Monthly Archives: March 2011

>Musical Maladies & Medicines


After a long time….
Nowadays i am whiling away time in gwalior…

Today morning i came across the “Download Central” column in Hindustan Times’s sunday supplement, which is a music review column. Started with the problem of “Listener’s Block”, Sanjoy Narayan talked about eclectic albums of Gil Scott-HeronMogwai, and Asobi Seksu (which interestingly means “playful sex” in Japanese). I am thinking of making a blog along the same lines, but have been too much mired in thoughts about viability and sensibility of such a blog. But looking at that column, in a reputed newspaper, and so shoddily written, it seems that putting out such a blog may not be that bad an idea at all. Maybe some loopholes to cover and some ideas to evolve…

It also turned my mind to an important phenomenon which has been occurring with me without me noticing it properly. Listener’s Block; i myself suffer from it too much, too often, mainly by my tendency to gobble up oodles of music in a short time, and then to keep groaning from the full stomach months afterwards :D. Recently I gobbled up too much of Bob Dylan and Matchbox Twenty, and now i can’t even keep remember which was the last Dylan album i heard, was it “Blood on the Tracks” or “Bringing it all back home”? A serious case of musical indigestion. And then, there are some songs which you listen to without even realizing it, and before you know it, you’re hooked on to them. And you would have banished that song, if you had listened it consciously. Things happen… Few days back i heard the song Sauda hai semi-consciously one fine morning in my sleep, now nowadays it’s more or less always on the back of my mind.




>टूटती कड़ियाँ


राह के आखिरी मोड़ पर जब मिलती है मंजिल,
मिट जाते हैं समय की रेत पर साथियोँ के निशाँ

दिन और रात, जब चाँद के साथ, हम जगा करते थे,
यार के कंधो पर सर रखकर, सुबह आँखें मला करते थे,
आज जब आँखें एक हंसी, और लब ढूँढ़ते हैं एक अदद कान
याद आते हैं, प्यार के वो गुलिस्तां…

लड़ता था उससे, छलनी भी किया दिल,

नफरत की आग में झुलसाया भी, अपने हाथो से पिलाया गरल

लेकिन न एक लफ्ज़, न कोई आह,
बस एक बदतमीज़ मुस्कान, और वही ढीठ निगाह

बहुत दूर निकल आया
उन्ही हाथो के पीछे छोड़कर
जिन्हें थामे कभी किया था शुरू
ज़िन्दगी का लम्बा सफ़र

सामने दिख रही थी बस मंजिल,
होश न रहा की एक हमसफ़र
पीछे छूट गया है, बहुत पहले
याद भी न रही वो पुरानी डगर

मंजिल पर जाकर जब रुका
तो पीछे मुड़ने का ध्यान आया
पर चाह बेमानी हो चुकी थी,
खुद को वीराने में अकेला पाया

राह के आखिरी मोड़ पर जब मिलती है मंजिल,
मिट जाते हैं समय की रेत पर साथियोँ के निशाँ …


Dedicated to all my friends. I am a selfish person. Sometimes i get so engrossed in my own loneliness that i forget that without them, i would not have survived at all…oh, i know too well….


>The Reckless Playboy


This blogpost was written even before i had this blog(my first blogpost :D), for some other purpose. At that time i was reading Atlas Shrugged. Since i’ve not been able to come up with a satisfactory post on Ayn Rand(it seem to become tougher by the day, and people must already have started frowing over my apparent fixation with Ayn Rand :D), i thought i would share my erstwhile thoughts on Atlas Shrugged, which are more or less about Francisco d’Anconia anyways…
Jan 30, 01:07
Reading Atlas Shrugged nowadays…. One year after i started Fountainhead.
Much more mature novel, than Fountainhead, breathtaking in its scope, ambitious in it’s philosophical quest.
Its just that sometimes Ayn Rand goes beyond the limit in ossifying her characters that they lose touch completely out of reality. Fransico d’Anconia, the reckless playboy….there’s a mysterious appeal to him, which calls me over and above everyone else, Hank Rearden, John Galt, Dagny…. John is right when he says, “out of everybody in this strike, you’re the one who’s taken the hardest beating”. There is limitless pain in this guy’s heart, and strangely the more the pain increases it’s burden upon him, the more gracefully he seems to bear it, the more noble and sublime it makes him. Baptism by fire, is what comes to one’s mind. To lose your dream, to get the girl you love and to lose her, and then to regain her, only to lose her again, this time irrevocably, to bear the pain of betraying everything you ever stood for, through a monstrous period of 12 years, this guy goes from being sparkling genius to worthless playboy to mysterious friend to one of the three leaders of the strike which stopped the motor of the world. But did anyone ever understood the extent of his loneliness? For me the most painful moment of the whole novel was when John takes Dagny to show her the hut of Fransisco in the valley, it pinched right in the heart. Did anyone ever understood the extent of his loneliness?
It does take an exceptional mind and still more exceptional integrity to remain untouched by the brain-destroying influences of the world’s doctrines, the accumulated evil of centuries- to remain human, since the human is the rational.
-Hugh Akston (in Atlas Shrugged)