Little Crazy

“But we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy…” every time I hear the soundtrack from Devil Wears Prada, am reminded of people who are in their own world, disquiet about what others think of them. Generally people say artists are eccentric, but I hold opposing views.

I have always seen these men (excuse me for being gender biased) in the vicinity of dargahs, often referred to as Majnu (mad man), as a unique visual character in themselves. What they wear, what they say, what they do, what they eat, where they live, what work they do, it really does not matter to them or to anyone but attract lots of attention. But they are ubiquitously. Contented. At ease.

During one of my countless escapades to Charminar (Hyderabad) on a Sunday morning, I came across one such person.

He was cheerfully singing. Dancing. And laughing. All by himself. I mustered enough courage to talk to him only to realize what a wonderful and friendly person he is. Full of anecdote from religious books. Often breaking into Kabir’s couplets or saying things that will blow you off. Not at all bothered about who, what, and why.  He was enthusiastically geared up to pose for me by showing off his rings and jewelry that he had adorned by hundreds.

In my own excitement I forgot to ask his name. But that’s beside the point. What I got in return was worthy enough to survive as an artist. That we got to be little crazy.