Today I met a singer. Well not really met one, but more so that I came to know of one when he slowly popped out of the group of 30 and decided to sing farewell to a colleague leaving. And I realised.
There is a little bit of someone in all of us. The quiet singer, the quintessential novelist, the closet painter, the delusional businessmen, the arty actor and the oblivious and very ignorant rally driver, there's someone in there, almost always hidden, somewhere in there, in all of us.
So what happens to these little characters we so truly are somewhere in between growing up and earning a living? Do we given into the bitch that survival is? Is that what happens? Or do we simply forget? I don't know. But seeing that man I don't know, don't want to know and probably will never meet again, singing there, swimming in the confines of his sheer vocal melody.. I wondered,.. how many hidden whats and whos were out there with me tonight.
How many closet rockstars and dreamers stood there, in the same room with me, with the music, the instructions and the magic of the moment taking charge.
I wondered how many non-conformists stood there in line, beating the drums as they were told, and I wondered what happened to them all.
And then.., suddenly it hit me, how all of them, right there in front of me, swaying to the instructions of the man with the drums, of how all of them right there, beating to the whistle, turning to the beats, and smiling, enjoying the little 45 minute break they seem to have been promised after a grueling year of labour... almost every one of them, was an example of what I could be, if I didn't hold on to my bearings right and if I didn't hold to that little neha screaming for attention inside.
So I realised, standing atop a chair with a camera in hand, hands aching, watching people dance and make music to the ears and instructions of someone they've never even met before; that there's very little time left. before the fire loses it's sight and focus... And I'll be damned if I ever found myself there....
...So, standing atop a strange looking chair, camera in hand, strangers in front of me aware of how their every move was being taped...by someone they didn't even know and probably wont remember... I realised, just how much I need to do, to keep myself from fading into just another corporate story; promising myself, never will I be on the other side... waiting for a chance, in a group of about 30 odd zombied ppl... waiting for a chance to be able to sing..just so I could say adieu...
So balls to the silly plans that never work. It's time to live, just a little before I die.
There is a little bit of someone in all of us. The quiet singer, the quintessential novelist, the closet painter, the delusional businessmen, the arty actor and the oblivious and very ignorant rally driver, there's someone in there, almost always hidden, somewhere in there, in all of us.
So what happens to these little characters we so truly are somewhere in between growing up and earning a living? Do we given into the bitch that survival is? Is that what happens? Or do we simply forget? I don't know. But seeing that man I don't know, don't want to know and probably will never meet again, singing there, swimming in the confines of his sheer vocal melody.. I wondered,.. how many hidden whats and whos were out there with me tonight.
How many closet rockstars and dreamers stood there, in the same room with me, with the music, the instructions and the magic of the moment taking charge.
I wondered how many non-conformists stood there in line, beating the drums as they were told, and I wondered what happened to them all.
And then.., suddenly it hit me, how all of them, right there in front of me, swaying to the instructions of the man with the drums, of how all of them right there, beating to the whistle, turning to the beats, and smiling, enjoying the little 45 minute break they seem to have been promised after a grueling year of labour... almost every one of them, was an example of what I could be, if I didn't hold on to my bearings right and if I didn't hold to that little neha screaming for attention inside.
So I realised, standing atop a chair with a camera in hand, hands aching, watching people dance and make music to the ears and instructions of someone they've never even met before; that there's very little time left. before the fire loses it's sight and focus... And I'll be damned if I ever found myself there....
...So, standing atop a strange looking chair, camera in hand, strangers in front of me aware of how their every move was being taped...by someone they didn't even know and probably wont remember... I realised, just how much I need to do, to keep myself from fading into just another corporate story; promising myself, never will I be on the other side... waiting for a chance, in a group of about 30 odd zombied ppl... waiting for a chance to be able to sing..just so I could say adieu...
So balls to the silly plans that never work. It's time to live, just a little before I die.
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Sure, why not, let me have it.