Death carries a strange ring with it, a ring of cruel truth, like a plain, transparent glass, cold and cutting at the same time. What makes a death particularly painful to look at is that is in someway represents an hourglass, with sand smoothly shifting down to the lower cell, irrespective of all the intent in the world screaming to hold the moment. The moment never holds back, time passes, and people who we assume were to never grow old, tired and out of our lives, do end up doing precisely that, getting old, getting tired and getting out of our ( and in process, their own) lives.
Art manifests in many forms. Sometime it is a piece of literature, a ravishing or disturbing painting, a technological masterpiece or a sound of velvety texture which wraps itself around out painful existence, in the divine embrace of which we go to sleep and we sleepwalk across the fire stewn paths of life, intoxicated by the art. I have included technological masterpiece into art here, as one most recent loss refers to is. Anything, whether music or art or any activity undertaken by human being can leap forth into a realm on unreal tranquility which can transform it into Art. Any act, initiated by the needs of lifes in its basic form is nothing but work, when one puts little more love into those basic acts of survival and the work and functions become skill, a little more indulgence and it becomes Art. This is the path of a function, it is the love and indulgence of a does that transform some work into skill and then into Art. It is by this very virtue Apple, became a work of art. The indulgence which worked on the skills of a masterful engineer, to transform a typical technical device into a work of art, is what separated him from a huge, human force which calls itself a technological force, merely because it is commercially feasible categorization. Steve Jobs brought technology to a point where it merged itself to Art, just as Da Vinci did. That is the simple reason as to why a master painter was also an inventor of airplanes (or at least the first designer). The innert calm with which Jobs left the world, leaving the office two months before the final act, and spending time with the family in the end shows the immense strength of character of the man that Jobs was.
Next, blow came with passing away of Jagjit Singh, legendary Ghazal singer, couple of days back. As the tributes run on the television, one can not but feel amused at the youngishness of the man, not only in his early days but even in the last days. Such cheerful boyishness comes from the love for one's skills and ones commitment to it. The silky, soothing voice had been companion to many nights of incomparable beauty and unbearable pain, on the window shelves of hostel, in the days of youthful bewilderness. It was always there, when relationships would come crushing down like the unforgiving waves of the ocean hitting on an unrepentent shore, to comfort and to embrace like an old, childhood friend; it was always there like a bountiful, mountain-rivulet coming down, happiness brimming on its boundaries, at the advent of every new relation. It was unimaginable to think of a world before and after that. It was eternal, and to think that the voice has not halted, and will not play with any new set of words any longer is such a haunting thought. As I today, sit, allowing this sinking feeling sail through my being, I look at the void which looks into my eyes. And, Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of Crystal Skull comes to and end with a profound statement, as the character shakes his head dismissively and says," How much of human life is lost in waiting." Going to kiss my daughter's forehead enoughtimes before it starts become embarassing to her, and eventually turning unbearable to her, for life's ways are unyielding and unforgiving.
Art manifests in many forms. Sometime it is a piece of literature, a ravishing or disturbing painting, a technological masterpiece or a sound of velvety texture which wraps itself around out painful existence, in the divine embrace of which we go to sleep and we sleepwalk across the fire stewn paths of life, intoxicated by the art. I have included technological masterpiece into art here, as one most recent loss refers to is. Anything, whether music or art or any activity undertaken by human being can leap forth into a realm on unreal tranquility which can transform it into Art. Any act, initiated by the needs of lifes in its basic form is nothing but work, when one puts little more love into those basic acts of survival and the work and functions become skill, a little more indulgence and it becomes Art. This is the path of a function, it is the love and indulgence of a does that transform some work into skill and then into Art. It is by this very virtue Apple, became a work of art. The indulgence which worked on the skills of a masterful engineer, to transform a typical technical device into a work of art, is what separated him from a huge, human force which calls itself a technological force, merely because it is commercially feasible categorization. Steve Jobs brought technology to a point where it merged itself to Art, just as Da Vinci did. That is the simple reason as to why a master painter was also an inventor of airplanes (or at least the first designer). The innert calm with which Jobs left the world, leaving the office two months before the final act, and spending time with the family in the end shows the immense strength of character of the man that Jobs was.
Next, blow came with passing away of Jagjit Singh, legendary Ghazal singer, couple of days back. As the tributes run on the television, one can not but feel amused at the youngishness of the man, not only in his early days but even in the last days. Such cheerful boyishness comes from the love for one's skills and ones commitment to it. The silky, soothing voice had been companion to many nights of incomparable beauty and unbearable pain, on the window shelves of hostel, in the days of youthful bewilderness. It was always there, when relationships would come crushing down like the unforgiving waves of the ocean hitting on an unrepentent shore, to comfort and to embrace like an old, childhood friend; it was always there like a bountiful, mountain-rivulet coming down, happiness brimming on its boundaries, at the advent of every new relation. It was unimaginable to think of a world before and after that. It was eternal, and to think that the voice has not halted, and will not play with any new set of words any longer is such a haunting thought. As I today, sit, allowing this sinking feeling sail through my being, I look at the void which looks into my eyes. And, Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of Crystal Skull comes to and end with a profound statement, as the character shakes his head dismissively and says," How much of human life is lost in waiting." Going to kiss my daughter's forehead enoughtimes before it starts become embarassing to her, and eventually turning unbearable to her, for life's ways are unyielding and unforgiving.
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