#ananyajain

[mediadesignspring2023]

Unique Approach to Design: One thing I really like about Abstract episode 6 featuring Paula Scher is her unique approach to design. She brings a fresh perspective to her work, blending art and graphic design in a way that creates visually striking and thought-provoking designs.

Bold Use of Typography: Paula Scher's bold use of typography is another aspect that I admire. She fearlessly experiments with different fonts, sizes, and arrangements to create powerful and impactful designs. Her typography choices effectively communicate the intended message and capture attention.

Collaborative Spirit: In the episode, Paula Scher's collaborative spirit shines through. She emphasizes the importance of working with clients and teams to create designs that resonate with the intended audience. Her willingness to listen, adapt, and collaborate demonstrates her commitment to creating meaningful and effective design solutions.

Versatility and Range: Another aspect that I appreciate about Paula Scher is her versatility and range as a designer. She has worked on a diverse range of projects, including branding, album covers, and environmental graphics. This ability to adapt her style to different mediums and industries showcases her skill and adaptability as a designer.

[ananyajain21]

30 reflection points of 30 years of my life

This year, I turned 30. I have completed three decades of living. It's a long time - to measure I have completed 1564 weeks or 10,9560 days.

Today, when we think of growth, success, accomplishments, and also downfalls, failures, disappointments, etc., we often forget where we started from. We feel low when if we go off-track on our goals. We often forget life has taught us a lot. And we had come far from where we were when we got started.

I feel when we take some time to step back and reflect on the number of things we have survived, learned, and established, we will soon realize that the problems we deal with today are manageable. They will also be short-lived like all the others we have already faced – Problems are temporary. In the next 5 or 10 years, or even sooner, when we look back at our current life struggles, we will laugh at it. We will realize it was slight turbulence and not a dead-end in our beautiful life. And one thing I am most certain of is we will survive it and march forward.

This year, on my 30th birthday, I am gifting myself a reflection on the wealth of my learnings, survivals, struggles, and joyful experiences. It has been a roller coaster, but I would get on this ride over and over again. And, I am sure the next 30 will be equally thrilling. By sharing this article, I hope it gives my readers a different perspective to deal with any current or future life challenges.  

I promise to myself, I will lead the journey on my terms, with a smile on my face. And for all the challenges that I face, I will be open to learn and adapt to them. I will make most of every moment of my precious life. And focus on doing good to everyone on this planet earth (Humans, animals, plants, and beyond).  And, at any point I feel low, I will gather myself and reflect on the incredible journey I have had so far.

To zoom in on the above table's image on your smartphone or tablet use two fingers and expand the screen.

I hope you liked this article. I hope you like the idea of reflecting on your own life. I want to encourage you to do the same for yourself and share your experience with me. If you have any questions on any of my listed experiences, please reach out. Each one of them is a beautiful story to share.

I look forward to hearing from you and seeing your adoption of this idea.

 Regards,

Ananya  Jain

LinkedIn | Tumblr | Medium | www.jainananya.com

[reflectionsofrealism]

70 years.

It was a warm summer evening in the capital. The sun was gradually setting and darkness encompassed the skies. But even the nightfall did not mean sleep for this city. The golden hearts of ‘Dilli’ had just woken up.

 Flickering streetlights, swaying telephone lines,

Each road was swarmed with shinning headlights.

Loud honking echo’s sounded,

The noise had become an essential part of the night.

Delhi would never be the same without this peak hour traffic,

The unique display of sound and light.

And while the schedule of the night went on as each day, not far away from this chaos another everyday scene played out just the same…

5th of August 2017 Dear Citizens of a Free India, 

I am writing this not as a victim, but as a warrior, fighting for the rights of hundreds of Indian women who have no one to confide in. Their voices are being drowned, their mouths are forced shut, but the flames of their spirits can never be extinguished.

Yes, I was out all alone that night. I was driving back home unaccompanied when it happened.

But let’s get one thing straight; I did nothing wrong and it wasn’t my fault.

3 men in a black SUV, I could see them from my rearview mirror; laughing, they mirrored my movements, following me for over 20 minutes on the streets of the capital city.

For a few minutes I was absolutely terrified. I’m not scared of standing up for myself, but at that moment I wasn’t just fighting against 3 men, rather this was a war against the patriarchal society of India.

Being chased by these goons, the only thing that kept me going was the memory of my grandmother; a woman who undertook the journey from Lahore to Amritsar all alone, holding ma close to her bosom. Without any help, with nothing, not even a few rupees to feed herself she came to India and nurtured a family, providing them with everything they could ever ask for. Working odd jobs, giving it her everything; a woman succeeded in a mans world against all odds. It was her spirit that reminded me of how much strength I really have.

It was when things got extremely violent, the car swerving into my path, the men trying there best to hit me that I called up the police. I couldn’t run away, I had to stop, for the sake of millions of women, make them pay. 

Why can’t we understand the concept of equality?

Irrespective of gender, caste, any construct we may see.

We humans are just the same,

Red blood flows in each of our veins.

Open the Newspapers, only pain you brew,

Inequality and discrimination screaming back at you

Whether it is a young Dalit boy committing suicide,

Or a baby girl being burnt alive!

We’re in the year 2017, 70 long years since the rebirth of our motherland. We’re redefining boundaries, racing ahead with technology as our enabler, the fastest growing economy and largest democracy in the world; India.

But even today, despite all this visible ‘progress’, the dark pits of our minds refuse to change.

We worship her in the temple, folding our hands in prayer, devotion to the goddess we say, Saraswati, Durga, Kali, Parvati or Sita. When there is respect there, what happens on the streets? What happens within the four walls of a home, near hospitals, in moving and stationery buses, anywhere, everywhere, even inside of the same shrines of God’s safe haven? What urges the same hands to harass, to molest, to rape?

The mouth that sings a hymn of appreciation for her hurls back insults and catcalls just the next moment with one justification, ‘Her walk provoked me, her talk provoked me, her clothes provoked me.’

I ask these men one question, ‘Was the 10 month old infant dressed provocatively too?’

 2.24 million crimes against women were reported in India the past decade.

26 crimes against women are reported every hour

A woman becomes victim to crime every 2 minutes.

If these numbers seem baffling, the fact is that majority cases of crime however go unreported.

Is this really progress? Are we really moving forward?

Yours Truly, India’s daughter Looming over an uncertain future.

[mediadesignspring2023]

Authentic storytelling: One of the things I like about "Naomi Osaka Episode 1" is its authentic storytelling. The film provides an intimate and honest portrayal of Naomi Osaka's life, including her struggles, triumphs, and the complexities of her identity as a biracial Japanese and Haitian tennis player. It gives viewers a genuine glimpse into her journey, allowing them to connect with her on a deeper level.

Insight into the pressures of fame: The documentary sheds light on the immense pressures that come with fame and success. It explores how Naomi Osaka grapples with the weight of expectations, both from herself and from the public. Through her experiences, the film highlights the mental and emotional toll that professional athletes often face, offering a thought-provoking perspective on the price of success.

Focus on social justice: "Naomi Osaka Episode 1" touches upon important social justice issues. It delves into Osaka's decision to use her platform to raise awareness about racial injustice and police violence, particularly in the wake of the Black Lives Matter movement. The film showcases her commitment to advocacy and the impact she strives to make beyond the tennis court, inspiring viewers to consider their own roles in promoting social change.

Cinematic aesthetics: The documentary is visually appealing, with well-crafted cinematography that captures the essence of Osaka's life and career. From the exhilarating tennis matches to the quieter moments of introspection, the film's aesthetic choices enhance the storytelling, making it engaging and visually compelling for the audience.

[mediadesignspring2023]

Cultural Exchange: One of the things I really liked about the film "American Factory" is its exploration of cultural exchange. The documentary highlights the clash of cultures between American and Chinese workers in an Ohio factory, offering a thought-provoking look at the challenges and misunderstandings that arise when two vastly different cultures collide.

Authenticity: The film's authenticity is another aspect that I appreciate. It presents a raw and unfiltered portrayal of the struggles faced by workers in the globalized economy. The documentary doesn't shy away from depicting the complexities of the situation, capturing both the triumphs and the hardships experienced by the individuals involved.

Sociopolitical Commentary: "American Factory" provides insightful sociopolitical commentary on topics such as labor rights, job security, and economic globalization. It raises important questions about the future of work, the impact of automation, and the tensions between capitalism and worker's rights. The film serves as a catalyst for discussions about these crucial issues.

Engaging Storytelling: The documentary's storytelling approach is compelling, drawing viewers into the lives of the workers and their struggles. By following individual stories and showing the human side of the factory's operations, "American Factory" manages to create an emotional connection with the audience, making it a captivating viewing experience.

[mediadesignspring2023]

Martha Mitchell

Reading this just in time for International Women's Day was quite empowering because I never really realized how influential she was during the Nixon Era. It was eye opening to say the least, that so many powerful women go nameless in history, or get recognized after the fact without any reward or compensation for their influence/participation in shaping the world's past, present, and future.

Everything about this documentary was very well executed. The use of slow motion, close ups, the integration of the portraits, and arts into the narrative added so much emotional depth that I really appreciated. usually, I'm not much into documentaries but I can actually say these components made it extremely attention grabbing and interesting.

[mediadesignspring2023]

I liked how Platon describes his subjects. The way they remind him of historical architecture (like his mother and father taught him). There's something poetic in how his art is a culmination of his core upbringing and new experiences.

The way he communicates with his subjects is a high defining key point of his art. Not only does he focus on talking to his subject during the shoot, but he also focuses on what the subject communicates to the audience. And I liked how he brings that energy out of his subject and captures it into the frame.

I really liked his motive in capturing pictures. "Show me what it's like to meet them". His intent with each subject is trying to break the frame with the power of composition. Brave enough to bring out each person's unique traits and immortalize it on film. Each artwork conveys the subject's story, and the emotions one would experience meeting them in real life.

[reflectionsofrealism]

Peter Pan Taking Flight

The sky was changing hues, transitioning into a new work of art by the second. The blue gradually turned into orange, with hints of lilac, pink and yellow smeared across blended into the scape.

It was vast, absolutely endless and enigmatic. A mystery, its existence and magic though explained by the laws of science, never truly unveiled, encoded or understood.

The sky appears to changes color due to the scattering of light, the size of the particles, the distance from the sun.

That is the logical explanation, isn’t it?

But how can this wondrous kaleidoscope of beauty and color be explained so simply?Is it not natures wonder, a painted created with the most unusual medium.

Look up at the sky, at any time of the day.

Take my word for it; your view will never be the same.

 No wonder people spend their entire lives looking at it, studying the conundrum of its creation. Getting lost in its vast expanse, just sitting and staring in awe.

We all wish we could be as fortunate as the birds that fly in its embrace, feeling, touching and believing it in its purest form.

If you had to choose between invisibility and flight, which superpower would you pick?

As children we know that one-day we will. One day we will touch the sky and fly high, feeling the winds caress our faces, feeling invincible. Peter pan teaches us that we really truly can, if only we believe in the power of our dreams.

Then why does this passion get extinguished, as we grow older? Why do we stop dreaming, why do we stop believing?

The world tells me to grow up.

The world tells me not to day dream.

The world tells me to think rationally.

Not get lost in this spiral of myths and make belief.

Look at the sky above you, just once glance and you may be inspired forever. Everything you’ve ever believed may come back to you, the childish spirit renewed!

 A.J.

[reflectionsofrealism]

The Wax Fort

The white Fort stands tall, more resembling a single tower, it’s translucent and dainty form upright. The golden flame burns, beams of light  reaching out in all their glory, spreading all the warmth.

Have you ever just watched a candle burn?

Each and everyday, the Fort takes shape. The white wax streams trickle down the once smooth cylindrical surface. The dancing flame works its way, deeper and deeper into the surface, creating an almost hollow structure.

Have you ever seen something so enigmatic, that it is at it’s most beautiful only in the course of self destruction?

For days the fire burns, burning beauty. The fort becomes a symbol of light, a bright future ahead, a story of love, desire, passion and keeps dreams alive. Somewhere in a village, a girl finishes her homework in the dim light. Somewhere in the mountains, men at a tea shop warm themselves with its small flame. Somewhere on a table, it lights up two lovers’ eyes.

Is anything in life eternal. The bad and the good?

The fort, changes everyday. Dynamic and moving it never stays the same. And one day, after burning and giving everything it had, it decimates, the locks of wax melt, vapours released into the sky disappear. And there remains no trace of the mighty Fort.

The best moments in life end much faster than we ever want them to. There exists no physical proof of their passing.

The Fort lives on only as a memory in the hearts of all those it has touched.

Like a flicker it occasionally sparks. And then dormant, it stays hidden deep inside

[reflectionsofrealism]

Memoirs of A Maniac

The four plain white walls seemed to be closing in. An old fan hung off the low ceiling, moving in a slow, almost dizzying motion, round and round and round. A soft prolonged screeching sound accompanied the movement. The wall clock ticked on, like a monotonous metronome.

The room was empty, except for single bed that lay right in the center. The bed had been adorned with white sheets. They were creased; each fold and crevice seemed to look harsher, shadows falling against each other, a result of the shower of sharp white light from a single light bulb.

From afar the tangle of sheets almost seemed to resemble a mountain; a large rocky mountain with tracts and tracts of unforgiving white snow.

A man lay still underneath the sheets.

His once luscious and vibrant ginger locks, were now fading, like the old maple leaves of autumn on winters arrival. His lips were pale, mouth slightly open. His eyes, once as deep and electric blue as the ocean, were devoid of any color or emotion, trained upon the revolving ceiling fan.

This is how things had been, for as long as they could remember. He wouldn’t talk, eat, sleep or even move from the position he was laying in. They almost refused to believe that he had lived as a person before this.

The place smelt of illness, like all facilities for this purpose did.  White walls, white rooms, white doors, windows, furniture and linen; did they think that God himself would come down to Earth to see this luminous shower of white?

They thought that they were helping; little did they know that their methods were making things way worse.

The man lay still underneath the sheets.

Sometimes, he was so quiet that even the sound of his breathing seemed to fade away into a whisper.The slow movements of his chest were the only sign of life.Even though physically he was absent from the present, his soul was living, not in this world, but some imaginary paradise of his own.

The swirling of the fan, round and round and round continued.It was this gradual motion that kept the man going, kept the monitor beeping.

For he was reminded of a mystical town; within the cradle of low lying hills, a hamlet. Multiple homes, towers and trees; merging into the blue night, shadows and lights alike.

The sky, a miracle night always remained. Cerulean, Ultramarine, Cobalt, shades of blues all waltzing with the yellow highlights. Smooth movements, blending, hints of touch from each side, creating the perfect fusion of color and rhythm.Hypnotizing swirls, moonlight reflecting, beams scattering, round and round and round.

A body lay still underneath the sheets.

It seemed lifeless, a vegetable deteriorating physically. The mind behind, the soul was living on, the dream of the Starry Night ever prolonged!

A.J. 

[reflectionsofrealism]

Amidst Disorder

(One fleeting moment is the only catalyst of change we all need)

It was 7 am on a cold winter morning in New Delhi. The clouds overhead had dispersed in all directions, embracing the sky like a veil. Everything around was still dark and not a single ray of warm sunlight could be seen making it’s way through the thick canopy of smog.

The city was slowly waking up, a few parts still remained silent, a few however boisterous, bustling and already in full swing.

The scene outside the white school gates, matched the second image in its best capacity.

Rows and rows of cars and buses could be seen moving along the adjacent road, each one carrying multiple hoards of school children. Honking vehicles stood crowding the already jam packed opposite side. Whistles sounded loud, shrill as volunteers made their best efforts kept the traffic in order with gestures and urgent movements.

It was absolutely chaotic. Some cars were quick to move, students would spill out in an instant, the doors would be shut close and the vehicle would move on. Others however took slightly longer, strolling slowly, at ease in their own trance, keeping everyone behind waiting. No one really knew whether it was indifference, or sheer arrogance, but it was disappointing, and the root cause of the havoc. In times like those, the tension in the environment rose to new heights, it was disheartening to see the youth, the future surrounded by and completely caught up in the winds of ignorance.

Amidst all this chaos however, the small helper’s of Santa Claus plodded down the concrete path towards the wrought iron gates. They were the little ones, clad warmly in their maroon winter attire. Adorning fluffy pants, sweaters, chubby cheeks and wide infectious smiles. One look in their direction and it was almost like the busy, noisy and tedious morning scene completely changed to something beautiful, refreshing and new. For a fleeting moment there was that sense of hope, that feeling of innocence returned and a wave of nostalgia rushed through the minds of all those who were lucky enough to witness the moment. Their walks wobbly, even haphazard, but even then their presence seemed to put away all the disorder and bring out the true essence of childhood.

So many memories conjured back, just by one single image. A time capsule, the 13 year journey burst into hearts and minds instantly. They remind us of when we fell down the big yellow slide, the friend who held our fingers tight, the tears our parents wiped, the games we’d play at recess and everything we’ve now left behind.

Meanwhile a strange warmth began to spread through our hearts. Yes the sunrays had escaped their confines, but they were not the only source of the heat. The flame in our hearts had been ignited by a fleeting moments. Fleeting moments are all we have in this chaos, the only thing to change how we feel.

[reflectionsofrealism]

Mountains Are Calling

Standing over the edge, she could see the natural expanse ahead of her; the vast and mighty Himalayas, beautiful but terrifying. Rocks of all kinds, varying textures, some igneous like the surface of the moon, others smooth, like the scales on a fish. Resting in nature’s haven, raw and away from the idiosyncrasies of daily city life. The environment was calm, and when she closed her eyes, the cool breeze caressing her face felt as if it was coming straight from heaven.

The rivers water changed colors, a myriad of hues, blues, greens, turquoise and teal merging in different compositions; clean, flowing and breathtaking life. 

To most people in the country, the Ganga was a religious symbol; its pristine waters washed away all your life’s sins with one long dip. But to her, the river signified much more than that. To her it signified adventure, desire and self-discovery.

She knew that the 5 day trip would come to an end soon, however the journey would go on even beyond that, the experiences garnered, would stay with her for the rest of her life.

An invisible string connected her heart with the river. She was no master swimmer, but somehow was the first one to jump off the raft and embrace the freezing cold water.

And so, when she stood at the edge of the cliff, there was not even an ounce of fear in her heart. Yes she could hear it beating, it was fast, the rhythm steady; the sound represented exhilaration, excitement and beyond it all the call of a wild heart.

She ran, building up momentum, hands gripping her shoulders and took the plunge. At that moment, everything was quite, the bustling sounds of her cheering class mates, the chirping of the birds, everything seemed to have been turned down, fading in the background and there was a moment of silence. Adrenaline rushed through her stomach and the feeling she experience was unfathomable. It was only her, in the cradle of nature’s wonders, gratitude seeped into her heart and mind. She was so happy to be alive, breathing and experiencing everything around. It was almost as if a new lease of life had rushed through her mind, body and soul.

There was a splash and her skin came in contact with the cool water. A few seconds under, the first instinct was kicking, fighting her way up. But the next second that stopped, her body relaxed and a smile made its way onto her face. Slowly and steadily, in a matter of a few moments she felt her body making its way to the surface. The warm rays of the sun hit her eyes, and she gasped a breathe of fresh air.

It’s really a wonderful world we live in, all we have to do is observe, absorb and appreciate.

[reflectionsofrealism]

The Queen Of Ruins & Rubble

A little girl was seen plodding down the streets of the neighborhood. She had shoulder length, jet-black hair, was clad in a pink- stripped dress, and adorned a wide smile on her face,

She was only about 6 years old, but the spirit within her was almost fearless; her dreams too big, aspirations too high. She was always ready to explore, find something new, multiple adventures into unchartered territory excited her the most.  

Finding her own ruin, had been an aspiration in her heart for many, many years and the day she actually got that chance, it was the happiest moment of her life, she couldn’t contain her emotions.

It was Sunday evening, the weekend had almost come to an end, the last few hours of doing nothing and then tomorrow school would start again. It’s not that she didn’t like going to school, ofcourse she did, but the weekends held a magical charm of freedom. She felt like a bird, one with no worries and just one goal, flying in any direction, exploration.

The sun had started its downward journey into its slumber, sky changing hues, a multiflorous array of beautiful colors, orange, pink, purple and glimpses of red. She could here the birds chirping, sitting atop the telephone lines in a row. She wondered why they were sitting in one place, when they had wings to take them anywhere they wished?

 And then it came into view, an old house.

For as long as she could remember, it had been locked up, an ‘Out of Bounds’ sign put up on its large wrought iron gate. She had longed to know what was inside, behind those high walls, but hadn’t any chance to see it for herself. Her mother had told her that there was once a house there. A beautiful sunny yellow house, vines adorning the high walls, a lush green garden with all kinds of plants, flowers and trees. There was even a back lawn with a small water pump, and an enormous terrace. She imagined how much fun it would have been living there. Flying kites all day, playing hide and seek.

But now, all that was left were remains of it. A few years ago, it had been broken down, no one knows why, but since then no a soul had dared to go in. It was now a barren land, pieces of the once homely structure scattered around like irrelevant dirt, mere construction material.

But this time she’d figured out a way in, there was a small wrought iron opening in her neighbors’ lawn, and she was determined to climb over.

When she finally lay her tiny feet down into the rubble, all the ache and pain of getting there seemed worth it. The soil had cracked, probably devoid of any water; the plants grew wildly, in all directions with no garden scissor to groom them. The vines on the walls of the plot were now grossly knotted and entangled with one another, almost forming a thick web. The place didn’t remotely resemble a house, but more a rocky mountain; the only thing that remained of the original description was the water pump. But it was only a visual structure, completely rusted and out of use.

A feeling of ecstasy rushed through the girl; she had finally found her ruin, a place that was her secret, her haven and safe space. She could pretend to be anything she wanted here. It was a new world for her to create, a blank canvas and she was the artist, the architect.

She spent the entire evening moving around, having a good look at the wondrous place, but then settled for one high boulder, and sat down looking at the sky, almost like a Queensitting atop her fortress.

Birds have wings to take them to any place, but some places make them feel like home, that’s why they probably keep coming back.