Every Day, Friendship Day

Well, Sunday was Friendship Day, and I’ve always celebrated it just like everybody else – host a lunch, or go out somewhere and “PARTAYY”. This year too, I did the same, only this year I wasn’t celebrating just the one day. The last few months have been, without doubt, the hardest of my life so far.

But it is in times like these that your eyes truly open to your surroundings, to what your life really is, or has been, and you learn  to value what you’ve got, even what you haven’t.  I’ve still got some time to pull, but there’s a reason I’m writing this.

I’d like all my friends, all those who have been right there for me, who have seen whatever it is I’ve been going through, and chosen to jam that extra shoulder in, hold me up in a time when I couldn’t have made it through without – to know that this time, it wasn’t just about the one day. This time round, I’ve celebrated a consistently gobsmacking show of solidarity from all my friends.

If I couldn’t get out of bed, you didn’t hesitate to spend every alternate evening, coming home to keep me company. If I couldn’t talk, you sat there with me, and didn’t say anything, but you sat there. I’ve had so much time on my hands and not known what to do with it, and you’ve given me inspiration to wage a battle, to not sit back and give in to boredom, pain.

I’ve grumbled endlessly, going on and on, only ever mindful of my troubles, and you’ve always had an ear for it. If I’ve not looked or been normal, I was told it didn’t matter and that I would pay dearly if I let it bother me. I’ve hardly ever felt out of place, a result the constant affection and understanding I’ve been granted – all despite however I’ve looked, felt or behaved.

To sum it up, I’m here, happy, alive and kicking, and there’s a reason for it.

I’m grateful for all my friends and just want to say:

THANK YOU.

60 mgs of heartache

The prescription pad reads:

60mgs heartache 1-0-1
40mgs sore ass 1-0-1
30mgs frustration 1-1-1
75mgs pure suffering 1-1-1
DIGENE

They tell me, "There's a light at the end of the tunnel, boy, look!".
And I throw my swollen head back, and laugh heartily. Coz what they
don't know, is that what's on that pad is also a sure shot recipe for
blurred vision. It's true.

I think I've finally figured why faith and belief, patience and hope
are always associated with candles. To start with, when you light a
candle, you have to drop the wax and stick it in the ground. And then,
the flame. Darned thing keeps going out, doesn't it? They're hard
virtues to come by. Even harder to hold on to. It's true.

Darkness does descend. Frustration does reach a height where it fogs
your judgement. It does manage to cloud even the strongest of hearts.
Sometimes, you actually do hope, that when you close your eyes at
night, your "somewhere else" in the morning, and it's all just over.
Murkish, no? Well, it's true.

But life, is relentless. You're caged in, whether you like it or not.
You have to fight another day, every day. I guess you just gotta learn
to find it funny. I'm not there yet. It's true.

Have a Heart

Have you ever just sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, having donned the best set of clothes from your wardrobe, a single steaming cup of coffee lying untouched before you, and stared out through the glass window at the rain as it falls so elegantly out of the sky? if you have, you would have noticed the trees swaying, left to right, then back, and again, no say in the matter. And you would have noticed the many crows perched on building terraces, so still its almost creepy, their feathers getting drenched, sticking to their frail bodies. Then maybe you would notice the man scampering across the street, hands folded over his head, helplessly yelling at vehicles flying by, desperately trying to get a hold of SOME public transport to reach his destination on time - and if he's lucky enough - in a somewhat civil condition. 

Each one has his own story to tell. 

Each one has his own battle to fight.

And each one has no choice, no power, no say in what it's going to be. C'est la vie. Such is life.

Thats not to say life is all dirt'n'muck. See, life doesn't have an instruction manual. There's no rule book. It'll hit you where it wants, how it wants, when it wants, and how many ever times it wants. And it may not SEEM fair, But it is. It bloody well is. Most of us just don't have grit to face the truth. And there is only one truth. IF LIFE KNOCKS YOU DOWN, THERE'S ALWAYS, ALWAYS, A WAY TO GET UP. Nobody said it has to be easy, But its there. And aye, it may take another shot at you after that, for all its worth, but there will always be another way up.

Easier said than done, eh? Ask me about it. No, I haven't written six self-help books. Hell, i'm nineteen years old, diagnosed with what many would loosely call "a kidney problem", and a college dropout. So far, so good.

I'll tell you about life. It's not easy sitting at home everyday, knowing fully well that all of your friends WILL be busy morning, afternoon, and evening, because they have college, and classes. 

And they can eat and drink anything they want to, anytime they want, and how much ever they want. 

Knowing that they can party all night, everyday if they want to.

That they don't have to worry about picking up the teeniest bit of a bug from some godforsaken part of the city.

Knowing that i have swollen legs, and I have to put them up on five pillows for atleast three hours everyday, and that if I do go out then a minimum of six people will stare at me as if I'm from another dimension altogether.

To know that my face is also swollen, to add to all the absolute tripe that i'm going through anyway, and SOMEONE is going to laugh because its so darned round.

As if this weren't enough, I also have the added persistent niggle at the back of my mind - "Huh, have i taken my steroids for today?" If i miss it, screwdriver effect.

And if i take it, still screwdriver effect. because steroids have to have side-effects too, haven't they? And you don't, trust me, you don't want to know what they're like.

And then how do we know if i'm recovering or not? Reports! Which means blood and urine samples twice. Prick, prick, prick, hurrah!

WHY ME? BECAUSE MY HORMONES DECIDED TO FOOL AROUND, DARNED WHIMSICAL THINGS. NO FAULT OF MINE, I'M JUST ONE OF THOSE THOUSANDS OF LUCKY DUCKIES (aged 1-25) WHOSE HORMONES RANDOMLY DECIDE TO PLAY WITH OUR LIVES.

But i'll say this, LIFE GAVE ME A HEART, AND MY HEART IS STRONG. YES, I HURT. YES, I COMPLAIN. I HAVE MY DOWN DAYS. BUT MY ONE HEART IS ENOUGH. I WILL FIGHT, AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN. THATS LIFE.

Insomnia

Perched upon the window sill,
Eyes not so wide open,
Legs hanging loosely down below,
He becomes an amateur vision of a harrowed soul..
Not by any measure of desire, though, sir, no..
There is but an innocence to it.

The cool breeze of the deep, dark night envelops him,
Comforting him it would only seem,
With friendly nudges,
One from the left one from the right,
Then again from the left,
And he smiles.

Two drooping eyelids, no they will not darned shut,
How he longs for that calm, peaceful sleep that only all should have,
Its never bothered him before, this sleepless devil,
Then suddenly, a revelation, enlightenment,
He sees the light,
His dear devil had shown him the night,
And just like that,
He longed to sleep no more.
And just like that,
He awoke no more.

Music, the Life to Live

Well, it seems like only too many yesterdays since I've been back here. But, let bygones be bygones. TODAY, IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MUSICS AND THE LIFES.

Over the past month or two, I've been hit a by a few.... "epiphanies", you could say. One of them being that while I've been involved with music for almost about a decade now (ADVERTISEMENT: 9 years into the tabla, along with a short run with the keyboard, and currently a very serious follow-up on the guitar), there never has been a real understanding of precisely WHAT MUSIC IS. Not only me, there is a commonplace ignorance (not necessary intentional, per se) of the IDEA of what we so randomly and gleefully call "Music".

la musique, la crème de la vie. "Music, the Cream of Life." Ever seen how those girls in those cheesy Cafe Coffee Day ads moan, groan, cringe, twist, cramp up, and lick their lips as if they've finally ACHIEVED MOKSHA or something when they take that first sip of their coffee? Sounds cliched, yes, but that's music. 

Music is the sound of the fans go up when the whistle in a Liverpool-United soccer match goes off. 

Music is the sound of a three mynahs sitting perched on a verandah window-sill in Manali.

Music is the beep-and-click sound a camera makes when you've finally caught that sunrise you've been shooting at 6 a.m. every morning.

Music is the sound of the rhythmic breathing of sage doing his yoga in the forest.

Music is silence, silence is music.

Music is the sound of the court judge's hammerstroke.

Applause is music.

Tears are music.

Laughter is music.

Music is the beautiful words, the heart-wrenching story-line of the novel you're reading.

Music is the truth, however pretty or ugly.

Music is the *chuckchucking* of the incoming train.

Music is the new skirt you just bought.

Farting is music (don't say its not true).

The sound of a right-fisted punch bang in the nose is music.

Music is light, light is music.

Music is temple bells and an aarti.

Music is technology, and everything related to it.

Music is education, learning, teaching.

Guidance is music.

Appreciation is music.

Even nit-picking is music.

Blood, in all forms is music. (Look at Dexter.)

Humour is music, music is humour.

Music is birth.

Music is death.

Music is light.

Music is darkness.

Music is the beginning.

Music is the end.

Music is what comes in between.

MUSIC IS YOU.

YOU ARE LIFE.

MUSIC, IS LIFE.

Die Another Day

Standing atop the tower,
Wondering whether to dive,
21 floors high, the tower stands,
Cool winds blowing all around,
And he thinks of when he was five.

Only pushing him closer to the jump,
He shuts the flooding memories out,
A bead of sweat, a tear drops,
His inner mind screaming, "Stop, stop, stop!",

Then sights of a better day,
Family, friends, and even his dream to succeed,
They overwhelm him,
And he steps back on to the cold, solid ground,
To live to fight another day.


This is not just "some poem". It is a request, a piece of advice, to all those who give up on life so easily. Suicide, is an escapist's choice, someone who does not have the courage, the gall, to face the challenges life throws at him/her. God has given you a life, a mind, a body, for a reason. Life isn't all Apples (pun intended) and oranges (even Blackberrys, these days), and thank God for that, otherwise what would we be?? Don't be rash. Don't go and end your life because something big and greatly upsetting has happened. This world needs every mind it can have, even if your will to live, and live happily at that, isn't enough for it. Die Another Day.

DIWALI

DEEPAVALI




*BOOM*

*Wakes up with a start* “What happened?”

“Rassi Bomb. Good Morning, by the way.”



Well, only two days to go before Lord Ram touches home, but the little children in this country (or at least this city) care so much about him that they’ve started sending smoke signals to him, as to where his home lies. By smoke signals, I mean the miniature mushrooms of smoke that go floating into the sky every time they burn a cracker. Besides, it seems he won’t need the light or the smoke or anything to get home, because he can probably HEAR them anyway.

On a more serious note, Deepavali is one of our more beautiful festivals. Our celebrations of Deepavali though, are based on a huge misunderstanding. This festival is celebrated not only for the homecoming of Lord Ram, but is also a celebration of the victory of Good over Evil. Deepavali (which in Sanskrit means ‘Row of Lamps’, not ‘Earth-killing, noisy crackers’) was originally supposed to be celebrated by wearing new clothes, lighting a lamp filled with oil (to signify the victory of Good over Bad), distributing sweets among loved ones. Simply put, the light emanated from the diyas emphasised the true significance of the day – Victory over Evil, Spiritual Upliftment.

Even if we’re not as concerned about, or don’t understand what our mythology says, there is a very simple reason, lying in patient wait, as to why crackers should not be burnt. There is nothing good that they do for us or our planet, they pollute the air, they are a major source of noise pollution, they are basically slowly killing Mother Earth (which I’m pretty sure our God, Lord Ram wouldn’t want. There’s no point in ridding us of the evil if we’re going to die like this anyway). Think of it this way, if we don’t burst crackers, even those little children who are forced to work to make our crackers, wouldn’t be forced into child labour. All this I realized, when I was trying very hard to watch Mickey Rourke’s (my idol) interview on Inside The Actors Studio, and all I could hear was *BOOM* *PHOOF* *BAM* *DHEESH*.

Also, the crackers we burnt on Deepavali have become a huge question of social standing these day. Which cracker you burn, how many crackers you burn. The more you have the better. Like there is this family in my building, who have a fixation with bursting a huge number of ladis all together, after all their crackers are exhausted. This year they plan to have a round of 50,000 ladis. Hence, they’re cool.

All I’m trying to say is, when Deepavali is such a beautiful festival – the idea behind it, the ACTUAL way of celebrating it – then why are we hell-bent on turning it into a festival that does so much harm? There is a belief that the world can end in 2012. We’re only adding to it. Besides, lets maintain the beauty of this festival, huh guys? Lets do it simply, gracefully, and maintain the purpose of this festival.