Music once had a human form.
Alluring,
appealing,
charming,
elegant,
exquisite,
glorious,
sublime,
delicate,
lovely,
pretty,
flawless,
perfect.
We humans waged war amongst ourselves to gain control over her.
She left for our sins.
Now we strive to recreate that beauty.
The music we create is but a part of the beauty it once was.
Ohhh music you once had a human form..!!!
oglipogli
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Silence, memories and madness
As the winter night prowls ahead for its next prey, and even the distant hum of the refrigerator stops, you feel the grip of the silence tightening over your nerves.
Absolute silence is maddening.
At this point before tipping over to madness, memories come flowing down, memories of guilt and pleasure.
Memories of pleasure are momentary,ephemeral; its the guilt that lasts long.
Memories have a way of getting attached to certain seasons and smells. They say your brain remembers people and events in peculiar ways. On this dark night you could smell all those moments from the past. You could distinctively smell those smiles, those promises, those careless winter afternoons.
Sounds, you may forget; how it sounded, how they sounded, how those moment sounded, but smells, they are so strong they don't let you forget.
Its like a hazy, grainy video, on mute, being played back in your mind. The pictures getting faded by the passing time, the smells getting stronger.
You start breathing heavily, beads of sweat appear on your brow, a howling train passes by on the distant fields, the Rajdhani is late you think in the back of you mind.
You start hearing sounds, sounds so distant that you never thought it was possible for them to tear past the wintery darkness to reach your ears. Sounds which comfort you, assure you , and bring you back to the sanity of the present.
The rustle of your clothes, the water dripping from the tap, the humming of the laptop fan which you always forget to switch off.
That laptop which had a very good memory, which kept all the pictures of those winter afternoons intact within itself, which had started to make strange humming noises, which has a small light which kept blinking every micro second.
The laptop which you wished would shutdown of its own, stop the cacophony of noises, let you sleep in peace.
That laptop which you kicked in rage and is now a pile of junk.
That laptop whose hard-disk is still intact, and it still preserves those pictures of those winter afternoons, from which you always think of getting the data extracted, but never gathered the strength to do so, because , the smells, they never let you forget.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Trust, Temptation & Trash
Temptation: Mark Twain once said “There is a charm about
the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable”. And like my fellow beings I
too am tempted to attain the forbidden. You are never tempted to do well; at
least I have never felt so.
The desires attached to such forbiddens are so strong that
sometimes, after you have touched upon them you feel guilty. You always feel
guilty after satisfaction.
There are so many kinds of temptations which lure you away
from the so called path of righteousness, the one which you feel you must
follow, but are never successful. The strongest of them right now is to get
into the social accounts of people who were the entire world for you once, with
whom you had roamed an entire dreamland were time was an illusion (*imagine
Inception, the movie playing in the background*), but all that was lost and the
only thing that had remained constant was that naive persons social account
passwords which the other one had shared at a moment of extreme trust.
Trust: A trust so strong that it was an axiom, no
proofs required, but which was time and again proved wrong like the various
atomic theories. The trust which was breached time and again; taken advantage
upon and taken for granted. A trust which was so blind that it clouded people’s
judgement, but for how long. The eyes started to open, the clouds started to
clear, the vision got focused, and the friends might have helped a lot. With
the passage of time the trust had turned into hatred, disgust, scorn. But even with
this newfound hatred and understanding of the workings of the human nature the
person still was naive, innocent, unsophisticated, artless, ingenuous,
inexperienced, guileless, unworldly, childlike, dewy-eyed, simple, natural,
unaffected, unpretentious; gullible, credulous, easily taken in, unsuspecting,
unsuspicious, easily deceivable, dupable, immature, callow, raw, as green as
grass, ignorant. And the person never changed, like the passwords.
Trash: I have always found the most shocking of
revelations and news in the mailbox trash. Not mine, others mailboxes, the
access to which had been given to me when the grass was green, but which
remained with me even after the red rose had turned white. People always forgot
that the deleted mails and chat histories went to trash for a few days, many
never knew the existence of the same till being questioned about it.
The trash had a very high
shock value, it created supernovae shock waves which travelled through the
interstellar space between the two of us and was deeply felt on both the sides. It has highly destructive powers similar to
those generated by the Earth’s Magnetic field colliding with the Solar wind or
shock waves caused by galaxies colliding with each other.
I am not saying that I am the Earth but she
sure was the Sun right now glaring in full glory, and her entire solar energy
concentrated at one point. But rather than destruction the Earth was basking in
the sunlight which felt sweet after the cold stares, and the well deserved
period of silence. The sun it seemed was not capable of destruction.
The galaxies were light
years apart from each other but the faint recollection of the once strong
gravitational pull was still lingering in some deep crevasse of the mind. On one such faint recollecting moment, a
thought occurred, which suggested the use of the once shared passwords to trace
the movement of a very bright galaxy; once very close, but now lost into the
deep space.
The thought gave rise to
desires and temptations, which were acted upon and once again trusts were
breached inboxes accessed, and trash was read. As expected shock waves were
generated, the earth was on its way to destruction and the sun was shining
brightly.
This time acting upon the
temptations did not result into satisfaction, but it felt guilty enough. The
Sun naive enough continued to shine from a distance, its trust broken, heart
mangled beyond repair but still dewy eyed, moonstruck and innocent.
Trust, temptation and
trash had again created a mess of the universe
Labels:
innocence,
longing,
promises,
social media,
temptation,
trash,
trust
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Wallets
Its always wallets, they always think alike i never could understand why. They always gifted wallets - the most intimate ones, the ones closer to heart than the aorta. The ones who we thought will never leave, but looking back now who seem to be so far into the past that their existence seems like a hazy afternoon dream, from which you wake up gasping for breath, thirsty and drenched in sweat.
The wallets they predicted things. Their physical condition correctly represented the tides and tribunals of the harmonies we were creating together. And just before it was set to snap, the thing we thought was never going to end, the wallet would always give way. They predicted things.
Its nothing to do with the contents it carried, it was as if these wallets were the physical representation of all the poems we wrote, the poems which went on to become life song, the songs which changed pitch too often, the longings, the questions, the drift apart, the looming dark clouds, the shadows and the ultimate darkness. They never could survive till the ultimate darkness arrived, they would always give way, the wallets.
But this last one did outlast the entire song and dance episode, as if it wanted to tell us something. The leather shined brightly, showing the poems were still been written, the condition perfect representing a resonating frequency , a frequency which can create great harmonies. But the truth was something different. The wallet after all was an inanimate object , but it did live and breath.
So was the harmony between these two persons still living and breathing, maybe a muffled breath, never to be heard; buried deep within layers of ego and societal pressures on top to give it a justified healthy look.
We never had a proper closing, the loose ends still dangle around how hard we try to hide them.
The wallets they predicted things. Their physical condition correctly represented the tides and tribunals of the harmonies we were creating together. And just before it was set to snap, the thing we thought was never going to end, the wallet would always give way. They predicted things.
Its nothing to do with the contents it carried, it was as if these wallets were the physical representation of all the poems we wrote, the poems which went on to become life song, the songs which changed pitch too often, the longings, the questions, the drift apart, the looming dark clouds, the shadows and the ultimate darkness. They never could survive till the ultimate darkness arrived, they would always give way, the wallets.
But this last one did outlast the entire song and dance episode, as if it wanted to tell us something. The leather shined brightly, showing the poems were still been written, the condition perfect representing a resonating frequency , a frequency which can create great harmonies. But the truth was something different. The wallet after all was an inanimate object , but it did live and breath.
So was the harmony between these two persons still living and breathing, maybe a muffled breath, never to be heard; buried deep within layers of ego and societal pressures on top to give it a justified healthy look.
We never had a proper closing, the loose ends still dangle around how hard we try to hide them.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Sabse Adhik Tumhi Ro-oge - Ram Avatar Tyagi
Every time I read this poem my heart bleeds, it can't be explained more beautifully than in the words of Shri Rajiv Krishna Saxena
"All of us have gone through those very private moments when we meet some one with whom we have a very special binding and who may care the most for us in this world. While others may be vocal and demonstrative but that special relationship is beyond words and can only be expressed in silence. This is a remarkable poem by Ram Avtar Tyagi Ji. So intensely private that one almost feels embarrassed in sharing it with the poet. What a gem!"
Also available in the following links.
"All of us have gone through those very private moments when we meet some one with whom we have a very special binding and who may care the most for us in this world. While others may be vocal and demonstrative but that special relationship is beyond words and can only be expressed in silence. This is a remarkable poem by Ram Avtar Tyagi Ji. So intensely private that one almost feels embarrassed in sharing it with the poet. What a gem!"
सबसे अधिक तुम्हीं रोओगे / रामावतार त्यागी
आने पर मेरे बिजली-सी कौंधी सिर्फ तुम्हारे दृग में
लगता है जाने पर मेरे सबसे अधिक तुम्हीं रोओगे !
मैं आया तो चारण-जैसा
गाने लगा तुम्हारा आंगन;
हंसता द्वार, चहकती ड्योढ़ी
तुम चुपचाप खड़े किस कारण ?
मुझको द्वारे तक पहुंचाने सब तो आये, तुम्हीं न आए,
लगता है एकाकी पथ पर मेरे साथ तुम्हीं होओगे!
मौन तुम्हारा प्रश्न चिन्ह है,
पूछ रहे शायद कैसा हूं
कुछ कुछ चातक से मिलता हूँ
कुछ कुछ बादल के जैसा हूं;
मेरा गीत सुन सब जागे, तुमको जैसे नींद आ गई,
लगता मौन प्रतीक्षा में तुम सारी रात नहीं सोओगे!
तुमने मुझे अदेखा कर के
संबंधों की बात खोल दी;
सुख के सूरज की आंखों में
काली काली रात घोल दी;
कल को गर मेरे आंसू की मंदिर में पड़ गई ज़रूरत
लगता है आंचल को अपने सबसे अधिक तुम ही धोओगे!
परिचय से पहले ही, बोलो,
उलझे किस ताने बाने में ?
तुम शायद पथ देख रहे थे,
मुझको देर हुई आने में;
जगभर ने आशीष पठाए, तुमने कोई शब्द न भेजा,
लगता है तुम मन की बगिया में गीतों का बिरवा बोओगे!
लगता है जाने पर मेरे सबसे अधिक तुम्हीं रोओगे !
मैं आया तो चारण-जैसा
गाने लगा तुम्हारा आंगन;
हंसता द्वार, चहकती ड्योढ़ी
तुम चुपचाप खड़े किस कारण ?
मुझको द्वारे तक पहुंचाने सब तो आये, तुम्हीं न आए,
लगता है एकाकी पथ पर मेरे साथ तुम्हीं होओगे!
मौन तुम्हारा प्रश्न चिन्ह है,
पूछ रहे शायद कैसा हूं
कुछ कुछ चातक से मिलता हूँ
कुछ कुछ बादल के जैसा हूं;
मेरा गीत सुन सब जागे, तुमको जैसे नींद आ गई,
लगता मौन प्रतीक्षा में तुम सारी रात नहीं सोओगे!
तुमने मुझे अदेखा कर के
संबंधों की बात खोल दी;
सुख के सूरज की आंखों में
काली काली रात घोल दी;
कल को गर मेरे आंसू की मंदिर में पड़ गई ज़रूरत
लगता है आंचल को अपने सबसे अधिक तुम ही धोओगे!
परिचय से पहले ही, बोलो,
उलझे किस ताने बाने में ?
तुम शायद पथ देख रहे थे,
मुझको देर हुई आने में;
जगभर ने आशीष पठाए, तुमने कोई शब्द न भेजा,
लगता है तुम मन की बगिया में गीतों का बिरवा बोओगे!
Also available in the following links.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Tandanu Jukebox | Indian Ocean | Vishal Dadlani | Shankar Mahadevan | Sh...
Many a times words fail to convey the beauty, the divine nature of things. Music fulfills that void. Getting high on music can be the best experience the complex neurons in the brain can have. Listening to their new album "Tandanu" by Indian ocean, you get high, you emote, experience feelings never felt before, your imagination takes you across galaxies. You are a different person altogether
Presenting for all of you to listen to the Music Gods, aptly labeled by a fellow blogger as "Gods of an Atheist" Indian ocean and their seventh album completely available on YouTube.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Journey
25th
August 2014 blog entry 23: As
always, all of them on the platform rushed to board the train, even when ‘she’
was shouting at the top of her voice that it will leave at 1.20 pm, an hour and
half from now. She keeps shouting day and night, someday I shall speak to her.
You humans, why are you always in a hurry, I could never understand. The seats
have been decided, the time you know but you still make such a fuss over
entering the train. I Guess life is a journey for you
.
.
Unlike her, the train never speaks, many a times I have tried
to spark a conversation, but all in vain. I guess she has larger things in mind,
the train. Me, I keep talking to everyone passing by. The humans never pay heed;
no one does as a matter. The pigeons always listen; I guess they are from
somewhere else, looking for something. They always listen.
Let me introduce myself to you, I am the seat no. 65 of a
certain Janshatabdi, part of the great Indian railways, and ya I talk too much,
I am a window seat you know.
I have been talking since my inception, but this is the
first chance I have had to write my thoughts down. How I got the chance to use
this pen of his is a long story, I’ll come to that.
I had a Nobel bearth.
I am no normal bearth, I am a highly advanced seat model of the chair car
series. During inception, I had been put on the AC cabin manufacturing line for
some time, but was then transferred to the normal chair car section, hence, I
am special.
I have been watching you humans travel here and there daily,
watching you and your stupidity is my life. On one such fine Sunday afternoon,
this guy whose blog space I am using right now entered the train, ya an hour
and half early than the scheduled departure and occupied me, seat no. 65, the
window seat, I told you I am special.
The pigeons had told me it was August, and it was supposed
to rain, but it didn't, the pigeons were worried and were investigating the
matter. The train was silently standing below the sun, as for the passengers
they were feeling the heat.
After observing you people for so long I can correctly judge
you, your thoughts and following actions. This guy who seemed to be in his late
twenties, who I think was just a silent observer but a man not capable of
action; he had good intentions but did not had the heart to accomplish them as
such. Was a voracious reader too, read 2 complete novels in the span of the
short journey. Might be a nomad, couldn't guess his place of origin or where he
belonged to. So this guy had a bottle of water, finished it off and threw it
out of the window. Although I am a cool seat I was not able to provide any
relief to him this day. He was quietly shifting in his seat reading the novel
when suddenly, the other kind of humans entered, 4 of them exactly, shouting,
crying making such hell of a noise the train god knows for what.
The moment they occupied seats besides the reader, one of
them opened a couple of bags of chips, with biscuits and a number of other
edibles packed in plastic bags of varying shapes, sizes and color. They kept
munching, and chattering animatedly to each other. They were the only reason I
got distracted from the reader, I had to help the other seats, my fellow
beings.
These chitchatters I speak of had colorful taste in
clothing, starting from violet to red and what not. And every other moment one
or the other kept clicking a selfie, I tried a lot but never managed to get in
any of the shots. I had never had an FB appearance till now and this chance too
seemed to have been lost. But they were clicking continuously and munching
furiously.
They say humans are the only living beings who generate
garbage, and this lot generated garbage by the minute. An hour after their
arrival the surroundings was filled with plastic bags proudly displaying
company names of multinational stature. These names could have been used
against them only if these humans could think. But alas, all they were
interested in where those selfies.
With the rise in temperature they started consuming, dubious
colored beverages of various kinds, and that too got collected on to the floor.
The reader although noticing these things kept reading, without a word of advice,
he thought better of himself. More than
an hour had passes since the journey had started, a faint smell of petroleum
gases in the air announced the arrival of Mathura, I knew all the cities by
their smells, its exact that way. The news of Mathura arriving might have got
into their ears too, the excitement of the four colour full persons reached a
new level, they started repacking rearranging and jumping up and down with joy.
Suddenly one of them came up with yet another plastic bag,
big and empty this time, and what they did next made me reconsider the way I
judge people altogether. All of them, yes all four of them started to collect
all the garbage that was spilled around the general area they were sitting and
started to stuff it in the big empty plastic bag, which within a few seconds
got filled. After that they gave a quick glance towards the floor and seeing it
empty they satisfactorily nodded at each other. The train by now had stopped at
Mathura junction, all four of them rushed outside with their baggage and the
garbage bag, I recollect I could faintly hear them discussing about throwing
the garbage bag into an incinerator of some kind .They were gone in a jiffy ,
and me and the reader were the only persons left in the vicinity.
After 10 long years, I stopped talking and pondered a
little, I really needed to change the way I look at people, I thought. And then with
the powers vested upon me by the great Indian railways, and with the
consultation of the pigeons, I declared the reader guilty of spreading plastic
garbage. He had after all thrown out a plastic bottle on to the railway tracks.
The reader pleaded for mercy, but there was none in store to
be shown. And as a result he had to surrender his blog space to me, the Window
seat no. 65, so that I can tell the truth about him. Ok I have done what I
intended to do, now I hand over the pen to him. Ba bye.
25th
August 2014 blog entry 23: Dear
friends, I was travelling today, the heat in the train was too much for me, I
guess I spoke to my seat during the entire length of the journey, but I guess I
was hallucinating, I feel too much tired to write so today I might skip the
job, as for the pigeons I really think they are into something.
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