Music and blah blah:)

Some music is too pure. Some things are too strange. It is easy to get disconnected. It is too easy to unleash the invisible because it is invisible. But invisible does not mean non-existent. Raindrops, music, green leaves and unfurling buds have always been so wonderful.

scribbled in the notepad (which i borrowed from Himanshu and never returned) I close eyes. There is so much hustle around me- a constant noise and chatter. I close eyes. I can feel the noises. And I can feel peace. Bombay- Yes, I like the older name more. I remember how I always wanted to live somewhere near the sea since my childhood. I remember how I always had this strange fascination for the sea.. The unending perpetual waves, the infinite blueness and boundless. Wow!! I just feel like hugging it. I wish I could say I love Bombay. But I cannot. Because logically I have no reason for it. I am a simple girl and therefore, ideally this superfast trendy life of Bombay does not go in sync with me. I should love to live at a quiet place where I can feel the buds bloom into flowers, where I can see the sapling sprouting out of seeds, where I can hear the birds chirping into my ears in the early mornings and where I can track the motion of the stars during the nights. And surely, I would

went to sell some of the books of MBA today.. we had just three hours sandwiched between the classes and we had to go to old city with a lot of luggage to carry. However that is not what I wanted to write here. As I emptied my bag to sell off the books, I found a folder paper beneath. I picked it up, unfolded it, was momentarily shocked to see such a neat handwriting of mine (my handwriting has really really worsened over here. I was exhilarated to read a couple of lines. I tried showing that to prashant, but as always, he is never interested in any of such things :P So without giving him a chance to tell me again that we need to hurry up and are getting late, I slipped that page into my pocket. Attended lectures, gave that two min ppt mindlessly, went to Gym in hostel and then returned to room and read this sheet. I really want to paste that handwriting here, which I definitely will.. will get the page clicked and photographs uploaded.. I do want to type it all here.. but sort of tire

My head is running into all directions. with so many questions. why is music so peaceful, always? why is this little thing irking me so much? why does the heart always want a little more? just a little more.. written during the journey in train from Chandigarh to Ahmedabad- (sleeper class, RAC.. I couldn't sleep, so was looking out of the window and listening to songs on Ipod) the moon is looking like a bowl made up of Gold. The beauty of a song is it immortalizes time. As I am listening to this song, I am standing in front of the singer, looking at him singing these words and living in the past when this song was recorded. long back. so many years ago. I am feeling, perhaps exactly, what he was feeling then. Isn't it strange and magical? Earth spins, completes a circle. Something of that sort defines existence. I don't know. It's so clear, yet hazy. I see it from a distance, the moment I try to touch it, it disappears. I kept my fists tightly clenched for about two ho

Dear Rain, Your magic is like the magic of the wind. Your drops are like the nectar from the heavens. The madness you hold inside inebriates our senses is the same madness which drives the waves across the oceans, which blazes in fire or makes the storms rush through the earth. I long for you so often so rarely. Love. .................... amazing time it is. no, really. Sometimes you just sit and wonder and fumble and juggle around with words, you don't know what to say, but you know there is a lot to be said. not that I'm not waiting for the rain (or rains?) to come, the meaning of what the winds sing is still unclear to me, the way the moon walks around in the sky, and the way those stars make those conspiracies to keep us up throughout the nights, are still very much the same. I just wish I could somehow run into those days when my hands used to stay smudged in wet soil.. and rainbows used to define happiness's meaning.

And as you turn quiet, the time stops to move. The turquoise waves flowing frantically over the surface of the blue green oceans, become still. The facetious birds diving in the blueness of the sky turn into black dots of an unstilted awe, suspended in the timeless vacuums of the air. All dimensions, known-unknown, connecting each life to the other flowering one, begin to disintegrate. And soon, the world shrinks into a tiny lace of mist, that fits so well in the periphery between your two unmoving lips. And with every wisp of breath that I seize from that still air, un-sliced, unadulterated brimming with the numinous waves of your unfathomable, killing yet enchanting silence, a thousand lives are lived. A thousand loves, reborn.

4 hours of continuous music. craving for more. the unquenchable thirst. exactly what I was missing for so many days. whoever created music thanku!!