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I think the first time I realised logic cannot save thinking was when my dad read out a poem to my brother and me. I was really small then, not quite into my teens, and with the kind of innocence and wonderment it breaks my heart to think about now. The poem was nothing extrordinary, but my dad had a really fascinating way of reading such things out to us. He did it with a kind of hypnotic authority, with deliberate emphatic pauses and always made a recital out of it. This was a love poem using time figuratively to show how much someone meant to the poet and started out by saying how time passed quickly when the poet was joyous and how time slowed down when he was in despair. It ended quite beautifully, with my dad giving a really magnificent pause for effect now, by saying, "And when I am with you, time stops." O'Henry being a favourite of mine then and also, not having been exposed to many of the to- be- cliches, I was totally bowled over. Literature, language, how words can be strung together to induce brilliant happiness seemed marvellous then, an indication of all good things yet to come. So, I sat in impressed silence, watching my dad smile with pride at the fact that his little girl was able to appreciate poetry and mentally pat himself for being one of the means of introducing it to her, when my brother brought his presence down on the group, "So, that would mean you don't like me, right? Coz time slows down when you're sad and coming to a stop is the absolute finality of slowing down...."
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My belief that the world is inhabited by Gail Wynands, just waiting to shed of their cloaks and metamorphize into Roarks uninhibitedly grows when I see a track like "Into Dust" figuring in, of all places, The O.C. Despite churning out unabashed amounts of crap in the name of episodes weak after another, it turns out that the script writers spring this torture on us viewers for their own condescending pleasure. Atleast this theory appeals more than the other alternative it offers.
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When I was just past the point where I could be labelled an infant, I made my first career decision. With the kind of conviction which could only be born out of a complete lack of inhibition, I decided I wanted to be an actress. This was, however, the result of a huge misunderstanding between me and the world with it's concept of playback singing and lip-synchers. I, of course, thought that the actors did all the singing themselves and this was my primary motivation towards such a deliberation.
Well, even after I grew up, when I decided to be a teacher, I remember thinking that one of the perks would be the shorter working hours which would help me pursue a career in music. All of my career dreams featured singing directly or indirectly, with the career as something involving some music skills or a means to get me there. Extreme attempts have even led to my having considered voice dubbing, radio jockeying as strong contenders.
There was one extremely long-winded approach too and this one, not as totally secured in childish imagination as i might wish to claim. It was,in fact, when I was sixteen, that I decided to become a journalist who would get to interview all the famous personaliites and how a chance wait in A.R.Rahman's office would result in his hearing my brilliant humming of some song( back then, there was some energy expended in deciding the song that would mark this thrilling moment). The ones to which my imagination failed to draw any kind of connection with music were all made part-time jobs with my other musical career as the guiding star.
Now, of course,given the null factor in my career skills, I essentially return to a decision made when innocence ruled my life
I do pay a million thanks to the Indian film industry where singers can just sing, without the hassles of having to dance or star in music videos. Apart from the absolute terror that such a curtailment would let loose on the quality of singing, acting and dancing, the real reason for my gratitude is that I can still let some hope stay afloat.
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