Tuesday, 25 October 2011


It would have been sad if music was the monopoly of musicians. As I sit in my room while the world around me proudly shines in festive glory, I hear around me the music that my city hums on its own. May be, nothing is without rhyme and reason. Everything in this world has their rhythm, their pattern that they can call their own. The universe of our mind has a cosmic regularity that aberrations often make us take note of. It would be a pity if we reduced music to what only predetermined instruments can make, because in reality it is everywhere. It is in the wind of the thunderstorm that gives a thrill in our heart and makes the heartbeat come truly alive; in the footsteps as we trace a line along the squares of the red pavements in the city of joy; in the raindrops on the tinned rooftops of fallen buildings, in the river as the oars stride against it under the backdrop of the grand bridges that caress the skyline of the old capital with old glories; in the silent breathing of the dejected dog forlorn in the corner of the pavement; in the verses of a poet; in the water from the tap, slowly easing itself, in the dead of the night when the world is asleep; in the silence of the night when the cricket sings; in the punctual regularity of moonshine, in life itself. There’s a hidden song everywhere. And that makes me feel nice about everything else.

Thursday, 20 October 2011

Good Ol' Fairytales

Cinder-Mann was typically the tragic being. Oppressive alcoholic father and a spendthrift sister who'd burn a hole in his pocket before he could replenish it with his salary. He was sad.

He'd while away his time reading books and hoping that the world would become a greater place. The father married time and again for the fun of it, and ended up being quite a bit serious about a rather pretty widow with two kids of her own. Now Cinder-Mann had two other kids burning holes into his little pocket. Sad story. Some say that the brothers were ugly and mean and described them using all the negative words possible. But I secretly believe that it was just to increase the great tragic quotient of our hero. However, the fact remains that he was having a tough time and couldn't see any silver lining whatsoever.

There was a big party in the city palace where Princess Charming was coming. Some say she looked like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. She wasn't really a princess you know. But she was, well, quite swell. And men admired her both for her looks and her sharp tongue that would win both the hearts and the intellects. Cinder-Mann wanted to go. But he felt like William Thacker of Notting Hill or something like that. Well, Charming was way out of his league, and while his step-brothers happily dressed up to woo the lady, Cinder-Mann sat near the fire moping about his distress.

And then suddenly came a fairy. She asked for weird stuff like mice and pumpkins. But while our hero suspected her to be some sort of a loony medieval witch, she had in the mean time created a dazzling coach and sparkling suits that made our man look like a movie hero. Seriously, sometimes all it takes to take off commonness is good clothes.

Anyway, he went to the ball and princess was visibily smitten by his charm. Yet when the clock struck twelve, the man disappeared, leaving behind a shiny boot. The princess looked for it and later found Cinder-Mann distressed, sitting in rags. She was a nice person and asked him to tell what happened. He narrated his sad story while she patiently listened. Due to her charitable disposition, she married the chap. Of course, divorce ensued but the alimony was enough for Cinder-Mann to live happily ever after.

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

Excessive ramblings of a fellow who likes to type, and a thing called contentment

Most of the philosophical brouhahas are about life, to define them in a nutshell. I'm not a cynical person and therefore I don't see life as a series of agonising days where my primary desire every morning is to slash my wrists and see how people mourn my plight. Sentimentality is fine. We all need bits and pieces of it to stay in tune with emotions. But when sentimental extravaganza spills over into pessimism-filled distaste towards everything life has to offer, it is, to put things mildly, a bit over the top. One might argue that I, having a peaceful life so far, am clearly too unaware and immature to comment on a matter so serious. Of course I can't defend that. Immaturity is just another human trait in me that I cannot get rid off.

We all hope for something better that's going to happen at some point of time. We look back upon good times with tinges of nostalgia and silent sniffs somewhere around the olfactory area. But let us face it, we live right at the moment. The rest are either dreams or memories lived. Somewhere down the line, I feel it is so much more important to realise that all the hurdles that life presents us are merely an obstacle to clog our greater picture. They are like the small air-pockets that aeroplanes often plunge into. More often than not the big birdie manages to fly alright. (Of course those prematurely deceased due to plane crashes are cursing me from above). I've always wanted to be happy. Till I realised that there's nothing to plan for. I'm happy for the moment anyway. And that makes a lot more sense than what the past gave or what the future holds.

Disclaimer: This view of life is subject to momentary whims.