Sunday Evening Sigur Ros

I've had an insanely awesome day and I'm tired and sleepy and mellow.
The city is shuffling along outside as the twilight gives way to the cool night.
My Mac is playing the new Sigur Ros album.
Life's good. Nai? :)

Highlights of being 18/ Summer Highlights 2012.

So the Summer (In Mumbai) is coming to an end! And every year, near the end of Summer, I finish yet another trip around the sun. The following are, in no specific order, the highlights of this summer and the last trip in general. (Things I'm So Very Thankful For)

~Love
~The Sun
~The Skies
~The New Sigur Ros Album
~Meeting and getting to know a Wordsmith, a Poet and a Thinker.
~Realising that I am, but a Story Teller.
~Angels.
~Extra Chewy Chips Ahoy!
~Finally being able to drive.
~Driving in general.
~My Awesome Bhabhi!
~My awesome brothers and sisters.
~Discovering Stand Up Comedy.
~Random Sunday Afternoon meetings with the new friends I've made.
~The New Friends that I've made.
~Complaining at Candies about the horrible service. Declaring I'll never come back.
~Going back to Candies for that awesome vibe.
~Every moment spent with The Guys.
~Finally playing some pool after forever!
~Random Radio Club evenings.
~Random Airport pick ups.
~Women.
~Stories
~Going to my Bestest Friend in The World's place when he's not even there.
~Law College.
~Audio College.
~Music
~Comedy
~The Lack Of Sleep they cause.
~Giving tours of the City, Showing it off.
~Telling people I\|'m from Grant Road..... West.
~Making People Laugh and Sing Along.
~People.
~Super Seniors! (Specially the Catholic ones! :-P)
~Driving out of the Sunrise. The sun behind me, lighting the way.
~Seeing people meet their loved ones after so damn long at the airport.
~Meeting my loved ones at the airport after not so long.
~Making it through 12th boards.
~Not being able to study at NYU.
~The New (now most recent) Foo Fighters Album.
~That Feeling of being absolutely drained right before you sleep.
~Mom and Dad.
~The Ukulele
~That brain that wakes you up in the middle of the night to write something.
~Those epic days in college and 'with' Prakash! :-P
~Breathing
~Trees
~Did I mention Love?

PS: I've probably missed a million more things but I honestly cant remember more.

All About The People

Comedy on The Big Mic. Photo Courtesy: Aditi Mehta

It's all about People.

No. Not just the ones in the audience. It's about the ones you chill with before and after. The ones that will call you on a random Sunday morning to hang out. The one's you nod and smile at while you walk down the street. It's about the ones who call you up when they're down and out. The ones you can make laugh or even smile through a joke or a song or a hug. It's about the people you look to as an inspiration. The ones you look to for support. The ones that'll give you a pat on the back and the ones that will scream at you if you even dare to think of stopping.

You can see me in the picture there. The little blurred person on the cellphone screen. And it seems so very fitting. My actions are rather insignificant. But their results astound me every time.

The connection we form with people is what keeps us going, I think. It's the fact that we can be ourselves and really connect to an absolute stranger in the most honest way possible. It doesn't matter where you're from or where you're going. What matters is that one moment. That one space. The room becomes smaller. The distances shorten. We are in our natural state of being. Connected to one another on the most intimate level without even realising it. I guess that's what gets us hooked to performing.

Look at that picture once again. You can see it now, can't you? It's all about The People. :)

Angels

It's funny, how the night feels sometimes. The cold and Fear fills the air. A sense of lonliness and impending doom, nay, ever-present doom surrounds me and embraces me till I give in. Till I fall hopelessly through the night to the darkest depths of my being. No reason appeals to me. The only emotions present in me are fear and sadness. A sense of anger screams in and I begin shooting blindly at anything that moves.
Even if it is something I hold most dear to me. All hope is lost. Everything is futile. I have lost. Both everything I am and everything I had. It is the end.
But then a voice calls out. One that has been around forever. And it calms me.down. Reminds me that Im still right here. In my bed. At home and in touch with someone I truly love. Someone that truly loves me back. Slowly but surely, the voice listens to me as I shoot ever so foolishly even at it. Even I it struggles to set me free, aiding me to fight the great foe I can ever fight. Myself. The darkness begins to recede. A stream of light comes into view.
And before I know it, it expands to encompass all that was, is, and will be. I can fly again. And I shoot up. Out of the cold dark night. On to solid ground again. I still walk on the edge. But just knowing that that one voice will be there for me is enough. Enough hope to keep marching on. To keep fighting. To keep dreaming. To have hope. The wind blows at me. A gentle breeze to cool my mind. The night smells different. The city turns warm again.
There is love in the air. And I am bathed in it. In her love and in her glow. She asks me not to put her on a pedestal. But it's funny why she'd think that I was doing such a thing. Last time I saw her, last time I checked, Angels float above the ground.

A. Mehta

I used to...

I used to be able  to close my eyes and drift off to another world. I would float around and sing melodies that had never been written before. I would sing them in rhythms long forgotten. I would move to them in ways no one had ever moved. I could fly in this world. Meet people and see places I had never met or seen before. I never dreamed in that world; for dreaming doesn't make sense when you're at the very edge of existence itself. Where simply willing something brings it to life. Where little plastic men march around and sing hebrew songs. The sun sets behind another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

I would feel everything that everything that ever was, is and will be felt. I was everything and I was nothing and though I look back at that time today and recall very little, I know this: I do not go there now because in reality, I never did. Because there was nowhere to go. I was always there. And I am here today, just as you are. The world spins around itself and around the sun and around the merry-go-round that is the universe. Cars pass me by slow motion; Disassemble. Reassemble. And go back to standard time. My viens still pulse to the music as I float through the air and out my window and I am still the tree outside my window and I still do feel the wind blowing through my leaves. I am Nothing and still very much am, Everything.

And so are you! We are the same, you and I. No! We are all there is. And all there is, is us. These physical divisions are just links in the chain that is all and is yet insignificant for it is nothing without itself and it's very existence is questionable.

Look up! Can you see it? Through whatever blocks your view, can you see it? Can you see the Sun? As it sets into another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

Stories

I've always loved stories. Hearing and telling them. Asking my dad for just one more story till he fell asleep narrating extended my bedtime by an hour on so many nights when I was young. As I grew older, I had my own stories. Most were based very very losely on reality, some were complete imagination. Time passed and I heard so many more stories. I had my own completely true stories too, to accompany the ones with a dash of imagination or maybe reality. I realised that I wanted to tell my stories. That I wanted to share them with the world. I wanted to swap stories because I had realised that stories are important. They enrich our lives and give them depth. They are the greatest way in which we may live on because when we hear a story from a good Story Teller, we feel exactly as he/she feels. We laugh and weep and wonder just as they do. Because they are the imbodiment of the soul of the story. The story is theirs. Not because they lived it, but because they felt it truly.

A friend of mine once called me a wordsmith. I found it fitting and carried it around till today.

See I met this girl a few months ago. Isha*. And today, as I spoke to her I realised that the title fit her better. For she is a true wordsmith. As for me? Well I realised I'm something else. (Well I aspire for it anyway)

I am a Story Teller.

I have no great skills. I have no polished craft. But I have stories. And when it comes to stories, I have seen more than I can remember, and I remember more than I have seen. (G.B.Shaw ladies and gentlemen) I dont even know which stories are mine anymore. But I love telling them. Whether it's through songs or comedy or films or plays or just over lunch, I love telling them. I realise that the great joy for me was not creation and performance. It was the framing and telling of stories that would connect to people. All these stories in my head are a part of me. And if you've heard and felt any of them, they're a part of you too.

Yes. I am a Story Teller. Sounds right, nai?

*Isha Maniar is a talented writer currently studying law. Her blog Chai Paani Etc. fills me with joy and wonder every time I read it.
http://ishamaniar.blogspot.in

Damn tablet wont let me hyperlink. :-/

Music for her little ears

I have a faraway cousin. She's about 6 months old now, but when she was born, her mother lived at her sister's house, that's my aunt's home and that home is quite close to mine. So I spent a fair amount of time with my faraway cousin for the fist few days after her birth. I've always been thouroughly amazed at how wonderful children are. But that's for another day. What makes me write about this little baby girl is this...

See I have a hobby. I sing. I sing whenever my voice is functional and even when I can barely make a sound. When I first met my little cousin, I was in the middle of a song. A song by a band called Pink Floyd. She was crying when I entered the room but when she heard me sing, she immeadiately stopped and listened. Now contrary to what some people believe, I am a horrible vocalist. My voice manages to annoy me even when I'm on stage singing. So theres only one logical reason for why she stopped cryimg. It was the song. And the theory proved itself right every time I walked into her hearing range singing a Floyd song. It wasnt any other band. Just Pink Floyd. Now understand, this girl's parents are not into Floyd. In fact, they both swear by old bollywood. But this girl. Oh this girl! How she loved Floyd! She would flail her arms and legs, dancing as best as a 15 Day old can, every time she heard Pink Floyd. She smiled and she laughed every time she heard Wish You Were Here, almost as if she understood what the song said. And maybe she did. Yeah... I think she did.