WRITER’S AFFAIR
JULY 2024
Foreword
Literature remains one of the most essential aspects of our modern world. Having started around 5000 years ago, it has undergone a striking journey-evolving and interacting with other forms of art-to become what it is today.
In celebration of this magnificent culture, this magazine aims to provide a platform for the contributions and commentaries of TISB’s very own students to this grand opus. Hailing from works of poetry and prose to commentaries on song lyrics and cinema, a wide array of literary influences is addressed in this issue. We hope that you will enjoy reading them as much as we enjoyed the process of collecting them.
Make sure to keep your ears to the ground for our next issue! We are excited to see what comes next from our immensely creative student body, and eager to share it with the rest of the world.
“Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.”
-Erza Pound
Poetry
June 2024
Featuring:
1. Whispers of Memories - Saisha Sharma
An Ode to the Demigods - Ruchi Singhal
2. Skin - Varanshi Gupta
3. Relic - Anoushka Bhowmik
4. The Edge of A Mudslide - Palak Sadana 5.
An Ode to the Demigods
the children of the gods walk amongst us, lost and looking if you look hard enough, you can find traces of godhood in your classrooms and subway stations and coffee shops
the golden ichor of apollo runs in the veins under cheekbones smeared with charcoal and hands dusted with clay, in hands that lovingly pluck the strings of rickety guitars, in silver tongues and words that cut through ribs, in ink-kissed hands resting on messy journals and in knees smudged with paint and chalk
the thunder of zeus lies in the flash of bloodied teeth, under nails cut to perfection, in eyes that are bright enough to blind and hands warm as the touch of a lover, in the eyebags of those with the world in their hands, in the revving of bike engines and in lips that cannot bleed anything but the truth, in longing gazes that pierce the heart
hestia’s hearth lies in the fingertips grazing over wounds and voices mellow as honey, in the nooks of elbows of hugs that feel like home and in crooked teeth and wider smiles, seeps through words scribbled at the dead of night in a notebook tucked into a drawer, in lips that stutter through assurances and kind words
you will find aphrodite’s glitter in the words of ones with smiles too wide for their faces, in tongues pinker than bubblegum and those whose touches linger a moment too long, in love fierce enough to bring the world to its knees, in the adrenaline of a lover’s rage and in eyes too dark for the whitened teeth stretched below them
squint, and you will see the fires of ares roaring in the hearts of those with ambitions too high for their own good, between teeth clamping onto love with the desperation of a stray dog, in the eyes of those who treat others the most tenderly, in hands that guide others, in the siblings and lovers whose hands cradle the injured and broken
the children of the gods walk amongst us – you simply have to look.
In the stillness of my mind, they gently creep, Whispers of memories, bitter and sweet They dance like spectres, upon the stage of time, Imprints of moments, etched in rhythm and rhyme. Memories, like fragile petals of a fading bloom, Unfurling their essence, casting away the gloom With each passing glance, a portal opens wide, Revealing a tapestry of moments, where life resides. In the depths of my heart, memories buried inside, Treasured souvenirs of life's turbulent ride. They paint a canvas, vibrant and profound, Stitching together the moments that astound The laughter shared under a starlit sky, The tears shed when saying goodbye. The warmth of embraces, the touch of a hand, All woven together like an intricate strand Memories evoke emotions, a timeless embrace, They transport us to a different time and space. They shape our stories, like rivers shape the land, Carving pathways as we journey hand in hand But memories can also be a bittersweet song, Reminders of moments that have come and gone They whisper of people we can no longer see, Yet their essence lingers, forever with me. So, I embrace the tapestry, memories untold, For they are the treasures that never grow old They remind me of the journey I have tread, And the beauty of every memory I've ever had.
POETRY
SaishaSharma
Skin
My skin knows me, maybe better than I know myself because I may have forgotten but I’m sure it remembers the number of tears that have fallen, trickling down my chin.
My skin knows me, maybe better than I know myself because I may have forgotten but I’m sure it remembers every time it’s stretched so that my lips could form a smile, and I’m sure it remembers, sometimes it had to be forced to
My skin knows me, maybe better than I know myself, because I may have forgotten but I’m sure it remembers every single goosebump because of a scary movie and every single burn because I was being stupid, every single wound that stung so bad
My skin knows me, maybe better than I know myself, because I may have forgotten but I’m sure it remembers who I was and am, every experience and every feeling I’m sure it remembers
0 6 . 2 0 2 4 0 6 . 2 0 2 4
Relic
“What does it feel like to freeze?” I asked, 4 years old, naive and so full of love.
“You know when you wrap your finger in a hair tie?”
I nodded
“Your skin throbs and turns blue, you lose colour and heat Now imagine that but everywhere ”
The thought was undoubtedly terrifying. I held on to it tightly and never brought it up again.
But at fourteen, I was curious and foolish and stupidly brave.
I want to know now.
And so came the elastic tight around my finger, Severing ties to any love or life I had left
Tighter I heard, as gentle as the wind
And so, I obeyed Who could deny anything to a voice like that?
And soon enough, I was far gone and impossible to thaw. Blue lips, damp hair, bleeding cheeks: Were they a part of the deal?
I don’t remember. I don’t want to. I shouldn't want to, Should it hurt this much to freeze?
You’ve had your fun.
I want out now
But your eyes are glazed over like a river frozen in early winter Icannot see you You pretend not to see me either
So, this is how it ends, my faith and my shrine forcing me to stay frozen in time Frozen in your barren land.
Funny how I should be scathing, But instead, I touch the reflection of you, scattered in fragments of ice.
TheEdgeofa Mudslide P
Never thought I’d be saying I should have talked more
Through my years of being sore happily alone
Never thought I’d be saying I should have tried
Through my waves of complaints and oh nos
I finally have support
A group to hold me up
A trampoline that I can bounce back on
That will always catch me
Maybe in another life I can love them
The way they deserve
The way that could’ve been
The way that I’ve craved my whole life
Maybe in another life I can grow with them
The way we would have
The way I thought
The way that’s perfect for us all
The moments I never thought I’d have play in my head
Like a song stuck on repeat
They pelt my brain and condense into tears
As the forthcoming idea enters my brain
Maybe in another life I can love them
The way they deserve
The way that could’ve been
The way that I’ve craved my whole life
Maybe in another life I can grow with them
The way we would have
The way I thought
The way that’s perfect for us all
So I think back on the story that was written
But also the story I will write as the author
The author that will embark on countless journeys
This being the first of a lifetime
So all that could’ve been
Would’ve been
And perhaps should’ve been Is for another universe
But in this one, they don’t apply
They don’t deserve to be on the edge of a mudslide
Writer’s Affair Presents
PROSE OF TISB
june 2024
Worlds Apart - Vedika
Sengupta
Anulf - Sreekar Charan
Worlds Apart Worlds Apart P
Thenightwasoneofthedarkerones Gnarled,crumblingvinescreepupthewallsof themanor,graspingatwindowsillsandfalteringbrickslikegreedyfingers They climboutofaninkyblackpondthattakesupwhatwasonceacourtyard.Atree devoidofliferisesasthemainattraction,atestamenttowhatlaybeyond.
Surroundingitisarustedfence,toolowtopreventnaturefromspreadingitsroots Theyspread,andtheyspreadfar Thecobbledpavement,theledges,tillthestepsof themanor,furtherstill.Theonlygreenthatcanbeseenisthemouldandthemoss whichcoatseverysurface.
Itissilent Thewindbearsthesmellofrottingbodiesastheylittertheground Naturethinsitsvinesasitgentlywrapsitselfacrossunmovingchestsandunseeing eyes Themoonlightseepsthroughtheharshcloudsaboveandpaintsfadingblonde hairsilver Itfallsonthegrotesquelandscapebutleavestheloominghousein darkness.
Thereislightcomingfrominside Filteringthroughwindowsdustedwithtime,it grappleswithfog,buttonoavail Thecourtyardremainsunlit,whileonlythe smallestroomsonthelowestfloorarealight.Everythingelseislockedand shuttered.Theestateextendsbeyondasolitaryclocktowerinthedistance. Besideitstand,inaworldapart,factoriesandindustrialbuildings Everywindowlit,everydoorwideopen,theperfectpictureofmodernity Aquiet rumblebleedsthroughaninvisibleveil,themonotonousdroningofmachines. Smokecurlsaroundchimneysandspiresalike,caressingthecreakinghandsofthe stillrunningclock Itwaftsoverthewiredwalls,glidingoverhazardousshardsof glassmeanttokeepouttheuninvited.Floatingpastperchedravens,ithoversabove limpfingersandscratchedfeet,likeashield.
Themoondims,andthecloudssurgecloser Lightningcracksacrossthesky, signallingtheonsetofastorm.Rainstartsitsdescent,andwithitcomesthe morning.
Vedika Sengupta
Anulf SreekarCharan
The sun rose over the distant mountains Anulf looked out over the mead; its many flowers a tapestry of many varied hues from the veranda of a tall house – The House of Rede, or so it was called all around. The House of Rede was homely and unchanged in form since it had first been built long ago It looked east and had many balconies The veranda had a pitched roof held up by many columns and a wooden door, made of good teak, which opened up to a tall hall, with traditional tiered lamps set in alcoves Further inside, there was a large sunlit courtyard that was the centrepiece of the house Far away, the coconut trees swayed in the wind and a cock crowed, shrill and clear, slicing through the silence.
Anulf had just finished a morning ritual, sticking to tradition, and had just come out of the door, half-smiling He had little to do until noon Anulf leaned back, sighed, and began a good book while he set down a cup of warm milk, with copious amounts of sugar next to him – he liked comfort. He had had a queer dream last night and threw himself into the story to avoid pondering it The dream had made him feel uncomfortable and weirdly excited, and unusually so. The cover of the book was slightly torn; a small piece of the top right corner was missing His long spindly fingers flicked cleverly through the book until he found the page he had last been on. He had got to the part where the king rode out from his castle on the tenth day of battle. And Anulf was engrossed, so much so that he did not notice the grey dog creeping towards him from the reeds that circled the mead The dog advanced slowly, with its ears pinned back; it was of medium size and had dark clever eyes. Anulf leaned forward as he read, running his hand through his curly black hair yet unaware of the dog.
The dog, having slowly approached the veranda, bounded forward and barked Anulf almost jumped backwards with a start and scrambled away. His eyes grew wide and his hand scrabbled uselessly against the wooden boards which made up the front wall of the House of Rede. The dog knocked over an old candle left out on the porch and snorted, plainly saying something of the sort of “Why art thou afeard of me?” Though to Anulf, it seemed to be barking out, “I am coming for you!” He darted inside the House of Rede and slammed the door shut. He rushed to an armchair and sat down trying to settle himself, but sprang up immediately, unable to quell the racing of his heart He sat, thinking about what to do. A few minutes later, he gathered his courage, opened the door a crack – “Just to see,” he told himself – and peered out like a rabbit coming out of his warren There was no sign of the dog, and the candle was upright where it had been before the whole business Anulf thought, “That was rather queer, I must have been imagining it,” and returned to his reading, sitting curled up with feet upon the chair
Anulf went on with his business that day and that night He was curled fast asleep upon a mat – woven from dried nut grass upon the ground – as all Weglings do. But little did he know – what occurred that morning was to be the most mundane of three interruptions that week The third was the queerest but also the most fortunate from one view Though, I suppose you can decide for yourself whether it was really fortunate after all.
Anulf P PROSE
The second was the next day at noon. You should know that the wind ar House of Rede, and in fact all the way to Stanhill, was draconic in its nat quickly rolling and roaring from the distant mountains before sweeping a be rather important later Anulf set out upon one of his long-wonted wal to call them “adventures'' He would try to go somewhere new every day was beginning to be difficult to do so: he had explored most of the count y went out his door, walking, and took nothing with him, as was usual Anulf followed the reed path as it wove up and down and ran cunningly, snaking from side to side Every once in a while, Anulf would leave the path to gaze upon one thing or another But he always returned. Past tree and over hill, Anulf treaded, looking upon many a lake and secret meadow. All he let pass by. Anulf soon realised that the shadows had grown short and that the sun had peaked. He clenched his fists one time quickly before starting into a jog back to avoid being late for a mandatory ritual that most Weglings did during noon.
He cleared the last forest and sped up slightly; he would normally have been home by now and away out of the sun. The wind picked up and blew quickly against him as he ran It felt as if on the way, it gathered dirt and dust in order to fling it fiercely into his eyes Leaves whirled past him carried by the wind-tide and the hot sun glared down cruelly He arrived at the last knoll that overlooked the House of Rede He saw, while squinting to avoid the dust, a tall figure clothed in a tiger-skin, and a queer white flowy garment The figure had a beard and was upon a grey sleek horse and carried a staff The figure knocked, or more like struck the door three times, each one harder than the last. Getting no reply, the figure turned around his horse and came down the path toward Anulf, leaning on the saddle. Anulf went to the side of the path. There was a large fold in the ground, hidden by a small bush. Anulf’s face was confused; his head was tilted, and his brows were furrowed –
“What could that fellow want with me?” he thought. “How rude of him to knock on a door like so, even if frustrated. How utterly unbecoming! But either way, I don’t want to be around when he comes... He seems nasty, to say the least.”
fold and stood there, leaning against a tree root It was about his height uld be seen except for a little tuft of his hair He could feel the drumming the ground as it came closer He felt a peculiar sense of apprehension sed him by and left without so much as a glance
NOW SHOWING...
Film Review
THELASTSAMURAI: ANEXPLORATION
Kanav Baid
“The way of the samurai is not necessary anymore ” “Necessary? What could be more necessary?”
It is this line between the Rebel Samurai Katsumoto and American soldier Nathan Algren that perfectly encapsulates the essence of the movie “The Last Samurai.” I believe there's a deep lesson to be learnt underneath the clashing of swords in this movie, a search for meaning, finding the purpose for life, and striving to live by honour and principles - the way of the warrior - Bushido. There's much to learn from the samurai and their ways, and The Last Samurai gives a small glimpse of their perspective on life.
The movie is set during 1870s Japan, which was undergoing massive change. Japan, a nation once steeped in tradition, now stands to face modernisation. We meet Nathan Algren, an American veteran haunted by his past – the war crimes he committed against the Native Americans. He is then offered an opportunity of a lifetime, a high-paying job teaching men of a faraway country how to fight As he heads for Japan, we are made aware of his trauma, his alcoholism, and how he struggles to deal with the crimes he has committed Once in Japan, he takes his half-trained army to fight the Samurai, an enigmatic group explained to him as “warriors ” He is then captured and taken as a i J ill
THELASTSAMURAI: ANEXPLORATION
It is here that he learns what it really means to be a Samurai Before he described Samurai as “savages with bows and arrows,” but it is through his experiences in this village and his conversations (in English!) with Katsumoto, the leader of the rebels, that he slowly begins to grow fonder of their way of life As he is nursed back to health by a woman called Taka, he walks around the village and sees the sheer discipline in everyone. Men practice the same style over and over again until perfection. They wrestle fiercely and as soon as it is over, they smile and bow gently. Even the silent patience of the person assigned to look after Nathan, whom he lovingly calls “Bob,” puzzles him: how can men devote themselves to such perfection and conduct each other in such harsh discipline? Nathan’s first profound cultural shock comes with his first conversation with Katsumoto. Initially weary of Katsumoto, he calls the act committed by Katsumoto in his first battle as disgraceful, where it looked like he was cutting the heads of men who had surrendered. Katsumoto however poignantly says that the man had asked him to end his life
Algren cannot understand the fact that the Samurai would much rather kill themselves than “stand the shame of death ” It seems ironic to him because his situation makes him feel like there is nothing more shameful than his life right now; because of all the crimes he’s committed, he has no reason to live anymore. It is this that haunts him, causing him to have nightmares and traumatic experiences, screaming and shouting. He has no purpose to live, because he feels like he has committed a sin for which it would be better to the world if he died. It is this belief that contradicts the Samurai’s notion of “life in every breath”.
The Samurai’s unwavering principles faze Algren. He is overcome with guilt when he learns that the woman who cares for him, the one who brought him back to life, is the wife of the man he killed How can a woman care for the man who killed her husband? Even still, she shows no emotion, no anger, no fear, just a neutral expression We can see that it kills Taka from the inside; she is frustrated at her inability to do anything, yet she knows her loyalty to her brother and obedience is above any personal emotion I think this is the most profound shift in Algren’s mind Until then he had been struggling with forgiving himself and the guilt that was due to his actions, but seeing this woman, nursing the man who killed her husband back to life, it shook him. It taught him that if she can control her emotions and take care of him, so can he. It gave him a purpose to live again.
THELASTSAMURAI: ANEXPLORATION
I think there's much to learn from the principles through which they lived by Algren said that "From the moment they wake they devote themselves to the perfection of whatever they pursue ” The Samurai show us the true meaning of life It is in whatever you do, do it with perfection, with passion, and love To treat everyone with honour and respect The final moments of the movie encapsulate the Samurai perfectly, in the face of thundering machine gunfire, the Samurai go on a suicidal frontal charge, in the face of imminent death To die with honour than live on with shame To us, people living in the 21st century, these might seem like principles of a by-gone era, where the world was a much different place, but I believe the problems that our society faces today – anxiety, stress, and depression, can be solved by looking back at the past People today suffer from a chronic lack of purpose, most young people today have no reason to live, no reason to work hard, no reason to achieve perfection The modern world is just a sloppy rat race where everyone is running aimlessly, struggling to find meaning in the instant gratification of social media. Bushido, or the way of the Samurai, gives us a way to wake up and be excited for our day, a reason to work our hardest at everything we do. I think Bushido is summed up by the quote, “The perfect flower is a rare thing. You could spend your entire life looking for one and it would not be a wasted life.” This flower, I believe, symbolises perfection. While they know they cannot achieve it, the struggle to reach there, the hope – that is what matters.
The Last Samurai is different from your usual Hollywood movie – the “White saviour” angle, where a white man comes into a tribe of a different culture and saves it from destruction. In this movie it is the white man that was saved by the culture. Algren has a transformative journey about himself and so does Katsumoto. They both learn from each other’s cultures and end up becoming great friends. I think it shows very well the diversity in the world and that no culture is above one another. You should be someone who learns and respects every culture
EDITORS’ CORNER
1
“Genius and Mediocrities in ’Amadeus’ ”Aditya Sankar
2
“Oak tree to Heaven” - Ananya Ravishankar
3
“Get free - A Manifesto of Selfactualisation”Aanika Krishnan
GENIUS AND MEDIOCRITIES IN GENIUS AND MEDIOCRITIES IN ‘‘AMADEUS’ AMADEUS’
Aditya Sankar
Mozart! Few entities have become more popular, even cliché, fixtures in our public consciousness Perhaps most interesting of all is the (possibly apocryphal) stories that have been spun around the circumstances of his death–especially its attachment to another historical figure, One only really remembered now for his link to this story.
Antonio Salieri was an Italian composer, well-known in his time but mostly forgotten as the years went by However, he was notably accused of poisoning Mozart and thus causing the young composer ’ s untimely demise: one aspect of his story that captured imaginations for centuries
One such instance was with renowned Russian author Alexander Pushkin, who included a short play entitled ‘Mozart and Salieri’ in his work ‘The Little Tragedies’–featuring Salieri’s jealousy of Mozart’s musical genius and his inevitable descent into heinous actions as a result Undoubtedly emerging as the best-beloved play from the collection, even receiving an adaptation as a one-act opera from composer Rimsky-Korsakov, it served as the seed from which Peter Schaffer’s seminal 1979 play ‘Amadeus’ sprouted
While some details of the play have changed from production to production, the centre remains the same: Salieri, an old and bitter man, claims to have assassinated Mozart, and narrates his story directly to the audience Do not permit the play’s title to fool you–Mozart is closer to an antagonist or even a plot device–Salieri is, for once, the star of the show
The play unveils its conceit; we witness the past, filtered through Salieri’s green-tinted lens, as he describes his unfathomable admiration of Mozart the composer and his similarly unyielding distaste for Mozart the person This forms an interesting facet of his character–Salieri does not downplay the genius of Mozart’s music (indeed the play presents him as the sole character to understand said genius) However, his rival’s uncouth and scandalous nature so fully offends Salieri’s sensibilities as a formal refined Catholic that it triggers a war within him against the heaven’s themselves
Salieri perceives Mozart’s talent as an insult from God himself and thus vows to engineer the composer ’ s downfall as an act of spiteful rebellion. The play's title is even more ironic in this light, translating to ‘Beloved By God’--all that Salieri craves but shall never receive, which Mozart was simply born with.
“I looked on astounded as from his ordinary life he made his art We were both ordinary men, he and I Yet from the ordinary he created Legends--and I from Legends created only the ordinary!”\
The story of Salieri driving himself nearly mad with envy, religious turmoil, and the confrontation of his mediocrity all to attempt to bring Mozart down (which as we all know, of course, is never to be achieved in any meaningful way) is almost darkly humorous, especially because Salieri is the only one to see himself as inferior Indeed, by the characters surrounding them, Mozart is seen as an arrogant upstart of unlikable musicality whereas Salieri is elevated to the position of a genius Yet, the man remains desperate to solidify a future legacy amongst the musical greats…even if he can only accomplish it by association with Mozart’s downfall
There is something almost painfully human in Salieri’s failings–his failings against his musical limits, his failings against his grand ambitions, and finally, his failings against time itself, where his fears come true
After all, what is he remembered for now except as Mozart’s would-be, possible killer? Something which, it is important to note, was likely fabrication. Yet, his music fell almost entirely out of the public consciousness over time, only enjoying a brief revival thanks to his association with Mozart through this play (and of course its successful and brilliant film adaptation)
And so, what we are left with is a curiously revealing and intricate fable It is a tragedy that seems almost hilarious, leaving us merely to wonder and peer into a character whose struggles present an incredibly compelling exploration of human nature
THEOAKTREETO HEAVEN
Thesandsstainedmybarefeet Orange-tinted,withroughedges “Whatifthereweresnakesinthetrees?” Absurdcontemplations,withabsurdindulgence
Frankly,Irarelyscreamedasachild, Wanderingwondrouseyes Oh,my!
Thesky’saspecialshadeofbluetonight
Thebranchesranfurtheraway, SoIhadtogrowmylimbsandfingers Toreachtheirtailsandgreenysails Grasptillmyfinger-bonesquivered
Idreamofthetop, Thegoldenhuesthatbreak aroundtwelveo’clock
WillIeverreachthatstop? Andscreamapieceofprose Perhaps,conversewithgods WillIhearthosesongs? Thoseskilfulhymnsandrhymes, Thattheprophetswhisperabout?
OrwillIfirsthavetowitherandware Tillmyskinsandfingerscannolongerbare Tillmyheartisfilledwithalonelysortofdespair Ortillmysoulisfilledwithexcitementfromadare andmybloodrunsgold, withglimpsesofheartsthatnevertear
Ohmy!Thosebranchesbendingandtwisting Arethoseroadscrossingandbridgesmending?
IguessI’llhavetoreachtosee Whatajourneyawaits! Intheclimbofanoaktree
~Ananya Ravishankar
‘Get Free’ A
MANIFESTO OF SELF-ACTUALISATION
AANIKA KRISHNAN
American singer-songwriter Lana del Rey is arguably one of the most influential artists in alternative pop of our generation. ‘Lust for Life’, released in 2017, is one of her more critically acclaimed albums that takes a 360 from her typical melancholic melodies and brooding themes that built the foundation of her career In this album, as suggested by its title, Lana adopts a more positive outlook on life in her efforts to be a happier person In this regard, it seems to almost be a direct juxtaposition to her debut, ‘Born to Die,’ that dealt with fatalism and tragedy. Del Rey’s closing track on ‘Lust for Life’, ‘Get Free’, culminates this tone of hope and journey of personal growth
First verse
The opening lines “Finally, I’m crossing the threshold | from the ordinary world” allude to the common narrative template ‘The Hero's journey’ wherein the protagonist ventures on a path of self-discovery, with crossing the threshold of ‘the ordinary world’ being a preliminary step. Del Rey reveals that she felt this narrative, originating from Joseph Campbell’s biography of the same name, identified with her story In an additional metaphor, she wishes to “take the dead out of the sea | and the darkness from the arts”. This signifies removing the darkness from her state of mind, the ‘sea’, a vast expanse of emotion, as well as from magic, the ‘arts’. This theme of magic is linked to her mystical trailer of the album, where Lana is seen “playing with magic” Clark Jackson, its director, divulges that this is indicative of “the power of positive vibrations and the idea that positive thoughts can make a difference”.
First pre-chorus
Lana sings “This is my commitment, my modern manifesto,” referring to her selfliberation. The following lines are more cryptic in nature, “for..and for… | and all my birds in paradise” On multiple occasions, Lana has performed the uncensored version of this line, “For Amy and for Whitney”. Here, she refers to the singers Amy Winehouse and Whitney Houston, two of Lana’s biggest inspirations, who died when they were young The “birds of paradise” could symbolise other inspirations in her life who had passed away. They “never got to fly at night | ‘cause they were caught up in the dance”. Lana explains in an interview, “It's about people who don't get to reach their full potential because they let controlling people stop them from being free”.
‘Get
Free’
A MANIFESTO OF SELF-ACTUALISATION
Chorus
“Sometimes it feels like I’ve got a war in my mind | I wanna get off, but i keep ridin’ the ride” is an allusion to her song ‘Ride’, from the beginning of her career (“I’ve got a war in my mind | I just ride”) Lana uses this simile to express her mental turmoil and her inability to escape it. She “had to decide” either to “play someone’s game or live (her) own life” This denotes her gaining clarity that she wants to live by her own terms, and not anyone else’s. Moving “out of the black, into the blue” alludes to and plays on the lyric “Out of the blue and into the black” from the song ‘Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)’ by Neil Young This imagery illustrates ascending from the depths of despair, the ‘black’, into a less detrimental sadness, the ‘blue’; she cannot yet achieve complete contentment
Second verse
“Gone is the burden | of the Crowley way of being” may allude to the notorious occultist Aleister Crowley, stipulating that Lana rejects his esoteric ideology that concentrates on the mystic and supernatural, and instead embraces reality and tangible objectives “You, as we found out, | were not in your right mind”, potentially addresses the late artists that Lana once idolised, including Amy Winehouse and Kurt Cobain, who were not mentally sound in the latter stages of their careers, and passed away as a result of substance abuse She will not ‘let herself go’ in the same manner, and continue to flourish through her music in their honour.
Second pre-chorus
Lana now employs an extended metaphor of “chasing rainbows and hoping for an end to them”. These rainbows symbolise unattainable dreams, whose “arches are illusions, solid at first glance” Their “colours lure you in”, intimating this perceived image of fame and success that she once idealised. Therefore, Lana deconstructs the myth of society’s expectation of success, disillusioning herself
Overall, ‘Get Free’ is a proclamation of self-empowerment and an anthem of authenticity Lana thus imparts the message that everyone has the agency to take control of their lives. Moving forward, she would realise this through her life’s blood, her music
Credits
Chief Editors:
Aanika Krishnan
Ananya Ravishankar
Aditya Sankar
Contributors:
Ruchi Singhal
Saisha Sharma
Varanshi Gupta
Anoushka Bhowmik
Palak Sadana
Vedika Sengupta
Sreekar Charan
Kanav Baid
Special Thanks to Ms.
Velina Murari, Teacher Advisor
