" Godspeed "

Every gleaming dawn came slowly to this man. It was almost as if the sun was trying to shy away from this onlooker, for he carried his age with elegance and his pride with a sense of wisdom that only time could deliver.

But this morning, the old Knight stood wearily. The sun was on time, and so was the world – only, it was moving a bit too fast for him. The horses which once used to give in to his whistle now chose to gallop right past his tattered self. He was about to retreat to his blissful heaven when one of the stallions came by and stopped before him. The black horse was nothing less than magnificent. His sparkling eyes revealed a surge of strength that the onlooker recognized quite easily. Yes, the stallion was beautiful. And though beauty was not strange to this old man, the beast, he sensed, was something more than what he saw and deciphered.

The old man just stood there. He was probably trying to think what to do next. A yard away was his present – a hill top which was his heaven or probably his doorway to the same, and in front of him was his past, a past he could never forget and which he yearned to live yet again.

He was reluctant. What could he have done to be faced with this bizarre choice? Did he not say his prayers right? Was this one of God’s anomalies or was this just His way of testing his mettle all over again? No, that couldn’t be right! He had proved himself to faith and humanity a long time ago. Yes, a long time ago. But was it long enough? Could the world have changed so fast? Had this strange pace got to every living soul? Or was it just his age getting to him? Man is a fickle being, and the Knight knew this. He had served many not to know this. Alas, the people he served took fancy in ruling over lands with a mind full of zest and a reckless compassion which signified an emptiness far too mean than his present plight. “Ah, my present ! “ He reminded himself of how he hated it. So, what was this? Was it God’s Will or just a few deeds undone? Even if it was so, was it not God’s job to forgive and forget? Nay, God left this to Man a very long time ago.

Forgive and Forget. It seems man did the latter too frequently and the former, seldom. He had done the same. He too had been a man. And, what a man he had been! Probably it was this that led the Stallion to his feet. Was this his redemption? Was this God’s way of saying "Godspeed"? He gazed across the fields, still thoughtful.

Then he saw the fickleness of it all. His present was just an echo of his fears – fears he chose to encourage when he rode through nights of pain and suffering.

“God’s play” he thought with a wry smile. He nodded at the gentle beast and took to the reigns. And then he rode with his Past, away from his present and toward his Future. A lot remained to be explored. Age was too much a price to pay for the wonders in store for him. All he needed to do was to gallop ahead.

And he did.

An Ode to the Disliked Bands

The other day, I was a spectator to a very interesting conversation. This particular talk took place in one of India’s biggest money making vehicles – the train. The train is probably one of the most informative hot spots of the country. One can get enlightened on a variety of topics, and what’s more, you actually get to share the seat with some of the most ‘literate’ people of the world. This time around, I was fortunate enough to be with two musicians of immense (hearing) experience and an enviable taste of western music – or so they thought.

One of them was quite the talker. I can safely say he was THE talker. He commenced the discussion and was kind enough to end it too. According to him, western music was “a genre of mixed genres”. I really fail to understand what he meant by that, but well, he was the expert.

According to the expert, Pop music was crap. All the major Pop bands of the 80’s were just a bunch of cigar smoking, long haired, lethargic weirdos who had no clue what music was all about. All they could do was burst their lungs with smoke and put the minds of the people on fire. Pop was bad and so was Rock. I learnt something very interesting that day, Rock bands consisted ONLY of those head banging idiots who were just a step above their fellow pop wannabes. They too, according to this expert, had no clue what music was all about. (Wow. What a realization.) And of course, Western music could NEVER succeed the Indian form of music. It was way too corrupt for that. Although the expert was clueless about the total number of swaras in western music, he was sure there were EIGHT in Indian classical music. They were Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, Dha, Ni and (obviously) Sa, and these sounded much better than the ones the finrangis played on the guitar.

Not only was western music crap, it also supposedly appealed differently to different kinds of people. Now let me clarify what he was trying to, or maybe I’ll just put it in his own words – “Guys who listen to boy bands like Westlife and Boyzone are not normal! They are the kind who like other men!”

Whatever.

It is such people who mar the very idea of music. These people belong to that clan of pseudo musicians who can go to any extent to prove their point.

One must realize that western music has its own flavor and is supposed to be enjoyed differently. Indian Classical Music has a rich heritage, and is definitely one of the best forms of music in the world. But that does not mean Rock is crap, or even Pop for that matter.

I believe there is a certain Universality to music as an art. And many of us fail to realize this. Why cant we appreciate both these forms? It is not uncool to listen to a person playing Raag Khamaj on the Violin on Doordarshan. Similarly, there is nothing offensive about Shakira performing at a music awards function.

I guess this discussion can go on and on since this duality of thought prevails in almost all spheres of life today.

With all due respect to the ‘revered’ expert’s thoughts, I humbly disagree with almost everything he said. I guess I’ve already told you all why, but the main reasons are :

1. There are 12 swaras in Indian Classical Music and
   
2. There is NOTHING abnormal about listening to Boy Bands.

The Roadway Home.

The best time to day dream is while biking. Let me be more specific. The best time to day

dream is when you are riding your bike from Vidyanagar to Baroda after a week’s tryst with college studies. The road home seems like the best way to unwind the past week’s thoughts and focus them on the road ahead. It gives shape to the idea that one is actually moving ahead - moving ahead to do something worthwhile. Yes, something worthwhile. Something like going Home. The “Going back home” feeling is just amazing. One would want to get back home as soon as possible. But then, there still is that road ahead. It just stares at you through your helmet’s blurry plastic shield. It just stares on and asks you to take turns as and when required. What’s more, it even imposes speed limits! Some of the limits cannot be ignored. Most are respected. Some have to be ignored though – Well, isn’t it fair?! We need to get home on time, right?!

At times, the road seems to create a lot of distractions to stop you. It houses many vendors selling some really good stuff. There are tea stalls, food stalls, little shops which sell things like key chains etc. which are relatively worthless yet priceless. But the road is broad and keeps on staring. It asks you to go on. It whispers never to halt. It expects your bike to be filled to F when you start. It does have reserves on the way, but it appreciates the biker who uses them frugally. It does allow a breakdown, but cannot permit a pile of machine on its body. The road must remain clean. Many are following. Most shall pass. ALL must go through.

Why would this road, then, be the best one to day dream on? Is it not dangerous? It has taken lives before. Though this road is committed to serve, it serves too well at times. It paves the biker’s way to either perdition or to the heavenly chamber. But the biker is not worried. He needs to go home. He deftly handles his bike. His adroit hand skillfully struggles with the accelerator. He jumps over pebbles and skids over sand dunes. He is covered with dust. His blurry helmet reveals more darkness than light. The hazy lights up ahead mark the arrival of unknown vehicles. The biker must either allow them to pass or overtake them without much ado. Either way, all that he CAN do is move ahead.

The evening sets in. The biker gleefully watches the sun set over his right shoulder. It is now time for the day to end. Tomorrow is a new day. The wind has caught a chill and makes the biker feel the coldness it has acquired. The biker is reluctant. He denies all the sensitive absurdities that force him to take a stop. He may not have tea. All that he MAY do is move ahead.

And then he sees the dim yellow shine of the city area. The biker rejoices as he encounters familiar sights. The moist evening air is not so cold anymore. It is filled with warmth and lovingness. It is filled with happiness. He knows he may pass fuel stations now without checking his meter. He knows he may do away with his age old helmet. He knows that now he may speak what he dreamt of all day long. He is back. Now, all that he SHOULD do, is Stop.

Cry of the Smile...

Cry of The Smile

Blooming through the place that day,
The Smile did once more have its way...
The whole day it roamed from face to face,
And now at dusk,
It wished to stray from Pace...

Just as it was to take a Nap,
A giggling boy came sat in its Lap.
The puzzled smile was a sight to see,
As it thought, Who has this other "me"?

It asked the boy,"Who are you Son?
Whilst I was here, who gave you Fun?!"

The boy now laughed and gave a deep sigh,
And the Smile saw Sorrow like the limitless sky...

The boy said softly,"You are a busy one...
And at my place, you have never come!
You have better things to do,
Than seeing a grave at the age of two!
You surely have more things to do...
And so I made another "You".

The smile had nothing more to say,
As the tear from its eye broke the silence of the day!

-Aakar