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March 17th, 2011

Pages out of my life...


17th Nov 2010

I never was, and don’t think I will be a prolific writer ever. However, not all of that is sad. That just says I enjoy a lot many more things other than writing. I’ll keep this account a personal one and obnoxiously about me.

I have, for all those times I haven’t being writing, mostly talking to myself. My kind of conversations with others happens only once in a while. It’s like achieving the simultaneous conversational orgasm. Tough to come by, ain’t it?

Today, 17th Nov, it’s raining here in Ahmedabad. It’s one of those rainy evenings I want to enjoy lying down on my bed, typing words occasionally on MS Word and sipping a cup of HOT coffee while staring at the misty window glasses, losing myself in Eddie Vedder’s grainy voice.

I should also be thankful to the cool breeze that I have no idea comes from where! Nonetheless, jolts me out of the day dreams I am weaving, quite pleasantly.

And as much I am enjoying this solitude (which I do often), suddenly all the complaints from life have vanished except that in next 10 mins this is going to come to an end. And, once again all those deadlines, rehearsals and pre-reads will raise their heads and confront me.

As much as I am fond of being with myself, there are moments when I just want a zillion people around me. The constant unfreezing of status quo using both of these one after another, pretty much sums up my life.

I am glad that I can still afford to paint a picture of the days ahead in carefree hues of travelling across the lands and waters. I don’t know if I’ll continue to do so in the coming years, but I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t. Just one of those things, too good to stay around for long.

And, the phone rings. I am hoping to write more today.

22nd Nov

Why the hell does it keep raining all the time in Ahmedabad?

The more I listen to the kind of music WE are making, I realise I am still so far away from the kind of music I can soak my soul in and lay in a semi-comatose state penetrated by that music and nothing else. I am one of those people who fall in love with the melody first, words next and maybe never. I am one of those singers who often don’t remember the lyrics of maybe, their most favourite song.

Anyway, what I find enormously fascinating about the people of Gujrat is their fondness towards shiny objects when it comes to dressing up. Glasswork, I-don’t-know-what-it-is-called-in-English-but-the-shiny-somethings-we-called-Sitare-as-kids-in-Hindi and lots of other shiny stuff show up if you are travelling in rural Gujrat especially during the festive season. There’s a fair chance that I might leave Gujrat without attaining the skill to understand or speak “kaam chalau” Gujrati. I tried talking to one of the housekeeping Gujju staff in the hostel, she told me in a haste manner that they understand Hindi and some of English too, as if I was looking down upon them. Since, then I am wished good morning medam by a burly looking, lots-of-shiny-stuff-on-her-sari wearing lady.  

17th March 2011

I wonder what is this thing that music makes me feel and nothing else does. It’s a diff kind of high, paramount bliss, a tug that comes from God knows where and makes you run after it for more. Pretty much like addiction.

My favourites have always been songs heavy on the “feel” quotient. Be it a Turn the page or Paimona (Coke Studio). Strangely, I am a melody first and lyrics much later sort of a music enthusiast. I don’t remember the lyrics of some of my favourite songs. I don’t give a rat’s furry ass (too much of two and half men) about songs in other languages, as long as the music gets to me.

Offlate I have been extremely proud of a song we made. Sad part of the story, we half composed it on the morning of the show in iim shillong and pretty much left it there. The remnant of that song buzzes in my head sometimes. Which in terms feels like having (deliberately) lost my kid sister. and, hence the guilt. :/

Tomorrow is the last day of term three lectures.  Half of MBA done, I feel old. I look at the aspirants of this year and I read them priding in using some jargons every once in a while. MBA truly teaches you nothing more than putting the jargons in the right places, and maybe even wrong places as long as you can pull it off.

A year of surviving cut throat competition, delusions about friends and foes, ecstatic joys from temporary accomplishments and well, inflow of money. New found respect and gratefulness towards family and friends. On being able to let go off everything alike, the good, the bad and the ugly, I am very pleased with myself.  

Whatever happens here, no longer affects me apart from causing a slight amusement. This must be nirvana in the bigger picture. :D

There’s only one thing that hasn’t changed – hope. I see a string of glorious mornings and benign nights, despite knowing that there’s more bloodshed to follow.

There’s music, there’s travelling, there’s reading, there’s the whole thing about doing lots of stuff and staying incredibly busy and in its pretence not doing the mundane, there’s writing which seems to be coming back to me slowly.

And, thanks to the internship stipend, hopefully there will be a DSLR in my life soon.

 I must write about my travels sometime. Hmm.


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