How to live off passion ft. Tamasha

Teri nazron mein hain tere sapne,

Tere sapnon mein hai naarazi

Mujhe lagta hai ye baatein dil ki,

Hoti lafzon ki dhokhebaazi

What do we live off?

What do we live for?

An island of dreams. A movie director, a quintessential actress. So they have told the young ladies Ved’s trying to charm, and the gentlemen wanting to win Tara over. Bravo! Big Indian movie director will tell you about his latest story! Tara announces in a thick Latin accent, and Ved is caught unawares.

As she sipped wine from her glass, Ved wove a story in thin air. She did not notice her lips curl, for who could blink away from that magician of words who only ever moved his wand, one swish and a flick, and it rained laughter, sadness, envy, fury…all like sparkling dust around him.

Tara could never separate that magician from Ved.

The first time I watched Tamasha, it was all colours. Each time after, the colours kept paling out.

In Your Eyes Live Dreams

Have you ever listened to a man talk about his passions? Have you noticed their words fritter away into mindless giggles, their eyes twinkle, and their hearts plunge into the air with force, then descend slowly like a balloon?

And have you noticed how, most of the time, it’s a distant dream? As if their lives were happening somewhere far away from them.

And it’s always something creative. And if artistic, oh boy!

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute.
We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.
And the human race is filled with passion.
And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits, necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

Dead Poets’ Society (1989)

When I was young, I liked to do oil pastel landscapes, and my father had told me that someday they might sell for a crore. If I kept getting better, that was. My mother had scoffed, of course. I, however, wanted to play a stadium full of people. I wanted to scream and growl – all the things Chester Bennington did in his songs. I could even play three instruments. I was good.

Except, I wasn’t anything beyond good at the keys, the guitar, or the mic. Or even art. They were not my special talents. No stadiums full of people; no selling for a crore, too. They made me happy, but that’s what hobbies do. And just like that, so many passions find space in a closet called hobbies. You realise you are not gifted there, and they stop competing to become your calling.

What stays is the one thing you know you are good at, which feels more like yours than anything else. That’s the one that sticks around to give you respite, to haunt you, to keep drawing you to do something about it.

Just like Ved wanted to tell stories.

Cricket, painting, music, poetry or drama, you decide, but that is probably why I am writing this.

In Your Dreams, Resentment

She never looked nice.
She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice;
it was supposed to make you feel something.

Well, one more thing about art – it is definitely not meant to sell. It’s only ever meant to make you feel something. What sells is the business of making people feel things, and the laws of business apply there. What Tamasha fails to cover is the disparity between living your dream and dreaming about it.

You are an author. You have written a masterpiece. Great, but what constitutes a masterpiece? What is superior literature? A story that will live forever in the hearts of millions of people? How do you know that when everyone’s only ever taking bets? How do you trust your feedback loops enough to spend years on one idea? Do you have feedback loops? And how will it reach a million people first? When it reaches, how do you ensure they want to pick it up? How do you ensure they care about your story? Sure, everyone goes out looking for entertainment, but they may watch a movie or read something light. Reading is a dying art form, after all. If you fail, will you have the strength to get up for another shot? If you arrive, how do you replicate your success? How do you make it sustainable?

The questions do not end ever, and you keep getting consumed. You will scratch your head in silence, and a scary yet real possibility will stare into your face. What if you are not chosen for this? What if you’re doing this because you think it’s your only window to the good life – money, fame and a life away from monotony?

And all of this will happen in the silence of your room, behind closed doors. Outside, your dreams are only ever wishful thinking. You are not an author until you are one. You have responsibilities to fulfil and fend for people in the real world. How do you find, then, that inkling of hope within that pushes you to continue?

Or do you not? Like most people do not? Most people stay married to their jobs because the risks are too real to be outweighed by their dreams.

And they talk of their passions like a paramour.

Maybe Words from your heart deceive you

O, how they talk of their passions like a paramour! An illicit lover they visit in secret. A deific woman, way out of their leagues, they feel. Why should she love them? Why them?

Too whimsical to hold on to, too divine to let go.

What about aata, daal, chawal, baccho ki padhaai? Fair point, but she never stops calling out to them. O the frenzy of being with her! O how she makes them chase her! O how she races their hearts! O how she calms their nerves!

Jab hum gaaya karte the na, bandh jaati thi janta!

They visit her when their marriage is repulsive, and their chests fill up. And they love to flaunt her in drunk, vulnerable moments to strangers in a bar. Or in vulnerable moments to strangers. Or in vulnerable moments. Or to strangers. They do not stop flaunting until someone nonchalantly says:

God! You should have been a cricketer. A rockstar. A painter. A writer…I see something in you.

Something in them! The way she saw something in them. It is then that the question starts correcting itself.

Words from Mine, Maybe, Play the Fool

The question is not if she would give them money, fame and stability. The question is if they love her truly or just like her for the perception that she might.

You see, to love a woman so splendid, you have to become a man so mighty.

That something needs to be honed. It must be watered with belief and forged with consistency and character. And at some point, you will lose your marriage. Instability will follow. Isolation will follow. You have to pave your own path. You will have to become a new person. And even after that, you might not play a stadium full of people. Your painting might never sell for a crore. The question is not if you can risk everything. The question is if you understand the trade-off. You see, it’s not a miracle. It’s a metamorphosis.

You see, you do not simply surrender to your passions and let her perform her magic. You hold her hand, take her places, build for her opportunities, and trust her to shine the light upon you when you’re ready.

With or without passion, life still needs to be built, and maybe Tamasha failed us there.

Image Credits: mensxp

Instagram: Read my Post

Read More: Prose