the devil

its been a long time now i am thinking about the motives, drives, or whatever behind an artist's creation. why a writer writes a novel, why a poet writes a poem, why a painter paints, why a flutist plays? what is that leads to the creation. (here i m talking about artist whom i consider as creator of art. and i am not at all conerned with your perception of an artist.)

an artist is always limited by his/her some externalities such as
1. the geography in which he/she was born, has grown up, stayed and staying.
2. his/her parents, neighbours, friends and teachers.
3. the social-economic-political conditions prevailing at various times in his/her life.

now all these things are LCM in every human being's life. then what separates an artist from others is:
1. the impact of these things on his/her mind and the effect of that impact
2. the ability to analyze experience and turn it into objects which can be used and may be reused
3. the ability to understand one's current skill level and the persistance to excel or improve.
4. and most important is to weave all these pieces into an art form (and this point differenciates a businessman, police, lawyer, politician almost every individual in some or other business from an artist).

now surrealism, abstract, symbolic, similie, cynicism, sci-fi, dance on a prose, what is all this? they also portray the artists' experiences, realities, the effects, and his interpretation. but in a different manner.

but the point where we started still remains. why an artist creates? what on earth makes him to do so as his non-doing of it is not going to change anything for the world. the entropy is still going to increase. the chaos will still establish itself. really, why?

his surrounding, parents, home, love, friends, leaders, ideology. will all these drive him. no. not at all. may be the experiences from all these will. but is it bcos of this he creates. ne. again not satisfactory answer. an experience wont drive to create. but its impact on mind. yes. it will. but what kind of impact?
when he feels happy? when he feels numb? when he feels miserable? when he feels to dance like hell? when he feels like crying? when he feels helpless? when he feels nothing? when he feels to kill? when he siezes to feel anything? when he feels very little, little, medium, intense, too intense of any of above mentioned or not mentioned feelings? which of these feeling and which level of intensity will make orginal art? which combo will yield to classic? which combo is good? which is bad? which leads to romance? which leads to realism and which leads to surrealism? which makes filthy novels, paintings, dances, plays which smell of hypocricy?

i am still trying to find out the answer.
all of yours comments are welcomed.
please feel free to write anything.

love

Vera
Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn
Remember how she said
that We would meet again Some sunny day
Vera! Vera! What has become of you
Does anybody else in here Feel the way I do ?

hahahaha
Good morning Worm your honour
The crowd will plainly show The prisoner who now stands before you
Was caught red handed showing feelings
Showing feelings of an almost human nature
This will not do!

goto blog: fuck the world.. (if u cannot find it, here is the link.. http://kosla.blogspot.com/2005_05_01_kosla_archive.html)

hehehehe.. one should never cry.. especially if he is a male..
r u the one?

The Lexus and The Olive Tree

Moslem religion has a very good thing: the brotherhood (its calles as Umma). If you look at the Prophet Mohammad’s entry into Medina, he carried a few people from Mecca with him when he entered Medina. He asked people from Medina that these migrants from Mecca (who have become migrants because of their faith on Moslem religion and are expelled from Mecca) are your brothers. Moreover they will be treated as equal partners in their wealth and female. So the brotherhood concept of Moslem religion starts from this incidence.
Christians on the other hand are very clean and tidy. If you see even the converted Christians from Hindu religion (the lower casts known for their unhygienic and unclean behavior by upper casts) they suddenly turn into hardcore Christians- the clean and tidy ones.
What drives this? Why people turn suddenly into something which they were not? Why?
Now comes the Hindu religion. Now, why I should consider about Hindu religion? Because I was born in this religion? No! There is no Hindu religion. Hindu is a culture. It’s a representation of a society with same culture. Yes, same not only similar. The calender is same from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, same Gods are worshipped from Atak to Arunachal. Does Hindu covers cleanliness? I don’t think so. Does it cover brotherhood? I don’t think so. Then what?
It represents a society. It doesn’t take the onus of the functioning of this society. It doesn’t take care of the welfare of the society. It doesn't state the rules and regulations. It doesn't state the procedures. It doesn't interfere with politics and governence. It does tell good and bad, pious and sins, rights and responsibilities. But all these are suggestions, guidelines but not hardlines etched on rocks not to change. You are free to do whatever pleases your whim.
I would like to quote a small story from a book named, ‘The Lexus and The Olive Tree’ written by an eminent journalist Thomas L. Friedman. (With your due permission, Sir)
“The truth was once beautiful conveyed by Rabbi Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s classic Novel One Hundred Years of Solitude:
Marquez tells about a village where people were afflicted with a strange plague of forgetfulness, a kind of contagious amnesia. Starting with the oldest inhabitants and working its way through the population, the plague causes people to forget the names of even the most common everyday objects. One young man, still unaffected, tries to limit the damage by putting labels on everything. “This is a table,” “This is a window,” “This is a cow; it has to be milked every morning.” And at the entrance of the town, on the main road, he puts up two large signs. One reads “The name of our village is Macando,” and the larger one reads “God exists.” The message I get from that story is that we can, and probably will, forget most of what we have learned in life- the math, the history, the chemical formulas, the address and phone number of the first house we lived in when we got married- and all that forgetting will do us no harm. But if we forget whom we belong to, and if we get forget that there is a God, something profoundly human in us will be lost.”
I am not endorsing anything. Endorsing “GOD”? No, absolutely not. But can we forget where we were born, in what circumstances (I agree with all of you to 100% that our birth is not in our hands. But the first breath- yes, logically is certainly in our hands! What say?), in which society, which olive tree we belong to? Yes, we can not forget! And it’s the fact.
Now, can Moslem or Christian (or any other religion) people forget that? No, they can not, if we go by the logic stated above.
It’s up to you to decide. I am not going to comment on anything. But one thing has been proven if we abide by the logic stated above that Olive tree is going to stay forever. Your task remains to prove the logic wrong.
I am waiting for all of you.

hypocricy

you think hard. but you fail to understand. you try to manifest hard. but u end up in nothing. u revolt against an unseen enemy because you have not understood who your enemy is. because your efforts of thinking have gone in vain. because you dont deserve to know. the truth of the matter is there is no truth. only efforts. and you dont put in efforts. and thus you end up in trying to manifest something which you can not do.
it is called as hypocrisy.
and this definition itself is hypocritic.
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

albert camu: the fall

‘‘...Without slavery, as a matter of fact, there is no definitive solution. I very soon realised that. Once upon a time, I was always talking of freedom: At breakfast I used to spread it on my toast, I used to chew it all day long, and in company my breath was delightfully redolent of freedom. With that key word I would bludgeon whoever contradicted me; I made it serve my desires and my power. I used to whisper it in bed in the ear of my sleeping mates and it helped me to drop them. I would slip it...Tchk! Tchk! I am getting excited and losing all sense of proportion. After all, I did on occasion make a more disinterested use of freedom and even—just imagine my naivete—defended it two or three times without of course going so far as to die for it, but nevertheless taking a few risks. I must be forgiven such rash acts; I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne. Nor yet a gift, a box of dainties designed to make you lick your chops. Oh, no! It’s a choice, on the contrary, and a long-distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting. No champagne. No friends raising their glasses as they look at you affectionately. Alone in a forbidding room, alone in the prisoner’s box before the judges, and alone to decide in face of oneself or in the face of others’ judgment....’’

Albert Camus
The Fall

crocket of gold

there was a boy.. in search of search.. the reason unknown.. path never known..
have u met him? no! surpsrising!!
very easy to identify.. very familier.. most familier person to every soul on this earth..
why is he wandering.. i donno.. but i ll find out one day..

Reality is the Illusion

War is Peace
Ignorance is strength
Love is hate

time pass

led zep has sung a very beautiful song called stairway to heaven.. the man who sold the world is also good.. vera by pink floyd.. dont cry: GNR.. with arms wide open.. its a gateway, isnt it? uncle, do u remember?
and then gazals by Begum Akhtar.. deewana banana hai to deewana bana de.. wah wa.. laajawaab.. waha kaun he tera, musafir jaayega kaha: dum lele ghadibhar ye chhainya paayega kaha by sdburman..
songs dance in front of the eyes.. one says i ll come in front while other pushes her down.. almost all songs are female.. some are tender girls, some are old wine.. some are like those sexy aunties while some remind about those ugly prostitutes when seen in the morning at the government hospital.. there are male songs like hum honge kamyaab, jana gana mana.. vande mataram is utterly feminine.. and rich and thick and and and... everytime i listen or sing, it binds me more and more.. but to what.. i donno.. but i m trying to find out..
oh! shit! this starts a new discussion.. why do i leave?
about this i ll discuss some other day.. but only one question?
Do I sieze to exists if I ever come to know the answer of Why do I leave?
hahahahahahahahahahahahaha...

waha kaun hai tera musafir..
jaayega kaha..
dum lele ghadibhar ye chhainya paayega kaha..

beet gaye deen
pyaar ke palchhin
sapnaa bani wo raate
bhool gaye wo
tubhi bhoolade
pyaar ki wo mulakate
kab door andhera
musafir jaayega kaha
dum lele.. dum lele ghadibhar.. ye chhaiya paayega kaha.

koi bhi teri
raah na dekhe
nain bichhaye na koi
dard se tere
koi na tadpa
aakh kisika na royi
kahe kisko tu mera
musafir jaayega kaha
dum lele.. dum lele ghadibhar.. ye chhaiya paayega kaha.

oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhh.. musaaaaaaaaaaaafiiiiir...
tu jaayegaaaaaaaaaaaa kahaaaaaaaaaaaanann

kehte hai gyaani
duniya hai paani
paani pe likhi likhai
hai sabki dekhi
hai sabki jaani
haath kisike na aayi
kuchh tera na mera
musafir jaayega kaha
dum lele.. dum lele ghadibhar.. ye chhaiya paayega kaha...

death

when we die there is no meaning left for what will be left behind..
its like asking a question "what was space before the big bang outside the point mass?"
then why the hell we cry for society, welfare, moral, values, ethics, environment, development, future generations, the earth, the sun, the moon, the galaxy, the world..
i die.. everything is over.. i live.. everything is hapening..
why should give a damn about others?

she

i love her..
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i never realised this sentence can speak volumes..

thanks...

you......

you were like that then
you were like this then
you of blossomed arms

you were half ripe
you were mature life
of bitter-sweet lips

you the lover here
you the evening there
rosy love was everywhere