New Eyes?
I have this habit of reading angsty stuff with a lot of vengeance, often imagining myself in the place of the person who would/could have said the same. But they style has always been the same in my head. I would read it quickly, and picture myself as saying it equally hastily, with anger dripping from my tongue, in a sordid attempt to raise the din in my imaginary gathering, ensuring that even walls without ears would listen.
Funnily enough, I was in the middle of doing that yesterday night too, on a quote from Merchant of Venice, when I started imagining how Naseeruddin Shah would say it (Well, it was an interview of his that led me there in the first place). What a breath of fresh air! I automatically slowed down, put focus on modulating my voice and even let long silences in.
And this is after years of silent irritation of the habit of reading these hyperchgarged pieces so quickly, feeling some pain, yes, but probably missing out on imagining how beautifully one could construct it, dramatize it, subsconsciously of course.
May it be that that bridge hath been crossed. Or sighted.
Mr. Naseeruddin Shah. One more thing I owe you.
Funnily enough, I was in the middle of doing that yesterday night too, on a quote from Merchant of Venice, when I started imagining how Naseeruddin Shah would say it (Well, it was an interview of his that led me there in the first place). What a breath of fresh air! I automatically slowed down, put focus on modulating my voice and even let long silences in.
And this is after years of silent irritation of the habit of reading these hyperchgarged pieces so quickly, feeling some pain, yes, but probably missing out on imagining how beautifully one could construct it, dramatize it, subsconsciously of course.
May it be that that bridge hath been crossed. Or sighted.
Mr. Naseeruddin Shah. One more thing I owe you.
Shylock:The Merchant Of Venice Act 3, scene 1, 58–68
I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same
food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,
heal'd by the same means, warm'd and cool'd by the same winter
and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If
you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the
rest, we will resemble you in that.
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