these are some of the posts i'm still struggling with .... hopefully i'll have them pinned here as soon as your average next-time ....
10 things to remember while "home alone"
the long and short of it
october sky
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
the "super" of it....
giving life a fighting chance ...
"SUPERMAN is a SUPERhero..... but CLARK KENT is a superMAN ......"
it took me sometime to come up with this one .... but i guess it pretty much sums up the answers i arrived at, while trying to solve a couple of of old questions ....
"SUPERMAN is a SUPERhero..... but CLARK KENT is a superMAN ......"
it took me sometime to come up with this one .... but i guess it pretty much sums up the answers i arrived at, while trying to solve a couple of of old questions ....
Friday, October 24, 2008
sum space in a crowded place ...
For the last month or so i had been struggling to weave my words and thoughts into a strong knit to cover my ego ... but every time I took to it, it somehow never allowed me my right to expression ... but then today something happened ... I found exactly what I was looking for, but in the remotest corners of the literature I possess... even though I know nothing of this author, I couldn't help but relate to his amazing frankness.... I hope this is more or less what i would have done to this topic.....
We are the subjects of an experiment which is not a little interesting to me. Can we not do without the society of our gossips a little while under these circumstances -- have our own thoughts to cheer us?
Confucius says truly, “Virtue does not remain as an abandoned orphan; it must of necessity have neighbours.”
With thinking we may be beside ourselves in a sane sense. By a conscious effort of the mind, we can stand aloof from the actions and their consequences; and all things, good or bad, go by us like a torrent. We are not wholly involved in Nature in nature, I may be affected by a theatrical exhibition; on the other hand, I may not be affected by an actual event which appears to concern me much more. I only know myself because as a human entity; the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and affections: and am sensible of certain doubleness by which I can stand as remote from myself as from another. However intense my experience , I am conscious of the presence and criticism of a part of me , but a spectator, sharing no experience, but taking note of it, and that is no more I than that is you. When the play, it may be the tragedy, of life is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, so far as he was concerned. This doubleness may easily make us poor neighbours and good friends sometimes.
I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the company that was so companionable as solitude. A man thinking or working is always alone; let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really diligent student in one of the overcrowded hives of Cambridge College, is as a solitary as a dervish in the desert. The farmer can work alone in the woods all day, hoeing or chopping, and not feel lonesome, because he is employed; but when he comes at night he cannot sit down in a room alone, at the mercy of his thoughts, but must be where he can “see the folks,” and recreate, and, as he thinks, remunerate himself for the day’s solitude.
Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We have had to agree on a certain set rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications. It would be better if there were but one inhabitant to a square mile, as where I live. The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch him.
I have a great deal of company in my house; especially in the morning, when nobody calls. Let me suggest a few comparisons, that some one may convey an idea of my situation. What company has that lonely lake, I pray? And yet it has not the blue devils, but the blue angels in it, in the azure tint of its waters. The sun is alone, except in thick weather, when there sometimes appears to be two, but one is a mock sun. God is alone – but the devil, he is far from being alone; he sees a great deal of company; he is legion. I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or a sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely that the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the North Star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.
The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature – of sun and wind and rain, of summer and winter – such health, such cheer they afford forever! And such sympathy they ever with our race, that Nature would be affected: What is the pill which will keep us well, serene, contended? Not my or thy grandfather’s , but our great-grandmother Nature’s universal , vegetable, botanic medicines, by which she has kept herself young always , outlived so many old Parrs in her day. For my panacea, instead of one of those quick vials of a mixture dipped from Acheron and the Dead Sea, let me have a draught of undiluted morning air. Morning air! If men will not drink of this at the fountainhead of the day, then, we must even bottle up some and sell it I the shops!
This is not an original creation. It has been taken from a RC exercise Test Booklet (T.I.M.E).
We are the subjects of an experiment which is not a little interesting to me. Can we not do without the society of our gossips a little while under these circumstances -- have our own thoughts to cheer us?
Confucius says truly, “Virtue does not remain as an abandoned orphan; it must of necessity have neighbours.”
With thinking we may be beside ourselves in a sane sense. By a conscious effort of the mind, we can stand aloof from the actions and their consequences; and all things, good or bad, go by us like a torrent. We are not wholly involved in Nature in nature, I may be affected by a theatrical exhibition; on the other hand, I may not be affected by an actual event which appears to concern me much more. I only know myself because as a human entity; the scene, so to speak, of thoughts and affections: and am sensible of certain doubleness by which I can stand as remote from myself as from another. However intense my experience , I am conscious of the presence and criticism of a part of me , but a spectator, sharing no experience, but taking note of it, and that is no more I than that is you. When the play, it may be the tragedy, of life is over, the spectator goes his way. It was a kind of fiction, a work of the imagination only, so far as he was concerned. This doubleness may easily make us poor neighbours and good friends sometimes.
I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the company that was so companionable as solitude. A man thinking or working is always alone; let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really diligent student in one of the overcrowded hives of Cambridge College, is as a solitary as a dervish in the desert. The farmer can work alone in the woods all day, hoeing or chopping, and not feel lonesome, because he is employed; but when he comes at night he cannot sit down in a room alone, at the mercy of his thoughts, but must be where he can “see the folks,” and recreate, and, as he thinks, remunerate himself for the day’s solitude.
Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We have had to agree on a certain set rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications. It would be better if there were but one inhabitant to a square mile, as where I live. The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch him.
I have a great deal of company in my house; especially in the morning, when nobody calls. Let me suggest a few comparisons, that some one may convey an idea of my situation. What company has that lonely lake, I pray? And yet it has not the blue devils, but the blue angels in it, in the azure tint of its waters. The sun is alone, except in thick weather, when there sometimes appears to be two, but one is a mock sun. God is alone – but the devil, he is far from being alone; he sees a great deal of company; he is legion. I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or a sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a bumblebee. I am no more lonely that the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the North Star, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.
The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature – of sun and wind and rain, of summer and winter – such health, such cheer they afford forever! And such sympathy they ever with our race, that Nature would be affected: What is the pill which will keep us well, serene, contended? Not my or thy grandfather’s , but our great-grandmother Nature’s universal , vegetable, botanic medicines, by which she has kept herself young always , outlived so many old Parrs in her day. For my panacea, instead of one of those quick vials of a mixture dipped from Acheron and the Dead Sea, let me have a draught of undiluted morning air. Morning air! If men will not drink of this at the fountainhead of the day, then, we must even bottle up some and sell it I the shops!
This is not an original creation. It has been taken from a RC exercise Test Booklet (T.I.M.E).
Saturday, September 6, 2008
abstract
“I think, therefore I write” … or whatever was said….
Dirty shoes blissfully squelched the puddles, like they belonged to the wayward shchoolboy.
The fibre’s misty translucency sometimes blocked the sepia hue of the street lamps, but the eyes weren’t bothered.
the Rain drenched me, one drop at a time. Sweet they were, Sweet they felt.
What had started off as a rusty day had turned ugly and was now turning beautiful, finally.
The 3 lane street was deserted, but not empty, flooded every now and then by the halogen lamps of retiring motor vehicles.
The RJ had invited a local musician who covered an acoustic version of the Garry Moore classic to perfection, to my contentment.
When I looked up the rain drops seemed like darts, harmless though, it felt out of the world… and to think of it that I had never looked up when it was raining….
A metamorphosis was now complete; the ugly caterpillar had successfully changed into a brilliant butterfly.
A cancelled seminar and a stolen 100 bucks now seemed too trivial to mark it as a rather ordinary day.
I keep telling people, a walk in the rains is “good”.
I reinstate, “it’s awe-inspiring! “.
p.s. for the apprehensive lot – before u wet yourself, keep a few paracetamol tabs and an extra pair of ear-phones handy and you shall be just fine. If not, then watch the Gene Kelly musical, it’s almost the same feeling.
For the rest of the story, untold, i leave it to the reader to try my favourite word .... "imagine".
Dirty shoes blissfully squelched the puddles, like they belonged to the wayward shchoolboy.
The fibre’s misty translucency sometimes blocked the sepia hue of the street lamps, but the eyes weren’t bothered.
the Rain drenched me, one drop at a time. Sweet they were, Sweet they felt.
What had started off as a rusty day had turned ugly and was now turning beautiful, finally.
The 3 lane street was deserted, but not empty, flooded every now and then by the halogen lamps of retiring motor vehicles.
The RJ had invited a local musician who covered an acoustic version of the Garry Moore classic to perfection, to my contentment.
When I looked up the rain drops seemed like darts, harmless though, it felt out of the world… and to think of it that I had never looked up when it was raining….
A metamorphosis was now complete; the ugly caterpillar had successfully changed into a brilliant butterfly.
A cancelled seminar and a stolen 100 bucks now seemed too trivial to mark it as a rather ordinary day.
I keep telling people, a walk in the rains is “good”.
I reinstate, “it’s awe-inspiring! “.
p.s. for the apprehensive lot – before u wet yourself, keep a few paracetamol tabs and an extra pair of ear-phones handy and you shall be just fine. If not, then watch the Gene Kelly musical, it’s almost the same feeling.
For the rest of the story, untold, i leave it to the reader to try my favourite word .... "imagine".
Friday, August 8, 2008
fragments from a fragile memory
It was not an apple tree! It was a guava tree.
Prologue:
“ life is not the number of breaths that you take……
it is the number of moments that take your breath away…..” Hitch (2005)
Not all trees live that long. There were others in the “bagan”, but this one was the special one. Just right to the main door, all of it stood- the white bark, the green leaves, the short but stout branches and my favourite “p’yaras”!
We just loved the tree! We never realized that it was a part of our group, a part of every mischief, every cricket match, every shade, every swing, every climb…….
Every summer vacation we would spend at least a week at Mamar-Bari. And the four of us would have a “blast”. Tree, Pintu, me and Chiku (in order of our ages). I’d bat, Pintu would bowl, Chiku would field and the Tree would be as well as keep the wicket(s)! Later we would sit by the shade and discuss new pranks.
The early nineties are a bit hazy, but I remember some of the “more-fun” things we used to do. We would make paper boats and race them in the ditch and sometimes we would make our own little swing. We would sling a rope over the longest branch and tie it up, then put a cushion on it and keep swinging the rest of the day. The odd fall or the little extra time spent with it would result in a sore bum in the evening. I didn’t mind though , because it was so much fun doing it all over again the next day.
Then came the “boys will be boys” phase!
We developed a special liking for these “cowboy” stunts, in the mid-nineties. We used to pretend that we were rangers or something… and we used to roam around all afternoon in the “bagan” in search of animals. Goats that would accidentally wander into the wrong side of the fence would make for an easy prey. The three of us would jump on the poor animal, capture it, and tie it up to the tree, and try to feed it leaves and grass… then some kite or an ice-cream “thella” would catch our fancy and we would forget all about the poor animal! Then in the evening the worried owner would pass by looking around for the animal and “by chance” locate it in our garden, tied up neatly to the Tree. That would ensure that we all had a quieter evening and suspended “Cowboy-stunts” for at least a couple of days.
I was just over nine when I learnt how to climb a tree! And witness to this no-minor-feat was my favourite Tree. It was June and the fruits were eatable. Something told me I was ready….. First I held on to the main bark, then the lower side branch and then a quick parallel bar thrust and I was perched right up there. The sight of my favourite fruits hanging just 10 centimeters from my eyes was “super cool”! Even though, I was still some 8845 meters downhill, I certainly do have an idea how Hillary must have felt after conquering The Everest.
Long before I was told that Asbestos was carcinogenic, I knew it was used for making roofs. We had an asbestos roof at “mamar-bari”. The important thing was, that the Tree was so placed, that if one could climb on to the third level of branches he could easily get on top of the roof. What began as another one of those daredevil stunts, soon turned into our favourite hobby. Having access to the roof now meant we never lost balls that were hit that extra hard, or kites that crash landed on it during a duel, and now we could sink our teeth into the bigger “p’yaras”. The “dham-dhum” noises would drive Ma and Mami out of their wits as they would run out of the house only to find the three of us dancing on top of the roof….
Then on one visit, we saw a bald Tree… we were told it had died. Though the leaves were now gone, it stood almost in the same manner that we were so used to seeing, and in the SAME place too, not the whole of it, just the bark and the branches. And now it was out of the group.
“We grew up this fast? “, was the only thing that came to my mind when I took “a walk down memory lane” via some of the old photographs marking our growing-up years……
Epilogue:
“If it was growing up that I was more concerned about; I could have been more patient”, some wise guy had to say.
“Apples are the costlier fruits, still!! “, prompt came the reply.
I still wonder what happened to the bark.
Here is how some decent guy thought of IT in a similar way.
Meri Kahani ( Atif Aslam )
Jhula jhulaye, yeh panghatnadiya kinare,
yeh aangannindya to aana,
hawa ke sangmujh ko bhe tu dikhana apne rang,
suno mere dil jani yeh kahani mani
ek din mere sang yeh jahan tha
mera kuch aur tera bhi arman
jane dil main kya kuch ya basa tha
yeh meri hai kahani
yeh meri kahani.....
Prologue:
“ life is not the number of breaths that you take……
it is the number of moments that take your breath away…..” Hitch (2005)
Not all trees live that long. There were others in the “bagan”, but this one was the special one. Just right to the main door, all of it stood- the white bark, the green leaves, the short but stout branches and my favourite “p’yaras”!
We just loved the tree! We never realized that it was a part of our group, a part of every mischief, every cricket match, every shade, every swing, every climb…….
Every summer vacation we would spend at least a week at Mamar-Bari. And the four of us would have a “blast”. Tree, Pintu, me and Chiku (in order of our ages). I’d bat, Pintu would bowl, Chiku would field and the Tree would be as well as keep the wicket(s)! Later we would sit by the shade and discuss new pranks.
The early nineties are a bit hazy, but I remember some of the “more-fun” things we used to do. We would make paper boats and race them in the ditch and sometimes we would make our own little swing. We would sling a rope over the longest branch and tie it up, then put a cushion on it and keep swinging the rest of the day. The odd fall or the little extra time spent with it would result in a sore bum in the evening. I didn’t mind though , because it was so much fun doing it all over again the next day.
Then came the “boys will be boys” phase!
We developed a special liking for these “cowboy” stunts, in the mid-nineties. We used to pretend that we were rangers or something… and we used to roam around all afternoon in the “bagan” in search of animals. Goats that would accidentally wander into the wrong side of the fence would make for an easy prey. The three of us would jump on the poor animal, capture it, and tie it up to the tree, and try to feed it leaves and grass… then some kite or an ice-cream “thella” would catch our fancy and we would forget all about the poor animal! Then in the evening the worried owner would pass by looking around for the animal and “by chance” locate it in our garden, tied up neatly to the Tree. That would ensure that we all had a quieter evening and suspended “Cowboy-stunts” for at least a couple of days.
I was just over nine when I learnt how to climb a tree! And witness to this no-minor-feat was my favourite Tree. It was June and the fruits were eatable. Something told me I was ready….. First I held on to the main bark, then the lower side branch and then a quick parallel bar thrust and I was perched right up there. The sight of my favourite fruits hanging just 10 centimeters from my eyes was “super cool”! Even though, I was still some 8845 meters downhill, I certainly do have an idea how Hillary must have felt after conquering The Everest.
Long before I was told that Asbestos was carcinogenic, I knew it was used for making roofs. We had an asbestos roof at “mamar-bari”. The important thing was, that the Tree was so placed, that if one could climb on to the third level of branches he could easily get on top of the roof. What began as another one of those daredevil stunts, soon turned into our favourite hobby. Having access to the roof now meant we never lost balls that were hit that extra hard, or kites that crash landed on it during a duel, and now we could sink our teeth into the bigger “p’yaras”. The “dham-dhum” noises would drive Ma and Mami out of their wits as they would run out of the house only to find the three of us dancing on top of the roof….
Then on one visit, we saw a bald Tree… we were told it had died. Though the leaves were now gone, it stood almost in the same manner that we were so used to seeing, and in the SAME place too, not the whole of it, just the bark and the branches. And now it was out of the group.
“We grew up this fast? “, was the only thing that came to my mind when I took “a walk down memory lane” via some of the old photographs marking our growing-up years……
Epilogue:
“If it was growing up that I was more concerned about; I could have been more patient”, some wise guy had to say.
“Apples are the costlier fruits, still!! “, prompt came the reply.
I still wonder what happened to the bark.
Here is how some decent guy thought of IT in a similar way.
Meri Kahani ( Atif Aslam )
Jhula jhulaye, yeh panghatnadiya kinare,
yeh aangannindya to aana,
hawa ke sangmujh ko bhe tu dikhana apne rang,
suno mere dil jani yeh kahani mani
ek din mere sang yeh jahan tha
mera kuch aur tera bhi arman
jane dil main kya kuch ya basa tha
yeh meri hai kahani
yeh meri kahani.....
Friday, July 11, 2008
four years of fiction summed into one evening of facts
Prologue:
They say, never argue with idiots, because they’ll first bring you down to their level of intellect and then defeat you with sheer experience!!! You lose!
The day had been tiring, to say the least. For the last 6 hours I had been busy developing a rather intimate relationship with the toilet, similar to the one that the loose motion had developed with my sphincter muscles. When the number of tiles on the bathroom walls, on my seventh trip, almost matched that of the previous count I finally insisted on staying back while the rest of us folks took a tour of the northern fringes of one of the most beautifully exotic places that there can be, Goa.
The rest of the morning was busy but boring. By half past four I had had a bland lunch, completed the local bulletin, taken a nap and more importantly the now-so-important muscles had started holding again. So I WAS prepared to spend the evening sitting inside watching television, in a place such as this…..
By the time I had put on some clothes, popped in another pill, called my folks and vacated the apartment it was quarter to five.
Luckily the apartment that housed us was only half a km from the nearest beach, Miramar. In another ten minutes I had left the pavement and entered the beach premises. About a km of soft sand now separated me from the waters. The first thing that struck me tonight was there were a lot more people around than I had seen on my previous visits. I continued walking at a slow pace; killing the distance one step at a time….every beach looks its best at dusk and Miramar didn't disappoint .
By the time I had put on some clothes, popped in another pill, called my folks and vacated the apartment it was quarter to five.
Luckily the apartment that housed us was only half a km from the nearest beach, Miramar. In another ten minutes I had left the pavement and entered the beach premises. About a km of soft sand now separated me from the waters. The first thing that struck me tonight was there were a lot more people around than I had seen on my previous visits. I continued walking at a slow pace; killing the distance one step at a time….every beach looks its best at dusk and Miramar didn't disappoint .
The light breeze got stronger with ever step and the light thinned by a fraction. Unlike the other overtly overcrowded beaches, the perennially near-empty Miramar somehow always held its own to me. That is one of the reasons why I rate it my all time favourite. Finally I chose my spot some five or six meters from the water and settled down.
The beach calms me down, every one of them…..They sooth the frayed nerves and always give me some new ideas to ponder over and take back home with me, every one of them……I had to take out the ice-cream before it melted on its own, before I was gone too far to remember. I felt like a spoilt child …..
A lone trawler (perhaps returning after the days work) was all that looked solid in the never ending stretch ahead. Just ahead of me was a young couple trying to break the ice between their child and the sea. By the look of it I could judge that neither had met the other before. There was fear on the child’s face but the little waves remained patient and enduring. As the little man struggled to keep dry as the father tried to immerse its little legs in the little waves, one such little wave touched my feet …..as if to wake me up from the trance. The waters had advanced while I had been lost.
When the trawler finally cut the setting Sun’s path I could feel goose bumps intercepting my insanity. Unadulterated emotions are exceptionally evanescent!
By the time my gaze strayed back to the nuclear unit, the child was on his own. It now stood like a Colossus, resting the little hands on the little waist, the little waves flowing peacefully under the little legs as the proud parents stood at an arms length, beaming. The ice-cream stick was now completely dry; I buried it in the sand.
I found myself staring at nothing in the distant nothingness….. Whenever this happens, it’s a signal that the job is done and my time is up…. time to go. I got back on my feet; my trousers were now wet at the back, the sand would remain adhered to it for a while. The walk back would be longer.
When I turned my head, one last time, I couldn’t locate the trawler. It was gone, so were most of the people.
Epilogue:
I almost always wonder … are they right ?
A lone trawler (perhaps returning after the days work) was all that looked solid in the never ending stretch ahead. Just ahead of me was a young couple trying to break the ice between their child and the sea. By the look of it I could judge that neither had met the other before. There was fear on the child’s face but the little waves remained patient and enduring. As the little man struggled to keep dry as the father tried to immerse its little legs in the little waves, one such little wave touched my feet …..as if to wake me up from the trance. The waters had advanced while I had been lost.
When the trawler finally cut the setting Sun’s path I could feel goose bumps intercepting my insanity. Unadulterated emotions are exceptionally evanescent!
By the time my gaze strayed back to the nuclear unit, the child was on his own. It now stood like a Colossus, resting the little hands on the little waist, the little waves flowing peacefully under the little legs as the proud parents stood at an arms length, beaming. The ice-cream stick was now completely dry; I buried it in the sand.
I found myself staring at nothing in the distant nothingness….. Whenever this happens, it’s a signal that the job is done and my time is up…. time to go. I got back on my feet; my trousers were now wet at the back, the sand would remain adhered to it for a while. The walk back would be longer.
When I turned my head, one last time, I couldn’t locate the trawler. It was gone, so were most of the people.
Epilogue:
I almost always wonder … are they right ?
just one more year remains... hope i find out before that......
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Pretty Neat , huh ?
I am boring by default .Sometimes less boring, but boring nonetheless. And I know it. So I suffer from this tremendous urge to do something out of the blue thing every now and then to break the monotony. I always keep finding new ways to vent out all this pressurized energy in a little this way or that. Sometimes when the favourite comic strip or the occasional football match isn’t enough I tend to give-in and let myself be tamed to this urge. This usually results in amazing disasters and embarrassments prompting me to resolve “I’ll NEVER do anything like this EVER again”, and everytime I do, I end up bettering the previous one!
Last night I thought about all the crazy things I have done and had a good laugh. Then I thought people should know about some of them. Here are three of them that I can share; the others I assure are too off the wall to be included in a public domain.
The craziest things that I have done ( in order )
1 walking semi-nude on the beach
2 using the toilet of an express while travelling by a local
3 writing a love letter to a girl I didn’t know
1. Walking semi-nude on the beach
Before THIS happened, I had never been to a place that was entirely devoid of human presence. Yes! Such a place does exist , and not very far away . It’s this place they called Taal -sari , and its a half hour ride on a motorized-rickshaw form Digha.
It was five in the evening when we reached the place and we had an hour before the dusk morphed itself into darkness . As the sun gently lessened its intensity the beach looked stunning form where we stood. All we had to do now to get to it was CROSS a river! Yes we were definitely on the wrong side. It was well past the (peak) time to find a boat to ferry us down to the other side. There was another way though ….. in the next couple of minutes we had taken off our clothes and started crossing it on foot ! I wonder what a bunch of crazy morons would have looked like crossing a chest-deep river with hands held up high clutching dry clothes and other valuables (namely wallets, phones, fags and matchboxes).
When we were finally on the other side we realized if we had done one thing right in the entire day ….. it had to be this . The sand was a shade softer and lighter and the waters were different ( like the grass is always greener on the other side ). It was the best beach any of us had seen , ever .The next thing we knew we had tossed our clothes, wallets ,shoes ,caps , and shades (the phones,we hid carefully inside our trouser pockets before we flung them) and we had started running for the waters … I have run 100 mt. sprints before but this one was special , very special … I knew I would be remembering this for the rest of my life .. those 12 seconds or so …. The air was crisp but the water was cold. We couldn’t have lasted longer in the water. Only human! Aren’t we ?
We didn’t have towels with us …so we had to let the water dry itself off ourselves; we waited. In the mean time Mari had discovered this bunch of Red Crabs.... we chased them for a while and even caught one ….and of course we let it go after that, we couldn’t have eaten it for sure . Dusk came almost uninvited, we had to go back. We crossed on to the other side but this time it was only half as fun. It was a day we all agreed not to forget…..
A week later I got to know that a photograph had been leaked in college, it had a boy on a beach ….
2. How to travel Local but use an Express' Toilet
Whatever has to happen has to happen, but it is this impeccable timing with which this "whatever" hits , that upsets me !
Asansol is a good 220 kms from Howrah and it takes approximately 5 hours to cover the distance in a local train. Locals aren’t the preferred trains for most, they are inconvenient. One has to break the journey into two parts. Asansol to Burdwan ( 90 odd kms) and then boarding a Burdwan to Howrah connecting local.
It’s rarely that we choose to commute by a local that too in the wee hours of the morning. But we did, that day. When the train finally started moving we had bleary eyes , empty stomachs, full intestines and no topics to keep us from sleeping. These trains … they jerk and oscillate and create a to and fro motion which is sometimes undesirable … half way into the first of the two hours I knew this journey would be a little different … a little difficult perhaps. This was the hard way of discovering that when Nature calls … it calls …and IT is pretty good at calling.
So why talk about this stuff when you can help yourself to the toilet.... Yup ! That’s the problem…. no toilet onboard a Local ….. actually just a urinal would have done fine in my case , but there I was stranded on a train with half a dozen sleeping friends and no toilet!
So there were two options. One was to get down at the next station , use the toilet, and take another train .The other was to hold up for another hour or so till we reached Burdwan and then use the toilet there without missing the train and company.
By the time our train entered Burdwan , I had 6 excited friends cheering me on to the finishing line and my eyes out of their sockets. But as soon as we got down on the platform a creaky voice from inside the loudspeaker declared that the Connecting train would be leaving from the next platform in another two minutes ! Double dilemma … I followed them to the train with my eyes desperately scanning the place for a loo . When I found none I did what i would describe as CRAZY even by my standards .
Even as the others boarded the Local I darted for the Express parked on the other side of the platform, entered it , found the toilet, unlocked the door, locked the door and helped myself. Halfway through, the creases on my forehead had just started to un-pleat when suddenly the train broke into a series of jolts and jerks. It had started moving! What timing! Impeccable ….. by the time I could put myself back in order for another two hour hold-up the train had picked up considerable speed and I didn’t even know which way it was headed !
Some 30-35 metres of the platform was left , by the time I finally hung myself off the door. No I’m not talking about a time and distance problem here ….. just that if I decided NOT to jump I would be reaching Durgapur in about an hour, without a ticket , belongings , money or ID ( which would be bad-luck even by my standards ) . I jumped and somehow made it without scratches or fractures .Yes I caught the Local too. Its all about TIMING, they say.
So its not entirely surprising that after this incident my system just wont accept water on a day I am traveling.
3. Writing a love letter to a girl I didn’t even know
This one has got to be the craziest yet. Oh God ! What was I thinking?
Come August , with the arrival of the new batch , its open-season at college . All guys remain specially active during this time. Even the King of Lazeland would brush off the snow and polish his skies! This activity is mainly due to the fresh batch that has just come in. The boys are taken for a ride and the girls are asked questions. This is the time when a popular three syllabled sentence is used rather indiscreetly. I got entangled in one such story ……
The guy just couldn’t muster enough courage to speak out his mind and the girl in question refused to pick up the subtle hints. So the boy decides to write her a letter conveying his feelings. But since he is not too sure about writing one himself, someone else must do it.
If you ask me why I agreed to write a letter ..sorry a love letter, on behalf of a friend ,that too to a girl I hadn’t even seen , I would give you a shrug and said “dunno” any day .
I’m not a romantic , neither did I have prior experience with this stuff so as unexpected it took me two days to actually come up with something that resembled half prose , a quarter of poetry and a quarter of philosophy all somehow fitted into a framework of an informal letter’s format ….. I had doubts of its working but that’s the best I could do , both to the letter and to the friend .
The letter was copied by someone else and finally delivered by another someone else. ( I shall be least surprised if the next Ian Fleming is an Indian) ….. Anyways it didn’t work out for the poor guy and he held me partly responsible …. I only got to see the girl in another two weeks or so , about the same time that I got news that this “poor guy” was now happy with another girl who ( thankfully) I didn’t have to write to.
Well just ahead of another open-season I found out that some people had found out…. That did make me feel a little awkward but then what the hell … its not everyday that you get to write a love letter, that too on behalf of another guy , to a girl you haven’t seen … I doubt if I can better this one …
Last night I thought about all the crazy things I have done and had a good laugh. Then I thought people should know about some of them. Here are three of them that I can share; the others I assure are too off the wall to be included in a public domain.
The craziest things that I have done ( in order )
1 walking semi-nude on the beach
2 using the toilet of an express while travelling by a local
3 writing a love letter to a girl I didn’t know
1. Walking semi-nude on the beach
Before THIS happened, I had never been to a place that was entirely devoid of human presence. Yes! Such a place does exist , and not very far away . It’s this place they called Taal -sari , and its a half hour ride on a motorized-rickshaw form Digha.
It was five in the evening when we reached the place and we had an hour before the dusk morphed itself into darkness . As the sun gently lessened its intensity the beach looked stunning form where we stood. All we had to do now to get to it was CROSS a river! Yes we were definitely on the wrong side. It was well past the (peak) time to find a boat to ferry us down to the other side. There was another way though ….. in the next couple of minutes we had taken off our clothes and started crossing it on foot ! I wonder what a bunch of crazy morons would have looked like crossing a chest-deep river with hands held up high clutching dry clothes and other valuables (namely wallets, phones, fags and matchboxes).
When we were finally on the other side we realized if we had done one thing right in the entire day ….. it had to be this . The sand was a shade softer and lighter and the waters were different ( like the grass is always greener on the other side ). It was the best beach any of us had seen , ever .The next thing we knew we had tossed our clothes, wallets ,shoes ,caps , and shades (the phones,we hid carefully inside our trouser pockets before we flung them) and we had started running for the waters … I have run 100 mt. sprints before but this one was special , very special … I knew I would be remembering this for the rest of my life .. those 12 seconds or so …. The air was crisp but the water was cold. We couldn’t have lasted longer in the water. Only human! Aren’t we ?
We didn’t have towels with us …so we had to let the water dry itself off ourselves; we waited. In the mean time Mari had discovered this bunch of Red Crabs.... we chased them for a while and even caught one ….and of course we let it go after that, we couldn’t have eaten it for sure . Dusk came almost uninvited, we had to go back. We crossed on to the other side but this time it was only half as fun. It was a day we all agreed not to forget…..
A week later I got to know that a photograph had been leaked in college, it had a boy on a beach ….
2. How to travel Local but use an Express' Toilet
Whatever has to happen has to happen, but it is this impeccable timing with which this "whatever" hits , that upsets me !
Asansol is a good 220 kms from Howrah and it takes approximately 5 hours to cover the distance in a local train. Locals aren’t the preferred trains for most, they are inconvenient. One has to break the journey into two parts. Asansol to Burdwan ( 90 odd kms) and then boarding a Burdwan to Howrah connecting local.
It’s rarely that we choose to commute by a local that too in the wee hours of the morning. But we did, that day. When the train finally started moving we had bleary eyes , empty stomachs, full intestines and no topics to keep us from sleeping. These trains … they jerk and oscillate and create a to and fro motion which is sometimes undesirable … half way into the first of the two hours I knew this journey would be a little different … a little difficult perhaps. This was the hard way of discovering that when Nature calls … it calls …and IT is pretty good at calling.
So why talk about this stuff when you can help yourself to the toilet.... Yup ! That’s the problem…. no toilet onboard a Local ….. actually just a urinal would have done fine in my case , but there I was stranded on a train with half a dozen sleeping friends and no toilet!
So there were two options. One was to get down at the next station , use the toilet, and take another train .The other was to hold up for another hour or so till we reached Burdwan and then use the toilet there without missing the train and company.
By the time our train entered Burdwan , I had 6 excited friends cheering me on to the finishing line and my eyes out of their sockets. But as soon as we got down on the platform a creaky voice from inside the loudspeaker declared that the Connecting train would be leaving from the next platform in another two minutes ! Double dilemma … I followed them to the train with my eyes desperately scanning the place for a loo . When I found none I did what i would describe as CRAZY even by my standards .
Even as the others boarded the Local I darted for the Express parked on the other side of the platform, entered it , found the toilet, unlocked the door, locked the door and helped myself. Halfway through, the creases on my forehead had just started to un-pleat when suddenly the train broke into a series of jolts and jerks. It had started moving! What timing! Impeccable ….. by the time I could put myself back in order for another two hour hold-up the train had picked up considerable speed and I didn’t even know which way it was headed !
Some 30-35 metres of the platform was left , by the time I finally hung myself off the door. No I’m not talking about a time and distance problem here ….. just that if I decided NOT to jump I would be reaching Durgapur in about an hour, without a ticket , belongings , money or ID ( which would be bad-luck even by my standards ) . I jumped and somehow made it without scratches or fractures .Yes I caught the Local too. Its all about TIMING, they say.
So its not entirely surprising that after this incident my system just wont accept water on a day I am traveling.
3. Writing a love letter to a girl I didn’t even know
This one has got to be the craziest yet. Oh God ! What was I thinking?
Come August , with the arrival of the new batch , its open-season at college . All guys remain specially active during this time. Even the King of Lazeland would brush off the snow and polish his skies! This activity is mainly due to the fresh batch that has just come in. The boys are taken for a ride and the girls are asked questions. This is the time when a popular three syllabled sentence is used rather indiscreetly. I got entangled in one such story ……
The guy just couldn’t muster enough courage to speak out his mind and the girl in question refused to pick up the subtle hints. So the boy decides to write her a letter conveying his feelings. But since he is not too sure about writing one himself, someone else must do it.
If you ask me why I agreed to write a letter ..sorry a love letter, on behalf of a friend ,that too to a girl I hadn’t even seen , I would give you a shrug and said “dunno” any day .
I’m not a romantic , neither did I have prior experience with this stuff so as unexpected it took me two days to actually come up with something that resembled half prose , a quarter of poetry and a quarter of philosophy all somehow fitted into a framework of an informal letter’s format ….. I had doubts of its working but that’s the best I could do , both to the letter and to the friend .
The letter was copied by someone else and finally delivered by another someone else. ( I shall be least surprised if the next Ian Fleming is an Indian) ….. Anyways it didn’t work out for the poor guy and he held me partly responsible …. I only got to see the girl in another two weeks or so , about the same time that I got news that this “poor guy” was now happy with another girl who ( thankfully) I didn’t have to write to.
Well just ahead of another open-season I found out that some people had found out…. That did make me feel a little awkward but then what the hell … its not everyday that you get to write a love letter, that too on behalf of another guy , to a girl you haven’t seen … I doubt if I can better this one …
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Through The Looking Glass
It’s nearly been seven years since I put on my first pair of glasses. I was pretty excited when I chose the brown shellac frame from among the twenty odd designs that the dealer showed us. In another two days I had the final thing in my hands. I put them on and life changed, forever!
For the first couple of days it was pretty cool … everywhere I went, everyone noticed change …. I personally thought I looked better wearing them … They were more like a fashion accessory. I took them off every now and then to clean the lenses and as directed, handled it with care. By the third day or so I had started having headaches whenever I had them on for more than two hours at a time. And by the end of the first week I’d grown tired them. But wearing them meant that now I could now make out the digits on the wall calendar from the other end of the room and my nightmares of failing to read the bus number had stopped haunting me. But with this new corrected vision came some not so pleasant experiences. Little involuntary chores now seemed frustratingly difficult ... every now and then I would find myself washing my face without having removed them ,and misplacing them every now and then … and later to find them in odd places like inside the wardrobe or inside the washbasin ….. I finally broke them halfway through the third week … I had put them inside the pockets of my track-pants and had just bent down to pick up the ball when I heard a noise that I know only too well by now …….
Since then I have seen quite a lot of this world , quietly literally, through the glasses of course. I have had a lot adventures and misadventures with them and while wearing them… broken them , had them mended and then broken them again … I love them so much that I never take them off even during a football match and still have eyes unscathed …and I still find brand new ways to have them broken ….
At the end of the day when I finally take them off to call it a night , I know they would be the first thing I’d LOOK around for helplessly , come the following morning … Cant imagine what I would do without them … wouldn't be writing this blog perhaps ….
For the first couple of days it was pretty cool … everywhere I went, everyone noticed change …. I personally thought I looked better wearing them … They were more like a fashion accessory. I took them off every now and then to clean the lenses and as directed, handled it with care. By the third day or so I had started having headaches whenever I had them on for more than two hours at a time. And by the end of the first week I’d grown tired them. But wearing them meant that now I could now make out the digits on the wall calendar from the other end of the room and my nightmares of failing to read the bus number had stopped haunting me. But with this new corrected vision came some not so pleasant experiences. Little involuntary chores now seemed frustratingly difficult ... every now and then I would find myself washing my face without having removed them ,and misplacing them every now and then … and later to find them in odd places like inside the wardrobe or inside the washbasin ….. I finally broke them halfway through the third week … I had put them inside the pockets of my track-pants and had just bent down to pick up the ball when I heard a noise that I know only too well by now …….
Since then I have seen quite a lot of this world , quietly literally, through the glasses of course. I have had a lot adventures and misadventures with them and while wearing them… broken them , had them mended and then broken them again … I love them so much that I never take them off even during a football match and still have eyes unscathed …and I still find brand new ways to have them broken ….
At the end of the day when I finally take them off to call it a night , I know they would be the first thing I’d LOOK around for helplessly , come the following morning … Cant imagine what I would do without them … wouldn't be writing this blog perhaps ….
Monday, June 23, 2008
22 June , 2008
"Wasnt this supposed to be my day ? " i asked myself ... the locked grilled shutter's silence was stoic, somewhat ...... the fact remained that the decade old schedule of starting the service at 3 on a sunday afternoon wouldnt change for my convenience .... damn the metro .... i'll take the bus .... i took the bus . The second last seat at the back accommodated me even though i was not handicapped .... five rupees and 25 minutes saw me at the Mother Teressa Sarani , and as i walked down along with other smartly dressed individuals i noticed that the front gate at St. Xaviers looked more of a fest venue than an exam centre !! this was the first AIMock CAT I would be attending . i entered and the moderator signalled us to the third floor ....
Now the problem was to find a seat ... not THE perfect seat but ANY at all ...... the third floor , it seemed was occupied to full capacity ... each one of the 6 class rooms alloted was full !!! .... it was about time the test began , i had to find a seat , i had to make a move .... turning right i took to the starirs and climbed ... there it was, another classroom.... spotting a couple of seats at the back i dashed , ran into the man carrying OMR sheets, fell on top of another guy ,scrambled but secured my place ... being used to the occassional bengali swearing, his english ones were music to the ears :) ...taking the omr i said i was sorry... ultra-superficially .... another man in a bright red tee came in at 10:26 and green signalled us with a wave of the hand Billy Bowden would have been proud of...... we tore open the seal and begun .
Several things happened as the sixteenth minute ticked off .... i realised it was DI in the opening section, that i had chosen the wrong question, flipped to see that there were no questions on tables and a girl on the next bench was sent off to the first bench on account of playing unfair ......." Welcome to the Mocks !!! " .... SAG's voice was crystal clear .... i raised my head but he wasnt there ... must have been someone else ....who cared ? now that the damage counted sixteen and a half minutes .....
Two deep breaths werent enough to regroup my thoughts ,but i had to try .... i had to do sumthing about it ! the test was already 17 minutes old and not a single lead .... making my move i flipped to the last section, English ... and as my fingers flickerd through the 57th question the lock was finally picked !!! i had my first answer ..... my shaky pencil darkened the 3rd hole from the right ,beside the number 57 ..... i can do it , i thought ... i flipped back to DI with renewed confidence ... still some 20 minutes could be spared for it before i ate into the buffer time ....
the bus-stand was full of us !!! conductors made sure that they picked up as many as possible..... i wasnt in much of a hurry ..... only i knew how it felt to be ME, today.... Today I had surprised myself again , as if for the sake of continuity i bought a fag and lit it..... it felt like ... like.. the right thing to do at the moment ..... "Wasnt this supposed to be my day ?" I thought as the conductor helped me up the steps.........
Now the problem was to find a seat ... not THE perfect seat but ANY at all ...... the third floor , it seemed was occupied to full capacity ... each one of the 6 class rooms alloted was full !!! .... it was about time the test began , i had to find a seat , i had to make a move .... turning right i took to the starirs and climbed ... there it was, another classroom.... spotting a couple of seats at the back i dashed , ran into the man carrying OMR sheets, fell on top of another guy ,scrambled but secured my place ... being used to the occassional bengali swearing, his english ones were music to the ears :) ...taking the omr i said i was sorry... ultra-superficially .... another man in a bright red tee came in at 10:26 and green signalled us with a wave of the hand Billy Bowden would have been proud of...... we tore open the seal and begun .
Several things happened as the sixteenth minute ticked off .... i realised it was DI in the opening section, that i had chosen the wrong question, flipped to see that there were no questions on tables and a girl on the next bench was sent off to the first bench on account of playing unfair ......." Welcome to the Mocks !!! " .... SAG's voice was crystal clear .... i raised my head but he wasnt there ... must have been someone else ....who cared ? now that the damage counted sixteen and a half minutes .....
Two deep breaths werent enough to regroup my thoughts ,but i had to try .... i had to do sumthing about it ! the test was already 17 minutes old and not a single lead .... making my move i flipped to the last section, English ... and as my fingers flickerd through the 57th question the lock was finally picked !!! i had my first answer ..... my shaky pencil darkened the 3rd hole from the right ,beside the number 57 ..... i can do it , i thought ... i flipped back to DI with renewed confidence ... still some 20 minutes could be spared for it before i ate into the buffer time ....
the bus-stand was full of us !!! conductors made sure that they picked up as many as possible..... i wasnt in much of a hurry ..... only i knew how it felt to be ME, today.... Today I had surprised myself again , as if for the sake of continuity i bought a fag and lit it..... it felt like ... like.. the right thing to do at the moment ..... "Wasnt this supposed to be my day ?" I thought as the conductor helped me up the steps.........
Sunday, May 11, 2008
answers
as i lay mesmerised under the night sky i promised myself to spend more time this way .... time stood still as the gentle breeze set my soul to peace ... the stars shone brightly against the dark velvet as the rain the other night, had doused some of the unwanted aerosols .. the terrace was deserted unlike on otherdays when the home team wasnt playing in an IPL crunch match, having the terrace all to myself almost gave me the rare sense of being left alone for a while ... i needed it badly , no doubt...tonight i had the earphones playin at a very soft tone some of my favourite songs ... but the lyrics seemed different than the last time i'd heard them .. it was certainly filled with more meaning , the words didnt seem empty tonight ... there were no clouds .. there seldom is ,on a summer evening . everything was serene , and the distant train horn didnt seem to disturb today , it added to the aura ... memories kept flooding me with different emotions.. the good, the bad and the ugly ... when i tried to join the lustrous dots in the sky various shapes came into form , like the ad where a whale comes into being , but i thought i saw a question mark when i joined the closest group of stars i could see ... i was having fun , and it was rare ... i felt like a kid , i wanted more out of it tonight ... as if greedy and starved of the kind of quality time we all desire .. i was having it ... the thoughts of failures didnt seem to torment me this night... instead they turned happier ... i realised that i was an exception .. i was a tangent to the circle of the scheme of things that have happened till now .. i have had them touch me only at a point and not let them cut through ... and vice versa. which has been good actually , i've lived a rather fulfilling life this way ... you always do when u learn not to expect beforehand the good things that happen to you ... its easy to do .. only thing is its difficult to learn ,probably ... afterall sacrifices tend to dislocate the happiness , but realty is it only acts as a smokescreen infront of joys unbound ....
and then it happened ! i saw a magnificient comet like object shoot from my left and vanish into the right ... it was a shooting star ! the first one i had ever seen in real life ... " what an evening it has been !!" i thought ... and trying not to spoil it any further i quickly made a wish , gathered myself and ran down to check the score ... kkr was staring at yet another defeat .......
and then it happened ! i saw a magnificient comet like object shoot from my left and vanish into the right ... it was a shooting star ! the first one i had ever seen in real life ... " what an evening it has been !!" i thought ... and trying not to spoil it any further i quickly made a wish , gathered myself and ran down to check the score ... kkr was staring at yet another defeat .......
Friday, May 2, 2008
Run with Me
This was my first attempt at writing a song for our three-membered band... it was some two years or so, ago,that i came up with this .... and they still complain that i suck ... not that i disagree :) but heres giving u a chance to laugh wid us ...
its called
" Run with me"
Love aint just a word
When we know to share
So come sing with me and
Get to know it in a better way
Like the first time u won
Like your first dream come true
And the way you could keep running
Into the woods, your hair flowing wild
Chorus:
Close your eyes
Grab my hand
Run with me
To the skies
The distant hum,
Just keep leaving it behind
Discover yourself in a new new way
Keep me engulfed nd defined
Chorus…. X 2
When we know to share
So come sing with me and
Get to know it in a better way
Like the first time u won
Like your first dream come true
And the way you could keep running
Into the woods, your hair flowing wild
Chorus:
Close your eyes
Grab my hand
Run with me
To the skies
The distant hum,
Just keep leaving it behind
Discover yourself in a new new way
Keep me engulfed nd defined
Chorus…. X 2
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Vintage
Your past lies in the kind of music that remains hidden in the remotest corner of your shelves, tables, cupboards or your hard drives for that matter. .. The theory is as we age … and keep maturing our tastes change … the moods change the needs change too and not to mention the change in the entire way of creating music as well. An artist’s impression of creativity would vary from one decade to another as would his taste, which surely shall transform and evolve. Most certainly the popular form, which is now widely acceptable for this present generation, morphs into another form which might not match their taste, in the next …. Music caters to the mass and not the creative instincts of the creator … but to immortalize a piece of music is to impart an essence which is instantly identifiable to the untrained ear of the average listener of any generation.
So when I rummaged through and old pile of audio tapes I came across a few of them that had once served as the medium for my romance with music. I remember of having played them everyday basking in the high they provided … but all I find a decade later is layers of un-removable dust and a sense of shallow pity for the once coveted articles which could be bought only after countless tiffin sacrifices. So I shoved them aside and found the CD I was looking for not knowing if I’d again run into them again, ever.. oh.. those songs .. I don’t miss them ... now I have them stored on my computer … I hardly listen to them anymore but I guess I still remember them by heart ….but the point is I don’t miss them .
What I am amazed at is something exceptional in a few songs that I’ve come across in my entire life. There are a few songs that you like instantly , some u don’t know matter how many times you listen to them . But there are some that you don’t instantly connect to on the first go but gradually fall in love with over time…. A friend of mine agrees , says “there are some songs that grow on you , over time “ …. I agree ….
If songs could be emotions or relationships … would this be any different ? Would this still hold ?? It would be interesting to draw a comparison … but lets not relate two very different things … they say you can perform operations on two variables ONLY when they have the same units….. but what if we were talking of dimensionless quantities….. couldn’t we add multiply divide and NOT subtract ?? The answer perhaps lies buried in our present age .. .as we mature and age we’ll perhaps get an answer …. Probably this is the reason why the tastes in music of one generation varies from another … Age , Maturity and Answers to some questions from our past …..
So when I rummaged through and old pile of audio tapes I came across a few of them that had once served as the medium for my romance with music. I remember of having played them everyday basking in the high they provided … but all I find a decade later is layers of un-removable dust and a sense of shallow pity for the once coveted articles which could be bought only after countless tiffin sacrifices. So I shoved them aside and found the CD I was looking for not knowing if I’d again run into them again, ever.. oh.. those songs .. I don’t miss them ... now I have them stored on my computer … I hardly listen to them anymore but I guess I still remember them by heart ….but the point is I don’t miss them .
What I am amazed at is something exceptional in a few songs that I’ve come across in my entire life. There are a few songs that you like instantly , some u don’t know matter how many times you listen to them . But there are some that you don’t instantly connect to on the first go but gradually fall in love with over time…. A friend of mine agrees , says “there are some songs that grow on you , over time “ …. I agree ….
If songs could be emotions or relationships … would this be any different ? Would this still hold ?? It would be interesting to draw a comparison … but lets not relate two very different things … they say you can perform operations on two variables ONLY when they have the same units….. but what if we were talking of dimensionless quantities….. couldn’t we add multiply divide and NOT subtract ?? The answer perhaps lies buried in our present age .. .as we mature and age we’ll perhaps get an answer …. Probably this is the reason why the tastes in music of one generation varies from another … Age , Maturity and Answers to some questions from our past …..
Monday, April 28, 2008
With or without you ....
Your love , so elusive , has rendered my life worth living … when I fall asleep I can see your eyes in those distant picturesque dreams and I fail to wake up to this reality that brings new meaning to the word “ distant “ ….. I cant remember the last time I stopped and stared at an option not leading to your doorsteps … you know me and I presume I know you …. at least I want to …. So slowly does time reveal that you move farther away every time I want to come close … and I am afraid when the clock does strike, I’d be so far behind that my blurred vision would be inadequate to see you in dreams, even .... As I say this I break into a smile and I don’t know why … I really don’t . .Am I scorning myself or is it just that I remembered you trying, in vain, to untangle your hair from the headphone wire ….. . There are so many things that I remember you doing … and I fondly keep recounting them … how can I forget any of them? Aren’t they more important than the other worldly rubbish I go through everyday ?
I so wish that I could tell you that I have these memories of you, stored permanently in my heart that bring me solace when I am about to let go and break into pieces … but they might be emotionally illegal as you’re unaware of their existence …. But I promise to use them well … I do
There’s a certain me in me that tells me you are not meant for me….. but there’s also another me that says “if I can’t be with you in this life … I’ll wait … I’ll wait till this life is over and dealt with “ … Courage, it seems , precedes an emotion that they call love ……..
I so wish that I could tell you that I have these memories of you, stored permanently in my heart that bring me solace when I am about to let go and break into pieces … but they might be emotionally illegal as you’re unaware of their existence …. But I promise to use them well … I do
There’s a certain me in me that tells me you are not meant for me….. but there’s also another me that says “if I can’t be with you in this life … I’ll wait … I’ll wait till this life is over and dealt with “ … Courage, it seems , precedes an emotion that they call love ……..
Castles we build .....
Ever tried to grip sand …… doesn’t matter if its dry or wet , the more you want to grip the less of it remains within your grasp … but then when you are walking on the shore on a cool summer evening watching the sun disappear beneath the curls off the distant clouds , you’ll find an everlasting stretch ahead of you …. Promising to comfort your feet till you can’t walk any longer …. That’s what a handful of sand can promise you …..
When children make their castles they seldom take care to build a wall too, to keep off the waves ….. they pay the price of having to rebuild it over and over again …. But each time they finish re-building it their bruised ego turns into the lovely smiles that your heart enjoys ….. but it’s not the waves and not the children too, for who you have to cry …. It’s the sand , even a tiny speck of it that irritates the eye beyond measure…..
But then again , the nursery poetry associates joy , pleasure and bright colours of the sunlight to the coarse silicon particles that shine like gold on a brilliant summer morning …. I mean that’s what made me happy when I ran my eyes through the spectacularly illustrated swim suit calendars …. Yes, the precisely crafted models were trying their best to outdo the “natural silicon” with their fakes, but truth shows and the beach won …. The sand’s modesty being sweetly violated by the springing waves is a feast that the carnal desires don’t dare to challenge …..
At the end of it ,the eyes fall asleep or are donated and the sand remains …. The children grow up and make castles more solid, and their sweet smiles turning into bruised egos…. It’s a slow process and all poisons don’t act fast …… but then one fine morning on the beach when I see a child doing exactly what I did too, my ego and my pride and my humility is lost … and our lips break into the same smile , leaking innocence from all corners…. They say “ the child’s bruised ego turns into a a sweet smile which your heart enjoys” ….. alchemy is a dying art …….
When children make their castles they seldom take care to build a wall too, to keep off the waves ….. they pay the price of having to rebuild it over and over again …. But each time they finish re-building it their bruised ego turns into the lovely smiles that your heart enjoys ….. but it’s not the waves and not the children too, for who you have to cry …. It’s the sand , even a tiny speck of it that irritates the eye beyond measure…..
But then again , the nursery poetry associates joy , pleasure and bright colours of the sunlight to the coarse silicon particles that shine like gold on a brilliant summer morning …. I mean that’s what made me happy when I ran my eyes through the spectacularly illustrated swim suit calendars …. Yes, the precisely crafted models were trying their best to outdo the “natural silicon” with their fakes, but truth shows and the beach won …. The sand’s modesty being sweetly violated by the springing waves is a feast that the carnal desires don’t dare to challenge …..
At the end of it ,the eyes fall asleep or are donated and the sand remains …. The children grow up and make castles more solid, and their sweet smiles turning into bruised egos…. It’s a slow process and all poisons don’t act fast …… but then one fine morning on the beach when I see a child doing exactly what I did too, my ego and my pride and my humility is lost … and our lips break into the same smile , leaking innocence from all corners…. They say “ the child’s bruised ego turns into a a sweet smile which your heart enjoys” ….. alchemy is a dying art …….
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just being me