
40th anniversary of Sesame Street
Happy Earth Day,
MJ Birthday…….and many more…..a fabulously rendered fusion of Brand Logo and the Social environment!
In a mishmash of languages, by dissimilar routes we all come upon :Silence {Pablo Neruda} Something of yesterday clings to today, a flag or a potsherd; or simply a notion of light, an unwinding thread-essential tenacity..something persists!

40th anniversary of Sesame Street
Happy Earth Day,
MJ Birthday…….and many more…..a fabulously rendered fusion of Brand Logo and the Social environment!

I shifted in the bed, opened my eyes to a conversation in the kitchen,
which would emerge again with tear-drenched eyes, later day, on
someone’s funeral. That’s how dead and lost people are declared
of “being missed”. I sorely miss those mornings when I opened my
sleeping world to the music of little birds, a few familiar ones like
sparrows in the badam tree, and softly lapping waves of the sea.
Things changed in my life. So dramatically. But not something worth
talking about. What I see, touch, move about, or talk to, feels strange
to me, though they look familiar as I grew up with them. Perhaps, this’s
how everyone feels when they come back home to their families, after
a few expeditions in life – failed or successful. I lie as still as possible
for as long as possible, in the bed, filling a body of emptiness with
a few pieces of words and pictures written or drawn on the walls,
which I gathered during my evening walk yesterday: someone has
a new glamorous car parked in front of his home, someone just
had returned from a land where everyone looked at him wondering
how different and foreign material he looks and talks like, someone
moved into a freshly painted house, someone lost his mother,
someone gave a cute puppy dog a home, someone left his job
and idles away time at home, a mother stood in the kitchen crying
for her daughter, as she does every day, a fresh war broke out
in some corner of the world, someone settled down in her new
neighborhood, someone wrote the final note in the stillness
of the night, a group of stranded penguins returned to the sea.
Someone walked away from his guitar feeling guilty about what
he said to the woman he is in love with. Outside the day, slowly, is
progressing, without changing the light in my room much.
The radio spreads songs on my face filled with despair. The ceiling,
under the pressure of my constant stare, would break up, soon,
into pieces. Everything changes, closer or further away.

Fred & Farid France, the creative agency spelt out the thought behind this repositioning campaign ‘we are animals’….
“In today’s society, our animal instincts are smothered by daily modern life, city-living and constant technological developments. Man is an animal, but he no longer knows it.
Wrangler’s new strategic and creative platform seeks to re-awaken our bottled-up instincts and to encourage who and what we fundamentally are, by putting all that is pure, natural and instinctive back into Man…”


…..I, with no hint of hesitation {we, usually, hesitate…remember, walking into someone’s garden,
resisting that fragile itch to steal fruits from the trees, revealing one’s idea of career to parents,
etc etc!…or people, no longer, hesitate, hesitating is increasingly seen as a value from the golden
old world} stepped into their spaces – strangers who are believed to be decidedly working towards
sustaining their identity, somewhere, in some corner of the world, yet find time to gather or tap in
spellbinding strings of words which articulate a multitude of emotions/mood swings people go through….
these days, it’s quite easy to step into others’ spaces, wander through their stimulating/introspective/
tumultuous thoughts, gaze at their faces swollen with explicable layers of sadness, could be caused by
some kind of private loss. Such aimless walks, meanderings, in a way, are like an indulgence to me….
why? a few strings of thoughts as mulled over or reflected by a stranger, interestingly, are bound to
introduce me to me or take me to me who is stuck with chaotic an existence of similar threads. ….
words, penned by us or collected by us from the musty-scented pages or captured by us sitting amidst
conversations, define us, far more compellingly than the exterior that we wear/display to the world or
fashioned with….{10.39PM, at work}

{Pic : Our Balcony during the not so relentless monsoons. Taken by Munny at home}
…people spoke of my house
as ‘the house with the flowers’ ; it exploded
geraniums : such a beautiful
house , with the
dogs and the small fry.
…can you remember my house with the balconies where
June drowned the dazzle of flowers in your teeth?
- Pablo Neruda’s ‘ A few things explained’

{Pic taken by Munny at home: Fresh blossoms from the garden taking a bath in the clay bowl}
Things fall apart
in our houses,
as if jarred by the whim
of invisible ravagers:
not your hand
or mine,
or the girls
with the adamant fingernails
and the stride of the planets:
there is nothing to point to, no one
to blame – not the wind
or the tawny meridian
or terrestrial darkness;
no one with a nose or an elbow
or the lengthening span of a hip,
or a gust of the wind
or an ankle:
yet the crockery smashes, the lamp tumbles over,
the flowerpots totter
one after another
crowning the lapsing October
with crimson,
wan with their surfeit of violets,
others holding their emptiness in, circling
and circling and circling
the winter,
till the bowl with its blossoms
is gruel,
a keepsake in ruins, a luminous dust.
And the clockface
whose cadences
uttered
our lifetimes,
the secretive
thread
of the weeks,
one after another,
yoking the hours
to the honey and quietude,
the travails and births without end –
even the clock
plunges downward, the delicate blues
of its viscera
pulse in the splintering glass
and its great heart
springs open.
Life grinds
on the glasses and powders, wearing us threadbare,
smashing to smithereens,
pounding
the forms ;
whatever is left of its passing abides
like a ship or a reef in the ocean,
and perishes there
in the circle of breakable hazard
ringed by the pitiless menace of waters.
Let us gather them, once and for all – the clocks
and the platters, cups carven in cold-
into a poke with them all and
down to the sea with our treasure!
there let our furniture smash
in the sinister shock of a breaker;
let the things that are broken
call out like a river
and the sea render back to us whole
in the might of its crosscurrents
all that we held of no worth,
the trumpery no hand has broken,
but still goes on breaking.
Silence is all we dread
There’s Ransom in a Voice –
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFE6qQ3ySXE
{click this to watch quite a refreshing view of the world around}
Look inside, look inside your tiny mind
and look a bit harder
cause we’re so uninspired
so sick and tired
of all the hatred you harbor
so you say it’s not okay to be gay
well I think you’re just evil
you’re just some racist who can’t tie my laces
you’re point of view is medieval
Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch
fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch
do you get, do you get a little kick out of being small-minded?
you want to be like your father
it’s approval you’re after
well that’s not how you’ll find it
do you, do you really enjoy living a life that’s so hateful
cause there’s a hole where your soul should be
you’re losing control of it
and it’s really distasteful
Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch
Look inside, look inside your tiny mind
and look a bit harder
cause we’re so uninspired
so sick and tired
of all the hatred you harbor
Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch
Irresistible flavours are at the heart of Lay’s Universe…
Lay’s DilLogical Kaleidoscope – Indian flavours : Lay’s Magic Masala and Lay’s Lime-n-Masala Masti {JWT}

Maddening rat race of modern life is REAL. There’s no Escape. Each moment comes with a choice. EACH MOMENT IS LIKE “A GAME BETWEEN HEART AND HEAD”. Most times HEAD RULES OVER HEART. What happens if you listen to your heart and let it win over your head for a change?
Make things that matter to the heart happen!
We are not talking about those few big life-changing moments/decisions….but all those tiny unpredictable moments that come tucked in with everyday….
Loved every moment of this journey : Lay’s Repositioning Campaign by JWT India.
Lay’s, a drool-worthy bag of irresistible tasting Potato Chips in subtle & sophisticated, exuberant flavours, still, continues to be the dominant favorite (Lovemark brand) in India, potent enough to put one in damn good and light-hearted moods. This Iconic brand felt the need to up/reinforce the appeal around its bags when certain parts of the country are slipping into this behavior of ‘counting no. of chips in a bag’. What do you truly appreciate - a few potato chips, carefully made with natural and healthier ingredients for that irresistible multi-sensorial journey / loaded experience or plenty of not so great tasting potato chips in the bag?
Be a little DilLogical – Make things that matter to the heart happen!
This is a video from Ukraine’s Got Talent. Sand animation is an abstract art form in which an artist creates a series of images using sand, a process which is achieved by applying sand to a surface and then rendering images by drawing lines and figures in the sand with one’s hands.
A truly inspiring performance!
Recent Comments