Friday, September 20, 2002

How can I hope to make you understand?
Why I do?
What I do?

This is one of my most favourite frames from Fiddler on the Roof. Bleak, languishing railway station at the border of a Jewish village somewhere in the barren Russian landscape. And two voices rising above the gloom. Clear as reeds, strong as strength.

Lend me a frame and elevate this life less ordinary. A small push, a big shove and I sail. A skiff on calm waters and a carton of beer. That's all I ask of you.
What did I do today that was different from any other day? I just was, nothing new, earth-shaking or dream-shattering. Just the same old thing. The same old thing gets nicer every day. If I amhappy, so are you. Don't tell me any different.

This has been a crazy week. All I did was sit quiet and watch the drama unfold. Multiple stages, intense characterisations. Single member audience traveling ticketless.
Sunil and the rest of the guys have been developing this awesomely exciting script. They're planning to stage it at Fergusson for Oorja. Extremely simple, powerful theme.
The play starts like any other would; plot, characters, conflict and resolution. Well, almost resolution.

The play refuses to end.
The actors snap out. They throw a tantrum. They walk.
They won't.

Time to take the shroud off the corpse and show the dead for what they are.
Meaningless, non-existent, unimportant, unknown.
Like 'The End'?

What else can I say? All I want is a window-display of my endless erudition of all things bright and beautiful.

What are the words about?
Non-confrontation, denial and cross-country races?
Defuse the grenades and chase firecrackers in the sky
Watch the gas fall back to earth in a tawdry funeral of two-penny sparks.
Everyday is an Impressionist canvas and my opthalmologist prescribes glasses to clear my vision. What's the bloody point?