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Tuesday, September 19, 2017

A Political Doctrine of All That Has Been Lost

The problem with all "revolutionaries" of this century is that they cannot predict when it's about to rain.The madman sees no glory in what is about to come,but he knows what is going to come shower on him the night lying next to his senses,crawling up like an earthworm in its shallow nest.

He who swallowed two bullets down his throat last night is haunted by gallows of heaven,of empty apartments and blatant,sleepless nights.Of as comradeless a situation as this,come ravens flying across the deathly spirits of grey.We go on swimming like carps in stealthy ponds,in evenings were fireflies come swarming in late autumnal eves.

The poet never writes about a heartbreak,the taste of sunshine runs a chill down our weary bones.Even dystopia looks like an organised event,a microphone or two,speakers magnifying patterns of sounds in vain like a bat circling around a Banyan tree - aimlessly defying the layers of time that have gathered in the air in between.

('Guernica' by Pablo Picasso ; Source : Wikipedia)

The reflections awaken at midnight,not even the silent clock has any idea about this recurring occasion of terror.Of the little time in our hands,infinity rises like a drowning Sun - about to delve into theories of big bangs that never happened.

On a day as such,you will spot a face or two who disappear out of nowhere.There have always been a dreaded list of strangers who walk away at night,like an owl's whisper to an empty dawn.The serenity of running away clings to our shadows,accumulated around the corner of our lips."What do you believe in?" "What do you believe in?",they say. 

Back at night,when all the noise is gone,the song in the  head circles across railroads in the country.The leap of the summerbird,the map of galaxies on a Syrian boy's face 
half-burried in sand as old as the embodiment of wombs,the story of you and I,the calls in the dark,the surrounding tales of butterflies and torn pages lost in storms ; where would you manage to bury your face when the siren sounds,anyway? Where would you run away? 

There were footsteps that lead to inter-galactical planes a while ago.When you look back,the track is lost,the keys are gone,the maps are burning in hell,melting into lubricants and ice caps all at once.The stark odour of genocide in your hands will never fade out into nothing,a distraction or two will take you up and down the hillside once or twice - what is a revolution,anyway? Of creatures as petty,as idiotic as homo sapiens,as downtrodden,as poor as us - who destine waves into record labels and cut down a soulful touch into commands,a rotational specter
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Friday, September 15, 2017

Oscillation Blues : A Culmination of 6 Distinct Blends of Absurdist Fiction + Magic Realism

(Painting : Café Terrace at Night by Van Gogh)

The Monument 

A rope was hanging from the top of the tower.Swinging in mid-air,it leapt across the memories of heaven and glimpsed through windows that had been bourne out of nowhere right at the heart of the sea.Across burial grounds and ashtrays,the peaks of mountain ranges swam their way to rise across the sunbeams that played hide and seek around and beneath her eyes.

The Cultivator 

Brewing in mid-noon in the depth of ploughed land,at the mercy of concentrated fragments of crystalline nutrients that would bear fruit in no time,gradually succumbing on the fertility that lingered on her bosom - they sang a merry song of the valleyes and the caves.
Then,it reverberated across the galaxy and turned into a beam of light right before our eyes.

(Painting : Darkness Breaking by GC Myers) 

The Adaptation

'I' am his name.It soon happened as though the wind had run past our souls and fragmented them into nothing before we knew it.His name is unheard in the fiercest of warfare,amidst the glory lights of civilization illuminating the heart of cities and embracing the spring that caresses the cheeks,breasts and legs of young souls.
I heard that he faded amidst silence a light year ago,before my birth in his hands,from his womb,succumbing on his soul lifetime after lifetime.

(Painting : Darkness Breaking by GC Myers)

The Alphabet

A world fluttered like a whisper in my dream the other day.Someone placed it on a leaf and imagined it was a canoe that carried the engravings layered across labyrinths and the sky that begins right after the exoneration of fate.A whisper,hence,in the ultimate analysis - is a perpetual touch.

(Painting : The Sleeping Gypsy by Henri Rousseau)

The Violin

The stiffness of a string was carved into waves high and low,of the kind that travels through your skin right into the verse that floats from your eyes to your lips
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Monday, September 11, 2017

Justice For Pansare,Dabholkar,Kalburgi,Gauri Lankesh : Guest Post by Ecosocialist Activist Gary Stuard

The recent murder of journalist Gauri Lankesh is another confirmation of the increasing threat the Hindu Right and its fascist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), led by Narendra Modi, pose to Indian democracy. Her assassination follows the earlier murders of senior communist leader Govind Pansare,activist Narendra Dabholkar,writer and scholar MM Kalburgi, all who dared to critize the extremism and violence of the BJP, including its suppression of freedom of speech and expression, its support of India's age old caste system, and its support of violent assaults against Muslims in the name of protecting "Hindu values". 

Those close to Lankesh report that she was ready to expose scams associated with industrialists and BJP leaders. 

Leftist, Greens, progressives and liberals throughout the world must declare solidarity with those fighting for democracy and civil/human rights in India, as well as oppose the U.S.'s and international capitalism's efforts to seize control of India's government in its pursuit of profits.
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Sunday, September 10, 2017

Two Abbas Kiarostami Short Film Picks To Instantly Brighten Up A Mundane Day

'The Bread and Alley' or simply 'Bread and Alley' is the first short film that was made by Iranian film director Abbas Kiarostami and has been promoted by the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults.The 10 minute short film consists of one of the very predominant components of Kiarostami's work - children! 
It begins with a kid aged around six or seven,who has to cross an alley to reach home but is confronted by a vulgar street dog everytime he attempts to pass through the place.The simplicity of movements,the serenely long takes,the zero artificial approach and minimalistic conceptual development makes this a simply brilliant effort to portray cinema as an intermediation and not some pompous business show or sponsor oriented dualistic business and art going hand in hand.This stuff is more gorgeous than you can think it is.

The next pick in this post would be an eight and a half minute long project including no separated "takes",barely 5-6 cuts in the entire culmination and a rather 
non-exaggerated,simply beautiful flow of dialogue between a child and an invisible conversant.
The little girl loves movies and wants to be an actress but when a role is proposed to her in which her long,beautiful hair is cut by a jealous girl,she refuses to take part in it despite persuasions and attempts to convince her that the film is a big job and it means a certain kind of gain to her.Then,the conversant asks her to play the role of the jealous girl instead but she refuses again.At the end of the film,several little girls say a "No" to the same context consequently.

The very last scene focuses on another little girl with beautiful hair swimming in a pool,fluttering like an autumn leaf in her own,spontaneous freedom of happiness.
This short film is capable of restoring faith in a soul suffering from serious lack of connection or brutal alienation of thought.A must,must watch that in a moment shows us life is big,bigger than
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Thursday, September 7, 2017

What Killed Gauri Lankesh? : Article on Youth Ki Awaaz

The flow of words with an emphasis on exposure of the truth can be lethal – history perhaps is the biggest proof to this notion till date.Beginning from the uprisings in the belated 18th century France to the modern day ‘big’ democracies of the world,the attempts to silence voices that share instances capable of changing what apparently resembles truth is observable if you take a keen look into the chronological outflow of these incidents.

“Nigger!Get your hands outta my pocket!” was the last thing the assassin of Malcolm X yelled. The autopsy identified 21 gunshot wounds to his chest, left shoulder, arms and legs, including ten buckshot wounds from the initial shotgun blast.Five decades later,in the heart of the “largest democracy in the world”,Muslim men are murdered for the consumption of beef,students from the minority communities strangely disappear and nothing but brute force
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Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Murder of Dissent : Guest Post Written by Tomichan Matheikal

The murder of journalist and activist Gauri Lankesh is yet another tremor that has shaken the pillars of democracy in India.  Two years ago, the scholarly rationalist M M Kalburgi was killed under similar circumstances.  Referring to that murder, Gauri Lankesh later said that “we are living in such times when Modi Bhakts and the Hindutva brigade welcome the killings and celebrate the deaths (as in the case of U.R. Ananthamurthy) of those who oppose their ideology”.  Today the social media is replete with celebrations of Lankesh’s murder.  Anyone who goes through the gloating comments will understand who killed the journalist and why.

Gauri Lankesh dreamt of an egalitarian society in India.  That was her crime.  The right wing in the country has always been opposed to anyone who questioned what it projected as the nation’s ancient culture and tradition.  People like Gauri Lankesh decoded what passed off as “culture and tradition” and questioned its very foundations.  She was a serious threat to the right wing.

By eliminating people like Gauri Lankesh, the message that is conveyed in unequivocal terms is: Don’t dare to question the authority.  A monolithic authority founded ostensibly on an equally monolithic national culture is what is emerging as the By eliminating people like Gauri Lankesh, the message that is conveyed in unequivocal terms is: Don’t dare to question the authority.  A monolithic authority founded ostensibly on an equally monolithic national culture is what is emerging as the most serious threat to India’s pluralist democracy.  This brutal authority has blatantly displayed its fangs in various shapes and forms many times.  Those who dared to question it have been subjected to various kinds of assaults like raids in their offices and homes, humiliating trolls in social networks, and even dastardly murders.  

Gauri Lankesh was openly opposed to what the right wing stood for.  She was opposed to the caste system, the oppression of the Dalits and other poor sections of the society, the creation of a false notion of a homogeneous national culture, and so on.  So the right wing called her a “Hindu hater.”  
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Thursday, August 31, 2017

An Exotic Mocktail of Modernist Poetry,Blues and Mellow Breeze : 'Easterly Wind' by Serenade

"Whoa!Was that a non-ethnic-English-speakers band that I heard performing?!?"
"Glad that you liked our performance!"

That was my first reaction after listening to a 'Move on Rag' by Serenade. The forever modest Soumyarya Mallick replied with an unforeseen humbleness and at once I was sure I wanted to listen to the entire album for once! Once I did,I was not sure how on earth I was going to finish off this review - all I could think of was "lyrics-oh-lyrics-my-God-what-do-I-do-with-the-finest-of-lyrics". And hasty as it might sound at the beginning of an album "ree-view",had the entire collection of song lyrics been published as a book of poems,it still would have made its mark on the show.

On the days I would listen to this,out of the blue - I would have random lines from Simon and Garfunkel,Radiohead or even Paul Robeson surface up in my mind! The mocktail tastes as good as marshmallows and mocha on a rainy evening,if not even better. There are melancholic tunes and greys that surface up in songs like 'Nocturnal Supremacy' (and buoy,ain't they superbly impressive?!) I almost lost my senses for a few seconds everytime I went through the lyrics to the track. The instrumentals were perfectly in sync in case of almost all the songs and are precisely beautiful in 'Rambler', ' Soulantino', 'Nocturnal Supremacy','Hell Chimer' (Sounds like a culmination of the flavours of metal and prog at its most intensely derivable forms),'Hey Woman' and 'Man of The Blues'.

Eeshan Jzoe has done justice to the vocals in every context possible.The vocals are unbelievable and out of the world.I honestly do not recall the last time I heard someone in the recent times do the vocals keeping aside all other things that well! The resonance,the spirit,the impact,the emphasis,the indulgence - every attribute you can imagine linked to vocalising on songs and turning people on with the same,you would find it in 'Easterly Wind'.

The part I figured was a little less than perfect would be melody.Though it might sound pretty cliche given the neatly done instrumentals,vocals and lyrics and provided that the band is inspired by blues,an emphasis on gearing up with the tune could have taken everything else to a whole new level,to be specific. 

There is an amazing co-ord among the artists and that is visible in both visuals and every strum down the tracks,in every single performance.To sum it all up,Serenade has all the qualities a band needs to set its mark in the long run.Agnivo Basu has done a great job with the bass and Richard Wright wouldn't have been more impressed in this age than Daipayan Dutta Gupta's beats on the drum.The synchronisation brought to life in all the performances is something all music enthusiasts search for and the lyrics and vocals are simply out of the world.All in all,this is a must listen for people who love experimenting with different musical genres and have an affinity towards blues and classic rock.I can swear by that you can succumb your poetic thirst
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Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Free Verse Scribbles (Fourth Inclusion) ~ End of A Song

Painting : 'La Kelpie' by John Duncan

At the end of every song lying still 
Stretched out from head to toe-tips 
Three violin notes creep up 
Like forsaken dreams of the previous age.

At the end of a song 
Begins a path 
Tattered leaves,dried bones 
Galactical planes...

At the end of a song's naked body 
Lies an error 
Of broken violins and tattered kites 
Born out of the liver of a hungry artist 
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Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Free Verse Scribbles (Third Inclusion) ~ Vision

Painting : 'Autumn Fields' by Mstislav Pavlov

I ate Nicotine with sugar crumbs the other night 
The paths drooled into oblivion in my throat 
The skinfolds vesseled light. 
A millennial genesis in the crossroads of your palm 
An untidy mirror,a door or two 
Swinging in mid-air 
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Monday, August 7, 2017

Save Jadavpur University!

The authority wants to snatch away our rights to democratically express our own opinions.The current Trinomool Congress governed reign has declared that all the organisations operating in the university campus currently are to be soon replaced by an "apolitical" "student's" "council".The members of the council are to be appointed by the VC and the general students pursuing their education from the university will not have any say about any issue that concerns them.

(Photograph Source : Vox Populi)

Jadavpur University has a glorious history of building up a strongly democratic base in West Bengal.One of the top universities across India,it has been known to oppose the oppressive attributes of the Indian state ever since it began forming the bases of what it stands to be today.Irrespective of your political stand,if you are in favour of the anti-capitalist impositions that is devastating life forms across the planet,please,please listen to this plea.We welcome students,
non-students,officials,workers,administrators,writers,intellectuals,artists,performers,thinkers to join the movement.Please do come on 10th.At 01:40 p.m,in the university campus.
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