angels in the Sistine Chapel), lonely dogs searching for a lost piece of ham, birds cheering on the sunshine and … a single soul reveling in the serene atmosphere of a little French town.
This was a moment of a life-time, experienced only through books and magazine articles, dreamt of so often, it felt familiar, treasured to this day. This was pure and untamed passion for life, finally revealing itself through clear sparkles of a lonely tear…
The day progressed, running with speed of a mountain creek and with might of a Hercules. It flew by, without stopping, leaving me wanting for more. I could not fall asleep that night. I kept reliving the images of a synagogue nestled between the medieval peaks of the numerous churches, cobblestone streets, filled with multitude of sounds and smells, the blue sky, engulfing this vibrant town into a ravaged piece de resistance. My feet ached and my heart was beating slow and cool, finally at its resting pace, finally…feeling at ease. This was the corner of the Earth where I would feel full of energy and might to do it all, to live it all, to have it all…and have none. This was a place of equilibrium I so needed.
I finally fell asleep, listening to the cat’s meowing by the bathroom window and pigeons making sleepy sounds above the room. The street lamp kept twitching, evoking a spooky hint of nightly horrors, yet the mental pictures in my mind kept popping up, like perfect rays of sunshine, elusive and yet so close. The Aux-en-Provence was falling asleep and so was I…
The dream transgressed into a rustled, awaken state of hurriedness….today was the day that we were to experience epicenter of Provence, the heart of the culture so engulfed in beauty and raw nature, the cradle of human creativity. I could not wait to get downstairs to the hotel lobby…but, lingered by the incredible bathroom window, with rusty frames and unclear glass parts, eluding sort of a mystical aura about the morning light. It’s unkempt and almost dangerous state; combined with smells of freshly baked bread and mopeds speeding away along the shaded street…made this window worthy of a comparison to a glimpse of heaven. This was heaven, earthy and real, dirty and fresh, picture-perfect and hidden. You could almost taste the freshly brewed coffee and see the baguettes popping up behind everyone’s tailored sleeves, perfectly arranged, yet unassuming outfits covering the petite frames and monotonous trickle of French, lingering, making you crave the sound more and more. Cigarettes, blue-eyed kids with little curls (resembling Michelangelo’s angels in the Sistine Chapel), lonely dogs searching for a lost piece of ham, birds cheering on the sunshine and … a single soul reveling in the serene atmosphere of a little French town.
This was a moment of a life-time, experienced only through books and magazine articles, dreamt of so often, it felt familiar, treasured to this day. This was pure and untamed passion for life, finally revealing itself through clear sparkles of a lonely tear…
The day progressed, running with speed of a mountain creek and with might of a Hercules. It flew by, without stopping, leaving me wanting for more. I could not fall asleep that night. I kept reliving the images of a synagogue nestled between the medieval peaks of the numerous churches, cobblestone streets, filled with multitude of sounds and smells, the blue sky, engulfing this vibrant town into a ravaged piece de resistance. My feet ached and my heart was beating slow and cool, finally at its resting pace, finally…feeling at ease. This was the corner of the Earth where I would feel full of energy and might to do it all, to live it all, to have it all…and have none. This was a place of equilibrium I so needed.
I finally fell asleep, listening to the cat’s meowing by the bathroom window and pigeons making sleepy sounds above the room. The street lamp kept twitching, evoking a spooky hint of nightly horrors, yet the mental pictures in my mind kept popping up, like perfect rays of sunshine, elusive and yet so close. The Aux-en-Provence was falling asleep and so was I…
Logical oblivion
Lights shine dimly through the thick fog, poignant vapors emit from the torn ground, music slowly progresses to a ceremonial, uncompromising climax and … the hero triumphs over evil, with vigilant zest. The simple fare of a modern victory recedes itself over your closed psyche and the thrill is gone.
Dilemma of a modern life – McDonald’s-esque make-up, spiced with run-of-the-mill social evils. Characters are diluted with mere hints of emotion, idea of love is spread thick and mere notion of logic lingers over the unfathomable chain of events.
What should be the way out for a modern individual? How do we progress from this stale epitaph? What is the next driving force behind human consciousness?
The answer lies surprisingly close and yet never within reach. The force is the entity itself, encompassed within peripheral layers of filth that a modern life drags along. The picture of our soul has become so translucent, that we are unable to recognize its image without a guide. Our existence is defined solely by quantifiable, as opposed to qualitative progress. Not our dreams, but calculations become the epicenter of thought.
Thought is a process of retrieval of data already received and its application to the subject at hand. When looking at this formula, one can not help but wonder what is the definition of data in today’s age? Is it the emotional havoc which has covered this planet for centuries? Is it the scientific research on the brink of yet another discovery? Is it the notion that everything is relative? Or, is it the knowledge that importance of what’s integral to your life is your own personal choice? That depends on how you approach the definition of data.
Data may be a collection of specimens, an essay, an experience or a nightmare. Data is all around us and has been reduced to particles smaller then those visible to the human mind. Data has lost its importance and has become a given. So, if your previous collection of knowledge is a given and thus is somewhat undisputed…do you have the ability to carry it over and apply it to the situation at hand? Most likely no, but most of us would say yes. Pre-determined reaction to each situation based upon prior experience skews the future fate of anything that you yet to experience.
So, if data is a constant, as opposed to a process-in-motion, then do we really think? Do we apply the logic when travelling through time? Or, do we simply act using our instincts? Probably the latter. And, if that is the case, then do we really have the claim to be ‘logical’ creatures? Do we really analyze our life’s moments to evolve into a wholesome, progressive member of the Earth’s habitat?
The answer is not one-sided and may come ‘judged’ prior to being received. A catch 22 in an ocean of logical oblivion.
Dilemma of a modern life – McDonald’s-esque make-up, spiced with run-of-the-mill social evils. Characters are diluted with mere hints of emotion, idea of love is spread thick and mere notion of logic lingers over the unfathomable chain of events.
What should be the way out for a modern individual? How do we progress from this stale epitaph? What is the next driving force behind human consciousness?
The answer lies surprisingly close and yet never within reach. The force is the entity itself, encompassed within peripheral layers of filth that a modern life drags along. The picture of our soul has become so translucent, that we are unable to recognize its image without a guide. Our existence is defined solely by quantifiable, as opposed to qualitative progress. Not our dreams, but calculations become the epicenter of thought.
Thought is a process of retrieval of data already received and its application to the subject at hand. When looking at this formula, one can not help but wonder what is the definition of data in today’s age? Is it the emotional havoc which has covered this planet for centuries? Is it the scientific research on the brink of yet another discovery? Is it the notion that everything is relative? Or, is it the knowledge that importance of what’s integral to your life is your own personal choice? That depends on how you approach the definition of data.
Data may be a collection of specimens, an essay, an experience or a nightmare. Data is all around us and has been reduced to particles smaller then those visible to the human mind. Data has lost its importance and has become a given. So, if your previous collection of knowledge is a given and thus is somewhat undisputed…do you have the ability to carry it over and apply it to the situation at hand? Most likely no, but most of us would say yes. Pre-determined reaction to each situation based upon prior experience skews the future fate of anything that you yet to experience.
So, if data is a constant, as opposed to a process-in-motion, then do we really think? Do we apply the logic when travelling through time? Or, do we simply act using our instincts? Probably the latter. And, if that is the case, then do we really have the claim to be ‘logical’ creatures? Do we really analyze our life’s moments to evolve into a wholesome, progressive member of the Earth’s habitat?
The answer is not one-sided and may come ‘judged’ prior to being received. A catch 22 in an ocean of logical oblivion.
Foreigner
I often wonder who I am: a mother, a wife, an employee, a friend, a daughter, a confidant, a citizen, a human. How does one define one’s own existence in a single attribute? Is there really a need to do so? Our own psyche is so fragile, that we need to label its infinite spirals in order to bring some order to our dispersed souls.
It was a bright winter’s morning, mixed with diamond shaped sun-rays and intricate snow-flakes, blanketing the windshield, making the drive a bit tough, but quite enjoyable. The deep blue intoxication of a winter’s smell drew the blinds of my mind to open and I was engulfed in coldness of the moment, elevated to a more leveled moment of existence.
As always, NPR was on and I was attentively picking up bits and pieces of social events, reducing their meaning to a mere highlight. The news did not seem to spike the attention level, yet personal accounts always seem to be a bit deeper, a bit more human, if you will. A voice came on the radio, with a familiar Indian accent. I perked up, eagerly awaiting a colorful story of the foreign land, through the eyes of the native. Yet, what I got was totally different. It was a view of the foreign land through the eyes of its native, but with a lens of an American.
Not only did the story strike a note, but it also felt familiar. The narrator described his ‘removal’ from the Indian society once he has immigrated to the States and almost an outwardly experience when returning for a visit. His family did not think that he could any longer tolerate the street food. His friends did not think that he was up for indulging in the local entertainment. His motherland was treating him like a foreigner.
I thought about my own perils for the past 20 years. In 1990 my family and I immigrated to United States in hopes of finding that American Dream and living in the lap of luxury. Of course, as in any fairy tale, reality came knocking faster then we could learn the jargon and life took a shape of rather mundane existence. We were living in the same in the same air, in the same habitat….but, a whole new world. A world full of Barbie’s and over-sized drinks, packaged foods and poorly-built over-priced housing, racial ‘understated’ tension lingering from somewhat unsuccessful desegregation attempts in the South. This was a world where bigger was better, but bigger was also half-empty. This was a world that we did not understand, a world much like our own, only with a totally different logic and mentality.
Two decades have since passed and I am no longer a shy Russian immigrant, with inability to convey my thoughts and poorly stated English. I have gone through educational system, I have failed at many things, and I have over-come many problems. I am a product of an American society and proudly display it’s attributes on a daily basis. I am a citizen of this land and cherish my rights. Life is as good as I let it be.
So, why did the story strike such a bitter note? What made me reflect on the past 20 years with a minute dose of regret? Then, it hit me: I was an American…who will be a foreigner in her motherland. I was that person who would be treated as an outsider if return to Russia. I could no longer relate to lavish get up that every Russian woman would impose on herself, regardless of her mood. I could not relate to the bitter-sweet poetry of the Soviet era, regarding the government in its puny power-trip. I would no longer understand the numerous soirees which were a part of every-day Russian life, filled with salty foods and heavy liquor. I would no longer understand the fascination with driving the right car. My superficial radar was shut and I did not have the means to re-start it. It was forever gone and nothing could bring back that part of me. I realized the loss that occurred two decades ago. I felt its presence, like a ghost, lingering above me, laughing at my American persona.
I dream, speak, converse, argue, fight…lament in English. It is my mother-tongue, even if adopted. I have assumed the new shell so well that my old was no longer kept underneath. Instead of becoming Russian-American, I have become an American. Period. I have lost the intricate part of that 16 year old girl that set her sights high once upon a time in Orlando airport, wondering what Coca-Cola would taste like…
Two decades later…I know who I am – I am a foreigner, forever.
It was a bright winter’s morning, mixed with diamond shaped sun-rays and intricate snow-flakes, blanketing the windshield, making the drive a bit tough, but quite enjoyable. The deep blue intoxication of a winter’s smell drew the blinds of my mind to open and I was engulfed in coldness of the moment, elevated to a more leveled moment of existence.
As always, NPR was on and I was attentively picking up bits and pieces of social events, reducing their meaning to a mere highlight. The news did not seem to spike the attention level, yet personal accounts always seem to be a bit deeper, a bit more human, if you will. A voice came on the radio, with a familiar Indian accent. I perked up, eagerly awaiting a colorful story of the foreign land, through the eyes of the native. Yet, what I got was totally different. It was a view of the foreign land through the eyes of its native, but with a lens of an American.
Not only did the story strike a note, but it also felt familiar. The narrator described his ‘removal’ from the Indian society once he has immigrated to the States and almost an outwardly experience when returning for a visit. His family did not think that he could any longer tolerate the street food. His friends did not think that he was up for indulging in the local entertainment. His motherland was treating him like a foreigner.
I thought about my own perils for the past 20 years. In 1990 my family and I immigrated to United States in hopes of finding that American Dream and living in the lap of luxury. Of course, as in any fairy tale, reality came knocking faster then we could learn the jargon and life took a shape of rather mundane existence. We were living in the same in the same air, in the same habitat….but, a whole new world. A world full of Barbie’s and over-sized drinks, packaged foods and poorly-built over-priced housing, racial ‘understated’ tension lingering from somewhat unsuccessful desegregation attempts in the South. This was a world where bigger was better, but bigger was also half-empty. This was a world that we did not understand, a world much like our own, only with a totally different logic and mentality.
Two decades have since passed and I am no longer a shy Russian immigrant, with inability to convey my thoughts and poorly stated English. I have gone through educational system, I have failed at many things, and I have over-come many problems. I am a product of an American society and proudly display it’s attributes on a daily basis. I am a citizen of this land and cherish my rights. Life is as good as I let it be.
So, why did the story strike such a bitter note? What made me reflect on the past 20 years with a minute dose of regret? Then, it hit me: I was an American…who will be a foreigner in her motherland. I was that person who would be treated as an outsider if return to Russia. I could no longer relate to lavish get up that every Russian woman would impose on herself, regardless of her mood. I could not relate to the bitter-sweet poetry of the Soviet era, regarding the government in its puny power-trip. I would no longer understand the numerous soirees which were a part of every-day Russian life, filled with salty foods and heavy liquor. I would no longer understand the fascination with driving the right car. My superficial radar was shut and I did not have the means to re-start it. It was forever gone and nothing could bring back that part of me. I realized the loss that occurred two decades ago. I felt its presence, like a ghost, lingering above me, laughing at my American persona.
I dream, speak, converse, argue, fight…lament in English. It is my mother-tongue, even if adopted. I have assumed the new shell so well that my old was no longer kept underneath. Instead of becoming Russian-American, I have become an American. Period. I have lost the intricate part of that 16 year old girl that set her sights high once upon a time in Orlando airport, wondering what Coca-Cola would taste like…
Two decades later…I know who I am – I am a foreigner, forever.
iLife
Upload. Download. RAM. iPad. Website. Function. Apple. iPhone. iTouch. Twitter. Facebook. TXT. 4 U…
Yes, to a modern-age individual these are simply a matter of daily-usage vocabulary. When you mention a word ‘mouse’ to a 6 year old…chances are your response will deal with a combination of plastic and metal, that guides your helpless hands across the monitor screen. If you mention the word ‘program’ to a 20-something…chances are you will get a reply relevant to the combination of computerized language that executes your wishes and desires behind the scenes. We are living in the age of technologically savvy infants and technologically-challenged geriatric layer of the society. Neither is guilty as charged and both are guilty of their own innocence.
What has become the norm in our world was simply a word of mouth only 100 years ago. Your pictures did not appear in seconds, your thoughts did not amount to anything more then a short-written letter that would take weeks to reach its destination. Your entertainment was confined to free-thought, pure art and fantastical images of what’s to come in years ahead. No one had a slightest inclination to burrow inside a box, with electronic entanglement of million wires and rays, beaming signals, rather then smiles across the airwaves. But, that’s our reality. We live in a world that has the heartbeat of a machine and the logic of a human.
Contradiction in terms comes to mind. When the human heart fails to perform, human logic takes over and initiates survival instinct. When machine fails, the logic is not affected, as it is a separate entity. It simply remains in limbo, encompasses by a thread of faint memory of its canvass.
The human logic, the weakest link in our survival, which has never been used to its full potential, and yet remains to be the culprit of many wars, confrontations, gross mistakes. We deem for things to be logical and thus apply our perverted line of thoughts to the outside world. Result: a grotesque rebuttal from those that are most naïve in their logic, aka the previous generation.
When you have put the day behind you and have a few minutes to catch up on what’s going on in this world, the choices are abound. There is Facebook, there is Twitter, and then there is the good ol’ fashioned telephone… Knowing the fast-paced life order, majority of people would rather not have contact at all, then use a phone to catch up with their friends. Foe or friend, regardless of the nature of the relationship, the electronic form of communication has become the norm. What used to be the word of mouth, is now the sight of eye and the sound of ear. We don’t have the limitations of exposure that was so heavily present years ago. Now, the borders are gone, the limitations are vague at best and the lives of others – in plain sight.
This begs the question: when does your personal life end and the public life begins? Do we now have public spectrum of data that’s as much of a public property as let’s say a celebrity image taken by paparazzi? What defines privacy at this point?
Answer: what you want it to be. In the age of electronic diarrhea, the extent to which you have the ability to expose your life is endless (if not, over-the-top). But, it is up to you on how you want to handle it. To simply put it: you define the borders in the electronic park and only you. Welcome to the highway of iLife.
Yes, to a modern-age individual these are simply a matter of daily-usage vocabulary. When you mention a word ‘mouse’ to a 6 year old…chances are your response will deal with a combination of plastic and metal, that guides your helpless hands across the monitor screen. If you mention the word ‘program’ to a 20-something…chances are you will get a reply relevant to the combination of computerized language that executes your wishes and desires behind the scenes. We are living in the age of technologically savvy infants and technologically-challenged geriatric layer of the society. Neither is guilty as charged and both are guilty of their own innocence.
What has become the norm in our world was simply a word of mouth only 100 years ago. Your pictures did not appear in seconds, your thoughts did not amount to anything more then a short-written letter that would take weeks to reach its destination. Your entertainment was confined to free-thought, pure art and fantastical images of what’s to come in years ahead. No one had a slightest inclination to burrow inside a box, with electronic entanglement of million wires and rays, beaming signals, rather then smiles across the airwaves. But, that’s our reality. We live in a world that has the heartbeat of a machine and the logic of a human.
Contradiction in terms comes to mind. When the human heart fails to perform, human logic takes over and initiates survival instinct. When machine fails, the logic is not affected, as it is a separate entity. It simply remains in limbo, encompasses by a thread of faint memory of its canvass.
The human logic, the weakest link in our survival, which has never been used to its full potential, and yet remains to be the culprit of many wars, confrontations, gross mistakes. We deem for things to be logical and thus apply our perverted line of thoughts to the outside world. Result: a grotesque rebuttal from those that are most naïve in their logic, aka the previous generation.
When you have put the day behind you and have a few minutes to catch up on what’s going on in this world, the choices are abound. There is Facebook, there is Twitter, and then there is the good ol’ fashioned telephone… Knowing the fast-paced life order, majority of people would rather not have contact at all, then use a phone to catch up with their friends. Foe or friend, regardless of the nature of the relationship, the electronic form of communication has become the norm. What used to be the word of mouth, is now the sight of eye and the sound of ear. We don’t have the limitations of exposure that was so heavily present years ago. Now, the borders are gone, the limitations are vague at best and the lives of others – in plain sight.
This begs the question: when does your personal life end and the public life begins? Do we now have public spectrum of data that’s as much of a public property as let’s say a celebrity image taken by paparazzi? What defines privacy at this point?
Answer: what you want it to be. In the age of electronic diarrhea, the extent to which you have the ability to expose your life is endless (if not, over-the-top). But, it is up to you on how you want to handle it. To simply put it: you define the borders in the electronic park and only you. Welcome to the highway of iLife.
Pandora
It was a sleepy, dreary and not so memorable morning, one of those where you truly don’t have a recollection of, and yet…it came to be somewhat of an enigma. The drive was dormant at best, mixed in with flurries and scattered rays of sunshine. The clouds resembled somewhat of an old marshmallow mass, hanging in limbo between two gray masses of abyss. A typical winter morning, never overly depicted in art, and yet so common in real life. Air was stiff with exhaust piling in on top of you, letting the mood set in with the force of hurricane.
I turned on NPR to hear a bit of common sense and divert my attention elsewhere from this hollow void. The words started flowing, releasing a bit of energy with each sound, filling the car with almost a weightless aroma of reason. At first, the topic did not register and yet eventually I started hearing sounds of Bollywood bursting in through the words, engulfing the theme with colorful motifs and fantasy-like settings. The program centered around a new movie being released in US, which was made in Bollywood. It has become a common occurrence to see these appear in main-stream releases and no longer contained the kind of novice that ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ brought into American world of cinematic perception.
But, that’s not what caught my attention. The actor being interviewed began to describe the premise of Indian cinema, the reasons behind it’s ever-lasting sugared and almost redundant portrayal of goodness and love. He described how the movies did not present a fantastical view of the world if inspected closer. They portrayed a perfect love, a good life and an uncomplicated future. To a Westerner, these would be considered idealistic and non-attainable. We tend to release a negative/revolting view against pure concepts, which have been a standard of ‘successful’ life for quite a while. Does that portray us as a failed contingency of human species? Do we not have realistic standards in our lives, so that our cinema does not have the drive to present these on the silver screen? Do we never accept a result, without not having to see beyond it? When does over-achieving presents a regression in progress?
The interview proceeded to disclose the goals/dreams/aspirations of an average Indian family. They did not seem out-of-reach… A good education for kids, a good marriage, a nice car, enough to be comfortable. These were not fantastical, these were REAL. What has become a fairy-tale like ideal of over-the-top Bollywood was nothing more then an exaggerated view of what a life should be, no matter what your origin is. These were simply a set of glorified goals of what an American family was back in the 50s. It was not idealistic, it was simplistic.
This realization begs the question: what has become of America? Are we no longer able to lead a life free of complications? Do we bring on those complications in order to justify our existence? Why do our movies depict extreme horror, violence, perverted sexual behavior, hurt and pain? What makes this a bearable direction for a cinematic history that drives this society to such a morbid life’s outlook?
The interview proceeded, as I thought about these things, wondering whether this signifies the opulent power of progress to make the human species revert on their well-being? And then I heard this phrase, “America is Pandora”. I think that I stopped listening after that moment, not realizing how profound this statement was. Just recently having the experience of watching ‘Avatar’ brought back the emotional turmoil that was stirred up by the movie. Pandora, a far-away planet, with eco-friendly species, co-existing in pure harmony and being invaded by the humans… We were considered to be the Pandora to India? How could that be?
And, then, it clicked. The America that we live in and the America that we are a part of, are two very different worlds. Our country is not Pandora to us. But, our country has always been a symbol of freedom, independence, power and humanity. We do not possess the purity of Pandora, nor do we have the emotional intelligence to co-exist in pure harmony with our world. We are the pests of this planet, slowly, but surely destroying it, piece by piece. So, Pandora-like vision of USA is surely the same thing as fantasy-like vision of India’s Bollywood. We see there movies as a ideal of something that does not exists…and sadly, we are seen by the rest of the world as something that we are not…
So, in the mere logic of mathematics, it seems that…if to India, USA is Pandora (the idealized place) and to America, India is Bollywod (the fantastical world of fairy-like themes)…then, America is nothing more then another Bollywod…so, the next question is, why don’t our next Oscar winner dances in the streets and portrays the long-gone era of goodness, purity and so-needed humanity?
I turned on NPR to hear a bit of common sense and divert my attention elsewhere from this hollow void. The words started flowing, releasing a bit of energy with each sound, filling the car with almost a weightless aroma of reason. At first, the topic did not register and yet eventually I started hearing sounds of Bollywood bursting in through the words, engulfing the theme with colorful motifs and fantasy-like settings. The program centered around a new movie being released in US, which was made in Bollywood. It has become a common occurrence to see these appear in main-stream releases and no longer contained the kind of novice that ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ brought into American world of cinematic perception.
But, that’s not what caught my attention. The actor being interviewed began to describe the premise of Indian cinema, the reasons behind it’s ever-lasting sugared and almost redundant portrayal of goodness and love. He described how the movies did not present a fantastical view of the world if inspected closer. They portrayed a perfect love, a good life and an uncomplicated future. To a Westerner, these would be considered idealistic and non-attainable. We tend to release a negative/revolting view against pure concepts, which have been a standard of ‘successful’ life for quite a while. Does that portray us as a failed contingency of human species? Do we not have realistic standards in our lives, so that our cinema does not have the drive to present these on the silver screen? Do we never accept a result, without not having to see beyond it? When does over-achieving presents a regression in progress?
The interview proceeded to disclose the goals/dreams/aspirations of an average Indian family. They did not seem out-of-reach… A good education for kids, a good marriage, a nice car, enough to be comfortable. These were not fantastical, these were REAL. What has become a fairy-tale like ideal of over-the-top Bollywood was nothing more then an exaggerated view of what a life should be, no matter what your origin is. These were simply a set of glorified goals of what an American family was back in the 50s. It was not idealistic, it was simplistic.
This realization begs the question: what has become of America? Are we no longer able to lead a life free of complications? Do we bring on those complications in order to justify our existence? Why do our movies depict extreme horror, violence, perverted sexual behavior, hurt and pain? What makes this a bearable direction for a cinematic history that drives this society to such a morbid life’s outlook?
The interview proceeded, as I thought about these things, wondering whether this signifies the opulent power of progress to make the human species revert on their well-being? And then I heard this phrase, “America is Pandora”. I think that I stopped listening after that moment, not realizing how profound this statement was. Just recently having the experience of watching ‘Avatar’ brought back the emotional turmoil that was stirred up by the movie. Pandora, a far-away planet, with eco-friendly species, co-existing in pure harmony and being invaded by the humans… We were considered to be the Pandora to India? How could that be?
And, then, it clicked. The America that we live in and the America that we are a part of, are two very different worlds. Our country is not Pandora to us. But, our country has always been a symbol of freedom, independence, power and humanity. We do not possess the purity of Pandora, nor do we have the emotional intelligence to co-exist in pure harmony with our world. We are the pests of this planet, slowly, but surely destroying it, piece by piece. So, Pandora-like vision of USA is surely the same thing as fantasy-like vision of India’s Bollywood. We see there movies as a ideal of something that does not exists…and sadly, we are seen by the rest of the world as something that we are not…
So, in the mere logic of mathematics, it seems that…if to India, USA is Pandora (the idealized place) and to America, India is Bollywod (the fantastical world of fairy-like themes)…then, America is nothing more then another Bollywod…so, the next question is, why don’t our next Oscar winner dances in the streets and portrays the long-gone era of goodness, purity and so-needed humanity?
Inept theory
Frustration release, the blow of a hurt psyche, and the little rattle of an angry bug wrestling inside your mind…you breathe, you breathe again and you let it go. Well, at least you think that’s what happens.
Your mind falls into abyss of empty void, filled with unseen poison and stuffy air of regret. You store the memory, securing its fate into a minuscule pocket within your dura mater, letting go of the grips from so-unwanted reality. You scream inside your soul, wanting to rip apart the feelings, to shed the gray cloud of being unsatisfied.
And then…
You swallow the pride, take matter into your own hands and dismiss the nagging pocking of the guilt to follow. You imagine the worst and live for the best, while balancing an ever-fragile mind, full of fear.
And then….you stop, you listen to your heart and to your mind, you decide what’s to rule your life and you let it lead. You dismiss insignificant pests of the mundane world with their putrid opinions and attitudes. You see the clear view of their intentions, like snakes slightly in a smile-stance, ready to attack. You see the shining fangs, filled with agonizing filth, ready to pierce into your shaken world. You face it. You face it all….You choose to stand and not fall before the danger. You choose to face and let it strike, while giving it the blow it can not handle – your mere presence reinforced with will to live above the dirt of this world. You see yourself as a intricate puzzle piece within the web of this universe, being as important as any other living creature, having the right to be.
An ever-present struggle between the good and the bad, the intelligentsia and the philistines, the white and the black. Pretty small to stage, but yet inevitably impossible to solve. It is a fact of every day life, of every day hurt, of every day happiness.
And then…
The dream of a sparkling, clean, effervescent breeze, encompassing your whole body, caressing the tender heart, letting the steam evaporate into the clouds of cotton. You dream of heaven, filled with smiles and ice cream cones, yelps of a helpless puppy, sheets smothered with scents of a cheap perfume... translucent silk of the mountain air densely coating your lungs. You want the simplicity of the moment to last. You crave the outlet of felicity to engulf you in flames of pleasure. You dream…
And, you wake up and the mind falls into the abyss of empty void…
Your mind falls into abyss of empty void, filled with unseen poison and stuffy air of regret. You store the memory, securing its fate into a minuscule pocket within your dura mater, letting go of the grips from so-unwanted reality. You scream inside your soul, wanting to rip apart the feelings, to shed the gray cloud of being unsatisfied.
And then…
You swallow the pride, take matter into your own hands and dismiss the nagging pocking of the guilt to follow. You imagine the worst and live for the best, while balancing an ever-fragile mind, full of fear.
And then….you stop, you listen to your heart and to your mind, you decide what’s to rule your life and you let it lead. You dismiss insignificant pests of the mundane world with their putrid opinions and attitudes. You see the clear view of their intentions, like snakes slightly in a smile-stance, ready to attack. You see the shining fangs, filled with agonizing filth, ready to pierce into your shaken world. You face it. You face it all….You choose to stand and not fall before the danger. You choose to face and let it strike, while giving it the blow it can not handle – your mere presence reinforced with will to live above the dirt of this world. You see yourself as a intricate puzzle piece within the web of this universe, being as important as any other living creature, having the right to be.
An ever-present struggle between the good and the bad, the intelligentsia and the philistines, the white and the black. Pretty small to stage, but yet inevitably impossible to solve. It is a fact of every day life, of every day hurt, of every day happiness.
And then…
The dream of a sparkling, clean, effervescent breeze, encompassing your whole body, caressing the tender heart, letting the steam evaporate into the clouds of cotton. You dream of heaven, filled with smiles and ice cream cones, yelps of a helpless puppy, sheets smothered with scents of a cheap perfume... translucent silk of the mountain air densely coating your lungs. You want the simplicity of the moment to last. You crave the outlet of felicity to engulf you in flames of pleasure. You dream…
And, you wake up and the mind falls into the abyss of empty void…
Arrival
Such is a destiny of human kind, such is the destiny of life.
The air on the plane was stale, filled with hours of flatulence and clastrophobia, combined with a faint smell of Jack Daniels. People were exhausted and groggy, needlessly agitated and ready to explode. Alas, the atmosphere of a trans-Atlantic flight - never fails to pose a threat to the humanity within us. A small space, a precarious height and an unclear path, that is all that is needed to compose a combastible situation.
Voice came over the intercome, announcing approach to the airport and immediately, as if a layer of gloom has been lifted, the people started the usual course of niceneties and 'Good Mornings' towards their fellow travellers. The irony of it all made me forget the last eight hours of mid-air hell and realize that the view I have been longing to experience was right before my eyes.
The air on the plane was stale, filled with hours of flatulence and clastrophobia, combined with a faint smell of Jack Daniels. People were exhausted and groggy, needlessly agitated and ready to explode. Alas, the atmosphere of a trans-Atlantic flight - never fails to pose a threat to the humanity within us. A small space, a precarious height and an unclear path, that is all that is needed to compose a combastible situation.
Voice came over the intercome, announcing approach to the airport and immediately, as if a layer of gloom has been lifted, the people started the usual course of niceneties and 'Good Mornings' towards their fellow travellers. The irony of it all made me forget the last eight hours of mid-air hell and realize that the view I have been longing to experience was right before my eyes.
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