The Sound of Music

"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music ."

~

 Aldous Huxley

What is it in music that touches one in a way nothing else can? It spares nobody. From a martinet to a wonky hippie, everyone relates to some genre of music. Perhaps one of those rare forms of art that one can indulge in even without having any prior or specialised knowledge in the field. The connection is automatic and one never knows when and where it'll happen, let alone why. Music has the power of bringing people together - even though everyone may have a different interpretation of the same thing. The takeaways may differ but all of it is strung through a common thread.

Music will be your companion at all times, in any state of mind, at any time of the day (or night). You blend with it, and it embraces you as its own. Like that friend who needs no words to understand what you are feeling. No questions asked. No opinions thrust. And more often than not just the apt expression of your emotions. It just goes on and takes you along.

Peace!
~

My Tryst with the Quadrupeds - Vol. IV : Bovine Beauty

Last Sunday, my classmates and I embarked upon a little tour of a village near my institute. This was part of our course work for Rural Marketing. We were required to spend a day with the village folk in order to catch a glimpse of their lifestyle. In the process, I met a lot of four legged fellows. But the one that took my heart away was a calf named Soni.

I have seen a number of cows, bulls and their calves in my life, and some from very close quarters, but never has any bovine offspring caught my attention the way this one did. He was not only the smallest calf that I had ever seen but also the most beautiful. As I continued to gaze at him, he turned 24 hours old.

Soni's mother was away, his father was working in the farm, and he was all by himself in the shed.  I wondered how he must be feeling? Just a day into this world and he was left all alone. He could stand on his feet and walk around right from the time he was born. Can we even imagine this in case of human babies? In retrospect, I wish I could read his thoughts. Did he miss his mother? What did he think of all the people around him? What did he understand of what was happening around? 

Going back, in the excitement of the moment I could not resist petting him.  He was so petite I could almost carry him in my arms, though I did not. He had fleece like fur, and was quite literally as white as snow with little brown spots; a lot like baby Bambi with the exact contrast colour combination. I had never before touched a cow or it's child. I had had my own apprehensions, and in the next few minutes those apprehensions were about to vanish in thin air. A little hesitantly, I stroked his back. He seemed scared initially, but calmed down after a few strokes. I too got comfortable, and cuddled him playfully. I had merrily forgotten that we were there with some work at hand and could have sat there all day. But that was not to be. With the indignation of a child I left the shed unwillingly.  I stroked his beautiful face one last time and went on.

~

Meg-O-Land Madness

A movie called Rockstar had a ridiculous song in its album that went "Sheher mein hoon main tere..", meaning "I am in your city". Nothing ridiculous about the idea as such, but the composition in its entirety is. My rather wacko alter ego takes charge sometimes and makes me listen to this track - on loop! Why this random thought strikes me now is because in one particular late evening lecture (details withheld obviously!) I took a little walk on the path taken by the song writer of the afore ridiculed song and came up with an original ridiculous composition. I wouldn't dare to call it a poem.

At the blank white wall I am compelled to stare,

Not daunted by the professor's glare,

Given a choice I'd rather be elsewhere,

But you don't always get what you want so here I am in class, rocking on a chair.

The coffee I had has done me no good,

I was promised it'd ward off my sleep,

Yet I find my drowsiness digging in deep,

I suppress my yawn not wanting to be rude.

As the minutes pass my concentration continues to dwindle,

My eyelids hurt as though being pricked by a needle,

Why did Rowling invent the Bard called Beedle?

Now the only rhyming word I can think of is swindle!

One of those occasions when the sleep deprived me gets high on caffeine,
All senses beginning to drain.
My distractions definitely evident, as attentiveness I cannot feign,

And wouldn't care come storm or rain!

The wacko alter ego - break dancing now - tries to hi-5 me. I pass, with a straight face. Let's play JLo and Pitbull for consolation, we concur.

~

The Art of Deception: Stealth Marketing

N.B. - The following is an award winning article, written in January 2012 for Mark Darshak - the  marketing magazine of NITIE. Publishing it here as it might interest a few souls out there.
Co-authors: Kaavish Kidwai, 2012 pass out from IMT-N, and self. 

Stealth marketing can be described as a covert form of marketing where, neither the marketing intentions behind the campaign are obvious, nor is the identity of the marketer revealed. One of the first instances of stealth marketing was actually a psychological experiment.  During the course of a movie, the Coca-Cola logo was flashed on the screen for a fraction of a second, such that it went largely unnoticed by the conscious mind but it had registered in the subconscious.  During the interval snack break a steep increase in the purchase of Coca Cola, compared to the daily average, was noticed.

Setting up third party websites, profiles or creating seemingly anonymous videos is a great way to create stealth marketing campaigns online where easy and cheap resources offer a plethora of opportunities to catch people’s attention.  Marketers often have their own people comment or post as a consumer for products on review and discussion forums.  From posting glowing reviews to a movie that has taken in mediocre reception from the critics to posting favourable and satisfied opinion posts about a newly launched technological gadget, marketers indulge in various forms of unethical stealth marketing online.

A big risk in some of the bolder stealth marketing campaigns, where the customer is not supposed to realise that he has been part of an elaborate set up for a marketing campaign is that it may generate negative feelings about the brand/product.  Basic human psychology states that a person does not like to feel cheated or being at the wrong end of a scam/prank.  The ideal situation is to leave the consumer feeling he has had the upper hand in an encounter.  But Viral Marketing campaigns, some of which are often judged as stealth marketing campaigns, are different.  Here, part of the allure is to try and guess the source of the marketer/promoter.  When the customer is gently lead towards the answers with clues he or she may actually feel smart and better about himself or herself for having arrived at the right answer.  In this case, long or repeated exposure to the campaign actually helps in conditioning the consumer towards the product/service and its attributes and features.

The situation is actually analogous to men sitting in hotel/restaurant bars in Las Vegas.  They end up striking conversations and having a great time with attractive women. It is only next morning that they find out that they have actually availed themselves the services of an escort which leaves them embarrassed or feeling foolish.  The strategic placing of these escorts is in fact an instance of stealth marketing.  Casinos use atmospherics, pheromones and periodic releases of pure oxygen to create a sense of light-headedness and euphoria that keeps the customer engaged at the gambling tables in spite of losing streaks.

Stealth pop-up windows have been associated with many websites where a window to an alternative site pops up in the background, often noticed by the customer only when the main window has been closed. Online engagement and use of planted trained salespeople to engage in one to one conversation helps develop a personalised target and approach but on the flipside, the more personal a tactic the more is the sense of indignation one feels when the truth is revealed.  Stealth marketing is often dangerously personal.  People are hired to move and mix among oblivious throngs and crowds of people publicly using the products and exclaiming about their benefits and features.  The rest is left often to the “Keeping up with the Joneses” Syndrome or else the hired salespeople might casually strike up conversations with members of the crowd and introduce the product into the conversation.

The flattery aspect is tapped in when an attractive or comely person shows apparent interest in an average person and strikes up a conversation.  Though the person feels better, what is worse is the sense of betrayal if and when he/she senses the deception.  The sense of understanding and similarity of wavelength can lead a customer in but more is the sense of being wronged or feeling cheated when it is revealed to be a gimmick.

Product placement is often a variation of stealth marketing where the personality and traits of the characters are carefully chosen before having them endorse the product in the course of the movie or episode.  This forms a subtle subliminal connect with the audience who feel the need to acquire those products.  The subliminal context is that using those products will imbue the consumer with the traits of that particular character.

Spreading exaggerated or misleading statements and opinions or targeting oblivious people psychologically through subliminal or reinforcement techniques are unethical aspects of stealth marketing that many marketers indulge in. They view it often as damage control or a perfectly normal phenomenon, but anything that violates rational thinking or free will cannot be termed ethical.  On the other hand, stealth marketing also offers opportunities to engage customers dynamically and play on their ego or induce a feel good factor into the equation that leaves them with a slight sense of elation.

For more you could  visit http://meghnasinha.wordpress.com/ 

Tales from Meg-O-Land!

Why is it that all the brightest of ideas strike us when we are supposed to study? What happens when we have time at hand, and are out of things to do? Why is it that all our pending work and ignored hobbies beckon at such a time? The books lie open on the desk, but we set down to cleaning out the drawers. The newspapers are more interesting on that particular day. All the forgotten music on our playlist becomes so enticing that we just can't help playing it on loop. And all this even before we have logged onto Facebook! What happens after is history. The movies and Sitcoms that have been there with you for months are suddenly irresistible. All dormant ailments re-surface. Every temptation is yielded into. Socializing seems an essential ingredient to survive. In the meantime, how about getting the room cleaned? All that work sure works up an appetite. How can one concentrate with a rumbling tummy?

I have personally employed a million ways of procrastinating while studying ever since I was in primary school. My mum sure had a tough time getting me to sit straight without getting distracted. She succeeded sometimes - after she confiscated my Walkman, took away the TV remote, stashed away all newspapers and magazines out of my reach, got the computer's password changed, locked my book shelf, hid the video games and comics, made me sit in a room without mirrors and drew the blinds over the windows. A few years later, she would also switch off my mobile phone and make sure my bed was piled up with something so that I couldn't make myself comfortable there (read: doze off) - lazy me would never bother to clean up and instead, many a time, I slept on top of those piles of whatever it may have been; waking up with a stiff neck. Today, she would switch off the wi-fi and take away my laptop. Ma I think you need to pay me a visit, soon.

~

The Mess in My Room

A swarm of newspapers strewn wantonly, a heap of footwear that has accumulated over a week - slippers, stilettos and sneakers, so-called elitist business magazines sprawled on the floor - unread. Three travel bags partially unpacked, or partially packed should I say? Huge heaps of clothes on the chair, on the bed and in the cupboard whose doors haven't been shut in weeks. The medicine box lies astray on the bedside table with its lid in some other corner, the multi-vitamins and antacids scattered in disarray. The bucket in the way prevents the door from opening wide, the toiletries lounge all across the length of the room, everywhere except in the basket they're usually kept in. The pillows and the comforter seem like they have fallen on top of each other after a wrestling bout. Of the three mattresses on the bed, one has almost slipped down. The dustbin is not visible under the million scraps of paper and chocolate wrappers it holds. All this and a pleasant zephyr welcomes me to a room that is supposed to be my home. My abode. This cubby hole which is my own. Where I can come back whenever I want and just be. No judgements, no permissions, no pleasing anybody, no social conventions. Just I, me and myself in our world, with our whims.

I create the mess and I clean it. I live in it, and it thrives with me. My mind creates the chaos, and I try to de-clutter. It is not lethargy of the body, but of the mind that does this. Day in and day out, I stare at the hodgepodge litter around me. It is no different from the state of my mind. Maybe that is why, it prevails, for longer than it should. I don't want it to, but it does. In spirit and in being. However, nothing in life is permanent, change being the only constant. Ups are followed by downs, and sunsets by sunrise. This mess too shall clear and it won't require the Labours of Hercules to do it. But as every cycle in Nature has its life cycle, I believe this one does too. In the hope that a spic and span room too awaits to house its occupant in peace, I begin to clean up.

~

Lachrymose Musings

You don’t know why you do it. It’s only meant to hurt. A kind of pain that is neither easy to express in words nor easy to bear. The after-thought lingers, of what could be. Of what you wanted it to be. Of the memories, of the times. You live in two worlds – looking happy in one and actually lonely in the other.

Self-tormenting has become a habit it seems. Every little reminiscent fragment is precious. It brings back so many happy memories. One more pain inducing than the other. With the lull that stays within, you promise yourself never to go back the same alley. But the promise is meant to be broken, not once but each time. It is a cord that refuses to break. A bond that refuses to weaken. A dent that refuses to be mended. A crack that can never be fixed. You know you will go back; you want to. It kills you on the inside, but you have grown used to that pricking of the wound. It just refuses to heal, and you personally are of no particular help anyway. There are no regrets in life, only longing. And yearning. And of course, the refusal to move on. A sour conflict between the heart and the mind, resulting in heartache and then headache!

Overcome with sweet melancholy, you wish it never happened. Why did it, if it was never meant to be? Why leave behind something in your heart forever when it's not going to remain in your life at all? Anguished and desolate, you sleep over it. Loneliness is your constant companion. Oh heartbreak, you wretched thing!

~

Awaiting a New Dawn

N.B. : Sending out greetings to all natives of India, Congo, Bahrain and South Korea on their independence day, before I unleash an acerbic tongue.

The past couple of weeks have evoked the feeling of nationalism among most Indians across the globe. Television channels, print media, social media, shop windows, malls and all other means of mass reach around us adopted the patriotic theme for this fortnight. The omnipresent tricolors may be a great change from the usual for the creative minds that design the signage. I only wish the patriotic spirit of this country was as ubiquitous as the colour scheme that springs to life in the months of January and August.

On the one hand we glorify our freedom fighters, the political leaders and businessmen who shaped the fate of India many years ago. We recall their contributions on a couple of specific days in the year, and hand out little mementos to their family or probably run a few snippets of clippings on air. Simultaneously, on the other hand, we have riots erupting in various parts of the country. Women being molested by mobs. Village heads beheading young couples in the name of honour killing. A castrated government shying away from demanding the release of a hapless PoW from our neighbouring country.

We have no idea where the economy is headed. An active union minister is suddenly granted the position of the head of the state, and an otherwise incompetent nincompoop replaces him. And this is one of the most crucial portfolios we are juggling around by the way. Why are we paying so much of tax? And where is the promised upliftment and development? Why are the masses famished? What happens to all the welfare funds? Why do RTI activists meet with mysterious gruesome ends? 

An Anna Hazare raises his voice against corruption and in turn faces ridiculous allegations which eventually dilute his entire movement and blur his vision. We pay a hefty education cess and thousands of government schools are only empty structures with false names on their roll; a way to extract official funds. Politicians are shamelessly fleecing the public in all ways possible. A brash woman holds an entire state at ransom. Not very far away, another state head alleges his own political ally of being a radical extremist. What is it if not a mockery of the world's largest democracy?

As a nation we have lost the essence of unity, dignity, honesty, respect and integrity. Since we were officially declared independent by our former rulers, we observe the rituals on the 15th of August. However, a little introspection will put us to shame. Not getting into too much detail at the moment, but I will leave you with a little food for thought. The recent London Olympic furore about the 6 medals that came home is proof enough of our shoddy system in place. 65 years of independence we celebrate and 6 medals - no gold, mind you - leaves us awestruck. This is what the true Indian mindset is. Being servile. A certain Pandit somebody, who is credited to being the architect of 'modern' India, in reality only laid the foundation of a meek Indian. A feeble individual who harasses anybody who is slightly less powerful than him but will never once retaliate when being oppressed. The kind of reaction we saw from our government when we were ruthlessly attacked by terrorists many a time only substantiates this.

In a country where one cannot expect to get any sort of official (read: government related) work without paying bribe, where educated people struggle to get their names on the electoral roll, where votes are bought by distributing liquor bottles, where the government just does not care for the people it represents, a complete sense of apathy prevails and the poor common man struggles to make ends meet, it is still a long way before we can justify our Independence day celebrations. 

 - A Disappointed Indian

The Day We Walked

Sitting on a cane chair at a roadside shack off MH SH 248 we waited for cold coffee while warding off a million houseflies that hovered around and over us. The day was overcast, and had been so for the past entire week. An impulsive trip had been planned 20 minutes back to rush some 35 kilometers away, just for the kick of it; and just as instantaneously the ad hoc plan had gone kaput - thanks to the ill provided for transport facility. Now we were cooling off the adrenaline rush.

The cancelled trip, however, did not dampen our spirits. It seemed to be a day of impulses. We picked up our glasses of cold coffee and set out on a walk to the lake which was 2 kilometers in the opposite direction of our earlier planned getaway. The serene weather, the lush greenery all around and our restlessness were enough to trigger an aimless walk. Balancing on the edge of the state highway, getting out of the way of speeding state transport buses and bullock carts alike and simultaneously avoiding falling into the muddy puddles and bushes we moved on. 

The bluish grey sky blended amazingly well with the green fields. The horizon was breathtakingly picturesque, and formed a brilliant backdrop against a tiny thatch-roofed hut by a sugarcane field. The Master painter had done a laudable job on the canvas that evening. That sweet smell of wet mud, that gentle zephyr. The cattle being herded back to their farms and their little ones scampering around. The atmosphere seemed to just pull you in. It was a rendezvous with Nature. Most unusual, most unexpected and very beautiful.

We kept walking without any track of time. Also, got a bucket load of rain water splashed on us by a wild four-wheeled crusader. The sheer oddity of our wandering added a sense of mystery and adventure. What were we? Just a few pairs of traipsing feet. A few pairs of pattering feet that knew not where to go, but went on nevertheless. A few pairs of meandering feet that were discovering a strange calmness out of nowhere. Just one of those few instances that reiterate that the best things in life are not things at all.

~

Shall We Dance?

"There is a bit of insanity in dancing that does everybody a great deal of good."
~ 

Edwin Denby

It doesn't always take alcohol to get you high. Spirit, of a different nature, can do it just as well. Loud music and dim lights work in my case. A current passes through the nerves, and I unknowingly begin to jig. The crowd going crazy, the music getting louder and the disco lights blinking wildly is the perfect concoction for losing it completely! You can dance like no one's watching, quite literally. Who said you must learn to dance? We are born with an innate ability to react to the rhythm of music.

Hours pass away in a jiffy. Before you know, you've been on the dance floor all night long. If not for the sunrise, you wouldn't really notice.Your clothes are drenched. Your hair is mangled. But who cares! It's only when you stop that you realise your feet are sore. Your neck is stiffer than a ramrod, thanks to all that head banging. The back hurts no less, and not to forget the legs! But it's totally worth it. It's your feet that move, it's your soul they lift. It is a liberation from inhibitions, a shedding of reservations. And as Lord George Gordon Byron aptly put it,

"On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined; 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet, 

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet."

The bed seldom looks as welcoming and the quilt as cozy as it does after a frenetic dance session. You are bound to fall asleep in a matter of minutes. For sleep comes easy to a content and happy mind, no matter how tired the body is. Next morning you will wake up with a rigid body, and a mind that awaits the next opportunity to let your hair down.