I like them fallible…if they weren’t they would be gods.
And that’s not something I can readily relate to.
By an incredible process of retrospection, in my case getting hammered and get screamed at by a mean and vicious alter ego, I managed to figure out that I have always managed to be devoted to the "almost but not quite" variety.
Let me explain
Boyhood cricket idol: Sanjay Manjrekar. Sanjay Manjrekar????? Who the hell has this guy as a hero? He was preceded and followed by genius of once in a lifetime proportions (we all know who they are don’t we?).
Boyhood tennis idol: Ivan Lendl. Do I need to say more?
Boyhood superhero idol: Captain America. Forget the fact that this guy couldn’t fly or vault over 20 storey buildings but he probably had to flag down a cab to get home. Now how cool is that?
And this pretty much continues….I support Honda in Formula 1.
The whole process of fantasizing about being a hero is that you get to be things you can never be. To bask in the reflected glory of a true blue star. To fight with cretins who imagined that their hero could have five of yours for breakfast without even waking up.
Aha that last sentence pretty much gives it away. It’s this masochistic ability of mine to get pummeled over the losers I supported which I imagined (or so I thought) set apart the people in the know as opposed to the abovementioned cretins. This smug feeling of a supposed higher level of thinking gave me the moral victory.
In retrospect I should have just hung up that damn poster of Viv Richards in my room and saved myself years of screaming matches.
But it wouldn’t have been as much fun would it? Gods are no fun….my heroes on the other hand gave me years of feeling wronged by the naysayers….
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
learning to let go...
Dweep was (even after a year I cant get used to the past tense) a star…he knew it, we knew it and if someone dint, he damn well made sure that they did…
Its taken me a year to remember not to turn around scream his name out loud and see him strutting over with a wiseass comment.
This is not a situation I have encountered ever before! A colleague passes away, a few inane comments are passed and that’s that. But he was more than just that wasn’t he? A good friend dies…reason to grieve, pick up the pieces and move on. Normally (wonder whether this can ever be called normal) that’s what you are expected to do…I guess…
But that’s not what happened is it? My grieving process just took a whole lot longer and continues in some ways.
When you see talent, when you see a zest for life, when you see combativeness, when you see love, when you see kinship and above all when you see a strain of vulnerability where it’s not expected it screws up the way you look at things.
But most of all its anger, it’s the bloody frustration at constantly seeing what could have been. Wishing that you hadn’t been away when the terrible accident happened. Wishing that somehow the miracles you hear about all the time happens in this case. Even after his struggle for a month we were sure that he was just going to get up from that goddamn hospital bed, drive back in a manic pace and proceed to kick ass. Struggle was probably never his style though was it? Nonchalant ease, a blindingly simple and quick (half baked?) solution was more his forte than a protracted battle.
There is nothing in this situation but to rant and rave at the sheer injustice of it all.
To quote my boss and dear friend “Dweep puts you through the same kind of heart ache and trouble as you put me through”. And the truth in that statement hit me much later. Lots of good times…yes. Lots of problems..goes with the territory. But boring times…never….
There is no point to this post though, am not writing a glowing tribute to a dear friend nor have I figured out whether I have let go. But I do know that Dweep was (damn) loved……and that continues to be so……
Dweepu…my buddy…my brother…miss you….
Its taken me a year to remember not to turn around scream his name out loud and see him strutting over with a wiseass comment.
This is not a situation I have encountered ever before! A colleague passes away, a few inane comments are passed and that’s that. But he was more than just that wasn’t he? A good friend dies…reason to grieve, pick up the pieces and move on. Normally (wonder whether this can ever be called normal) that’s what you are expected to do…I guess…
But that’s not what happened is it? My grieving process just took a whole lot longer and continues in some ways.
When you see talent, when you see a zest for life, when you see combativeness, when you see love, when you see kinship and above all when you see a strain of vulnerability where it’s not expected it screws up the way you look at things.
But most of all its anger, it’s the bloody frustration at constantly seeing what could have been. Wishing that you hadn’t been away when the terrible accident happened. Wishing that somehow the miracles you hear about all the time happens in this case. Even after his struggle for a month we were sure that he was just going to get up from that goddamn hospital bed, drive back in a manic pace and proceed to kick ass. Struggle was probably never his style though was it? Nonchalant ease, a blindingly simple and quick (half baked?) solution was more his forte than a protracted battle.
There is nothing in this situation but to rant and rave at the sheer injustice of it all.
To quote my boss and dear friend “Dweep puts you through the same kind of heart ache and trouble as you put me through”. And the truth in that statement hit me much later. Lots of good times…yes. Lots of problems..goes with the territory. But boring times…never….
There is no point to this post though, am not writing a glowing tribute to a dear friend nor have I figured out whether I have let go. But I do know that Dweep was (damn) loved……and that continues to be so……
Dweepu…my buddy…my brother…miss you….
Sunday, August 17, 2008
the beatles
The first ten years of my life I dint know the existence of The Beatles. The next ten I was very sure that I dint like them and wondered what the fuss was all about. The next ten I haven’t been able to listen to a vague strain from them without getting goose bumps.
What’s with these guys that they have this effect on a self confessed metal junkie (used to be at least)? I have not been a great fan of any of their contemporaries like the anti Beatles, Rolling Stones or the equal parts genius - idiot savant Elton John.
By no means am I an expert on music of this time or any other time. But have always been pulled in by the sheer guttural roar of The Doors and Led Zep. Have even had manic flings with the likes of The Who and Black Sabbath. For a man who considers Iron Maiden as one of the greatest bands ever and who is right now going through the System of a down day in and day out this is a weird feeling (rewind to the goose bumps).
For a long time they were the ultimate cry babies for me, Please Please Me, I wanna hold your hand as opposed to Come on baby light my fire. And for some time they were the most complex ever, I’m only sleeping, While my guitar gently weeps, Girl. But is it that simple? Is anything that simple? For that matter is anything that complex?
The answer could of course be GENIUS, two of the foremost songwriters of our times, and another “almost foremost” waiting in the wings.
Or it could be they did what they did before anyone else hit the magic formula. The first big boy band eh.
Or as a marketeer should I convince myself that they were the first big wave of the impeccably produced and marketed bands?
But wait these are all explanations for the phenomenon called The Beatles, albeit fairly simplistic. And if there’s anything I hate, it’s the simplistic. And I am not trying to explain the phenom, am I? Am trying to figure out my affair with The Beatles. Or is that the secret? Anyone trying to explain their relationship with these guys get into figuring out an excuse? As drunk as I am I don’t think so.
The fact of the matter is The Beatles never talked to me because of the way I was, the way I felt, where I was or who I was. They never talked to me because I was rebellious, lovesick, teenager, war veteran, war participant, failure, success, refugee, woman, man, American of a particular ethnicity, Brit, Asian, East European, West European, Simpsons fan as opposed to The Family Guy or South Park.
Going away from the point again right? This is about my affair with The Beatles. I have figured it out. Along with a few million others I have figured it out.
They touch me in a way which I dint think possible. In a manner which precludes all previous assumptions. They don’t just break preconceived musical preference, they shatter it, break it down into small minute pieces and danced on it with hobnailed boots (this was the favourite utterance of a beloved teacher of mine).
And that’s the secret I feel. I can’t explain why I continue to have an affair with them but I can think of hundreds, thousands, millions of reasons why I shouldn’t like them but none of them stand the scrutiny.
Close your eyes and I will kiss you, tomorrow I will miss you. Remember I will always be true…. Stupid lyrics, fairly standard ditty I should think. But its one of my all time favourite numbers. Why exactly…………
What’s with these guys that they have this effect on a self confessed metal junkie (used to be at least)? I have not been a great fan of any of their contemporaries like the anti Beatles, Rolling Stones or the equal parts genius - idiot savant Elton John.
By no means am I an expert on music of this time or any other time. But have always been pulled in by the sheer guttural roar of The Doors and Led Zep. Have even had manic flings with the likes of The Who and Black Sabbath. For a man who considers Iron Maiden as one of the greatest bands ever and who is right now going through the System of a down day in and day out this is a weird feeling (rewind to the goose bumps).
For a long time they were the ultimate cry babies for me, Please Please Me, I wanna hold your hand as opposed to Come on baby light my fire. And for some time they were the most complex ever, I’m only sleeping, While my guitar gently weeps, Girl. But is it that simple? Is anything that simple? For that matter is anything that complex?
The answer could of course be GENIUS, two of the foremost songwriters of our times, and another “almost foremost” waiting in the wings.
Or it could be they did what they did before anyone else hit the magic formula. The first big boy band eh.
Or as a marketeer should I convince myself that they were the first big wave of the impeccably produced and marketed bands?
But wait these are all explanations for the phenomenon called The Beatles, albeit fairly simplistic. And if there’s anything I hate, it’s the simplistic. And I am not trying to explain the phenom, am I? Am trying to figure out my affair with The Beatles. Or is that the secret? Anyone trying to explain their relationship with these guys get into figuring out an excuse? As drunk as I am I don’t think so.
The fact of the matter is The Beatles never talked to me because of the way I was, the way I felt, where I was or who I was. They never talked to me because I was rebellious, lovesick, teenager, war veteran, war participant, failure, success, refugee, woman, man, American of a particular ethnicity, Brit, Asian, East European, West European, Simpsons fan as opposed to The Family Guy or South Park.
Going away from the point again right? This is about my affair with The Beatles. I have figured it out. Along with a few million others I have figured it out.
They touch me in a way which I dint think possible. In a manner which precludes all previous assumptions. They don’t just break preconceived musical preference, they shatter it, break it down into small minute pieces and danced on it with hobnailed boots (this was the favourite utterance of a beloved teacher of mine).
And that’s the secret I feel. I can’t explain why I continue to have an affair with them but I can think of hundreds, thousands, millions of reasons why I shouldn’t like them but none of them stand the scrutiny.
Close your eyes and I will kiss you, tomorrow I will miss you. Remember I will always be true…. Stupid lyrics, fairly standard ditty I should think. But its one of my all time favourite numbers. Why exactly…………
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