Music in my Playlist

The music as it flows into ears, puts into a slumber where eyes are awake; but the mind has taken a leap into memories.

Memories unfold, as if someone has played a movie on VHS; and characters have started their play, some good and some bad.

I don’t see myself, but I see I lived those moments; having whirled and danced on the tunes as if somebody made me do so.

Each track on the playlist, bears a story of its own; stories that I wanted to write my way but were re-tailored by the destiny.

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In Praise of Memories...

The good. The bad.

He lives them all.

From the bunch of frames,

He admire that young face over and over.

The love. The hatred.

He feels them all.

From the glory of experiences,

The scar shines like the bulb in blur.

The life. The death.

He hears them squall.

From the depths of somnolence,

Life wants to rewind itself with whir.

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An Unforgettable ILP

Life has various ups and downs planned for you. Some ups project you so up that you tend to believe that you are riding in your dreams. You pinch yourselves, and you realize that its reality. One such experience came in my life, spanned in form of several unforgettable moments, in form of ILP (Initial Learning Program) at TCS. Getting a job was a huge joy, the experience I had during my training for this job was beyond any definition for joy. 

I stayed in I-202, at Madhuram Greens. My ILP held at Gandhinagar, Gujarat. And as I say I-202, smile comes on my face. My roommates, Ankit, Prajesh and Aditya, they have become an integral part of my lives. Each of them are so close to me now that during the phases when I am feeling lowest, I recall memories where I was with them and that is enough to spread smile on my face. I will not deny that Ankit has been the only person with whom I came this close, ever in my life. He is a man of finest nature, and with an upbringing which is rare to find now. I am a moody, and react differently at times, and that is because of the turbulent thoughts which churn inside my head from time to time. If I had caused any trouble to my friends, I beg pardon. Other than my roommates, every person from my ILP holds an important place in my heart. This post was supposed to come quite before. But courtesy goes to my hectic project, which keeps me away from my social life these days, both online and offline. I wanted to make this post a collage of memories. Some mad photography I did there came to my rescue, and them I have included here in this post. 

View of Madhuram Greens from my room.

Aditya, Ankit and Prajesh, at AlphaOne Mall, Ahmedabad.

Aditya, Ankit, Me and Prajesh. While we were returning from AlphaOne mall in auto rickshaw. 

It was my first time at KFC. And I tried veg. 

Ankit's garba performace. :D

Its Nikhil in the blue T-shirt, dancing with kids. Umm... Not his kids though. :P

Happy Birthday Ankit... On his birthday. 

Crazy people. :D

Happy Birthday Prajesh... On his birthday.

The crazy me too. Aditya, Me and Prajesh.

Happy Birthday Aditya. Bewildered he was; it was not his birthday. But still... :P

Happy Birthday Vanshika. :)

Celebration on our first salary. :)

Me, and Ankit, at Adalaj Steep Well. 

Aditya, Ankit and me, at Vaishnav Mandir, Sarkhej. 

It was not my birthday either. But still... :P

The period of three months passed by in a jiffy. Time for graduation from ILP came. 

Our batch. AJA 50, on the very last working day for our ILP.

Me and Sanjay. We shared the same cubicle. He sat on my left side. He is one of my dearest. And a very good human. I wish to meet him soon. We have a lot to talk about. :)

Abhinav Kashikar, CR for AJA50, and me. 

Selfie. On the last working day of our ILP. Ankit, Aditi, Sanjay, and me. 

Words are not enough to describe the moments I have lived during my ILP tenure. I consider myself lucky that I got my training with such lovely people, from such wonderful faculties. TCS Garima Park, Gandhinagar, will always have an important existence in my heart. 

Here we have, Killing Machine, Bravo, ***** ****, RAMBO and Stealer. :P :P

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Music Rewinds

Mai rahe, meenaa rahe, gardish mein paimaanaa rahe

Mere saaqi tuu rahe aabaad maikhana rahe...

I see a small kid, looking through the window. For him, having a look through window was itself a dream; a window that would allow to see outside. The window in his room allows to see till the horizon, no one lies in between except for green grasses, shrubs and birds playing. Holes in the window seldom make a whirling noise as the riotous but usual wind flows through them. Having no one to play, and with holidays at school, most of the time of his days are spent on imagining stories and his wishes getting fulfilled in them. He was the hero in all of his stories, the one who rules with all his wishes turning true.

Music plays always, at least always when the electricity is there at his home. The least understanding of his about the music, and even less about the rarest ghazals sung by Jagjit Singh, it does not bore him of staying surrounded by this aliened ambience. Immense meaning in the music never settled down his gut, but the soft tunes he remembers. He remembers tune in every track, and to some extent their words too. When no one is around, he mumbles those ghazals with somewhat original words and a little mixed with his own creations but the tune stays strictly the same. He has warmth for collecting memories. But what can be the best place to keep memories other than connecting them with music?

I see the kid has grown up into a man. Sitting by the balcony of his three storeys house, he is playing those tracks again. He now understands those words and immense meaning that Jagjit Singh carried in his ghazals. But he misses his old Tape Recorder, the kind of soft music it played with infrequent buzz and hitching of tape on head and reels. He still remembers every tune, and when no one is around he sings in a low voice. I see tears in those eyes which were once joyous mumbling broken words from the same ghazals. He rewinds the tape of memories hidden in those ghazals. And everything appears to be live before him again. As he leans at the railing of balcony, he reminisce instances of his tinker by the window. The window that allows to see till the horizon, where no one lies in between except for green grasses, shrubs and birds playing. Holes in the window seldom make a whirling noise as the riotous but usual wind flows through them…

Zindagi ka lutf ho udti rahe haradam 'Riaz'

hum hon sheeshe ki pari ho ghar parikhana rahe...

Italicized lines are from the ghazal written by Riaz Khairabadi, and sung by late Shri Jagjit Singh in his album Mirage. You can listen to the track here.

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Cups of Coffee...

Through the spectacle of memories, I see a valley trenched with sweet and sour bygone days.
As if I never knew, how soon all those moments flee.
Happiness and sorrow, we shared them over cups of coffee.
Yours had sugar, and mine didn’t.
You hastened, while I went slower.
Frothed with cream of love, your slurps I remember.
And through them, my stories you would hear.
Saturday evenings were when we would meet and stare at each other endlessly.
My wait for the coming saturday seems to never end.
Just two days more, and we will meet again, we will share happiness and our sorrow again.
I want you to know, but I am afraid.
My endless stories over the cups of coffee, no one would have heard but you.
Yours, frothed with cream and sprinkled with sugar on heart, resolved sweetness in mine.
I owe my sweetness to you.
I wait for the Saturday evening, for our cups of coffee and for you…

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Brain-sick's Diary #3 >> Cold Emotions

I am swimming in a pool of thoughts. In a silent room, doors closed, panes in windows shut, and lights from my laptop screen is the only source; unveiling a part of my face, more of my hands on the keyboard. With denial of connection somehow with brains, here is something my heart wants to spill out. Its my birthday today. And I am wondering, why did the God select me for my mom. Could this not have happened that some other baby was lucky enough to get into my mom’s womb? Why it was me?
There are questions that are unanswerable. Then I wonder why do such questions have to exist, when answers to them are never found. My mind throttles deep down into such thoughts, mesmerizing me with unanswerable questions.
On my headphone, its Coldplay playing… 'Fix you'.

‘When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse…

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?’

How true this song is. I cant explain the sufferings, affection that got killed, in course of events that I faced and left them behind on my timeline. But somewhere, I lie struck in reverse. Is the past so dear that we tend to overlook the pleasant and optimistic present? The formidable past, that’s what heart believes, keeps poking from under the veil of sewn stitches. 

It has been quite a span, and I haven’t come up here with a post that’s significant. It was this song by Coldplay, that pushed my fingers onto the keyboard, and pinned down emotions of abstract blend on my blog.

I have been busy with my work, my college, my tries at photography and in mesh of complex thoughts. But I expect to come back here with colors in poetry… 

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Elicitation

अश्को के समंदर में,
बेपनाह प्यास से,
बेवफा प्यार में तेरी 
जल रहा हूँ मैं.

टूट के छितराए
अरमानो के टुकरों पर,
हर डग खून सींच रहा हु मैं.

कातिल तेरे खंजर की
चोट से बढ़कर ,
तेरी यादों की लौ में 
जल रहा हूँ मैं....


(C) Anshul Gautam

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