Something I spotted on A Pamphlet

Found this in a Pamphlet for the play “the Woman in Me’ by Pawan. Its hosted at Ranga Shankara, Bangalore at 7:30 PM on 17,18, 19th July 2008.

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A Mirror tells the truth! Isn’t that a lie? Stand in the front of a mirror and look to your right, where does the reflection look? It looks to the left! You raise your right hand and it raises its left. A mirror only tells you the opposite!

Our lives are depended on the sotries that we build of our past. Some are true and some are just subconsciously made up.

I wonder sometimes, what really happens? How much of what I feel and what I see is really happening the same way? How different is “Reality” from the way I perceive it?

Is the color Red really red?

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That’s indeed a compelling writeup for a play. Am tempted to check it out.

Apathy…

Ever experienced it?

A sicking sensation of nothingness. A quiet despair creeping into the numbing spirit. A hushed space suspended in vacuum where the sounds of silence throb deeper into the hollow of the heart.

Sometimes the disquietening lull of life haunts more than words can ever will.

Caught In the Swirl Of Stardust!

I never thought I would actually dedicate a thought to this movie ‘Saawariya’, on which I am still undecided on my reaction. I don’t think I would ever be able to take a stand on whether I loved the movie or hated it. That’s because I shared both these feelings in equal measure. Saawariya is a beautiful vision without imagination, a splendid fare of visual poetry without gravity, a charming seductress without soul and is filled with delusional love that is evoked by the lackluster admixture of scintillating idealistic dreamworld with the brazen harshness of reality. Yet, what remains with me at the end of the movie are those poignant and oddly affecting richly detailed visuals. Hence this post is filled with them.

When I look back, what often resonates with real life for me is the storyline though. Set in a dreamland (does any of those settings look anywhere near reality? ), the movie paints in richer intricacy, the pining of Sakina for the mystery love of her life Imaan, ignoring the starry eyed devotion she receives from Raj aka Saawariya. Sakina is cloyingly sweet, achingly hollow and an innocent manipulator who plays with the tender feelings of the eternally optimistic Raj while allowing him to cling to the delusion of her love. I couldn’t credit her with one identity for she plays the hopeless romantic perfectly pining for her illusionary love at first sight, whilst transforming herself as a coy temptress in the presence of Raj bewitching him with her innocent yearning for the love unattained.

Fused identities, conflicting ideologies, stark contrasts between the imagined universe and the dark reality, and the never ending fight between idealistic yearning and realistic possibilities: these are the Saawariya movie’s recurrent themes. Yet, though this movie feels like a piece out of a dream sequence, some of those characters feel so darkly real. Engulfed in perplexity, I notice so many Sakinas’ in reality much to my discomfort. People bartering dreams for materialistic pleasures are one extreme, whilst those trading realistic positive encounters of finding selfless love for the lure of illusionary and obsessive yearnings is another extreme.

Sometimes when I chat with my peers, I can often imagine them trapped in their own multi dimentional wonderland awaiting for their Perfect Soulmates. Princesses and Damsels in distress living in fairytale world, yearning for their Prince Charming to ride to their rescue and sweep them off their feet, often failing to acknowledge that life is happening around them. Sometimes its so difficult to identify which group they belong to: people who are in love or people who are in love with the idea of being in love. Sometimes the bubble of illusion, that they comfortably ensconce themselves in, wouldn’t equip them for the real life experiences.

Whenever we swap ideas on the things that are meaningful to us in life, we realize that we are goaded either by instinct or intellect. Life is all about tough choices and we all choose based on our own value systems. I just hope that the fairy tale romantic notions doesn’t spoil people at their chances of serendipity. The lure of nihilism is a dark temptation that envelops us if we dwell in dreams and forget to live. The wait may be on, yet, lets not forget that no one is perfect: me, you, and all those prince charmings and the knights in shimmering armour are armed with our own limitations and idiosyncrasies. We might as well be better of rescuing ourselves from those clout of dreams and the deep schism that the intersection of these virtual and real worlds present.

I can only seal this piece of muse by quoting from my favorite song from Pardon Dolly:

““Watching the girl I’m reminded
she’s quite a lot like me
Trapped in the suburbs of wonderland,
lost in her own fantasy
Somehow my heart never grew up,
no one ever burst my balloon
So here I am swirling in star dust
slow dancing with the moon”

Some Great Times Remembered..

A few moments celebrated..

I am not one of those people who love hanging around coffee shops indulging in coffee and conversations. Yet, this Barista coffee shop at the Barton Centre on M.G. Road in Bangalore really treated me with the right kind of music and a beautiful ambiance on a lazy evening.

Here is a view from outside. (Looks like any plain coffee shop, isn’t it?)

(Photo Courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/damp/)

What delighted me was the beauty of a serene recess that this open air coffee shop offers from the traffic humdrum right in the heart of M.G. area. I took to my heart’s content the gentle breeze and the peppy music along with fun filled company. Here I am, gladly thanking Barista for the great time I had there.

Here is where we seated. Our private alcove from the hectic traffic reality. A step inside can assure you a great time if you are with the right company. The music is just apt for a chilled out discussion with good pals. But make sure you give the order at the counter, for rarely you find any waiters roaming with the Menu. We sat there for an hour happily chatting and noone offered us Menu, and slowly it dawned on us that its a self-service coffee shop.

Coffee, Conversations, Breeze and Music, just apt for my idea of a perfect evening. Looks can be deceptive, isn’t it?

Antargange Trek..

Pure Exhiliaration is the word of the day. Thanks for the insistence of a sweet pal, which made me head for this trek instead of watching ‘Dasavatharam’ or indulging in window shopping.

This is the first time that I tried ‘Bangalore Mountaineering Club’ and I must say that I am pleasantly surprised by the experience. We boarded the bus at 8 AM at K.R. Puram busstop and I was surprised to see 50 plus people in the bus, given the short notice. I guess the quality of the companionship in the group made all the difference to this trekking experience.

The trip started with around 90 minutes of bus journey from Bangalore to reach Kolar. We caught up with the breakfast at ShanthiSagar in Kolar which is around 3 km from the ‘Antargange’ location. We reached the place in no time and there was a pack of stairs leading up to the temple. We were welcomed by loads of monkeys, and the pleasant sunny breeze warmed us for the trek ahead.

We reached the Antargange temple after a little climb of stairs, and I already had doubts forming in my mind, if the trek actually is over before it even began. The temple is filled with serene silence and the group is abuzz with action for the impending climb. Making the temple as our base camp, we started the trek with Janak playing the lead trekker and Neeraj trailing to support the cozy climbers.

The path is paved with sand, rock, thorns and the sun, in his blazing glory, wasn’t playing the good Samaritan. Yet, undaunted, many were climbing ahead, one step at a time, in a quiet determination to discover the terrain. I really marvelled at the energy of the crowd in climbing and cave exploring in the region. By noon, we reached the peak of a mountain(if I can call it that) and were ready to go for cave exploration after a relaxed lunch on the peak of a mountain by the side of a small brook filled with chilled water. Cold feet takes a different meaning when you get to rest by dipping feet in chilled water on the top of a mountain in sooting breeze after a hectic trek uphill.

The beauty of mingling with a group in an organized trek, is the sheer experience of encountering different people with different choices and interests. There would be some exploring the untrodden path, some who would take time around to smell the roses and savour the scenary around, while some who run ahead in childlike enthusiam of scaling the peak ahead only to discover that there is no dearth of rocks. Everyone discovering his or her own private definition of solitude and enjoyment amidst wilderness and sun.

If the climb uphill through the rocks in no definite path was a journey on its own, filled with a different thrill of navigating through the boulders that challenge your endurance, the cave exploration post lunch unleashed the childlike exuberance of discovering the unknown. Armed with a naive faith that the dark holds no terror, we all went through the natural caves, to discover our own recess for solitude amidst the mammoth rocks that are resting since centuries. Those rocks filled with small crevices are loaded with umpteen challenges. Often, finding a way ahead in the maze of boulders becomes daunting as the chances of hitting a dead end means reinventing the wheel once again. The wild flowers with their gentle fragrance, and the natural caves with their cold soothing embrace did offer some sanctury against the sultry weather. We did learn some gymnastics, prodding ourselves though the closely nested rocks to reach no definite destination in an easy pace.

The view from the top is breath taking! Enveloped by sand, rock, sky and sun, the town of Kolar looks serene and calm. All I could feel was numbing contentment. With so many people sharing the joy of experience, the thought that lingered in that moment was, ‘who said its lonely at the top?’. I was in for a treat while getting down. We discovered a small well with pristine sweet water and I relived the fantasy of a village gal by drawing water from the well and enjoying its sweet taste in primitive fashion. With loads of memories and sated satisfaction, we headed for Bangalore playing Antakshari enroute with the new found pals. We sealed off the day with a quiet dinner at Malgudi and bid our farewell. I had my much needed break, and I confess this, even though the after effects of the trek still remain in my hoarse throat and aching muscles.

An Aura Of Power..

Sarkar And Sarkar Raj..

Recently I watched Sarkar Raj. This power packed sequel did compel me to watch the original Sarkar which has been in my to do list for long. I must say that SARKAR is an experience. Watching this movie did give me an insight into why Sushmita Dasgupta dedicated her book ‘Making of A Superstar’ to Ram Gopal Varma for making Sarkar. Ram Gopal Varma excels himself in carefully demystifying the aura of power that Amitabh Bachan’s image encompasses and utilizing it to the best of his advantage in crafting the role of Sarkar, a man who is a law onto himself and a parallel government in safeguarding common people’s interest. This movie is also a beautiful example of the brand Amitabh Bachchan that is carefully groomed over ages in Bollywood as the lonely angry young man to a power that grows beyond the system boundaries. This post is no review, for I suggest you all to check these movies with a huge bag of popcorn, for you feel little need for break while checking these power packed action dramas where people are clamoring for the ultimate supremacy.

Somehow, I felt a swell of pride in watching this Indian saga of power that stand as a stellar tribute to the legendary ‘God Father’. The weight and depth of the film lies in that closeup shots that capture the intensity of the actors, the soundtrack that blends well into the cultural fabric of the movie, and the complex plots that dexterously mix intrigue, loyalty, love, responsibility, honor and betrayal in exquisite detail. The power belongs to Bachchans indeed, yet the credit goes to Ram Gopal Varma. These movies are an experience in themselves. And I celebrated and cherished my moments with them.

Respect For Individual..

This time I started with the title first, and as soon as I keyed it in, it sounded darn preachy! Especially when I have the Accenture core values pamphlet in front of me that has features the title as one of the core values. Yet, it has been a lingering thought since sometime, and I have some interesting anecdotes to share.

Now that I mentioned Accenture, let me start with my induction programme that happened some months back. We were allotted some 2 hours session for discussion around this particular core value. Incidentally, this was I think the last session of the day and all of the participants were tired. The faculty walks in. The first question he posed to the listless audience was: “how much time do you all give to me?”. Someone answered 30 minutes. He quietly agrees and announces that this is ‘respect for individual’. I couldn’t help but burst clapping in appreciation. Yes. Indeed, he closed the session within agreed time and I did carry the message home.

One of my favorite anecdotes in office humor has been about ‘biscuit’. Though we often kid about the incident in lighter note, it did generate a serious thought too. It all happened in one of those office treks, where we are buying food stuff for snacking en route. One of the teammates wanted to pick some biscuits for it and he was made fun by some folks of being kiddish for his food choice. It is very easy to get carried away in light hearted banter. Most often, humor generated is at the expense of someone, especially in groups. Finally, that poor chap didn’t pick his biscuits and that did leave that feeling of denial with us.

Yet, that incident did trigger a new dictum in the gang, which we call by name biscuit. A rule to abide by the respective individual choices instead of succumbing to group think. And it did offer me some interesting experiences too. Respecting somebody’s interest in Art and Theatre did take me to ‘Water Lilies’, ‘Natyalakshana’ or ‘Don Muttuswami’, some of which I throughly enjoyed. “What’s your biscuit?”, this question that often happens among us, whilst we are thinking about weekend plans, often sounds like music. The idea of group coming to individual and celebrating independent thoughts, instead of individual interests being drowned in group is charming. And Yes. No one is denied of biscuit these days.

Some Reason to Smile…

Some Joke that I read today! It did leave me with gales of laughter though!

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These four classified ads appeared in a newspaper on four consecutive days. The last three hopelessly trying to correct the first day’s mistake…

MONDAY: For sale – Vishanth has a sewing machine for sale. Phone 9840716581 after 7PM and ask for Mrs Mani who lives with him cheap.

TUESDAY: Notice: We regret having erred in Vishanth’s ad yesterday. It should have read, ‘One sewing machine for sale cheap. Phone 9840716581 and ask for Mrs Mani, who lives with him after 7PM.’

WEDNESDAY: Notice: Vishanth has informed us that he has received several annoying telephone calls because of the error we made in the classified ad yesterday. The ad stands correct as follows:
‘For sale – Vishanth has a sewing machine for sale; Cheap. Phone 9840716581 after 7PM and ask for Mrs. Mani who loves with him.

THURSDAY: Notice: I, Vishanth, have no sewing machine for sale. I smashed it. Don’t call 98407 16581 as I have had the phone disconnected. I have not been carrying on with Mrs. Mani. Until yesterday, she was my housekeeper but she quit!

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Love Hath Neither Limit Nor Reason…

For love lies in that irrational tear that swells in your eye in those moments of goodbye even when mind acknowledges that she is never far in those lingering thoughts, or gentle phone calls. That’s the feeling that lingers in mind after some great moments of companionship with my little sis in Bangalore. And thats the reason for these ten days of hiatus from virtual world too, for being with her rarely leaves me with brooding moments. Now that she has left to home town, and I have to grapple with this aching hollow in my heart, I can’t help but muse on those mundane days that I spent with her which are turned into wonderful moments by her sheer presence. She is my partner in crime in those silly adventures, a perfect companion in silence when the mood calls for soothing numbness, a quiet bolster in raw moments of pain, a dearest pal and confidante for sharing those secrets and introspections, and the best gift that God has offered me in life.

As I have seen her grow from that little bundle of joy in my arms to a smart and mature lady, I can only cherish all those tender moments of the fierce relationship that we share. Probably the beauty of this lies in that tacit acceptance of one as oneself in each other’s company, or that sheer intensity of that love and affection that springs from an eternal bond that unites us in rain and shine, or that quiet companionship and gentle bliss that envelops one in that secured cloak of love, and respect. I may not figure in those lists of greatest sisters of the world, for my sins are many, right from being absent in those moments when she wished my presence to missing her birthday due to a hailstorm of work, yet if there is one thing that I have to site as one perfect truth of my life, it’s that she is the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. Whatever heights she may conquer, she would still remain that little sweet kiddo who creates that warm glow at heart with her cheerful presence.

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Somehow, whenever I think of her, CR’s this post plays in mind. After hunting this poem umpteen times in her blog, I am posting it here to cherish it a little more.

You’re older now
And no more the kid that I call you,
In many ways, more mature than I could ever be
Perhaps it’s the way of life
That an elder sibling be so lost and awestruck
With the hustle and bustle around
That she needs that smarter kid
Tugging her along and protecting her
From the surprises on the road ahead.

I smile when people point you out to me
And admit that they thought you were older
For the simple reason, you have always seemed so dignified and in control,
Little did they see the little hellion and scamp
That I saw while growing up,
The little one always so in scrapes
And yet, one who would rush to my rescue

Trying to pry me away from books to introduce me to the world,
I know that now you too belong among us bibliophiles,
And as I have changed you,
You have changed my nature,
Taught me independence and confidence when the stakes are down
That little strut that adds to the image
Keeping my head high even when the dice is rolling

You have taught me to love and forgive
And perhaps, most important of all,
You have taught me humility,
For one year is all that parts us,
And yet, you are so much the wiser
That I still have so much to learn

But now, more than ever
I want to weave a cocoon around you
And hold you close and keep you safe,
But that would only hamper your flight
And I know I must step back
And watch and learn as you take your steps
And leave your mark on all around,
I love you, kiddo
And have a safe flight this year!!!

What I Am Reading Now – Tag

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.”
“That’s some catch, that catch-22,” he observed.
“It’s the best there is,” Doc Daneeka agreed.

I just loved this book and there is no exaggeration here.

Raji has tagged me with “what I am reading now” tag sometime back, and since then I have been caught between work and home and those moments with Books and Blog have become rare. Now that am back from the hiatus, I got a reason to get this posted.

The rules to be followed for this tag are:

1) Pick up the nearest book
2) Open to page 123
3) Find the fifth sentence
4) Post the next three sentences
5) Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you.

Page 123 in Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 talks about Captain Black, one of my favorite sections in this book that evokes a wicked grin in an instant. The six to eight sentences in that page are posted below.

“When other officers had followed his urging and introduced loyalty oaths of their own, he went them one better by making every son of a bitch who came to his intelligence tent sign two loyalty oaths, then three, then four; then he introduced the pledge of allegiance, and after that ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ one chorus, two choruses, three choruses, four choruses. Each time Captain Black forged ahead of his competitors, he swung upon them scornfully for their failure to follow his example. Each time they followed his example, he retreated with concern and racked his brain for some new stratagem that would enable him to turn upon them scornfully again.”

Now for the people to tag, (its kind of easy to spot fellow bookworms )

1) Lasya

2) Reema

3) Sai

4) Hrish

5) Salz

Go ahead and take this up. I hope it would wake many of you from that cozy slumber in blogosphere.

Never Let Me Go..

What would you do if you find out that you are brought into this world for a special purpose? A purpose of brightening somebody’s life at the expense of yourself. What if you are made to live in an artificial world with sole purpose to unzip your organs when needed?What would you feel if someone walks up to you one day to announce that, “You were brought into this world for a purpose, and your futures, all of them, have been decided.”

A thought so chilling to even to think about, finds life and voice in ‘Never Let Me Go’.

This novel is set in a school by name ‘Hailsham’ where cloned children are reared in an artificial establishment to be the donors of future. A world completely devoid of moral implications and incredibly insensitive to the sensitivity of human emotions. A world of three kids: Kathy, Ruth and Tommy, filled with what seems like a benign bliss of childhood unravels into a great sham of artificiality, where simple words like ‘donations’, ‘complete’ assume grotesque ramifications.

Kathy’s observation about Madame’s revulsion: “Madame was afraid of us. But she was afraid of us in the same way someone might be afraid of spiders. We hadn’t been ready for that. It had never occurred to us to wonder how we would feel, being seen like that, being the spiders.”

Or the silent acceptance of donations reflected thus: “All the same, some of it must go in somewhere. It must go in, because by the time a moment like that comes along, there’s a part of you that’s been waiting. Maybe from as early as when you’re five or six, there’s been a whisper going at the back of your head, saying: “One day, maybe not so long from now, you’ll get to know how it feels.” So you’re waiting, even if you don’t quite know it, waiting for the moment when you realise that you really are different to them; that there are people out there, like Madame, who don’t hate you or wish you any harm, but who nevertheless shudder at the very thought of you–of how you were brought into this world and why–and who dread the idea of your hand brushing against theirs. The first time you glimpse yourself through the eyes of a person like that, it’s a cold moment. It’s like walking past a mirror you’ve walked past every day of your life, and suddenly it shows you something else, something troubling and strange.”

Subtly dark and infinitely sad, this book casts a fatalistic note on human lives that are led in a cloak of artificiality. Probably, thats why my heart didn’t ache for the characters, though it bled for the sheer helplessness of the situation. A deep seated loathness for a place from which there is no escape, rather than to await the dead end that is reserved by the time one is born. This book sets itself not to explore the technicalities of cloning or the perils of being a clone, but rather captures the fine nuances of humanity in minute detail and makes one wonder about the core definition of it. The context of the book feels artificial, the tone has a note of fatality, yet the people feel awfully natural. Albeit, cast in a cloud of cold desolateness. This book is not for those who are on look out for heroes. For all the characters are patient victims in waiting for their end, leading a life as if its on loan, with an air of detachment around them which they flaunt mercilessly, accepting in silence the grim fatality of the life that they are leading.

How glad I was that this story is still a piece of fiction and not a disgusting manifestation of the modern day genetic experiments that intend to deliver greater good to greater lot at the cost of assured unhappiness for some.

The Waiting…

Anticipation.. How tantalizing that anguish it is!

Counting seconds as you await the hues in the sky to bend into your will, praying in lame desperation for hours to vanish without cognition, warding the quiet despair that’s creeping into your soul with a naive faith in heart and a wry grin. Time seems to be churning its longest hour and waiting seems like the hardest part of life.

The sun has slipped his tether
And galloped down the west.
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
The little bird is sleeping
In the softness of its nest.
Night follows day, day follows dawn,
And so the time has come and gone:
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

The cruel wind is rising
With a whistle and a wail.
(And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are seaward straining
For the coming of a sail;
But void the sea, and void the beach
Far and beyond where gaze can reach!
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

- Paul Laurence Dunbar

Sometimes I do wonder why is that the longing or the waiting for something so intense a feeling than the fulfillment of the desire? Why do those yearnings for somethings and anticipation of many nothings ache so much in heart even when the conscious mind does acknowledge that the fulfillment may not lead to consummate happiness? Why is it that the sweet throb of anticipation never matches the satisfaction of the accomplishment?

Life seems to be on swirl, caught in run amidst the seeping sand in the hourglass.

The Bridge Of San Luis Rey

In early 18th century in Peru, a famous suspension footbridge over a deep gorge broke and took the lives of five people into the gulf below. After this unfortunate accident, Brother Juniper is haunted by the question: “Why did this happen to those five?” As quoted in the book: If there were any plan in the universe at all, if there were any pattern in a human life, surely it could be discovered mysteriously latent in those lives so suddenly cut off. Either we live by accident and die by accident, or we live by plan and die by plan. Pondering over the cosmic order, Brother Juniper investigates the secret lives of those five people in rich detail in an attempt to discover the reason behind their demise.

Here is when Thornton Wilder excels in introducing us to the intimate details of those five people who seem to be united only in their longing for acceptance, and love. There is a rich, aristocratic and elderly Marquesa suffering from unrequited maternal love and pangs of loneliness, spends her time composing brilliant and elaborate letters to her cold hearted daughter Clara in Spain. Accompanying her is little Pepita, an bewildered and distressed teenage orphan girl trying to live up to the high expectations of an Abbesses who is grooming her as a successor. There is Esteban, the poor twin who is left alone and bereft in an uncomprehending world after his twin brother dies. Uncle Pio is a wise wanderer, a man of exceptional talent who has devoted the best part of his life for the flourishing career of actress Camila Perichole. He becomes disappointed when actress Camila Perichole renounces her stage career for becoming a Lady and shuns herself from the world when she contracts small pox. Uncle Pio requests Camila Perichole to send her youngest sickly son Jamie with him to Lima so that he could educate the boy into a gentleman. Little Jaime joins his Uncle Pio only to loose his life on the fated bridge.

The relationship between the identical twin brothers Manuel and Esteban, when Manuel falls in love with actress Camila Perichole is beautifully highlighted here. “Now he discovered that secret from which one never quite recovers, that even in the most perfect love one person loves less profoundly than the other. There may be two equally good, equally gifted, equally beautiful, but there may never be two that love one another equally well.”

The beauty of this book lies in the description of these five characters. Thornton puts to use all the finery of the English language to delicately highlight the nuances of these five central characters. Sample these observations on Marquesa’s Son-in-Law. “the Conde delighted in her letters, but he thought that when he had enjoyed the style he had extracted all their richness and intention, missing (as most readers do) the whole purport of literature, which is the notation of the heart.”

Though we still are not sure whether the loss of these five people is by accident or by divine intention, this final words from Abbess sums up the meaning of love in life: “But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”

Water Lilies – My First Experience of Theatre

Many a times, our life is filled with chance encounters with engaging strangers who leave lasting impressions or thought provoking reflections as they touch our lives in accident. Ever wondered what binds those conversations together? What compels us to connect to those strangers from diverse backgrounds and worlds and what propels us to spill our deep experiences of life which we seldom share with those with whom we spend our life with?

The play ‘Water Lilies’ is filled with a set of random sparkling conversations between people from diverse backgrounds who meet in random at public places.. Staged as a trilogy of three short plays: Fawn Lilies, Water Lilies and Black Lilies, this play explores the strange tranquility that envelops us as we strike kinship with the world around us. In these short plays, a man and a woman from diverse backgrounds and radically different outlook that springs from their distinct racial origins share their world of experiences and differences only to discover a strange affinity through common values, leaving each other with a fresh set of perspectives and a new meaning behind things. What enriching reflection can happen over a harmless conversation in thirty minutes with an absolute stranger from the other part of the world? One has to watch this play to believe it.

Fawn Lilies: Set in a Park in Columbus, Ohio, a bird-watching dietitian from Vijayawada, whose boyfriend decides to give up love for war, meets a gay vagabond with a cynical feel for causes. The characterization of the female protagonist ‘Sunandha Ragunathan’ do sound like a bundle of contradictions for coming from the same place, it was a little hard for me to imagine “a bird-watching dietitian from Vijayawada”, sprouting a tattoo on her forearm and a dainty umbrella for accessory. Yet, what makes the play beautiful was the lilting quality of the conversations that shimmer with a soulful introspection. The gay wanderer shares his experiences of being a part of tree sitting movement while pondering on his vagabond nature. Trying to cope with the loss of her boy friend and childhood sweetheart, she finds comfort in taking up her boyfriend’s passion for birds, trying to hold on to those lost memories. As they spill these little details of their life and collect those life long reflections in an enticing conversation, the play ends with a poem called ‘Fawn-Lilies’ by Ashton Smith that celebrates a sense of positivity in the bloom of fawn lilies that sprang from a swamp.

Fawn-Lilies By Clark Ashton Smith

White lilies frail and cold,
With hearts of elfin gold;
Briefer than all brief things your hidden bloom,
Beneath the sombre grove -
Mournful, and dear, and fair as hapless love,
Foreknowing all the nearness of its doom.

White lilies cool and shy,
Delicously ye die,
Before the vesper dews of any morrow!
But now, on windless air,
Your perfume lies, fresh as a woman’s hair,
And faint as myrrh the dreams of noon would borrow.

White lilies cold and wan
As hands of swooming love -
As the fair throat whereon
My kisses clomb, to find her mouth’s lit flame! -
Ye die, and cannot say
Who passed beneath the April pines today;
And you alone have heard our hidden love,
And known her flow’r-soft name.

Water Lilies: Dismissing Claude Monet as a painter of pretty flowers, a Texan investment banker becomes curious about a Srilankan woman’s passion for Monet’s lilyscapes at Monet Exhibition, Houston Museum. When V.Balakrishnan as a Texan Banker subtly mocks Monnet’s landscapes, Swarnamalya as a sari-clad Srilankan woman etches a perfect picture of serene beauty and magnificent dignity, as she passionately highlights the subtle nuances of Monnet’s paintings that elevate art beyond colors and reach out to the vision of the painter. The play ends with the Banker musing on the last words of the poem by Ted Hughes, that highlights the serene tranquility of the water lilies despite of the horrors that surround their roots.

To Paint A Lily Flower By Ted Hughes

Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower

Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root

Black Lilies: Set in Washington Dulles Airport, two days after the 9/11 tragedy, a young school teacher from Tamil Nadu, on her first foreign trip, strikes a conversation with a Serbo-Hungarian novelist, who is on his way to meet his German translator in Frankfurt. Partly amused and partly irritated by her diffidence and irrational fear about everything from thunder to travel, the novelist shares a piece of his dark stories, only to discover faith and belief in her shy and affirmative convictions. Dhritiman Chaterji embodies the nobel award novelist with beautifully packed wit, passion, and poignant reflection in fluid and carefree ease. He makes you think, laugh and ache as he recites his story and comments on her beliefs. Parteeksha, as the Tamil school teacher matches the novelist with her shy and confident delivery of her convictions and opinions which contrast sharply with the novelist’s ideology. As they share their world of differences, they collectively discover hope, joy, light and happiness that leads the discussion from darkness to light.

Gowri Ramnarayan creates magical moments of introspection by her careful choice of words and her eminent direction. She should be credited for judiciously blending poetry, verse and paintings to enhance the swaying moods of the conversations. Anil Srinivasan with his mellifluous piano performance blends wonderfully into the play, linking the stories and ephemeral thoughts together with his transient and haunting music. His dulcet tunes match the poignant thought process that runs behind those conversations and subtly elevate the moods of the protagonists.

I marveled at the competence of the cast that enlivened the theatre and made those moments eternal in my memories. The play did leave me with moments of nostalgia of all those soulful chance encounters I had with engaging people, some who stayed on to be friends for life, while some dropped in to offer life long reflections in those fleeting moments.