Scattered Remains and The 'T'

I come from a very scattered space while writing this piece because the weekend was schizophrenic, kind of abstract. Whether on or offline, what resonates within is the din outside and finding peace of mind to give one thought enough space to understand itself before unfolding into meaningful result, is impossible.
And I think it is the chaos and noise hounding every head, which converts itself to product that at first gets marketed, then released and finally failed before everything comes to a standstill and everyone begins to discuss in whispered tones that our industry is in a mess and something must be done about it, ignoring the fact that there are already many more comets unleashed in the skies of blitz, fleshed and ready to be released to an audience who gives not a damn because at the end of the day it is too busy saving its own skin at wherever it is.
Deep pockets be damned here because in this cine world the rush of money is not for those who sit back and think, rationalize and prepare for a tomorrow, it is for the krieg that flashes its bright so blindingly strong that all who decide reel under the impact of a star who walks past them.

In Talegaon where I was this weekend, there was a wedding going on in vast open spaces where crackers were being burst echoing back at us from another end, and my stoned mate said, 'Isn't it lovely that there are crackers bursting everywhere?' We had to remind him that crackers were bursting at one place and the sound was echoing back to us from everywhere.
That is how pot induced our film industry is without a T of marijuana at its disposal.
Because a film like KiTes with a big T, forget the K, as the mystery of its sound bears no miracles anymore, was actually meant to make it for us to Hollywood because there was this Greek God Hrithik Roshan with toned flesh, who when set against the Mexican SUN, skin matched to TAN, could not be ignored by a world audience which is globally bereft of style, looks, talent and dance, sorry class?!!!
Then that part of the industry which believed that the miracle of the T would make us cross over, while nobody else gave it any credence, went berserk cursing social media and making mixed annoucements of conflicting results of the film having got the second highest openings ever, refusing to accept that the Indian stunt brewed in romantic whiff when churned to motion picture and edited apart for a white audience with the highest ever desi skin show, had recieved a dismal response and gone without a single blow of the spliff.

While the weekend was spent biting into scrumptous food bought from a wayside dhaba which was better than the best that Indian food restaurants can provide in the metropolis, the strain was about the plane crash in Mangalore and nobody dared go close to a TV set for the tweets on twitter rang with lament for the visuals being shown by a media which deserves no medals.
On my return I dared to put on the TV last night and was greeted by the familiar sound of a program I regularly watch on Ndtv 24/7 on Sunday evenings at 8.
Discussion and debate went on and on about whether young Indian politicians should stand for change and in the middle of it all was youthful MP Navin Jindal who kept justifying himself for wanting to take the voice of the Khaps who endorse honour killings of boys and girls who have the courage to fall in love and get married to each other despite belonging to the same village or cluster of villages in India, to the parliament.
An intelligent Kiran Bedi who could help with solutions was made to shut up again and again by an intoxicated Madhu Kishwar who thrives on Television debate because of her untiring skill to become the center of all middle paths when it comes to women's issues.
Madhu Kishwar is not just plain obnoxious or rude but drunk on some kind of power she weilds and every time I see her invited on Barkha Dutts of Sagarika Ghosh's shows, two women of India I admire a lot, I tend to doubt my opinion about them.
Why do they have to 'have' such a crazed tripper on their shows? Who is she sleeping with?!!!
I step off the show on to the 'So u think u can dance' floor, one series with serious talent which gives some respite, wondering why nobody cared to ask Navin Jindal what his stand on the issue was and why everybody accepted that he being a politician representing his constituency is bound to carry all voices to the parliament and leave it to some God with a K or a T to wave HIS wand which will miraculously resolve the issue. What is to be resolved here?!!!
Tradition or no tradition, crime is crime and law should take its course irrespective.
Or is democracy only an illusion created by politics to address and appease those in every nation who fight tradition and want to break free of the shackles?

The Aviation Minister wants to resign after the air crash, as though the IPL controversy wasn't good enough reason and the black box is yet to be found so it can be that human error could be a cause for the crash as the pilot is dead and will never be able to speak for himself.
Even if he was suicidal, why would he want to take 168 passengers with him?
My mate in Talegaon said that all of them must have been connected somehow and therefore destined to die together, as though he was Jim Morrison himself, lounging at Morrison Motel.
Relatives fight over charred bodies, and the Prime Minister comes on to a presser finally, making no committments, giving no solutions and taking no stands as he is the best leader we have ever had and there are polls fhat have already swung into action on social media to figure out whether we have anybody more able to take over from him in case he decides to step down.
My vote would go to Chidambaram who I think is trying hard despite a limited mandate.

I'm telling you, we are living in the bliss of bizzarre where its a miracle that life which continues to exist still goes on and where all questions ever asked have no answers and yet we all roam around like we all know best and also whats good for us and mankind as a whole.

I dive to the DELL where marketing is discussed, democracy is discussed and honesty within corruption in politics and story telling is discussed in the land where there is no hope.
People die and those who escape the jaws of death every day continue to live on.
Young turks float hope mirages which get crossed over unlike bollywood over-confidence, and men and women give birth to children in a world where gay rights are yet to be understood and digested.
On the freeway there are trucks and oil tankers driven by drunkards who got licenses without a test and are therefore clueless of speed and lane regulations.
Totalled cars lie strewn across the landscape making you thank your stars that you are still alive and yet, there is still a dhaba out there that gives you a whole tandoori chicken cooked better than any at the biggest and best in Mumbai, at Rs. 120 a piece.
A simple story waiting to be told remains understudy in the wings of a dilapidated theater which flogs its dead horses to take stage and make star performances for an audience which would rather not be there, for the money it costs them to feed the demons can and should be put to better use.
Charred remains of our fractured past haunt the screens and I am left to wonder how we will ever leave it behind, and if I will be dead or alive at the time that we finally do.