A piece of HIStory..

The world was somewhere in the dying weeks of the year 1995. In one of the forgotten bylanes somewhere in Mumbai, walking alongside his mother, was a little kid, oblivious to the implications of both the time-frame and space-frame. Something caught his eye, and in an era when the word 'window-shopping' was probably yet to be invented, suddenly the little child was transfixed, staring at something through the display pane of a shop. Navigating between the twin storms generated by the newly discovered overpowering urge to own it, and the stark reality of the price of the object of desire, the kid reached the shore of compromise, trying hard to convince himself that it wasn't nearly worth all of the 250 Rupees of his hard-saved money, and walked away from the window.

They say God made mothers because He couldn't be everywhere. And God knew, albeit a jiffy after the mother, that the kid wanted it. Wanted it badly. Twenty feet beyond the shop window, mom's love asserted itself in the form of insistence. Half-resisting, the kid was practically pushed into the shop, and a small cardboard box pushed into his eager hands. The mother even pretended that she was 'lending' him the 250 bucks, and that he was to pay her back from his savings when they reached home. The kid could never figure out how to tell his mother how much he loves her. But that's what makes mothers such a good substitute for God. They don't need to be told.

Two whole days later, the ten-year old was nearly dancing with anticipation when he finally arrived home, a few hundred kilometers away from Mumbai. He tore through the plastic packing, and with shaking hands, held the two cassette covers, neither anticipating, nor fully comprehending what was to come. Out came the cassette and went straight into the cassette player. And as HIStory played, history repeated itself, as it already had, millions of times around the world. The boy would never be the same again.

The first piece of music that transfixes your soul is like the first teacher who holds your hand and teaches you to write, suddenly empowering you with a new paradigm. Through the years, you meet a number of teachers who open your eyes to numerous other things, but the first one will always hold a special place in some corner of your heart.

Fast forward to 15 years later, and it has been about 9 years since the kid has heard from the cassette. He often contemplates pursuing a serious career in music, but he has moved to other genres and expressions of music. He plays the guitar now, propelled towards a musical direction that so very often mocks at the very genre of the music on the original cassette. But today, suddenly, he is vividly cognizant of the debt that he owes to the person who created the music that taught the boy's heart to sing.

Rest in Peace MJ.

Av

Playing for Change

"The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.."

Every once in a while, blogwise, I get into one of these ruts (and given the above line, closer to the grave). Then comes along something that kicks me out of the rut and steers me clear of the grave.

Every once in a while, I also develop a(n extremely undesirable) feeling about what I'm doing in life being superior to what most other people are doing. Then comes along something that makes me literally stop dead in my tracks and re-examine how much value am I adding to the world in terms of things that really matter.

And once in a while, there comes along something which does both of the above, and I just have to share it with all of you. :D

Playing for Change is a worldwide multimedia project aimed at bringing people together through the all-pervasive power of music. Each of the tracks embedded below have been performed by multiple musicians, geographically separated by thousands of miles across five continents, The ensemble of extremely talented musicians includes musicians who are members of a choir or structured music group alongside musicians performing on the streets around the world, working towards a common dream.
You can find a more detailed explanation here.

When I first stumbled onto this project while rambling around in cyberspace, I was stunned to hear the performances of varied origin merging seamlessly into each other to create musical entities of such infinite beauty. When the street musicians perform, calling out to a new world of hope, you can see the moisture in their eyes, and feel the years of experiences peeking through the quaver in their voices. The emotions in the voices and instruments all around the world have been beautifully captured in a way unparalleled by anything else known to me, that has been produced under constraints of this nature.

Stand by Me




Chanda Mama
(No that's not a typo, try out the vid!)




No More Trouble




One Love




Don't Worry

Please help spread the word around by putting up a banner on your blogs like I've done on mine. More of us need to hear of this endeavour.

On a pensive note, rather than write equations and programs, I yearn to write this melody of hope, love, brotherhood and acceptance across the lives of people. To me, THAT is making a significant difference. This is really the kind of stuff that I really want to do with my life. I shall. To quote one of the tracks, A Change is Gonna Come... :D

Luv-n-Luck,
Av

Happy Birthday to Me!!

I'm a quarter century old today.. :D
Luv,
Av

P.S. - Blogposts coming soon..

Ascension

The above image is courtesy Jason Evans from The Clarity of Night. He held a story writing competition, with stories inspired by the photograph above. The challenging part was, the story had to be limited to 250 words. I came to know of the contest with only a couple of days left for submission. I could not come up with anything within that time-frame, largely, I suspect, due to the self-limiting belief that I haven't done any story-writing before. So I ardently, if passively, followed the contest and I must say, it was an absolute pleasure.

Weeks later, after the winners have been chosen and applauded, my meandering mind has finally generated something, so here is my take. The first story I've ever written. Try not to be brutal with your comments. Here goes :

The Irony of FILE

"Wherever and whenever we are together, always hold me to your left" she said. “So I wouldn’t interfere with the purpose of your life.”
Did she know that she was contradicting herself? I wouldn't ever know.
But I still sleep on the right side of the bed, alone, smiling at the irony.

We bought exactly identical denims on our shared 18th birthday, to mark our metamorphosis from boys to men.

“18 till we die” we decided. Did we really comprehend those words? I'm not sure.
But I still wear those denims on the day only I grow older every year, alone, smiling at the irony.

One of my earliest memories is one of him sitting pillion on my tricycle, facing backwards.
One day, years later, he introduced me to her, bringing her to me on his bike, seated backwards, so that I could not identify my promised "hot date" from afar and backtrack with nervousness.

They both used to say that too often in life we miss what we have and will have, because we are too busy looking at what we have left behind. And then we used to laugh at the irony. They were both veterans at dyslexia. But was their’s the only kind?

Some people fear the slits at the bottom and the top of the elevator. I fear the invisible crack that runs down the middle, causing the two sides to ascend at different speeds.
I still ride the elevator backwards, alone, smiling at the irony.

Av

P.S. - Just for the record, its EXACTLY 250 words. :D

The girl at office..

In the dying hours of another V-day spent alone, I can't help but reminisce about her..

So much for not dipping your pen into the company ink. Here goes..

I see her often at office. I wish I could say I see her everyday. But history bears testimony to the fact that fate has long been the tormentor of love. Sometimes we talk, and sometimes we don't. But I hardly notice that, because she speaks to me beyond words. Her very presence speaks to my soul. When I can see her, I don't just see. I observe. I hear. I smell. I taste. I feel. She makes me understand what John Denver was referring to when he sang "You fill up my senses".

The gal who struck up the conversation with me on the first day, when I was still gathering courage to smile at her.

The gal who used to pretend she didn't notice when I walked in through the door of the training room, only to check me out later when I was busy with my work.

The gal who was unsure of exactly how far I would allow someone while having a personal discussion.

The gal who was genuinely concerned more about me cracking the acceptance test than herself.

The gal who tries to be by my side in a group photo, even if it means me holding a couple of fingers as horns behind her head.

The gal who smiles assuringly at me when someone opposes my opinion over something.

The gal who likes to say "thank you" or "sorry" to me once in a while, for reasons that generally escape me.

The gal who likes to pretend that she didn't really care, when I open a door for her, or walk on the outer side of the street.

The gal who keeps track of how long it has been since we had a photo taken of just the two of us.

The gal who blushes and lowers her gaze when I just look into her eyes without smiling when she wishes me goodmorning.

The gal who pauses outside the music room and listens to me pounding on the drums, or strumming the strings, without coming in because she thinks it would distract me.

The gal who sometimes gives me big, warm smiles for apparently no reason at all.

The gal who reads up on some topics on wikipedia, that she knows I'm currently high on, just so that she can understand what the blabbering is all about.

The gal who assures me that it makes her feel good when I am protective of her, when I express my doubts about how far people should interfere in each other's lives.

The gal who gives me the whole box of traditional sweets sent to her from home, because she knows I love them.

The gal who sends me meaningless messages over chat when she can't think of anything to say to start the conversation.

The gal who calls me names, or pretends to be angry at me, if she feels that I haven't been giving her attention for the last few days.

The gal who I can compliment just by smiling at her and nodding my head in silent approval.

The gal whose cute nose wiggles ever so slightly, acting as a give-away sign, when she disapproves of something.

The gal who pretends to be not very hungry and asks me to finish her tiffin, as she knows I crave home-cooked food.

The gal who wears a new accessory to office and then waits patiently for me to take notice.

The gal who puts up with my wierd ideas and numerous offshoots in the course of a discussion.

The gal who sometimes stays back late because my work is not done, just so that we can go back in the same bus.

The gal who then lets me sleep on the bus, even though she wants to talk.

The gal who holds my hand just a jiffy too long when we shake hands.

The gal who learns the crazy handshakes I teach her and agrees to do them everytime we meet.

The gal who pauses a moment before we part everytime, evaluating the possibility of a good-bye hug.

The gal who gently snuggles up to me when I place an arm around her, and sometimes lays her head gently on my shoulder.

The babe with the beautiful hair.

The hot chick with the long legs, AND high heels.

The enchantress with the mesmerizing eyes.

I could go on and on.. But there's just one thing I'd like to say:

I really wish all of these were the one, same gal!

Hahaha! Valentine's fool!!

But on a personal note, a big, warm hug to all my female friends who can relate to something above. You are indeed special to me, and in my own quirky way, I love you more than you'll ever know.

Keep the faith,

Av

A knot in time..

This is a thread of thought that emerged in the course of a very "no-souls-barred" discussion that I had with one of my close friends in Pune. I thought I would like to share it with everyone else. Here goes:

Once in a while, everyone tends to have a really deep, meaningful discussion with a friend, a parent, a spouse or a total stranger. In retrospect, a great conversation feels like a great moment that you share forever with that person. I like to think of it as a little private isle that the two of you discovered in the middle of the ocean, hidden from everyone else.

On the surface, a great conversation seems to be all about two people sharing a moment. But dive underneath the surface of momentary perception into the waters of continually observing consciousness and the paradigm changes. To me, a conversation is like a game of chess. At every point, there are numerous ways in which it could develop, depending on what you say, or how you percieve what the other person has said and what thoughts, feelings or emotions it triggers inside you. And vice-versa.

In this perspective it is quite obvious to conclude that the way one reacts to something is not governed by causes which are ephemeral. Rather it is governed by your whole life. By your perceptions of all the experiences you have had, the subconscious co-relations that you have made, and the inferences you have drawn from them. It is about the fact that when you really speak from the heart to someone whom you trust with your real emotions, you are bringing your whole self, your complete existence to the table, to that ONE moment in time.

Secondly, when you really open up to someone and share with them the very core of your feelings, and the other person does the same, both the persons are in a place where they are quite vulnerable. The beauty of that moment always outlasts the momentary, and the warm fuzzy feeling inside oneself that you take away is most certainly far from evanescent.

I like to think of a two people sharing a great conversation as two long threads in time, intertwining for a brief moment before flowing off in different directions again. It is like a reference point that you can mentally re-visit at will, and it will remind you of all the warmth that you have in your life. Quite contrary to Mr Schopenhauer's theory, eh?

On a lighter note, is that why they say that love is a knotty affair??

Luv-n-Luck,

Av

When Love kills Love

Since today morning, I have been listening to a single song on infinite loop so I thought that I would share it with everyone. The song is called When Love Kills Love and its by the band Scorpions. Scorpions has always been one of my favourite bands for their uncanny ability to strike an amazing balance between intensity and sensitivity. Then, a few weeks ago, I bought a DVD of their concert Acoustica and life hasn't been the same ever since. The concert was performed inside a monastery called Convento do Beato in Lisbon, Portugal. The DVD was shot using 12 cameras and needless to say, is breathtaking. The ensemble included a piano, a cello and an extra percussion section other than the regular band members. They performed a nice mix of their all time hits, a few new songs and even a couple of covers, totalling up to 21 songs. The most amazing part is that the music arrangements for all the songs were completely re-done for the acoustic instruments setup. Absolutely a must-check-out piece of rock music history!

The lyrics for the song are also superbly written. Listen closely!
Here's the song:


This is probably the first and only acoustic song yet to which I have head-banged like I did today morning. I just couldn't resist its groovy feel. Also, I thought that it would make an interesting follow-up to the last post, giving the Hedgehog's Dilemma a new, intriguing twist!
In closing, here are my instantaneous thoughts on the topic:

When love kills love
Its just love gone blind
For true love never dies
Lingers on in heart & mind

When love kills love
Its no more than suicide
I thought I had you killed
But it was me who died..

Luv-n-luck,
Av