One piece at a time... 

The sound gets stuck inside my throat. I want to release it. But it stops short, just before coming out. I have to swallow it back. Remain silent. I feel a whole other person exists inside me .Who lives and breathes and moves the way their instinct demands. But the real world finds me trapped, strapped in- with a seatbelt. - So I don’t fall face forward hitting my face on mistakes. So I don’t say the wrong things aloud.

I have so much to say, but time doesn’t wait up. Life doesn’t give us those moments. Sometimes I feel I am just too busy trying to capture the moments, the word, the look, the emotion. Taking pictures, storing away memories, so that one can later prove they happened. How else do you preserve happy times? It’s the easiest way to do it. Because the good times don’t go by very slowly. Sometimes it seems better to skim the surface of the good times. To pause, flit over, and leave without creating an impression. Years go by like that. So much left undone, unspoken, unexpressed. The reason? A reluctance to attempt at something deeper, higher, steeper, complex. A lack of faith in its benefit.

So instead.one hampers one’s vision with so many pollutant distractions. Be they substandard works of literature (I use the term loosely. Trashy books are included) immaterial arguments or little pockets of negativity and despondency that weigh us down and sap our energy more frequently and with increasing intensity. It clouds the vision and we are so ready to fall prey to it.

I have been waiting to create Great Art all my life- ALL my life. Maybe there is still time. Maybe Age really has brought Wisdom.

All my life I’ve also been waiting for someone to inspire me and guide me. The Guru, the Sage, the trainer who believes in me and visualizes greatness. How much evidence have we all seen that the vision, the inspiration lies within us? How much maturity and experience do we need to begin the creative journey? And when is the right time?

But I crave clarity of thought. Fulfilling a vision. Defining a vision. How do we do that? Do we all create from memory and past experience? So the past does define everything. One then should not be afraid of it. Exploring memories brings everything asleep or dead inside back to life

I want to wake up before it’s too late. I want to feel alive and awake more often than morose and drowsy...

The problem is, once I am awake, I feel disoriented. I’ve been asleep for so long, that there is too much left undone. It leaves one frustrated. You start to pick up all the pieces at once. They start to fall out of your hands just as quickly. Let’ me see if I can pick up One single piece, completely.. And take it from there.

There. Done.

THOUGHTS ON IMMORTALITY…

IN order to give  great pleasure, sometimes one must suffer greatly. Beauty thus is created from supreme agony. Look at the great artistes who languished in poverty during their lifetimes, dying unrecognized only to be acclaimed as geniuses afterwards. They have been immortalized but fame means nothing to them now.

So do we want that sort of immortality?

'How long does a man live, after all?

A thousand days or one only?'

It’s uphill work for those cursed with that niggling bug known as ambition. I for one have found it a great trial. Rewards came and went. Success arrived, but armed with pressure, tension, bad temper, greed. To what lengths some people will go to try a hand at ‘being remembered forever’.

As far as people of my ‘trade’ are concerned, ‘forever’ means as long they are functioning as actor or artistes. It’s the trade of television acting that I am talking about. They are or used to be at any rate a totally different breed from the world of film and stage (rather like kissing cousins... from afar!) being more related to radio. Recently, however, everybody seems to be bosom pals with distant relatives and there is this interesting, though often exasperating, confusion at the recording hangouts these days. You never know who it is you are talking to, and from where.

That, however, is not the point. What I really want to find out is where the beauty of this once creative trade has flown (and it definitely isn’t Hollywood). Instead of heading towards the desired immortality, why are we on course for possible self-destruction?

Did you know that the tradition of Pakistani drama is unique? Nowhere in the world is there anything comparable. There are long-term dramatic series, or sitcoms or talk shows, but no limited episode-wise plays. Only recently have our neighbors started to seriously compete, but, good or bad, our style stands out.

Somewhere in the recent past, however, we have slowly started to slide into horrifying mediocrity. Repetitive, clichéd storylines and pretty, glossy pictures with the end result being totally forgettable and an insult to entertainment-starved viewers in this country. The solution, for the lucky ones, is the cable channels that have mushroomed recently.

But I know that our viewers long for the emotionally stimulating, absorbing (yes, often unbelievably melodramatic) drama of the good old days. So where is it? Have all the older writers and actors and directors gone away or simply lost touch? What about the generation that is following? I feel so sorry when I discover that the majority of our new talent is in business to make money only and to get their faces known in order to be famous and thus make more money. The glamour, the perks of being recognized everywhere and given preferential treatment, the display of tantrums is not too hard on the ego, either. But there is a serious lack of grooming and nobody seems bothered about doing really well. Who is going to watch? So nobody grows or improves his craft. Even if blessed with talent, they cash in on those gestures or histrionics that they know are sure winners. It sounds very harsh, I know. But where is the desire to create, to absorb yourself in the process of creation, to explore yourself and push your abilities to the limit?

The problem, used to be that no one took acting seriously. It’s a hobby. You have fun and then return to serious work. Like banking. So what do you do? people will ask. ‘I act in plays’. ‘Oh that’s nice... magar aap kaam kya karte hein? It’s the same old story it was 400 years ago. Actors? In the same category as fools, court jesters, gypsies. No offence whatsoever to any of the aforementioned for they are all entertainers who are there for a very good purpose. To serve humanity... just like doctors or engineers or assistant commissioners (all of whom are considered ideal matches for Pakistani girls) but they have always been on the fringe of respectable society. All right to watch and enjoy from a distance and that’s about all. Although that attitude has greatly changed; people have realized there is a lot of money to be made in this thriving industry and quite a lot of effort is involved. It’s gaining some grudging respect even, but it’s a slow process.

I feel that what they outwardly despise (so blatantly), they secretly crave for, namely, the desire for liberation of the soul, a certain freedom from mundane reality. In the sixty-odd years that most normal (I won’t say ordinary) people live their active lives, the actor can live a hundred, a thousand different ones. You actually defy time and age. You can indeed live forever. Who wouldn’t envy that state of complete power? It is only your fear that stops you.

Why are we so scared to explore what is inside us? Is it that horrifying? If so, wouldn’t it be better out in the open, anyway? The truth is that the majority of us are afraid to simply let go. We must know where we are going and want to know, where we will end up. If inhibition is let loose we are not sure we can control it. It’s amazing that people are hesitant about even letting out a good, healthy yell. What will others think and say? It’s the old, hypocritical ‘look respectable and do everything on the sly’ school of thought.

Perhaps the truth (and the reality) need not be so shocking. One can safely say that history has been made, and progress expedited by people who searched for truth and who had the courage for introspection, too. Such was Shakespeare’s exploration into the deep rooted vices in human nature like jealousy and ambition, and Faiz’s discovery of man’s indomitable spirit in the face of adversity, his strength and moral courage.

It is that truth and that reality our directors, new and seasoned, should emphasize. Actually, it’s good that so many people are now considering TV direction as a career. There are many talented young men and women making a name for themselves in this field. Some started raw, while others have a background or training to support them.

I feel at times though that there is a lot of plagiarism in their work. It can also be difficult for the masses to relate to the themes of some plays which might mean more to the viewers from the culture they were adapted from. Perhaps there is too much action and too little thought. Fancy lighting, beautiful faces and shot upon shot of breathtaking mountains and jumps into the river are wonderful, but the work of an artiste reflects the way he sees the world. That depth can only be reached if we find our own voices and develop our own style. I am talking of young people, of course. The veterans have defined their technique but the ones who will be eventually taking over need to move ahead and beyond, to find new realities, to rediscover old truths and unmake them so that they crackle with life and vitality. Otherwise, the same old hackneyed topics will seem tiresome and you and your work will be forgotten sooner than you created it.

The journey, however, has just begun. There are so many new discoveries to make. I hope there will always be people prepared for that.

Solitude..

Sometimes I like to dissociate from myself and narrate my life’s mundane activities as if they were a story.

“She realized as she expertly buttered hot, browned toast and simultaneously poured boiling water into the cafetiere, that she didn’t like other people making her breakfast. They never could achieve the same perfection. Either the toast wasn’t toasted enough or it was cold and over buttered or the coffee wasn’t strong enough. Things weren’t prepared with the timing kept in mind. It all had to be done ‘together’ and then eaten IMMEDIATELY. She knew of no one else who had such a finicky, fastidious obsession for the ‘right’ breakfast.”

Morning is my time. It’s for me. There is a need for absolute silence. The walk in the park at sunrise, eagerly awaited breakfast of aromatic coffee and hot buttered toast, chirping birds, open terrace doors and the sweet breeze floating in. It’s the perfect start to the day. No one should disturb this blissful solitude, not even the best companion. The moment that first sip of brewed, fresh bitter coffee takes its effect and my brain comes alive, I start feeling the power. I can do it all. The world’s infinite possibilities are open before me. Today is the day I can start availing them properly. I can begin projects and be creative and call anyone. Pure happiness courses through me.i often think of writing excellent pieces expressing profundity. It has not happened yet. The inspiration, desire, peace all came and encouraged me but just as speedily went away either disappointed at my lack of performance or just as futile and unfocussed as I was.

The afternoons are for dreaming. For TV, novels, watching sunlight bounce off the walls. Lonely sleepy silence in a cool tranquil room. Things of course need to be done- but maybe in a while- an hour, ten minutes, soon.

I won’t lie to you. I like to be by myself. I like my company. I like doing my ‘stuff’. I know it is selfish but I enjoy it so much. Much more than sitting with a bunch of people (whether family, acquaintances or friends) talking of Nothing. What a terrible waste of time. So unconstructive. I start to resent them, their voices, their aimless chitter chatter and laughing at all the oft repeated remarks. They look at me out of the corner of their eye to pick up on even a slight frown of boredom or forced interest on my part that they can pounce on and get offended by.

Why can’t people be more like me? Content in their own occupations, hobbies, laziness, dreams? Why must they always travel in packs and herds and make noises to validate their existence. It’s so lovely to be silent, to be quiet, to be listening, to be ready .It’s true it isn’t the very best way of spending time either, but maybe in all that silent reflection and thinking, a moment of truth, of discovery, of clarity can shine through and make it worthwhile.

I agree communication between living beings is integral- a necessity for society to progress, but, God can’t their voices not be braying and baaing but be sweeter and softer?

The Yoga Studio…

A vibration in the vast hall like room that always pulses with energy. It’s a gym, so obviously many people come to jump around, groan in pain and grunt with effort. Obviously the energy here crackles during high impact aerobics classes. But.. I love the energy right now also. The room is so silent. It smells of people, no, of humans, in a nice way. Everyone is absolutely still. My eyes are closed as are everyone else’, I think. But I glance to check, a quick peek- yes, we are all supine, in a state of repose. The class today was grueling. My arms and shoulders ache deliciously and my whole body is filled with rushing, excited blood. I think I am dying with happiness. The mind, dazed but totally clear, feeling focused within, this is meditation I believe- on a micro level. I enjoy the micro level too. I know that the new, calm and benevolent me is going to fade away as soon as I step out, go down the three flights of stairs to the alley below, get into my tightly parked car and prepare for an onslaught of horns and brakes. The jostling, swerving deft avoiding of bumps, the whole stress of this frustrating, quick witted game that driving in Karachi has become, soon saps away your patience for mankind. My heartbeat will quicken, my mouth will feel even drier and what were deliciously loose limbs will become tight knots and twists.

But right now, trance like music, the setting sun’s glowing rays coming through the windows ( they are large and on both sides of the room.), the aromatic, cool water being squirted lightly on my face by the yoga teacher is sublime. Everything is perfect in this moment. I feel I can achieve anything I set my mind to. I feel a power inside my being. A strength, I’ve suddenly discovered. It can accomplish many impossible feats.