This is going to be short. Well maybe you can say that it is an effect of literature over me but I really am quite confused about the way authors, filmmakers, playwrights present the world to us. On one hand I read Eugene Ionesco's The Lesson today (Eugene Ionesco is an absurd playwright. Check wiki definition of theatre of absurd) and as many of the absurd playwrights present that there is always chaos in the world and our existence in it is totally insignificant. On the other hand, we have all those indian movies and the major lot of novels we get where after all the turmoil, peace and happiness is restored and accept the antagonist (or in some cases even including him), everyone is happy. Then there are the flat good characters ending up into sadness at the end into many great works like Antonio in Merchant of Venice (yeah, mam discussed it in class) by William Shakespeare and the samurai in The Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa which is as I would say, a diplomatic way out of the previous two options.
So what exactly is reality? The one presented by most of the people? The one presented by Eugene Ionesco? The one presented by William Shakespeare and Akira Kurosawa? Or the one presented by Shahrukh Khan, "agar ending happy nahi hai to picture abhi baaki hai mere dost" type?
Maybe poets have gone a step ahead of all other forms of literature or maybe they have skipped this indispensible step the same way I did while writing some of my poems?
We need to know what world do we all live in before demanding for another one which is absolute rather than being relative in all respects.
Stuck deep into thoughts, signing off from my way out of reality.
P.S. Sorry it got a bit long especially after the starting note of keeping it short. Saving short for the next time.
So what exactly is reality? The one presented by most of the people? The one presented by Eugene Ionesco? The one presented by William Shakespeare and Akira Kurosawa? Or the one presented by Shahrukh Khan, "agar ending happy nahi hai to picture abhi baaki hai mere dost" type?
Maybe poets have gone a step ahead of all other forms of literature or maybe they have skipped this indispensible step the same way I did while writing some of my poems?
We need to know what world do we all live in before demanding for another one which is absolute rather than being relative in all respects.
Stuck deep into thoughts, signing off from my way out of reality.
P.S. Sorry it got a bit long especially after the starting note of keeping it short. Saving short for the next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment