a terrible painter, a dreamer, a rebel , a feminist and a self certified bisexual Witch. Who is always trying to visualize whats on the other side of the canvas she paints,just another human- Living alive Life. Now also a green tea addict.

Friday, 30 November 2012

the story of :- My Muse:


(On the occasion  of one year anniversary of our blog I had written a short story, which didn't turn out to be a short story rather a reflective piece , I wanted to edit and present a better story out of it. Yet I felt doing against it, technically its my second short story, the first has to be revised and will be put here then. So hope it is readable to you.) 

As the wind blew in through the open window of my room, I realised it was quite late at night. I peeped out to find my adopted street dogs were asleep. I could look at the houses visible from my window. I saw the last house biding goodbye to light. Now it was  my room and the street lights making darkness alive.

 It was usual for my parents to find my room bright at midnight. But it was a strange surprise for my neighbours . The exams were over, so no study was suppose to take in my room. In general I did not stay wake to study whole night, but read other books, read online, and keep my mind busy. Other nights I was the unofficial watchperson, my light kept the thieves away till seven houses down the lane. Now staying awake midnight was a habit that would not die. So tonight was  not going to be any exception.

I was in my twenties, I just graduated and was unsure of my next course of life. My life had been very good, I had comfortable home, good education and upright upbringing. Yet I was restless, through out two decades of my life I wanted to stand out. I felt one day the room which I inhabited would fall on me. I feared being ordinary.

Creative path always attracted me, Frost’s Road Not Taken had been path defining words to me. I had no special qualities, my creative experiences were limited to one day of Vocal training, six months of guitar learning, one year of Kathak training and I held a Diploma in painting. So I knew where I had my feet on creative path.

I next ventured into writing poetry, which made my professor comment poetry comes out of extreme emotions. He further explained, I had no pain felt by Keats, no happiness for simplicity like Wordsworth, no command of language like Spencer. He asked “ Miss do you feel the pain of Poverty, Hunger?” “Do you no the pain of Rejection?” “Have you ever felt extreme desire to make Love?” The answer  was “No.” Yes I had no experience of extreme of emotions. Nor did I have a inspiration, a source of energy, neither did I have a Muse.

My mind was always filled with the thought of being different, yet I had nothing on basis of which I could claim my difference.  I was a aimless protagonist of a plot less story. There was no story inside my story, no turn of fate behind my motif. Was I destined to be a reader never the wordsmith?.

Meanwhile I had fallen in love to spirit who was tame less and restless being like me. Our love was not any different from others. We were not separated by religion, we had no tragedy till now, no ballads were sang for me, we were not in the urge to elope and cause scandal,  nor did we have a third person involved like the novels for entertainment . Everything in this life was ordinary, my studies were fine, I graduated and will soon join Masters. Despite having all the charms of a happy life, the passion to be me was not letting me grow. Poetry was never going to be my friend, my prose was utterly common and had no charm. Again my professor  explained, I had good words in my kitty, but I have no emotion to feel them. Did it mean “I lack emotion”. I was a protagonist with no emotion, I was meant to be the forgotten piece of writing which never claimed fame.

But suddenly my wild thoughts and past memories came to an halt, my cellphone rang, it was the love of my life, the closest friend in twenty years. The words flowed  “Why haven’t you graced your bed, are you trying to make yourself ill to pen literature out?” I had no reply, he knew I was worried, but the reason of my distress was not known to him. “Did you meet your misguiding professor again?” he asked. “Yes” was the only word I could come up with, I could not lie to him. “So why did you meet him again? You graduated did you not ?” he asked.  “Well I went to say final goodbyes to my professors and get my mark sheet and certificates.” I replied.
 “Then what happened?” 

This question compelled me to trace back the event of the gone day. I met professor again, he asked me to stop my hand in writing, he said since I was so engrossed in being creative that I failed to grow my intellect. So it was better for me to pursue my Masters and do some courses in Journalism and be on my so called path of creativity. He said I could never be what I wanted to be, as it was hard path. The very same pearls of wisdom was  enthralled on me by my student councilor. She had told me “The path you wish to follow is very complex and too romanticized to young people like you”

I was again lost in the thoughts of me. Had I been to selfish to ignore the aspirations of my family and him. “You have to stop listening to others.” broke his voice to me. “you are to consumed in being accepted. You don’t need someone’s approval to be you. Who said success was easy? ” “Yes, who told me? No one said success was easy.” I uttered. He was right. I could not stop myself from asking him, “Am I being too selfish to you? It has always been about me.” Before I could say more, he spoke up. “No”.  I was about to protest, I had evidences, when we met I would tell him about my problems never inquire about his, I would take him for granted, not since we fell in love but ever since our first day of friendship. I was too dependent on him. As the past memories ran back to back, he blurted out “Live your own legend its time to make mistakes and learn not regret”.  “When did he grow so wiser?”

  Tonight was destined to be same, was it not, I finally told him, “I lack a source of inspiration”.. I was no Milton, Homer who had a  Muse. Nor was I a male artist who had his heart dedicated to universal beauty of his beloved.  I was a woman, could I have a Muse? I needed a source to dedicate my work to. Yes the woman who gave me birth was my source of inspiration, but she could not be the Muse. Nor could my best girlfriends be my Muse I loved them, I was not passionate, obsessed and dedicated to them.

I felt all this was going on inside my mind, but without noticing I had spoken every word to him. I was in a trance, I was lost. Had it been Midnight Summers Dream I could have been cast under the spell.  There was no spell to bind me to a Muse. He said “Muses were daughters of Zeus, but does a Muse has to be a female power.” Muses were representative of the Feminine power of productivity I knew that. “You can be your own Muse.” What did he mean was I in too much love with myself? “You draw your inspiration from your self, be your own guide.” He again 
 had a justification, I was a woman, I had the power of fertility and productivity. I could be my Muse, could I?

When my professor said try being a Muse to your lover, I  thought he wanted me to be mere object of fancy. All he wanted me was to be a inspiration to him. If the male power needed the female in form of  Muse. I being a feminine power need the masculine power. So why not him? I shouted, “Will you become my Muse?” At first he was dumbstruck, but I could imagine a faint smile breaking on the other side. He had no argument to put forward as he said it was not compulsory for a Muse to be female.

I was blind, for first time in months I felt beauty of midnight. Darkness always meant absent of Light.  My mind was full of chaos, in the urge to stand out I forgot the joy of ordinary. It was him, my Muse who was always there, the simple words, the fragile flowers, the daily wishes. I again transported to the Famous balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet. I just had to be thankful for the love and source I drew from him. He was my Muse, wild, restless, unapologetic, honest and blunt.

After assigning him the task to be my Muse, I slept in a peaceful dream. Creativity was not a being different but presenting ordinary in a beautiful way.  In morning my Muse rang me , the words “Good morning” were never so sweet. After few words, I sat on my study, to start afresh. This was no invocation, but few words Dedicated to My Muse.

“Let every word I pen down be inspired from you, may I not attain success, but I shall never besiege.” 

After so many days I could write without worry, and glide to an unknown future. I again peep out, find my adopted street dogs have woken up and are running down the road. Now I see the last street light biding goodbye to me till evening, the real source of Light was rising magnificently. May be every sunrise was same, but today the Sun rose for my Muse and me…     

P.S- I promise to work hard, to be a better writer.

thanking you to bear with me

Saturday, 24 November 2012

Comics is Power.

Sorry for not writing, well its no bloggers block or internet block, but final examination keeping me away... But I have a story to share, so again before my Philosophy exam I am writing a post. I had  best three days of  my life in Pink College. 

Every thing happens for a reason, is what I told myself. Paulo Coelho says keep looking for omens and I always do. Well again the unrest broke out in neighboring districts. Our sessional test, which were already late compared to other departments got delayed. From 10th November they were delayed to 14th and now both papers were to happen on same day. We were angry because finals were from 20th. I being me did not study whole semester now I was really worried. 

Behold test day, the blank me and my major mate went to give our exam. As soon as I entered the gates of Pink College my four eyes saw something. A banner which was not hanging there before (well  may be it was there for a whole week, but we stayed away from college). I asked our Principal's daughter about it, but it was proved she was also like us- ignorant of happenings in college. So during the tests my mind was set on the banner. It was calling me, it was saying you have a chance to do something. So after the tests got over I came out jumping to re-read the banner.

The Banner said Workshop on Comics for Social Welfare in collaboration with Worldcomics. It said Comics, that ringed the bell for the cat. So the witch in me started begging my closest walking partner major mate to join the workshop with me. Alas she refused, I was determined that I will join in no matter what. So I asked Mom rather informed her that I was going to take part. The workshop was to take place for three days 15th, 16th and 17th.  I had never been so optimistic about anything before finals. In general I would refrain from any extra stuff before finals but this time. The banner said "COMICS" my passion for a long time and before writing.

Day one

So on 15th morning I woke before my regular time, in general its 9.30 but I woke at 7.30 out of excitement.  So this time I did my lunch, decided against riding my bicycle to college. So I went there and to my disappointment I found no one from my batch. So I sat with an unknown senior.  She was sweet senior from Education department. Soon the hall was filled with junior and seniors but none from class. The surprise element came, our teacher was Amrith Basumatary the cartoonist of very popular newspaper The Seven Sister Post. He has the space Counter Point to him in the paper. It was first time I ever saw a cartoonist for real. I was so excited... I still am.... He was introduced to us by our teachers and finally the Workshop began. So sir  asked our names, and told us the purpose of the workshop. He told us the difference between main stream comics and grass-root comics. Our workshop was to learn making grass-root comics.  Grass-root comics is the very basic comics and devoid of colours, its done in black and white.  At this announcement the colour pencils in my satchel started to curse me. So sir gave us sheet and asked us draw whatever we want. I drew a comic picture. Each and everyone showed their art to whole class. Sir praised me and I was on cloud nine.  Then we were taught the basics of face making. Soon after basics, sir asked us to pair up and draw portrait of partner in five minutes. here is what came out of my partner and me.   

this is me from my partners filters, ain't I a beauty?

My partner from my filters... She is really beautiful I did injustice to her

We showed our art to everyone and we saw their art, sir took pictures and it was one of the funniest day laughing and clapping. My cheeks and hands were red. So the first day was spent this way in fun, and I made many new friends.. It was fun learning from such a talented man.  If first day was so fun, in thought of second day I couldn't sleep.

 Day Two .

On 16th the day began early, we pasted all the portraits on the walls and all the comics created in workshops all around the world in our hall. It was fun looking at everyone's art. I realised  one thing that Art is neither good or bad its simply honesty in paper. Its all on perspective. All my life I use too laugh at so called bad art of people, and often feel depressed when I saw so many better art. But now I can simply enjoy art. I guess that's why comics is comics it appreciates every line drawn. So second day we learned to create human body and various postures and how to dress them. Then we picked up theme for our final comic and wrote a story. Sneak peak of the art is here.

the symbol of comics..

Art work of my friends..

my work

the whole family

same people

comics from all over world

we were asked to draw her in five minutes , it was fun
  Everything cant go smooth when paulOaries the witch is involved. Suddenly a news came up due to the unrest and riots a bandh was to take place next day. So the last and final day was to be on monday. My face suddenly turned to a fused Bulb from a Bright Bulb. Again I started cursing my fate that if last day is on monday I cant come as my finals start from tuesday. I felt my two days were going to be wasted. But suddenly the HoD of Education department saw me and realised my problem and made the last day on sunday. Hence my almost twisted fate was brought back to path.  I returned home and I tried to draw my own cartoons and wrote the story.

 Day Three     

18th was the final day, firstly we drew our rough art, then we showed sir. Sir showed us our mistakes and gave ideas. Then finally we were drawing pictures on bigger scale. I was nervous and very happy. We learned measurements, different types of bubbles (speech boxes) and many thing. We were drawing our final piece. Sir praised me and I was really happy, my lost hope to be a cartoonist got ignited again. Then each and every one of coloured our works, sharing our black sketch pens and gel pens. Since it was sunday shops were closed and our stuff less. We completed our work, I helped my sweet senior to colour her titles. My another new friend is junior from Assamese department. He is really good and highly creative. But actual star of the show was another junior. He is an awesome artist, high thinking and really is clear headed in what he does. His looks are deceive but his art is amazing. Then we showed our art work, Sir again took Pictures, he praised everyone, again we grew red. Finally we were awarded  our certificates of participation. I want to hang the certificate on my drawing room.  I had never been so happy in Pink College. We thanked sir and I don't know if we will meet him again, though he lives in our town.
here is the final piece i drew

funny thing on my art i wrote Pink College.
Grass root comics the cheapest and most communicative way of awaring the common masses. Its cheap, requires few materials and is highly effective. I am going to use my new found weapon soon. Now I wish to do the six days workshop so that I too can become a trainer like sir and  spread the power of comics everywhere.  

Now I want to use my new found talent to save the college of modern art done by the spit marks of paan. I haven't stop my art to just comics. Here is something which my friends will kill me for. I drew cartoons of my best friend and me, here they are.

This is me in my hideous uniform, should I draw a comics against Uniform? 

Here are my best friends and me, since I irritate them day and night I choose to be in center

The girl on yellow page is my soul sister, the girl on pink page is my best friend of  14years, the boy on yellow page is my childhood friend and best friend of three years, the boy on blue page is my night time councilor and a very close buddy of mine, the girl in green page is my newest friend and my walking partner, my major mate and my back biting partner and the boy in pink page is my brother figure friend,  

So next time when I mention my friends do related to this cartoons.

P.S- I feel my graphic novel is not as distant dream as it was before. please check WORLD COMICS INDIA {sorry for the longest blog post ever }

thanking you to bear with me