On a quiet evening of a grey Monday, as rain poured down as if to wash off the blues of darker blue Sunday, and silence loomed heavy on the swoosh of the wind and rumble of the sky, I listlessly sank into my couch with a DVD in my laptop and some comfort food. After days and nights of hanging out with Mr. Dumb Ness and his not so lovely Mrs. Numb Ness, I hope to take leave of their company. I must keep my manners and politely excuse myself. I know they do not get along with anything even remotely stimulating. Maybe the idiot box would provide the guise. It worked.
I watched ‘Habana Blues’, a Spanish-Cuban pelicula that weaves through a period in the lives of two Cuban rock musicians looking for a breakthrough into music industry and breakaway from the harshness of their everyday lives. The movie touches upon several themes such as the tug of war between the essence of art and commercialization, patriotism and personal aspirations, and, as expected, capitalism and communism. But music, of course, is at the core of the movie. The exposure to traditional Cuban music flavouring the mainstream genres of rock and rap was like a bountiful feast to my creativity-starved mind. The Cuban culture is not only the fountainhead of the musician’s creations but also their distinguishing trait of their trade.
It got me thinking about how powerful a hold someone’s roots or sense of belongingness has on their actions and reactions and channelizing their expressions and creations. And how a lack of that sense or a feeling of general detachment can sterilize the very same.
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