I am not in the general habit of reviewing movies and books, but every now and then, you come across a masterpiece (Yes, I’m back again). It is one of these that inspires me to write today. Sure, I have to prepare to leave for Chennai in a few days. Sure I have a poster to complete. Sure I have an SAT practice test reaching out with open arms. But some things are so much better expressed while still fresh in your head.
August Rush is a story of a musical prodigy, his musical development and very plainly, a chronicle of his search for his separated parents. Freddie Highmore, the young actor who played the boy, is by any account, a spectacular actor. I must say, I was agreeably stunned by the depth of the emotions he portrayed, and the skill with which he so brilliantly portrayed Evan Taylor/August Rush’s character. The movie most definitely struck a chord somewhere inside me. Apart from being a persuasive and utterly fascinating film, it had very well written and orchestrated music.
But I shall not delve into the movie and its features much further. I do not intend, in this post, to produce an extensive analysis, but to talk about the feeling it brought in me.
During the entire experience of watching August Rush, and now, only minutes since its close, I feel something: A rush I can’t explain. There was once a time when I called myself a musician by authority of the fact that I had a continued musical education. My understanding of music at a very deeply level constantly deepened, and I found myself maturing slowly in tune to the music. But in the years since I indefinitely shelved my musical education, I never very strongly felt that it is a sorry and pitiful event that, having worked long and hard for almost a decade, I gave up on music due to the inconvenience and lack of motivation.
But now, now I realise it. I realise how sorry and indeed, pitiful it is. With it comes the recognition that there are so so many other things that I left half-done and half-undone when I first left home, and have yet to even give it a thought. I remembering wondering, only two weeks ago, how my brother not only remained attached to his music, but grew in attachment to his music, over the years. I remember reading his blog entry about the same (here) and gaping, with a mixture of awe, wonder, and I must say, confusion. The look in his eyes and the barely restrained excitement in his voice when he spoke of Chopin’s Nocturnes, Bach’s Minuets, Beethoven’s Rhapsodies, and Mozart’s Operas; the passion communicated by the expression on his face each time he showed me his latest composition.
That is exactly what I want. Thinking about it, I feel as if that passion lies within me too. After all, we shared the majority of our musical education. But that passion, I feel, refuses to manifest itself in any way. I feel like that passion, that music that had run in my veins, had been suppressed, put out of my consciousness. I feel like it still lies somewhere within me, but hiding behind a wall; a wall that grew thicker and stronger each year for the last three years.
At this point, I realise that as my last post talked about the biggest advantage of my three years spent away from home, so this speaks of what just might be, the worst disadvantage. Amidst many other resolutions, I pose yet another one to myself, as a promise as well as a challenge. I resolve to rebuild my passion for music and perhaps, to pick up an instrument upon finishing my high school diploma.
But for now, I need to get my act together: the academic one.
Adiós.
PS: Sarah, can you get back soon? It’s been more than 2 weeks! :(
PPS: Sid, Listen to “Bari Improv” , “Ritual Dance” and “Duelling Guitars” from the August Rush Soundtrack here. You’ll like them.
“Bari Improv” (1:37)
“Ritual Dance” (1:36)
“Duelling Guitars” (2:37)


