Music and blah blah:)

...like a star, like some glitter, like a dream, like a wind, like a verse, like a magic... it comes and goes... it comes and goes.. and leaves behind its traces... like a fragrance, like a wisp, like a light, like a mist..

When will it rain? the earth will become a mirror to the skies, the chill of the winter will run down our spines When will it Rain? ps: so bored I'm of this cold

A disturbing happening: I went to mess to have dinner. While I was coming back, I saw four stray dogs playing outside. I sometimes give them chapati in case I find them outside our mess at dinner time. So I brought four chapatis from inside, one for each of them. I tore two chapatis, each into two pieces and threw the four parts at different locations so that each dog can go and eat his share. However amongst them, there was this one dominating dog who gulped inside his chapati quickly and attacked another one (who was relatively weaker), the two fought a bit, the weaker one screamed and the dominating one snatched the weaker one's piece from him and ate it too. the other two stayed off the fight. and I was in a fix. hated the act of that dominating dog. It was ugly, it was plain injustice happening in front of me and I'd no way to do anything against it. Developed instant sympathy for the weaker one and dislike for the dominating one. I went a bit away, waited for sometime hop

quick updates: - I LOVE home. - the greatest and the most perfect moment is the moment when you see your beloved ones in front of yourself. You have nothing to say/ask. Everything is conveyed in an instant. - absolutely loved the way bruno jumped when he saw me, he almost reached my face level. the little pup always somehow stands out as the best communicator when it comes to expressing his feelings. And that too, when he can not actually speak/talk in our language. Love him boundlessly. - Haven't felt so strongly for anything for a long time but right now can feel the pensiveness. May time just stop! May this moment never end. These holidays don't come to an end ever. Abhi to I haven't even talked to Mom as much as I want to. I haven't even played with Bruno as much as I want to. I haven't even look around in the home, haven't talked to the trees, the palm tree, the amla tree, the mango trees, the plants, the flowers, the vines I have grown up with. haven't

what a delight it'd be to create something as beautiful as this is.. tera hone laga hoon and Atif Aslam is truly gifted.!

The object of creation, The sun and its radiation, The cycle of seasons, The perpetual flow of reason, The power of winds, Art and colors of these deviations, The object of focus, The solar system and its locus, The folds on these clothes, These marks on paper, The irregularities on this wall, The music, crooned in this silent hall, The beats of this life, The motion of pencil and my fingers, The green leaves on the tree, Playful children counting one two three, That red rose, the colorful flower, The water filled in the jar, The books scattered all over the table, The mind speaking of the untold fable, The eyes moving in this thin volatile air, The vibes dreaming of festivities and fairs, Celebrate, sing in sacred epiphany, Let the body swing on this bittersweet symphony, Listen to the sounds called medieval, Mark all the words as trivial, Future holds the untold story, Wondering over Almighty's glory, All this, and everything, Every sentence and sequences of words, The meaning th

In a far away land there is a valley, With lush green trees, Covered with the most colorful flowers, A valley embedded with all the gems and jewels, A valley where lakes and ponds are filled with sweetest water, A valley where rocks are made of bright and shiny marble, A valley where the nightingale sings, The canary hymns to the trees and to the air, There is this place where the laughter of babies echo, Day in and day out, Where the lovers stand atop the hills and beneath the waterfalls, Stand in the immortal embrace, and shout to the sky, "We are, and We love." A place where the narrow walls have not divided the mind, Where everyone belongs to love and, Love belongs to everyone. Where ideas flow freely, where the mind floats over truth and prayers, Where the language of respect and wisdom is spoken, In that heaven, Into that valley of freedom, In that kingdom of love, I see you. I have seen you standing by the river side, Deers grazing and birds chirping around you, Your f

Into the midst of people, somewhere inside me, Theres something fluttering, By the winds of change, There is something moving, By the flow of the river, I feel the movement, Amidst the people, Somewhere deep within me. In the middle of my sleep, On the corners of my eyes, Theres a light, which shines It shines day in and day out, In the name of God, There is Hope, For the sake of something,, unknown, untouched yet always known, always loved.

It wasn't a good day I felt extremely low in the evening felt weird felt strange at the talks and at the kind of happenings going on to the extent that when mom called up heard me she could figure out there's something wrong with me and when she asked me the same I blurted out everything to her Everything. and then there was peace. she's my guide, my mentor, my every everything. She knew exactly how I had felt, and she knew exactly how I reacted to it. I should deny to grow up if this is what growing up is- was her suggestion, which I'll keep close to my heart! always. and all my answers reside in this beautiful song by Celine Dion- Maybe I'm old fashioned feeling as I do Maybe I'm just living in the part But when I meet the right one, I know I'll be true My first love will be my last When I fall in love, it will be forever Or I'll never fall in love In a restless world like this is Love is ended before it's begun And too many moonlight kisses Seem t

The pantry man in the hostel spends major part of his night writing. Everytime I go downstairs, and see him, I find him sitting in the white plastic chair, furiously writing in a notebook. Is he a poet, writing undiscovered verse each night? Or does he have a family in a village far away, that he misses tremendously and writes letters to every single day? Or perhaps they are plaintive love letters or mechanical to-do lists or possible names for a future child or perhaps he practices the alphabet so that he can learn to write so that he can pen some undiscovered poetry someday…! Why do I always want everyone to be a poet…?!!!! :) -------------------------------- I wish there was a reason for everything I do. I wish that every word I say has purpose breathed into it. Then I look at it all and realise the unadulterated joy of recklessness. I cancel my wishes and draft a letter of apology. I will pray. I will work. I will not seek what I have. But these wishes, they keep coming back, and w

I really want to buy everything that is here on this webpage! http://www.supermarketsarah.com/ and there's so much that I want to write about the connectedness I feel with all people, the entire cosmos. overwhelming. Some other time.. and the so many things I wrote at home, have to type them. one was that dreamy b'ful night when I waited for the moon in the sky the fact that I sat on my terrace, waiting for it to rise... and that, at that time , the chill crept up and surprised me with its cold touch and that, at that time, I couldnt think of anything but the moon, made this edited picture worth it, and much more. And I want to be here-

Inspired by Gulzar's poetry, written in pieces at home, in train, here et. हर जगह हर किसी मोड़ पे एक तिरछी लकीर की तरह तू खड़ा दिखाई देता है दिन कभी हँसता है कभी रोता है न जाने दिन में कितनी बार बच्चो सा दिन कितने रंग बदलता है रात न जाने कितनी सदियों से सोई नहीं है न जाने कब तक तन्हा यूं जागेगी रात और दिन को देखती हूँ तो याद आते हैं वोह दिन और वोह रातें (a long pause) वोः भी कैसे दिन थे रात जगती थी, हम सोते थे रात की अंखियों से ख्वाबों की बूँदें टपकती थी कुछ बूँदें तेरी आँखों में गिर जाती थी कुछ मैं अपनी आँखों में भर लेती थी रात ख्वाबों में कटती थी हम सोते थे, रात जगती थी चंदा छुपके छुपके बादलो से झाँक कर हमें सोया हुआ देखता था रात के कानों में कुछ कहता था फिर झील से नीले आसमान में कुछ देर तैर कर किसी घने बदल के पीछे जा कर सो जाता था हमने कभी चाँद और रात की बातें नहीं सुनी, पर कभी उनसे अपनी बातें छुपाई भी नहीं वोह गवाह थे उन ख्वाबों के आज कल का मौसम कुछ और है सर्द हवाएं चलती है आते जाते ये हवाएं हमसे यूं टकरा जाती है दिन गुजरने में सदियाँ लग जाती है दिन भर रात का इंतज़ार रहता है और

Not that I do not feel like home here, but I know I belong to another place. My eyes are almost moist right now at the very thought of it. Two days down the line.. and I will be in my shrine in front of My Gods. If it seems like exaggeration, I wish I had ways to open my heart and show the plethora of emotions flooding inside it. The kind of devotion, reverence, love, affection, attachment, sweetness I feel for home, I wonder if I feel even half of it for anything else. ( ............ I am still, almost. The tears which have not yet trickled down, I can feel the love in them. I have tried writing about them... for them.. so many times. But everytime I try, I fall short of words. Every time I try, I just feel like bending my head down, closing my eyes and expressing the feelings I have for them through silence. It is surprising and may sound so illogical. But silence is definitely a language. There are so many occasions when I speak to them through it, wishing each time hopelessly that

It's midnight, around 4 am and all I can see is the silhouette of the fan sputtering dark air on my pale face on my sleeping soul sleeping since eons with the faint taste of music that is blending in Your silence ethereal yet confusing.

raining.

It's night but the sky is blue, a midnight blue and all I can see are stars, silver specks glittering in serene vastness. _______________________ I still speak to my old friends, at length, quite often, sometimes rather too frequently. We usually end up discussing the current state of affairs in our lives, which often translates to sharing our serious and sometimes silly problems, dilemmas and choices facing us. Sometimes we talk of the wonder years, of the city that was once home to us but where nothing is left now but for memories. Amidst the changes, we stick to our memories , never wanting to go home without writing a song, on paper or air. As we moved on, our new experiences and our new visions have left us so much to talk about regarding our present selves, so divorced are we now our lives that we have to at times keep introducing things, ourselves. It seems that surviving in the competition of the world, they have not enough time to read or write, watch a play, attend a reci

some short notes, which I keep scribbling here and there, and somehow have managed not to lose ___________________________ I sort of love the first line in Robert Evans' movie memoir-- The Kid Stays in the Picture: There are three sides to every story: yours...mine...and the truth What a wicked marvel! _________________________________________ Parched throat of the earth Starless silhouette of the firmament Tricky Sun sucks on dew and glaze Dryly smiling in shades of orange and crimson Prayers submitted to heavens To mend away the losses Wash away the thirsty soil Embellish the lonely skies _________________________________________- I am looking at every bird in the sky with an indescribable glee on my face and child-like joy in my heart. __________________________________________ A walk too long. Symmetrical cuts adorn the feet. Throbbing sensations. Sore Achilles heel. Frail bones, strained muscles Cranky moods, stormy thoughts Impatient expectations, rude realities. Hmpf to the

Sometimes just talking to an old friend whom you don't get to speak to or meet very often brings tears to your eyes. Talking to them you realise how far and few such people are who you consider close to yourself, you realise how much you have missed a carefree conversation laden with memories, you realise how much you have missed the lilt in your voice, you realise how much you have missed being with a 'friend' who's not measuring every word you utter and judging you for your traits, your opinions, your idiosyncrasies. Certain aspects of you come alive only in the company of certain people, certain bonds, certain relationships. I realise most of my close friends share a common characteristic - they cannot tell you in person what you mean to them, they write to you just after you've left or hung up to acknowledge that.

Of all the things why a distant thumri? Why is nascent love like a distant thumri? She sat in her suburban habitat, having murdered all cockroaches and having won the battle with the omnipresent dust for the day, she sat back and wondered. She sat back on the borrowed divan with the freshly spread Gujarat cotton sheet with symmetrical black and white squares with a little haziness creeping into their edges. The house was either black or white with a little fuzziness at the edges. There cannot be that stark a demarcation, right? The distant thumri.... There's an allure that is so promisingly enchanting. One doesn't know the source of the melody, but then, for the moment all that matters is catching some strains of that exquisite tune. And, a thumri is not just a melody, it has those words and those words make all the difference. Words set to music have a supernatural status. Take a banal line like "tum aa jao", could be a part of any telephonic conversation anywhere. B

Yesterday she discovered a forest by the sea. Can you imagine it? The blue, vast, sparkling sea and a little distance away from those sunny shores, a verdant expanse of dense foliage, trees grown together which seem to be whispering something in the distance, with a certain proud disregard for the noon sun. Their shade after all, is dark, cool and beckoning. She stood at a distance and watched the forest. There was a road,a winding road which took a turn into the yawning depths of those greens. A lonely road it must be, for there was no one to tread on it, to explore those turns and twists and revel in that journey. She didn't want to step on that road. It seemed perfect from a distance. What if she took that road, crossed that turn and found a glossy mansion at the end with perfectly manicured lawns and symmetric windows with tassled curtains, flanking a superbly polished door. What if the road became a familiar geographic relief carved out of logical explanations and derviable co

chocolates? cakes? balloons? err... a jhoola, some maakhan and mishri:) Happy Birthday :)

Close your eyes. You are in a temple. There are twenty others surrounding you but they are silent, like the stony walls of that temple. Hear those bells, a rhythmic clang that slowly seems to be building into a crescendo. That is all you can hear with your eyes closed. You cannot hear the breaths of those twenty pious souls around. Eyes closed, it feels like those bells are talking to you. There is no one but you and that deity, who you cannot see, but can only sense. There is just you and Him. Those twenty people around don't matter. Maybe that is the truth. There is just you and Him. Those twenty people around don't matter.

Sometimes life is just so beautiful. Perhaps because you have realised its essence and touched its core, in some way, for some moments. When you have seen and felt some shade of the Truth reflect in the colors of your face and happiness revelling in your laughter, that which makes you One with yourself, it makes no difference whether what transpires in an another world, where unmasked entities live and where deception and wrongs so common , have no existence, becomes a reality in this material world.

Books that remain with us, in us, are those in which we have found ourselves, a shade here a shade there, in some character, in some situation, or they are atleast those in which we find something that we strive to be. ______________________________________ "This article is not intended to state what I positively believe to be true. but to make a suggestion which I think is well-worth working out...I do not think that it is the duty of the philosopher to confine himself in his publications to working out theories of the truth of which he is convinced...It is a part of a philosopher's work, as it is of a scientist's , to try out tentative hypotheses and examine their advantages and disadvantages" - A.C.Ewing They often question the 'use' of philosophy. I often wonder where we'd be without thought.

the flakes of ice take their last breaths on roadsides, melting under the dubious sun of winter dawn, with last drops of water oozing from them. Soon to evaporate. the melodrama of life begins not at the point where we begin our lives, but at the point where we make that (well-thought) pause yellow and pink orchids and carnations of red stand on the hillsides. Smiling as the semblance of beauty. The tale of callousness of last night’s zephyr echoes in them. Ever unheard. Well, forever unheard. No: tomorrow we won’t remain what yesterday we were or what we’re today. To stop and sit by the riverside to see the rippling or to climb up the cliff to behold the sight of condensed shrunk city, can’t help us bring together the lost pieces of the jigsaw: the music. there comes the night. the coldness- mauve and parched sneak through the silhouette of naked leafless trees, as they glow under moonlight. while the purple blossoms shrivel, my city sleeps warm under the miasma of smoke curling up fr

Day programs me to work, Night sets my soul free Like a child’s whirligig it spins in your baffling world of waning tranquility, hidden truths. Catches your shadows, and meanders in alleys of eternal wander- hood. Untouched, the quest heads off for a rest some distant mountain peaks, snow-capped, I’ve traveled eleven thousand miles. the music of this night, the crickets’ squeak, this constant brawl among the stars, all are melting in your silence. sometimes our instinct grows so strong that the sky ruptures, sea folds up and the world shrinks into a soft cotton ball… tattered, blaring, inviting a revolution, a thunderstorm. To watch half the truth is a disgrace to the truth itself. Little light, little peace, little dreams, little knowledge, Like an island, like a rover, like a small city in itself, I know it’s the time to step out of this cocoon, out of these shielded walls of care and love, this house, its so many knots, these faces, these so many voices. It’s the moment To travel To

It comes back to me, very often these days, the blurred vision, from the vacants from where the moths surface every night with such unsurpassed promptness and to where the ants carry and stock their everyday’s meal bit by bit. so religiously. everyday They play hide and seek with rains there. from those forlorn corners of city roads, where once burgeoned the superfluous foliage- green and wild, where stray cattle used to graze, and now stands like a victorious warrior, on a cemented paseo, a pole with a white metal plate welded to it indicating in black the speed limits for vehicles, ever followed or even noticed? the night doesn’t seem a night anymore, when stabbing fuzzily through the thick layers of smoke of the evening’s traffic still hanging over the city, draping it in its cloudy wrap, the neon lights of multiplexes stare back at you precisely at the moments when all you could ever solicit is complete darkness to hide in. or an urge to sleep under the billions of stars above you,

Dance! in absolute love with each and every song of love aaj kal!:) nagin music: awesome punjabi beats: awesome. you can't keep your feet on ground! Aaj din chadeya, Ye dooriyaan: speechless! and love being so.

Night falls, the glow of the evening lamp; sitting on the couch, it's the perfect time to write poetry, create music. _________________________________ Too close, too many, so close that you can be touched, so close that they touch you, and you shrink, you shrink, shiver, contract, and then, all of a sudden, you vanish like a note of music you become a part of those vibrations You become music. ____________________________________ There are times when several things, ideas, thoughts come rushing to you, all of a sudden, at the same time, you remember all your dreams, together, and you want to hold on to them, each one of them, tightly, so that none, not even one of them can slip away, freeing themselves from the clutches, and fly out from the corners of the fluttering mind. ___________________________________ Sometimes I miss certain things, inane, trivial things: I miss living on the top floor of a very high building, with the rest of the existence beneath me, watching the sky as

And that’s what we are. We’re little stars; little bunches of an innocent hope. Hanging in the air, we’re the drops of a nascent love, and inside us, live our promises, thrive our dreams, and bloom the buds of our aboriginal insights. We’re our little stories, our little fears, our little faiths, our little glory. And when the sun comes up and lights up the days, we’re the sunshine, we are the rays of that immaculate light which paints the oceans in dazzling blue and gives life to all living beings. We’re the flowers of vibrant colors, we’re the tiny ships sailing towards our unknown destinations, we’re the boats of hope, the touch to immortality, the music of creator, the devotion of the earth. We’re bubbles of existence, tiny packets of faith, the parcels of life, the carriers of tranquility. We’re the serendipity of the dawn, the silence of the noon, the radiance of twilight, the mystery of the night. We’re the nomads, the seekers of unknown; we’re the thirst of our souls, the reaso

You move me, enchant me, make me cry and make me sigh. I can only gaze wistfully, enjoy the moment, and yearn to live the moment forever. Float, and realize the material being I am made of, for I am far away floating, soaring, high up. Dream, for what is reality but a dream, and the unreal one is the fleeting glimpse of what may be; and what may be is eternal Free, the shackles can not reach one in this plane, a plane so enchanting and ephemeral that one wants it to linger on. Die holding this moment, frozen in the temporal conciousness, this memory of guitar, the cells arranged to tell me, I am "feeling" this. The record is over. The music stopped. A melody. A lifetime. A moment of silence. Bliss that it is.

There's something exhilarating about wandering in the dark, walking in the night, writing in the light of an LCD screen, with the mere awareness of your nose, hands, fingers and hair that are eerily visible, hearing the birds chirp when you go into the balcony early morning and realise that you had missed their chatter for so many mornings, standing there and feeling the much needed chill of the fresh air on your face,thinking of characters that live in parallel universes, the smoothness of nature, the sharpness of branches that lie unclothed, conversations that get lost in other conversations,in dreams and in sleep, about remembering the feel of things, of thoughts, the smell of a room that was solely yours, the look of a library, the fear of losing to yourself, the excitement of growing up and learning,the appearance of a world that was new and then the transitions that followed, in going through the cycle. A little boy comes running, keeps rambling here and there. You know who i

The night, the soothing night, comes with it the silvery moon, throwing its light on my pillow, peeping into my room, gently, treading softly. One should write down thoughts as they occur because otherwise, they are lost. You may not forget the idea but it's the details, the layout of the story, the argument and the content or just the free flow of one thing after another that your sleep might take away with it, or maybe it's just the weariness of the days that make you lose track. Last night, I read an article online. It was an anaylsis of human nature and behavior and the motives that guide us, applying theories from various fields, examining various things in that context, politics in the aftermath of the cold war, game theory, prisoner's dilemma, the struggle for power, in politics, in society, in the family, everywhere, ideals and ideas of what's normal, a growing trend to have a label, a justification, a name for low phases, a disorder to explain what's not pe

Jesus said, "If your leaders say to you, 'Look, the (Father's) kingdom is in the sky,' then the birds of the sky will precede you. If they say to you, 'It is in the sea,' then the fish will precede you. Rather, the kingdom is within you and it is outside you."

The air is carrying the fragrance of rains. the mystic aura. I felt nostalgic last night for some moments. Wanted to be with mom. wanted to hug her. knowing that we're always connected through thoughts, was missing her. wondering why isn't it raining the way it should've been raining.. something from Rumi, was reminded of it while talking to a friend on phone. Come, Come Whoever you are wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving Come, ours is not a caravan of Despair though you've broken your vow a thousand times Come, Come again -Rumi

Once again, it's hard to believe. It's almost impossible. Yet Someone somewhere always does something so sweet that I'm left in a trance-like state. Quiet, totally stumped, wordless, clueless, amazed with a deep gratitude within. Around an year ago, when I'd listenedt to this song for the first time, it had rained that day. I responded to the rain the way I usually do. Feeling high, ecstatic, heavenly, uncontrolled, mad, like a child. I wasn't mesmerized by some miraculous feeling the way I am right now. I remember listening to this song day in and day out for many many days. And after ensuring that it's a part of my soul now, it slipped away. somewhere far off. somewhere deep within. lost it was. To return the way it did today. Last night, I'd read an article online. As I woke up in the morning, I was very calm, quiet, feeling immense peace, happiness, joy. As I was attending the first class, (which I actually loved attending) suddenly was reminded of this

It's raining here. Rained last night too and it was awesome. Suddenly have started missing so many things. Miss the early morning walks, miss the midnight meditation sessions, miss parents, bro, dog, poetry and guitar. miss old friends, long talks, discussions and sudden silence. and most of them, I'm missing my peace. Though I find amazing moments here and there, sometimes in the classroom, sometimes while walking through the corridors, sometimes while roaming in the campus, sometimes in the hostel room, sometimes in the mess, sometimes in my night's dreams.. I do find blissful moments scattered here and there. But when they aren't there, I miss them. I wrote one, no, two poems today. Don't have the energy to type them in laptop. want to write about music, but am sort of numb as I think about it. connections.. do I need to rebuild? has something snapped off? can it? and can it ever? I think in the past two days, have spent very little time with nature. that might b

Want to write about so many things. But may be, some other day. For the time being, posting lyrics of a song I very deeply love There's a song that's inside of my soul. It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again. I'm awake in the infinite cold, but you sing to me over and over and over again. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours. I know now you're my only hope. Sing to me the song of the stars. Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again. When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours. I know now you're my only hope. I give you my destiny. I'm giving you all of me. I want your symphony. Singing in all that I am. At the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be o

random things: - I'm happy because it's just about to rain. The thundering clouds are making my heart beat faster, the sound of the blowing wind and swaying trees is making my heart dance. waiting, just waiting for these clouds to open their hearts and pour their love on us.. the dying souls! drench my soul. -a thought of rain, the bhajan that's ringing in my head 24X7 for the past 24 hours, the charisma of these moments, the helplessness that I won't be able to drench myself in this rain (weird hostel timings or weird timing of rain??), the thought of music, the thought of children, the thought of dreams ahead, the thought of purpose, the thought of thoughts so clear, path so clear is suddenly making me feel so overwhelmed with myriad of emotions. I wan to laugh and cry, laugh and cry till I roll on floor and lose my senses totally to the divine. This can not be more awesome. This can not be more beautiful. The songs of nature, the songs of music, the songs of love, th

dil dhoondta hai, that was the song mridula sang for a moment on stage n yesterday's session. After missing home and friends for more than an hour, the song came as a wonderful gift. a message, an insight, a lesson, a learning: everything packed in a bundle came to me. It's a quiet early morning of the first day of July. While standing in the balcony, watched a flock of snow-white birds flying across the sky. For a moment, felt like stretching my arms and flying with them to all those distant skies I long for. And in the very next moment, felt like folding hands, looking up, closing eyes, and saying a silent prayer. From me to Him. And after doing that, was surprised how I couldn't ask for a single thing which I might have loved to ask for, and how overwhelming that moment is when you needn't say a word, for the one beyond the skies already knows you, knows you so well. Had a long (fairly long I must say) talk with a friend yesterday. liked it/her. Back to my room, she

There was so much noise, clamor, laughters, talks, chitchats, words, words and so many words and suddenly amid them, I was missing my silence. There's a very fine line that differentiates perpetual happiness from momentary joy. And peace ought to be something totally different. Not that I can not write about it or have not experienced it ever, but I know there're depths still untouched. I don’t want to forget small moments of beauty. They’re hard to come by and often need to be forced into existence. So when they occur of their own accord, I want to grab on and cling like only a hungry child can understand. Like last night, when I was sitting in the balcony, backlit by the red bulb, and saw my silhouette—bent over, I felt as if something was missing in that picture perfect. Missed strings, missed the music they produce and then smiled realizing how drastically I've changed over the years. I wasn't restless. was at peace knowing that music will come to me someday. for su

Something so beautiful which I stumbled up just like that. Happy Days There's just so much to write. I can sense it, feel it. But the awesome evenings here in the laps of nature just leave me totally wordless. A moment where you feel joy, peace, wonder, music, love.. all at once, and then a long, very long sequence of such moments when you see the lights of the evening vanishing gradually into some nothingness. That was one such evening. Hoping for more of them:) Mom, dad, bro, bruno... I miss you all and yet I don't miss for you're in me, around me every single moment. blessings.

I feel like writing. I sit here, silent and still, opening myself one door at a time. With a silent flourish, I am throwing myself open – to the universe, to the muse, to the magic, to the words… and I am waiting to be overcome and flooded with them and their variousness. Every being within me is opening with synchronized clicks and whirls. Latches slide themselves open. Locks drop out of place. Lost keys are found and hinges swing freely. My eyes, my arms, my body itself… every fold of my flesh, every half-born idea in my head, every green vein, every fragile tear, every eyelash on my eyes seem to be opening wider and wider… welcoming the change that is to come… welcoming the world that is to settle inside me soon… for it is somewhere near, I feel it close by… a newness, an entirely new, unimagined soulfulness… a new soul… I hear it whisper to me in those moments between sleep and wakefulness… I see it from the corner of my eye, slipping away between the folds of white linen clouds an

sometimes you've a lot to say about music, but you know how futile it is to even attempt:) November Rains, Guns and Roses. Slash. Awesome. Wordless. Ineffable. Lost and found lost and found ....

In photography The "decisive moment" is that tiny, pin-prick sized point in time When the universe makes a secret pact with Time, light, serendipity, and often, beauty That come together To create the perfect, un-recreatable picture. And you can almost believe That the universe slightly altered itself In some small way For that single photographer in that single moment. In life The decisive moment is that gap between what you believe and what you feel The unclutter The moment in which the way in which you see the world changes Forever Almost as if the photographer's eye changed To view the world differently. Which creates that un-recreatable moment of clarity In which you decide And finally stick by it. However, You must deserve the beauty awarded to you. You must struggle. Alter yourself. Gouge out your eyes if need be. Deserve your moment.

It is crazy, however I can't complain about it either. Today was the sixth time I went for my Yoga class after a sleepless night. On two occasions, I was watching some movie with bro till 3 or 4 (sleeping after which meant missing Yoga class which I just didnt want to do, so I stayed up all through the rest of the nights just to feel that morning breeze on my face and attend the classes), and the rest of the times, we were chitchatting about I-can't-even-recall-what. Post Yoga class: a cup of steaming milk, newspaper and then I get the time to sleep. Not quite healthy, but as far as it helps me stay regular at yoga classes, I can't complain. Talking about movies, The next couple of things I want to write about are the movies I watched: Guide: I remember having heard its songs long back on Television. I remember how during a journey to Delhi dad had said how this movie was a comeback for DevAnand and how he invested almost all his savings in this movie (Much like what RajKap

it's 4 something in the night. I slept for around two hrs and woke up exactly at 3:40 feeling hungry. It's quite justified, had missed dinner. Mom, dad, bro are sleeping. Weirdly enough bruno too is in deep slumber. May behe's dreaming too. Ate a whole musk melon and then suddenly had this urge to write something/s. firstly something to him sleeping in the room next to mine: May be I love you a lot more than I can ever say/express. May be I understand almost everything you've gone through and are going through. In fact it's not even a "may be", it IS true. Just like you, I had dreamt of living the life of a wanderer, had wished really hard that I'd explore all that there is to and would defy all norms. Just like you, I have always disliked the conventional ways or follow the crowd mentality. Just like you, the questions of whys and hows and what for have disturbed me over and over again. Just like you, I've strifed hard to find that one strong rea

One of the very very hectic days. Didn't get the chance to sleep properly in the past 30 hours or so. some interesting things I came across during a conversation: -a process can initiate itself and doesn't need any energy/reason for that. (doubtful about it) -The sum total of universal energy is Zero. There's as much of positive energy as much there is negative. Makes sense. However the so claimed theory that the entire universe is an outcome of nothing still doesn't click. -and something that's really interesting... there're dimensions like 1.5 D and these can actually be visualized by human mind. so mysterious is this universe. and science.

Something I really really want to write about: 1. The instrumental music- how the instruments talk:) and how it inspires. 2. About the music from other lands. The songs in foreign languages with weird but lovely instruments played in them.. which makes no sense (lyrics wise) but are so heavenly to listen to:)

- have hurt the little finger of my foot. It's painful. still not sure if I should attend morning's Yoga class or not!. -chupke se playing in my head since evening. -Rahman + Gulzar is an awesome combo. and I'm trying not to think about music. R is an amazing alphabet rm, rahman, rock, royal, reverence, research, refresh, rain, rome, revolution, realistic, reverberations, rhythm, recreate, radio, radiohead, random, ramblings, rivers, red, rehna tu.. not back to music. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- fic time.. Life is packed with taming of thoughts. As he left, there was no one there, except the old Peepal tree, tiresomely lonely amid the crowds. And it was not even budging. I looked at its branches in anticipation, and it was making excuses like "Hey girl, are you out of your senses. I am a tree. I don’t know how to talk." And at times it seemed saying, "Okay, I know how to talk but you see I am a naive an

I can play air guitar and I can play it really well. The price of the musicians, who can never be. They achieve the mastery over their instruments, telling the instruments how to act out the way they want them to. And here, we compensate for our silence, through our verses. It's not enough that we can coax our words or trick our lines into pictures.. and thus, I try hard to hear the music in my mind. I must hear it as I walk, as I talk, as I breathe. And thus, during these hot summer afternoons, I'd tune up and let my mind unhinge itself, and play all the mighty chords... Such a sweet illusion!! Happens, when I miss guitar.

On an evening like this, quiet, Soft, smooth and scarlet hanging flabbily out of the blueprints of a humdrum day of early summers Dirty as I roved in the porch watching blue herons serenading on the green branches of the Mango tree, the thought that clicked me first wasn’t of yesterday’s memories, or today’s accomplishments or tomorrow’s clear-cut charts or of the meadows full of green rain-soaked grass with heaps of moss gleaming in moonlight, or of where the stars hide in the day but of an ordinary world with ordinary things. It seemed the perfect moment to say a good-bye to this hyperbolized world and its gaudy lights and intemperate facades and to return into the lanes of a wrinkle-free world full of geese and swans. fairy tales slipping out of the pockets and memories from childhood taking form of sounds and noises, into aimless ramblings of the dreams and the magic-filled nights, which followed the motion of the stars and eavesdropped the silent whispers that the gasping earth ma

Love has taken away all my practices and filled me with poetry I tried quietly repeating, no strength but yours, but I couldn't.. I had to clap and sing I used to be respectable and chaste and stable But who can stand in this strong wind remember those things? A mountain keeps an echo deep inside itself. That is how I hold your Voice. I am scrap wood thrown in your fire and quickly reduced to smoke I saw you and became empty. This emptiness - more beautiful than existence it obliterates existence and yet when it comes, existence thrives and creates more existence!! The Sky is Blue. The world is like a blind man squatting on the road. But whosoever sees your emptiness sees beyond Blue and beyond the blind man. A great soul hides like Muhammad or Jesus, moving through the crowd in a city where no one knows him yet. To praise is to praise how one surrenders to this emptiness. To praise the sun is to praise your own eyes. Praise the ocean. What we say, a little ship So th

Too sleepy. Thoughts, images, memories are rolling in head. Pouring them out. Grass, grass and trees, a lotus pond. and cows.. No, no cows. Sunshine, space, fresh air, laughters. trees? jamun, aam, neem, peepal. the walking track laid out as if a child’s game then the dusk, not just reddish, but greyish, bluish, purplish, quietly falling over the land and those abrupt changes in the birdcalls the cascading orchestra of insect sounds And the silver flowing through the night, flyovers passing by above, shops lined across the edge of the road, sleeping city. The tic tac toe of the words said/unsaid. Then the shores Sea shores Sunset over the water. Silver turns into a grey-white at one side, and a vague blue at the other. the sun, a yellowish orangish globe of fire. The yellow gold. The faint far away mountains, the blue green of the peacock feathers. A single star glowing in the deepening black. Lighthouses in the sea, far far away. The whoosh of the waves crashing into the shore. Unendi

I can extend the physical space around me and make a personal temple all for myself, so that I don’t have to go somewhere to calm my restless spirit But space affects me It alters my mood It changes the way I perceive the world and myself If I have this temple that shields me from spaces outside, would my subjectivity stop acting on my room in my house and me? Would only the gleaming gold dome with its arches of peace enfold me forever? .

I love the serenity of the night. It stills my mind. Often, when I try to sleep, I cannot because I want to write. If I get up from the bed and come to write, the effort to sleep would have been wasted because I know that I wouldn't be able to control my words. And I love watching sunrises, through the glass of the window, the kitchen filling up with the morning light, the sky breaking up with tints of different colors, the houses drenched in the morning calm, the birds chirping, the chill of the fresh air. It's an extension of the beauty of my night, like spreading out the carpet for more, rolling over and unfurling, like the gradual opening of a bud. .

This is something that I wrote very recently. It's quite different from the way I generally write and the kind of trance I'd written it in is ineffable:) .What's..what's next?? The song about me. Oh.Yeah.I like this one... - Prelude, Got 'Til Its Gone, Janet Jackson About two years ago, after reading Nick Hornby's Songbook , I wanted to write about my own all-time favourite musician. Immensely Talented Curly Haired South Indian etc. But when I actually sat down to complete this exercise, I was disappointed to find out that writing an essay informed by my taste in music felt about as impossible as compiling a list of songs that best represented A. R Rahman's spirit of genuine spontaneity. Not that I didn't try. I must have listened to songs like Ye jo Desh hai, Satrangi Re, Rubaroo, Tu Hee Re at least 500 times in my efforts to put down on paper exactly how they made me feel. But Rahman's music is rarely just that, and even though it is never too sma

It was a night before the eternal sunrise Holding in it the darkness of yore Flooding with some silent quests And brimming with myriad of unheard cries Echoes reverberating since infinite times Truths entangled in a mesh of uncertainties And lies glimmering as eternal veracity The deceased air choking breaths crammed with dying pregnant words The open wounds of yore raw like never before The rain of fire smoldering the flesh The masks were removed And the curtains fell down Realities egressed- Bare and naked The souls scuffled for a single drop of pure light Light to unravel the mysteries of this infinite lethal night An ephemeral sight of the Sun followed by a never ending dance of death The potion of life dribbling down The waves of death reflecting the lights In a moment’s womb Life and death joined their hands A state similar to that between consciousness and trance A moment of joy and a moment of pain Everything suddenly at rest No noise, no echo silent as sneaky steps of death No