Monday, December 29, 2008

Death is just one word...

Was it the choice of movies i had seen lately? Elizabethtown, by Cameron Crowe
about a guy who knew his father better,after his death. Or for that matter, Vinay Pathak starrer, Dasvidaniya - about "not just surviving" but actually living one's life. Could've also been the underlying theme of the play that i had seen in a long, long time. Frankly, i wasn't exactly expecting a bubblegum extravaganza at a play titled "When We Dead Awaken" at the recently concluded Delhi Ibsen Festival, directed by Ratan Thiyam. Now this one's about a now-dead guy who missed out on the small but beautiful moments in his life, while chasing a fruitless passion whilst he "thought" he was living. May be.
Also need to mention that, yes, i have been going off to sleep while my earphones sweetly implant by brain(or whatever's left of it after an evening with fellow "grass-hoppers") with lovely haunting acoustic ballads by Death Cab For Cutie. I really don't feel the need to explain what THEIR music is all about.*

Or may be it's just my death loving morbid self.

Ok, yes. i exaggerated. I'm not really the morbid types. And before all of you get judgemental and stuff, let me clarify that the first thing that strikes my mind while thinking about death, is NOT 'oh dear Tim Burton, what am i gonna wear for this funeral ?!'...i guess it's not someone dying, or U.S. induced genocide that gets me off (thinking), but more so, the idea of accepting death as something so natural yet potent even before it strikes; that's the kinda stuff i'm talking about.

Dunno about anyone else, but lately the idea of dying as a social experiment has crossed my mind...let's just say, more than once. The fact that it's i who's playing the roles of the mad professor, and the guinea pig, made me think again...and again,and again. The next best thing , and it comes to me quite naturally,was to just lie down on my dirty old mattress and scare the ceiling with my blank stares, pretending to be dead. I would imagine that i were an art loving zombie who could not smell the paint even while standing beneath the Cistine chapel, could not cry at an opera (mind you, living people cry at operas for lots of reasons, and not just because they wanna get the hell out of there), who couldn't raise his voice, but maybe just growl and drool a bit, against all the oppression thats out there; could never scream out "Aaaaahhhhhh!!" halfway through his first bungee jump, or halfway through actual orgasm. Kinda reminds me of the expression-less bunny in Andy Rileys line of cartoons strips called Bunny Suicides.

Governments, states, countries, countrymen today make news all over regarding freedom of speech, apparently because one blames the others for snatching it away. I think it's all about who actually is controlling the 'mute' button of our so called SOCIETY. What about the freedom of reaction? i know i sound crazy - i mean, apparently no such thing exists. may be not. But it sure means a hell lot when you're just lying there - undead.

At the risk of sounding preachy, let me just say that Life, no matter how much it sucks now, should be enjoyed.If you have a zombie self, listen to it once in a while. Learn to eat,sing,roam,fuck,smoke,drink like there's no tomorrow. learn to fight all those who try to bog you down( not 'ask you to go down' - i mean enjoy THAT obviously. that's different).

My Undead moments, i owe you guys big time.

*opening lines to a Death Cab For Cutie song -

Love of mine, someday you will die
I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark,.....

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