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Chicago - An invasion of Stimuli

Dear Chicago,

Planning to travel to America has always been a headache for me. The customs, the procedures, oh so many! I have visited quite some countries in my life and none had the drab dull dragging problems while getting a visa. Yet, you did, America. You annoy me. But, I got through and gotcha!

When I stepped into the O'Hare, the overwhelming crowd took my excitement and sent it falling into the abyss. Spending a whole year in soft quiet Enschede, I was allergic to crowds. Well, I persisted.

After finally settling down, hours later, I calmed down, waiting for the excitement to take over. T minus 10, T minus 9 .... and then it creeped in. You are massive Chicago. You blew me with your stupendous spires scraping the sky. Huge, Monumental buildings standing upright like tall toothpicks around ants crawling by. Clouds made way for your monumental pegs looking down on the people running to work.

After all, I have been at one of the tallest buildings in Enschede. Supermarkets in Chicago are taller than those poor creatures back home. I suffered from a neckache a few days later.

But, let me first address your love affair, before the touristy things I did. Sugar!!! Oh Amrika, Why do you need so many Dunkin' Donuts? Oh, the tooth decaying sweetness!!!! It draws you in, with its soft sweet spongy bready fragrance and then a bite into its sinful sugary-ness makes you regret buying three donuts!!!! How much sugar do you guys love? Its incredible.

But, I love your food scene otherwise. Hotdogs without ketchup or as you call it; Chicago Dogs! Kudos! And Deep dish pizzas, boy oh boy! And foodies, please check out Dimo's Pizza near the Wringley Field. Fried Chicken toppings for pizza is the best love story I have heard. Period.

There were also moments that made me emotional. Places where I clutched to my seat and did not want to leave. Like a kid. It moved me so much, that a lump in my throat, sat comfortably, as if it owned the place. An Immovable, unseen emotional lump. The TimeLine Theatre's play 'Chimerica'. A couple of people were surprised I picked this play. They did not expect a random tourist to walk in. Well, I was glad I did.

I have loved plays but hadn't been exposed to many. 'Chimerica' was a fictional drama based on the 'Tank Man' photograph. History through entertainment had always plugged my attention. This one, used beautiful contrasts between Chinese and American politics and how they trampled on the little bugs we all are. A splendid portrayal of innocent love amidst blood and rage, made me a tad teary. I walked home, clutching to the sensitive part of me.

An evening later, I caught up with 'Spongebob - The Musical'. This theatre was everything 'Chimerica' was not. The Musical, a grand gesture, was a marriage between an Indian wedding and a Hollywood's massive wonder. I was stunned. Although I could see my soul retching at the juvenile comedy being made and the audience's response to it, I was too awed to care. It was but a slick sweet spectacle. There were actors rollerskating, flying with jet packs, huge contraptions on either side of the stage, beautiful light effects, stage props, and so much creative blood oozing from everyone on and off the stage. It was a spectacle to behold.

And I found love in your bookstores, Chicago. Man, you guys know how to make love to books. Three book heavens I stepped in - Chicago Public Library, Unabridged Bookstore and Myopic. Thrice, I was blown. Especially you Unabridged. You know what true love is. What true bookworms look like. I am in love with you. If I could make a horcrux, I would place a piece of me in you.

For people like me, with shallow wallets, I found the perfect tourist guide 'Free Tours by Foot'. Tourists, behold. This is the best offer you could get in a city. A walking tour that is free of cost. I signed up for three of them. 'Chicago Gangster and Blues Tour', 'Chicago Ghost Tour' and 'Chicago Riverwalk'. Yes, there was also a 'Chicago Movie tour', where they talk about 'The Dark Knight'. I missed it :( Boo Hoo!

A great story needs a Great story teller. These people were bleeding out brilliant stories well worked into the walking plan. It was a well planned drama, where we were led like sheep across your beautiful streets while being told chilling tales about lives lost or talents discovered. Three thumbs up for their perfect choreography of the walking tour. I felt like a kid on a school trip.

One of the evenings, I also visited the Kingston' Mines! A beautiful blues bar, with two stages. One played Chicago Blues and the other Delta Blues. This was recommended by the guide from the walking tour. And this was where the legends who invented Blues used to perform. There was a certain flow of mellow beauty in the halls. An intricate stage where you watch the artists conversing with the music, oh so deeply. However, the acoustics were so loud, four more seconds, and my ear drums would have given up. But, that did not shy the hair on my hands and neck from standing up. And yaayy! Free entry on a student ID.

Well that was most of it Chicago. Yes of course, I spent 5 hours at the Art Institute, but its yet another museum. Nothing much to drool about.

The week was fun, with lectures in the mornings. But you weren't here to read about that. (Cue tongue out smiley) Packing in my evenings with travel and scraping the soul out of my metro pass, I guess I was the perfect 'tourist' my purse strings could allow me to be.

And then, I was home. And life moves on. Thank you for hosting me, Chicago.

Yours lovingly,

Irfan

To Chimerica, Hot dogs and Snazzy bookstores!

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, by IrfanRefai

Are you Leaving?

Academic writing sounds socialistic. Being told what to write so that everyone is just like you. You are told that you are free to choose, but only from items in the basket they provide. Ugly words like ‘models’, ‘quantitative’, ‘results’, ‘literature’ and ‘conclude’ build up a rigid house in my head. A restaurant that doesn’t innovate. An artist that doesn’t create. A repeating rhythm. A reappearing demon. But such is conformity to standards. To expectations. Are we all stock pieces? Factory built to be later customized. Customized, yet restrictively.

I soaked in words. I waddled in it and let it marinate within. Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Reza Aslan, Dan Brown and Rowling. They put a ladder in front of me and told me, ‘Climb! Dream! My youngling!’ And I did. Budding, imbibing inspirations from them.

I went on, like a rolling stone. Gathering moss. Like a snow ball, gathering mass. I went on, like a bird with wings long and boundaries none. I love to flitter in the wind, with words, with text, with rhyme, with sounds.

I am a machine, I would like to imagine, if not too humble. Churning words. Churning thoughts, dreams, emotions and fire. Slowly growing, fed by the fodder of novels, fiction and non.

Then they came. Marching. With signs on their arms. Rigid. They had STRUCTURE! Oh Lord! Conformity they called themselves. Conform! Confound!

They had rules; they had grammar. They had opinions, pre formulated.

I stood by, watching them take over my house. My beautiful home. Etched in alliterations. Draped in metaphors. Sprinkled with a little form.

But they put things at ‘it’s’ place. That’s what they said. They told me, you are not doing this now. You should learn to love another. Another?

‘Yes. Another!’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because they won’t understand what you write! They don’t want to know what you feel! They want you to be plain! Respect the Data!’

‘Data! Oh Lord. What’s this now? I want my words, not data.’

‘But this is what you chose now. Imbibe. Soak. Transpire. You be creative. If that’s what you want. But choose from the words in this basket!’

‘Why??’

‘Because people should know what you are telling them!’

‘Why can’t they just feel? Why can’t they think for themselves? Where is the soul here? Why is it so mechanical? Why can’t my friends jump into the text as they please?’

‘This is how it is!’

I shuddered but chose to accept. Because this was my doing.

My words crawled up to me. Dragging their robe, robe that left sparkles on the conformed floor. They pulled with them a bag of words that I was deemed too high to use. They held my hem. Trying one last time to see if they could sway me.

I looked at them in their big deep dark eyes. My wet eyes struggle to hold a flood. The words sniff, know the onset of impending doom and remove its greasy yet sweet fingers off my hem and leave.

I sit and watch. My world was being turned upside down as I speak. Conformity was re arranging my home, my insides. My words were trudging with despair and walking out the door and onto the street.

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I ran up to them and stopped them. They turned back and looked with hopeful eyes. Eager to expect that I would let them back in. I hesitated. I turned back and saw a completely different house. Conformed. I saw that it was completely strange. It was polished. It was gleaming. But inside it, it was structured! STRUCTURED! So that others would understand me.

I looked back at my words. And whispered to them, ‘Go now my children. Wait for me. For every night I will sneak out to search for you. My affair with you is everlasting. Conformance is only momentary. I live and breathe for you. You survive me and I will come back for you. Our parting may be short, but not without secret rendezvous.’

And then I head back into my new house. My new abode, changing my self and my heading. This too shall pass. Wont it?

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, by IrfanRefai

Press Start to Begin

Games are simple. Their goals are defined. And you know how you would end up eventually. Mostly not dead.

I wish life was too. Life, world etc has already been compared to games and plays. There is truth in those statements.

We are each born into a culture. With prefixed perceptions and ideals. We are taught that the ideals that you are born into is always valid. Logically valid, but sound? As we grow older, we either add more ideals into our treasure trove or slowly shed the burden, one by one. And at every moment, the world is re-painted with a misty tint. You cannot view the story in different shoes or change the protagonist as in a game. There is only one shoe and you are standing in it.

Life comes with principles just as Games come with upgrades and Level-Ups. With each upgrade, you are open to several new options in the game. For example, a health upgrade usually lets you stay alive for longer, a weapons upgrade allows you to hold more weapons.

But life, not so. With each principle that you hold, your views, options are restricted. Being a vegetarian, you lose the option of having meat. Moreover, being a vegan, your options are further limited to a non lactose diet. Being a non vegetarian and a Muslim, pork/alcohol becomes a huge no-no. But these are that which defines us as a character in the game.

Is it a boon or a bane?

Well, it depends. For, principles stand on the verge of our consciousness. A threadbare string of knowing. Unlike a game, a principle can be changed at any moment. You do not need to reach a set target or collect a certain number of gems for that case.

Once you achieve the required number of trophies and collectibles, you end the game as an average player. For you to be an excellent player, it requires you to add extra hours into the game, collecting hidden trophies and finding Easter eggs. Do that, and you can boast as a star player among your friends.

But then, what does it take to be a good person?

--
To the Ups and Downs in life.

1Comments

, by IrfanRefai

Decoding Weather

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, by IrfanRefai

A year in Chillsville

Bengaluru – The Silicon Valley of India was my holiday for a year. A holiday from home and responsibilities. It all began with the envelope from Cognizant. When it arrived, it came along with a spicy sweet notion of me having to travel.

Travel – Bring it on I say, but the thought of staying away for God knows how long in a foreign city gave me the creeps. Yes it is a foreign city. A city where it’s bloody cold all the time. A city where prettiness was abundant. A city that goes to bed by ten o clock no matter what the day of the year was. Yes, weirdness all of them.

The high of this city is its mundane richness that it provides so comfortably amidst greenery and a cooler climate. But I am a guy who prefers sweats to chills, mind you! Bengaluru greets you with fog infused sun rays that tickle you up from sleep like a mother waking up her new born. But dare wake up before the sun and you go all buzzer deaf in your ears with that ear invading chill.

And I checked the check box almost all professionals seem to tick these days. Being the IT guy. My encounter with the IT kind was grandiose. Towering buildings, Reach-n-Grab fast food counters and never ending pathways. It seemed like the entire Bengaluru came here for their day and night jobs. Like planktons in an ocean.

And not to forget the sinfully pretty roads. Yes I am not talking about the traffic jams. Ignore them, and you find yourself in such a beautiful city. It makes you think you became rich wherein the city quietly sips off your funds in ways Chennai would have never dreamt off.

The Sky Bar at UB tower, Metro rail, MG road, Cubbon Park, Bannerghata Park and a sports resort were all the check boxes that have been ticked.

Traffic? Please move on.

Food. In. Bengaluru. Oh! Mahn! Its to DIE for. The themes, the cuisines, the locales and for many other crazy reasons, I give it to Bengaluru. From the Mosque Road’s roadside specialties to Posh Island themed restaurants, Bengaluru gives you a lot of options.

Did you know that the maximum any Tom, Dick or Harry can charge for a movie ticket in Chennai is 120/- tops. Note. MAXIMUM. Now switch to Bangalore. Prices start from 150. I mean. Like. Whateva. Hail Pirate Bay. I can buy a 16 Mbps internet plan at cheaper prices and suck the living soul out of any movie.

Guess what construction companies do during their tea breaks. Build malls. Hey, there is a farm on the outskirts of Bangalore. Lets build a mall. Hey, there is free land in my back yard. Lets build a mall. Hey I forgot my phone at home. Lets build a mall. No, I wasn't getting carried away.

Autowalas? I don’t know what people hate about them so much, but having stayed in Chennai for a fat duration, I pity them. I almost blurted out “That much only a!” during the first few days in the city, but slowly the locale’s irate seemed to rub on to me.

The people here are very hard to judge. Bangalore, is like a huge bowl of mixture. You find number plates all the way from Russia to Australia.OK FINE! From all over India. The city showcases the entire Indian demographic.

Bengaluru – I thank you for all the memories and fun that you have given me. In short it was quite a pleasant stay. Stay classy.

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, by IrfanRefai

Baumgartner's Bombay - The Review

There was this moment that I remember ever so vividly. It took place after I finished the God of Small Things. As I put the novel down, I witnessed a literature that struck the right cords of my emotional scale. I have had no such feeling for any other man made novel. As I read the last words of the novel, Naalai, I felt heavy and wanted to sit down and shed tears for each of the characters in the book. Being the sensitive animal deep down, there was a lump in my throat. The book not only being heart wrenchingly pitiful, it made you connect and savor the turbulence the people in the novel go through. The drama was domestic pulsating a stronger sting. A stronger sorrow for Pappachi and Velutha’s life.
And then I read Baumgartner’s Bombay by Anita Desai. On a scale of 0 – 10, 10 being God of Small Things Level, it scores a straight seven. This story, having way less tragedy than GOST, takes you through several journeys. Journeys of Time, continent and culture.The story walks the life of a self proclaimed reject, Baumgartner born in Germany and traces the entire thread of his life till Bombay. Set in a period where the world was maturing and wars were fought with more vengeance and machinery, Baumgartner identifies himself with the common reluctant Indian. Yearning for a chance to meet his mother, Baumgartner soulfully searches company yet keeps them at bay. Solitude was his forte. Anita Desai, carefully captures the pre-war and the post war India. The India that shined and the India that warred within. Events wash Baumgartner in its waves as he walks aimless and lost. Replete with domestic imagery of India and her forlorn street dwellers, she shows us the gap between the well off and the poor. Her imagery is so splendid and rich that you get lost in her million ways of offering scenery to you. Garnished and prettied like the offering to an Idol. She wrestles with words twisting them and makes several genuine adjective marriages seconded by Arundhati in the Indian stage. Though the ending was written to exact empathy from the reader, it could have had a stronger note.
If you love literature, of the sort that sucks your soul like candy leaving you empty, hopeless and lost yet fully conscious of the truth that hovers like mosquitoes on the evening of a rainy day, you would love this book. The book spews with the delicacies of life and how India never turns her head away to anyone who knocks her door.

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, by IrfanRefai

Inferno – The Dan Brownian Comedy

Cerca trova...

First off, Comedy and Tragedy are two aspects of play. In-spite of the layman's definition, Tragedy actually refers to works written for the elite in high language whereas Comedy contains erudite knowledge but is understood by everyone. The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri is a 14,000 lines epic poem written circa 1308 AD and depicts the afterlife and the concepts of Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. High intellect in simple words.

This was Dan Brown’s inspiration for his fifth Masterpiece – The Inferno (DBI), which in itself is a Comedy. The Divine Comedy (DC) is a hundred chapters long and so is the Inferno. What Dan Brown does is attempt a mimic of the epic, in a different era, on earth.

The story line is simple. If you have read the extract that was released a few months ago, it pretty much conveys the plot. An impending disaster awaits, enclosed in a time bomb that is set to blow on a particular day. The plot is similar to Angels and Demons. It is Robert Langdon’s job to search the bomb using references to the DC, a doctored painting and a mask. As you read through the book you almost empathize with the guy who created the bomb.

The book contains a million parables to the DC. Dan Brown hides them among puzzles, designs and others.

The cover of the hardbound edition contains Dante’s death mask in watermark at the top. Towards the centre, blood appears to be infused with a spark of fire that originates from the letter ‘F’ of 'Inferno' which probably refers to ‘Genetic Terrorism’, a word used in the novel. And below is the skyline of the beautiful Vatican where most of the story takes place. The back cover has a dove on the top that soars into flight with open wings, and a ripple behind it. This derives a parable to the novel, which is set into motion because of a dove that foils an attempt on Robert Langdon's life. The ripples thereby suggest the chaos that follows.

If you remove the paper cover, the hardbound contains a portrait of Charon who is seen ferrying souls to hell across the river Acheron thereby drawing a similarity to Langdon ferrying the characters towards the goal. Flipping over the hard cover, one can see Mount Purgatory upside down. Because in the DC, at the centre of earth gravity inverts. Up becomes Down.

As Dante travels through the three stages of Afterlife; Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso, along with a poet Virgil and so does Langdon. He travels to Florence, Venice and Istanbul along with Dr Sienna Brooks, who is also an actress. The gates open to him in Florence in the DBI as does the gates of Inferno/Hell in the DC. Venice is the purgatory, where the characters realize whose side they are playing on and try to right their wrongs. Finally in Istanbul, salvation is obtained. Paradiso.

Florence is my favourite of all the cities experienced in the Assassin’s Creed. A perfect Renaissance city, it is the birth place of Dante, Leonardo Da Vinci and as Assassin’s Creed fans might be aware, is also the birth place of Lorenzo Medici and Machiavelli.

All through the novel, the colour red repeats. The blood on the cover, a red memory stick that contains a disastrous message, red cap and robe of Dante, descriptions of the buildings as well as a certain clue “blood-red waters” that Langdon will have to follow.

Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso of the DC end with the word “stars” as does DBI. A number that you might find almost everywhere in both the books is “nine”.

Being a scientist, the antagonist's study revolves about Transhumanism. Creating a super breed of humans through cleansing. In the DC, the souls are put through hell, purged and finally allowed admittance to paradise. Parable.

As usual with Dan Brown literature, the book is replete with imagery, sometimes going over the board. But it was not sappy for me. I devoured all I could and frowned that it ended too soon.

Having read all his works, Digital Fortress still has me enraptured by the number of twists and the magnanimity in technical know how. Here in Inferno, he hits the proper chords with humor. And it has got a better ending than The Lost Symbol.

Before I part, ponder this paradox. If you can throw a switch that would instantly kill randomly half the population people on earth, will you do it?

------------------------------------------

But know this, if you don’t throw the switch, the whole of humanity will become extinct in a few years.

Seek and ye shall find

2Comments

, by IrfanRefai

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ideas digitized

ideas digitized

Chicago - An invasion of Stimuli

Are you Leaving?

Press Start to Begin

Decoding Weather

A year in Chillsville

Baumgartner's Bombay - The Review

Inferno – The Dan Brownian Comedy

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