Strayed moment - 4
11 June 2005
11:00 am
An open window in the extreme left corner of the hall letting in a lone ray of light. An unused piano hiding under a velvet veil. A forlon stage. Empty seats. Lots of souls. When the chatter stops and lights are dimmed, when the makeup is off and the actors are asleep, the voices start talking. I truly believe, anyone who enters a hall leaves a part of his soul there for the rest of eternity. Be it an actor who crucifies his soul every evening for the rest of them to watch; is born and dead like a firefly which shines and dies within a blink of an eye. Or the audience who laugh, smile and cry with him; leave a baggage that they brought along and take back fresh ones. And forever these baggages live there unclaimed within those four walls.
And on lazy saturday mornings, when you slip in while no one's watching, take your seat next to the lone window and the unused piano, you watch them perform and you realize that you are a part of something that so much bigger than what you are; that when you are there on stage performing, it's not just you that the audience hears, it's all the voices that perform with you, revel with you in the bliss of glitz. That you are just a puppet with just a part of your soul to offer - a tiny indiscernible pixel in the canvas of perfection that the audience appreciates. Another subatomic soul that shall forever live between those walls.
Just another pixel.
11:00 am
An open window in the extreme left corner of the hall letting in a lone ray of light. An unused piano hiding under a velvet veil. A forlon stage. Empty seats. Lots of souls. When the chatter stops and lights are dimmed, when the makeup is off and the actors are asleep, the voices start talking. I truly believe, anyone who enters a hall leaves a part of his soul there for the rest of eternity. Be it an actor who crucifies his soul every evening for the rest of them to watch; is born and dead like a firefly which shines and dies within a blink of an eye. Or the audience who laugh, smile and cry with him; leave a baggage that they brought along and take back fresh ones. And forever these baggages live there unclaimed within those four walls.
And on lazy saturday mornings, when you slip in while no one's watching, take your seat next to the lone window and the unused piano, you watch them perform and you realize that you are a part of something that so much bigger than what you are; that when you are there on stage performing, it's not just you that the audience hears, it's all the voices that perform with you, revel with you in the bliss of glitz. That you are just a puppet with just a part of your soul to offer - a tiny indiscernible pixel in the canvas of perfection that the audience appreciates. Another subatomic soul that shall forever live between those walls.
Just another pixel.
posted by Rathish at 9:42 AM
4 Comments:
Really nice words Rats. Truly captured the way that stage and the hall appeared when I walked in there on Monday.
Heard that the plays were too good. Congrats :)
there is something truly romantic about baggages...i don't know what but there is sth...
and ur words took me to another place...another performance on another stage and an equally loud silence after the applause died down...
@Jax - thanks man! Hopefully, we feel all this again soon :)
@Arvind - thanks da! plays were well received. But as always, there's a nagging feeling that could've been better :)
@Kumari - :) What can I say!
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