Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Rain|A Brilliant Man

Master is a brilliant man. If you knew him or for that matter, knew just that one fact about him, you'd agree too. Though if he made the left pocket of his blazer a little more comfortable, I'd call him a brilliant and loving man.

From the just-found coming-to-realization excitement in his steps, I can tell that he thinks it's time. We are walking along a much-less-than-affluent street in Calcutta. It's more of a dingy alley if you ask me, but then again, it doesn't suit somebody from my race to be judgemental. Master says this street/alley is in 'Rabindra Nagar', though I think if Tagore came to this place, he'd curse the day his parents named him Rabindra, place a handkerchief over his nose and run for his olfactory glands, never to come back. But then again, I am a rat, I run in good-for-nothing races. You can discount my judgement without hesitation.

By the way, since you can't see Master, I'll describe him for you. He looks dishevelled with his untidy, longish, shoulder-length black hair and untidy, old black-and-grey blazer and untidy, old black pants. Now, now, before you jump to the conclusion that I don't think too well of my Master's appearance, let me take back my last sentence and let's just say that Master is an eccentric-looking man. And mind you, he is definitely an eccentric man, slightly mad, if you ask me.

He's started singing now, as he does when he's decided it's time. Since you can't hear him either, i'll tell you his song...
'It's time, it's time,
i can see,
children, godmen and humpty-dumpty too,
little girls, men, women and the denizens of the city zoo,
Simon and Garfunkle, Hooty and the Blowfish,
Grand Funk Railroad and all lovers wish,

that my ferris wheel,
it go for a spin,
they wish, they wish,
for a pair of closed eyes,
and an upward chin,

i ll get to my shack in a hurry i s'pose,
for it's time once again,
yes, it's time once again...'
Since you didn't see him doing this song part too, i'll tell you that he does a kind of Broadway routine when he sings his song, and he uses a baritone voice, whilst singing his song.

See, it gets uncomfortable in the left pocket of his blazer when he gets excited upon his realization and hurries back to the shack. Master's shack is back in the Salt Lake City region of Calcutta. I continue bouncing up and down slightly in the pocket as we reach the shack, Master still singing.

He opens the creaky door and walks in. The one-room old shack is more like a mini-lab and office than a place to live, but that's Master for you. Moving around the table with all its weird occupants, he pulls up his rocking chair from under the table and sits. From the slight depth of his left pocket, I see him rocking back and forth in his chair tapping the fingers of one hand rhythmically on those of the other, looking like he's thinking when he is more like enjoying the prospect of what he's going to do, like a young boy smiling notoriously at the prospect of trapping a grasshopper in his little glass jar. I can see it's time for me to get to work for the benefit of my race.

I get a little sentimental when it actually happens you know. Don't mind. The result of what Master and in equal measure, what I'll do, is like listening to the sound of a distant wind-chime, is like a lover's song to a lover's ears etc etc...i could go on.

I am no ordinary rat by the way. I am symbolic, you see. I stand for all the rats of the world, running in the now-proverbial rat race. While they run in their respective races, I run to give them relief, I run to give them my brilliant Master's fiendishly clever invention. You could call his invention an expression of lucid joy.

Master gets up and moves to the sidetable, where he places me on the ferris wheel. While I run, it will happen. He gives the wheel a spin. It's time for rain.
For all those from the 2nd and 3rd year who haven't started posting, borrowing a few lines from my first post on my blog, consider yourself standing on a pier overlooking a lake. It's dawn, the sun's rising, slightly displaced from the center line of our vision, just enough, so it isn't uncomfortable looking straight ahead, which we are doing right now. You stand on this pier, hesitating, when your secy and joint secy hand you a piece of paper. It has 'Dream-Compass' written on it. Now, give this piece of paper the right folds so as to make a paper plane out of it. Walk back to the end of the pier, turn around, take a deep breath, run along the pier looking into the dawn horizon and jump- looking up, arms outstretched and legs looking for foothold in thin air- into the lake- at the top point of your flight, send the plane in flight towards the rising sun :) (a little dramatic i admit). Start writing, start posting. There's both enough cold water and warm water in the lake- meaning both critique and support, encouragement in the form of your mentors. Best of luck.