It has no name...

When we start looking for stories, we are drifting from what is real. When the art looks for the audience and tries to become what people want it to, then it is no more an art. It is a commodity. Art and society are complimentary to each other and they can’t survive without each other.

But any creative thought should not be restricted with the thought, “will this be accepted?”

I have been looking around and thinking of writing my experiences but all the time, I am worried about the conclusion. When I am writing my diary, I freely flow, I drift, I catch hold of a thought, and I pen it down, without worrying what the preceding thought was or what the subsequent thought would be. I can write on and on, because it is not meant to be read. I am not worried about people’s reactions or acceptance and otherwise. It is an outflow of emotions; it is natural and not definitive. But when I blog, I am worried as to “how will I find an end?”, “what will be the ending?”, “how do I conclude” and that kills the spirit of writing. I read and admire what great people have written and then think about how they would have achieved this. At times, I am just numb, reading them. And this amazes me no ends.

I remember watching a movie called 'Alaap'. The movie is about the struggle of a musician, who happens to be the son of an aristocrat. Their principles and outlooks clash and he struggles and finds his way. The musician’s name is Alok. Although, Alok is a great musician, he is looking for a teacher. Art has no upper limit and it is always growing. Alok comes to know of an old lady, who lives in a slum. At one time, she used to be a courtesan and was a legendary singer. When Alok visits her and expresses his wish to learn music from her, she makes him sing, to test his mettle and evaluate if he is really worth it. He sings and she likes what he sang. Technically, he knows the nuances of music and is a good singer. But then what she says next, touched my heart and I would remember it for life. She says to her care-taker, “Ladke ki awaaz achchee hai, magar abhi dard nahi hai. Zindagi mein jab tak dard nahi hai, suron ki samajh adhoori hai”. The care-taker responds, “jab tak inhe apna dard na mile, aap apna gham baant leejiye”. And then the story flashes back in her life. I would not do justice in attempting to translate this to English, but I will attempt. I would not do a literal translation. It meant, “The quality of boy’s voice is nice but it lacks depth and meaning of life. Till the time, you have not experienced life in its crudest form, your knowledge of music (read art), is incomplete”. And the response was “So until, he experiences his own life and his soul is touched, you share your journey so far with him”

This made me think, can art really be standalone? Can art and life be two different entities? My answer is no. And then, I got thinking, that any art form, that has touched the hearts of people, has been felt and created. Ghalib’s sufferings made people feel him and live him each day. If today, anyone can identify with what he wrote and fell, that the words are a voice to our emotional state today, it is because, AsadUllah Khan Ghalib, was not writing to be accepted and be popular. Bahadur Shah Zafar, underwent his trials and each verse he wrote, was his expression of self. Generations later, we still know what it is, ‘Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hu, na kisi ke dil ka qarar hu, ju kisi ke kaam na aa sake main who ek musht-e-gubar hu’.

Life is a many splendored thing. It is much beyond the capacity and potential of words. The vocabulary will have a limit, but not life and its experiences; hence the free arts.