Bombay Vs. Mumbai : Death of a City

It’s a weird place and I am referring to Bombay. Yeah, for now I am not going to call it Mumbai. I had fond associations with this place and I always wanted to be here until recently, a months ago, I realized that it’s not mine, not any more since I wasn’t born here and I don’t speak Marathi. I belong to another part of the nation that apparently lives on Mumbai, in Mumbai and in the future, for Mumbai.

It hardly matters that after spending about five years in this city, would I chose to stay here longer or would pack my bags and go back to the part of the nation that is meant for North Indians without any Marathi infiltration? Without a second thought, I will choose to get back to my people shattering the illusion I have created around me, that someday I will be settled in Bombay, watching the silent and at times turbulent sea from my window of a posh apartment because the place I wished to be in was Bombay, not Mumbai. Now unfortunately, Mumbai has got nothing to do with Mumba Devi anymore, it is about a political issue with hundreds of Dogs tossing it around like a bone and trying to mark their territories in their usual way.

I really feel sorry for Karan Johar that he has to apologise to someone as unimportant and irrelevant as Raj Thackrey of all the people to get his film Wake Up Sid screened across the entire state without any disruptions. Raj’s party people are busy to take on the Bombay Film Industry playing the role of Parallel Censor. Isn’t it contempt of the way a nation functions? The members of the Censor Board seem to have taken it too lightly but this statement by MNS puts up a big question mark on their efficiency as well as, authority and who is at the receiving end – Bollywood, aka 'Bombay Film Industry', Mr. Thackrey.

It is too disappointing a fact that Bollywood is not at all a collective forum. Wish they would have been united through this situation and showed at least of 5% of courage that they try to portray in their movies. It is strangely disheartening that how a goon, with a bunch of side kicks and an apparent support of the natives, forces an icon of the multi million film industry to fall on his knees and apologise.

Hats off to Aditya Birla for the wonderful Idea ad campaign. Did I see some raised eyebrows? Oh, I am talking about the campaign ‘Mera Number Mumbai Ka to Main Mumbai Ka’. It ran across all the news papers and TV channels not long ago. Though, not one of the most creative ones, I enjoyed each and every one of the commercials because it showed the way how a goon should be treated for sabotaging a nation’s vision. The campaign looked Raj, right in the eyes and said “Oh is it Mr. Raj? Do whatever you feel like. I am not scared of you and you can’t do anything to me, even with all your might!”

In a recent interview with Rajdeep Sardesai on CNN IBN, I saw him again, spitting venom like a black deadly cobra and I hated his aggressiveness for some incompetent ideologies of his. Apparently he was justifying his unofficial precedent that everyone should speak Marathi instead of Hindi and the logic he gave sent my blood pressure shooting through the roof. He mentioned that if Dr. Kalam, being the president never addressed the nation in Hindi and used English then there is no reason why can’t he use Marathi as his scepter? Surprisingly, I can’t even visualise any lines of comparison between Dr. Kalam and Raj Thackrey. May be because, they have such contrasting personalities.

I believe in the years to come, we will experience a civil war, or even worse we might even need Tourist Visas or Work Permit to step into Maharashtra. I always thought that the courage showed by NSG commandos during the Mumbai Terror haul last year would wash this hatred away from his blackened heart, but the power hungry Raj is to busy dreaming about the throne that he simply overlooked a nations effort saving his Mumbai and Marathi Manoos.

Elections and voting has got nothing in common. It is true you get choices, but you get to chose only from the Worse or Bad and democracy actually makes it often easier for people like these to get in power. I wish that the power to choose should be accompanied by the power to bring the person off his throne.

I live in an MNS dominated area and the scenes of the chaos that these people created just to see the names of stores written in Marathi are still etched fresh in my mind. The mere thought of going for a leisurely walk strangulates me. I don’t feel a part of this world, my building, their rituals and their celebrations. The Ganpati that I worship at my home in Diwali seems so different from the Ganpati that is worshipped in Maharashtra during the festival and it often reinforces the view that modern day politicians are so strong to have created a divide and a rift in religion and spirituality while they laugh their way off to the over increasing assets.

I am not of the breed often known as ‘literature hound’ but I lived with the saying, “What’s in a Name?”, wish Shakespeare have been a mumbaikar to save this city from another chaos. The name theory makes me more cautious everytime I would ask for a railway ticket over the ticket counter. You never know, the moment I ask, “Bhaiya, ek VT (instead of CST) return dena” and the guy from behind the counter would jump out of the window to beat the black and blue out of me. I don’t know if it might actually happen but Mr. Thackrey made me believe, in all possibility, it just could.

Looking closely at it, or coming to terms with it, it is not only me who got his illusion shattered. There are many others strangled in the city that once used to be the city of dreams and now is the city of dreaded nightmares for someone who doesn’t belong here. And, these nightmares will haunt you, everytime you go for grocery shopping, pay the technically correct fare to rickshaw wallah, come late to your flat(homes never exist here), ask for tickets, get in a bus and so on and so forth.

Piyush Singh

http://www.piyushsingh.com/

Copyrights: Piyush Singh/ www.piyushsingh.com

Image Credits: Respective Websites

Wake Up Sid - My Take

One of the many conclusions that came out after watching Wake Up Sid is that, 'Ranbeer can act!' After seeing his last movie, Bachna Ae Haseeno, it kind of got into me that this chap is just another star son and probably won’t much of an actor. He for sure did turn the tables around and portrayed the ever exploited character of Indian youth with a new perspective and I must say, it didn’t look the usual stereotype, err… okay, at times he did but this was all with a fresh appeal.

The script has been nicely woven and the writer – director Ayan must be complimented with the efforts he puts in. He took the story taking to a new level. The movie revolves around the usual stuff, probably seen many times in the history of Indian cinema (C’mon, every movie has a clueless youngster, Dil Chahta Hain had, Lakshya had, Jane Tu Ya Jane Na had and they all did great).

The cliché breaking stint goes directly in the favour of the director and his wonderful rendition of the story that has been ringing in your sub conscious for a long time now. Oh, I forgot to mention, the performances by Ranbeer, Konkona, Anupoam Kher and Supriya Pathak are equally responsible for setting it a class apart.

The movie that revolves around a story of a clueless youngster (much like the ones from the trio of DCH) can boast about a gripping first half and you just can’t help yourself getting engrossed. The first half is pretty balanced with some great comic punches and fresh dialogues. Konkona plays an aspiring writer who comes down to Bombay (err… ‘Mumbai’, damn my freedom of speech) looks easy on the screen. It is because of her superb acting that once often forgets the fact that he is just watching a movie.

The second half is comparatively of a slightly lower quality as compared to the first. The comic punches miss out on the intensity and the frequency but that’s when the scenes that may cause a tear or two take over. The end could have been better and I wish there was more weight and logic to the long dialect of that of Konkana’s towards the end. I personally realized the movie ended too abruptly and I wish it didn’t ended so soon.

The father son interactions look nothing less than real and everyone could relate to the sequences where in Anupam Kher delivers one of its best as a successful business man and a defeated father. Surpiya Pathak is one fine actor and she reinforces the same portraying her character of a wannabe English speaking mom just in attempt to be closer to his son. I seriously think that no one could have carried off that role as well as she did.

Anil Mehta as a cinematographer did a brilliant job and some of the frames are captivating. The cinematographer actually enhances the beauty of the movie ten folds and backs up the director beautifully lending credibility and a bunch of marvels to the movie.

Music is once point where the movie seems to be lagging behind. You hardly notice the songs that were played in the first half because they didn’t appear to be even half as strong as the movie’s first half. Though, Wake Up Sid, the title track is an exception (the reason being, it was played during the opening titles) and is nicely rendered by Shankar Mahadevan. One can’t deny the fact that Iktara is a winner all the way and it is the only song other than the title song that stays with you, even after the movie is over.

The music is splendid in isolation but when put in the music, it just couldn’t meet my exception. I would rate music as 4.5 out of if the movie’s music is all what I had got. The lyrics are nice and fresh and it was great to see Javed Akhtar attempting songs like Life is Crazy. One major flaw with the background score is that it often gives you the impression of the song Maa (of Taarein Zameen Par) being played, I agree its SEL’s (Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy) best but the audience is not much in favour of repetitions. The background score at other instances wasn’t that impressive either but it picked up towards the end of the movie.

All in all, Wake Up Sid is made up of all small incidents and you just need to give into it rather than being critical to analyse or compare it with the previous versions of the same story. In order to enjoy the movie, it is advisable that you go with close friends, who share the desire to ‘watch’ with you rather than looking it as a weekend getaway and would go to any extent making fun of the intense situations in the movie. Chose your companion for this movie wisely and you it will be worthwhile.

I would rather give it 4 out of 5 and would recommend watching it for sure. It is something that should top the list of the movies-to-watch this week. I am yet to see Acid Factory (it releases next week) while Do Knot Disturb is typically David Dhavan. You never know, you may get inspired (or steal in ideas) in more than one way. So, try it!

Piyush Singh

www.piyushsingh.com

Copyrights: Piyush Singh - 2009-2010

Image Courtsey: Respective Websites

Tale of A Rock Band from Lucknow

In my life so far, I have confronted many bands and been at the managerial end of a few. Things are different for a band that is based in a city like Lucknow and others that are based in metros like Mumbai and all.

When I was a kid, when music meant nothing more to me than just something you would listen to while you are travelling long distances of whatever your car stereo caters. As I grew up, there was a great paradigm shift and I realized agrreing to the fact that it is the greatest platform to score with chicks and get laid. This view of mine was reinforced when I really came to know some of Lucknow’s musicians.

Over the span of past 4 years, the ones I get to interact with can’t even define genres precisely, I don’t mean to say ‘I can’ but I have got a decent number of views to back up my point. And it is rather disheartening to see in an online forum for a Rock Competition, to announce its entry criteria as “Only Rock Bands” and then there was a post by the same admin looking forward to a genreless band to participate and grace the occasion.

To be frank, I am not the best of musicians, I am not even the tiniest bit of the talent I have been with but, there are times I feel saddened by the fact that there exists an altogether different category of musicians who play with music (mind it ‘play with music’) just to satisfy their alter self egos.

This blog, is about one such band I used to manage about a year back or so. We ended up on very bad lines and I won’t say all the fault was theirs. We both made mistakes. Being from a communication design background, I somehow had a feeling that everything should point in one direction and they quite didn’t second my views. I never charged them for any of my services. I made their logo, designed their graphic, got those contacts and clicked their profile picture. (not The Works, they are nicer fellows, at least they give credits)

I realized when I should, that the band was about lies, lies, lies and some more of lies. It is rather interesting to see that how the other three innocent members of the band had to stand with two culprits. I was in mood to mend my ties with this particular band and I just wish the following incident wouldn’t have happened.

While I was with one of the leading news papers, in Lucknow, these guys drove all the way to catch me and to tell me that they are the first rock band (a quick word: they have always told me that they don’t follow genres, or else they wouldn’t have sang songs like Mauja hi Mauja on stage) in city to recorded ‘LIVE’ (quite an oxymoron, isn’t it? Either you can be recorded or you can be LIVE, not both! ) I asked them to mail me a release and since my bosses were a little strict, I decided to cross check the facts mentioned in the press brief by them, 9 out of 10 facts were tampered with. I wrote a mail back stating those facts, and incidentally these guys manage to get it out in the paper I was working with.

If it would have been just the article, it would have been fine with me, but the picture that was carried along with the article was clicked by me, without my permission and without credits with my ‘Copyright Notice’ being mercilessly scraped off. There was never a bigger insult for me as a photographer or as a person who wanted to help out others. It was still acceptable, if I wouldn’t have told them an year back not to use my photographs for their promotional practices. They ignored.

I was hurt and I was no exception. There were instances that one of the two culprits wanted to chop off one of the three innocents photographs because that fellow, surprisingly an amazing keyboard player was about to leave the band. I pity him. He didn’t deserve that. What was even more surprising is the fact that these two culprits lied on his face more ever threatening me raise my voice against this copyright infringement when they should be the ones apologizing.

I don’t know if I am a good photographer or not, but one of them made me believe that I am not a good photographer, despite everything. I never knew, I could be so weak and let it seep in for a day but then, the next day I realized, if I hadn’t been such a good photographer, why would they let me click them and why the picture that belonged to me was published. The answer seemed pretty clear. I was hurt for a day, and the words he said echoed in my mind.

I am not afraid to take the name of the band I have been talking about throughout, they are known as Soul Rebellions. I remember, I was the first one to write a proper feature on them three years back, the first one and by far the best one to be written on them three years back and I never realize that my articles about them in coming time will speak about their failures instead of their success stories.

As the rumours stay, they are busy  defaming me in the small town named Lucknow and to be honest, it’s not a matter of worry for me. I have lived my dreams and I m fighting this battle being true to my words.

My Life's Biggest Award

Hello All,

Hope everyone is doing good. 3rd August 2009 is a date I would never forget. I would like to thank Ms. Aron, Senior Resident Editor of Hindustan Times Lucknow for giving me a chance to meet the former president of India, Hon'ble Mr. APJ Abdul Kalam. All in all, it was a great day and when he spoke, he had a mesmerizing impact on everyone present. But what followed a day after was indeed the biggest of honours. This is what HE has to say about one of my poems(you may see the poem at the bottom of this note) which is popularly known as Mamma Hold Me.

Dear Piyush,

Really your poem moved my heart and mind. It
is indeed inspiring. Particularly,

"The pain is like an angels call,
I see the smoke,
engulfing everyones life,
Mamma hold me"......

Dear Piyush, these poetic verses of yours are beautiful creation of
the creative mind.

May God Bless you.

Kalam

I remember, whenever Sunny and I meet, or whenever we speak about our songs or future projects, the Oscars seems like our ultimate possession, but let me tell you, this is indeed the biggest of the awards I could ever get in my life. These words by the man himself are more precious to me than even 100 oscars.

About Kalam: Dr. A. P. J. Abdul Kalam, was the eleventh President of India, serving from 2002 to 2007. During his term as The President, he was popularly known as the People's President, and a poll conducted by news channel CNN-IBN named him "India's Best President".

Before his term as India's president, he worked as an aeronautical engineer with DRDO and ISRO. He is popularly known as the Missile Man of India for his work on development of ballistic missile and space rocket technology.. In India he is highly respected as a scientist and as an engineer.

Mamma Hold Me

The promises I
failed to keep.
Now only my eyes,
see me weep.
Tears getting lost,
in the smoke somewhere.
Black burning bodies,
falling here and there.
Mamma hold me,
Please hold me
Mamma hold me,
Please hold me,
Mamma hold me,
Hold me in your arms


I know that I am going to die.
With wasted soul
and never opening eye,
I know that I am going to die.
With wasted soul
and never opening eye,
The pain is like an angels call
I see the smoke,
engulfing everyones life.
Mamma hold me,
Please hold me
Mamma hold me,
Please hold me,
Mamma hold me,
Hold me in your arms


Please ask daddy,
to be brave.
Put mammas child,
on my grave.
Please ask daddy,
to be brave.
Put mammas child,
on my grave.
Look for me in, every child you see.
Kiss their foreheads and,
you can feel me.
Mamma hold me,
Mamma hold me,
Mamma hold me,
Mamma hold me in your arms,
Mamma hold me in your arms,
Mamma hold me in your arms,
Mamma hold me in your arms.

Regards and Wishes

Piyush Singh

Pic Courtsey : Shikha Sharma

Handful of Sky

I am writing this after a long time. Its been a while now and all that I have written was either meant for commercial use or to be used as my status messages on social networking websites like these. This is a poem and keeping our (Especially Sunny's) busy schedules in mind, I don't think that it will ever see the light of the day as a song. And for a change it is good. When I say that I am writing a song, everyone starts expecting more. For now, I would like you to just read it as words framed together in the form of a poem or whatever. In short, it seems like my story and that makes it all the more special to be shared with special people around. Thanks for all the love you have showered on me :)

Looking through the shattered panes
At the forlorn world so real.
Drowning in that sea of time
Searching for that little zeal

The varied hues of the world
That I have been painting.
A step beyond the insane sky
And they say 'I've been dreaming'

I haven't known whats wrong
And what you think is right.
Been living all this while like this
Counting stars through the night.

From where I am, I see the
Scattered beads of rosary on my floor.
Familiar faces wearing indifferent masks
And souls, always craving for more.

Every moment, once in a while
I surface for air to breathe.
Every moment, now and then, I strive
Strive for what I used to be.

Pushing myself way back into time
I feel its all getting in my head.
I try, I try to run and hide and failed
To see the traps that lay ahead.

Now when they gather around me
In black gowns and tears in eye.
I might be dead with eyes shut, But,
Still dreaming for my 'Handful of Sky'

Through the shattered panes
Looking at my 'Handful of Sky'

Been painting all the while
The picture of my 'Handful of Sky'

It may be wrong or may be right
But that's my 'Handful of Sky'

And I Dream for 'Handful of Sky'

Dream for my 'Handful of Sky'

(C) Piyush Singh - 18/04/09

I Need To Be Free

I have been longing for ages
Don't know where I belong
The freedom I wished I had
And the freedom for which I long

Woven out of familiar nightmares
With dreaded memoirs of yesteryears
Looking back across the sea of time
I see the red shroud my nation wears

On my way back to the 'present'
I met some familiar masked souls
Greeting me with their painted smiles
And sharing stories of births and black holes

Now when i take a leap, I dream
Dream of future matched to golden heaps
Staggered lanes across a field of gold
Where a farmer sows what he reaps

In a moment of the mighty hour, I dream
Dream to be in his garden, like a tree
In a world beyond 'give and take'
All I long to be is 'free'

While I wait for those wrinkled hands,
To lead me nto a nation that lives.
I hand pick a hundred dreams for us
Counting the words everyone believes.

Among the million smiles I dream of
I am looking for a million more
While the encaged Golden bird flutters
And sets on a flight of hope.

More than freedom I have
All I long to be is 'free'

In a world so strange
I wish I could be 'Free'


- Piyush Singh
15/08/09

Flight of Hope

Hello Everyone,
Its been a long since I wrote anything so this just to satisfy my literary craving and this one goes out for Shikha and it is a sort of my token of gratitude towards her. I know, I could have been a little more romantic than this and would have dedicated something nicer to her instead of this absurd piece of poetry. But this poem is perhaps a little closer to my heart so it deserved to be dedicated to her all the more. And, if you are thinking that this is some kind of lyrical attempt to one of our songs - Flight of Hope, I would like to tell you that this by no means is going to be the lyrical part of Flight of Hope. The song is an instrumental piece and it will be as it is for time to come. This poem infact, is more of an attempt to express the same feeling in words.

The link for the song is http://www.muziboo.com/sanour21/music/flight-of-hope

Here goes the written version of the Flight of Hope

Taking my turn looking at
the dreaded golden web.
Just when the spirits
were at their lowest ebb

With my tattered wings of desire
I made my way through
Entangled further in a strange past
of dreary darks and starry blues.

And then I looked up
At the coloured sky
Painted with shattered remains
of my dreams to fly.

For a moment worth million charms
I strangely felt ashore
Taking a step backwards
I plunged for my Flight of Hope

Flying through the naive skies
flooded with familiar warnings.
I lived on for another dream
Flying with my blood soaked wings.

The gush of wind under my wings
and the sight of mountains so high
I looked at the trail of destiny
As i climb higher over the sky

The flight continued as the wounds
of my struggle healed.
The pain receded with the
joy of the world concealed

It's never been easy I know
Going that distant mile
But for all I know is that,
I am on a Flight of Hope

I chased a dream
across the horizon.
While the shackles gave way
for my Flight of Hope.

As I took a step backwards
Plunging into a sea of desires
Onto a moment that lasts
Chasing my Flight of Hope


All I know is that,
I am on a Flight of Hope


While the shackles gave way
for my Flight of Hope.

- Piyush Singh (30/08/09)
www.piyushsingh.com

Bhaisahab, Rock Show Kya?

October 7th, 2006. I was excited for two reasons. Firstly-there were my people, both on stage and off stage. Don’t get suspicious when I say ‘my people’. Prestorika (my good friends) and the beautiful people from this awesome city who have tolerated me while my tryst with writing for over 3 years. Kudos to you all! Coming to second reason now, it was a well planned outing for me in that particular week and even I was getting a bit too bugged crashing on the couch and apparently was the potato replica there.

The venue was M.B. Club, Cantonment area and man; I landed there on time but wasn’t expecting my Prestorika folks to be there. I am glad that they turned down my expectations. Mr. Sidhu forgot his cell phone in Delhi so there was absolutely no means I could have made him aware of my arrival at the venue. Lokesh wasn’t valid in terms of cell phone, Vasav had switched off his cell and Nitesh was too busy over the phone to answer my call. Then, fortunately I caught hold of one of the guys from the organizing committee and I am glad he recognized me and let me in. He told me that ‘100 Octane’ (another band from Delhi) was also supposed to play after Prestorika and the band was busy in the sound checks. One strange thing, despite of the crowd, not many were obliged with the entry, they had dress codes, which said “No T-Shirts and Jeans- No entry”

Somehow, fortunate enough wearing a pair of ragged jeans and equally ragged T-Shirt; I, my bro and my cousin were let in. The stage looked awesome with my folks posing up there for the media. The ground was grand and it had everything to make it a perfect venue for the rock show but I still was wondering that why the organizers had chairs and somewhere garnished the venue with elite and executive sofas, but then my dear escort told me that it was for the elite people, IAS Officers who were keen on being the Page-3 celebrities in their part time. (Huh!)

Sidhu was still on stage and I yelled out his name, he turned back and he was more than happy to see me there. His happiness couldn’t be constrained in words and he started with “Behench**d”, f**k man, you have gained weight”. After exchanging some profanities and gentle words as well, he took me to the ‘console' where he told me that the gig was a part of ‘Forever NUMERO-UNO’ tour for three cities. Lucknow was the last leg of the tour. We were sitting on the ‘consoles’, Sidhu obviously a bit too disappointed with the crowd and still one and a half hours to go on stage was telling me about the other two shows. Someone put a ‘comma’ to our conversation and was keen to know about the show. All the time, right from the point he greeted Sidhu as “bhaisahab” to the time he formed a new band right there called ‘Forever’, I was wondering that how this guy clad in a blue formal shirt was allowed inside but then I realized what he was spoke far more interesting and smart stuff than his dressing sense. Here goes the conversation between him and Sidhu.

He : Bhaisahab, kaun kaun play kar raha hain?
Sidhu : 100 Octane aur Prestorika!
He : Pre-sto-rika?
Sidhu : Presto-rika!
He : Okay, Pre-historika!
Sidhu : Haan haan, wahi. Pre-historika!
He : Achcha bhaisahab, to yeh Forever kaun sa band hain (pointing to the tagline of the NUMERO-UNO that makes it Forever NUMERO-UNO)?
Sidhu : Actually woh Forever band aaya nahin, tabhi hum play kar rahein hain aaj.

We all were chilling out, just waiting for the ‘so called elite people’ to join so that we can go on stage at 8. It was nice to see those diplomats in a rather casual outfit, a way away from their regular three piece suit. They were made comfortable on the sofas in front of the stage. The clock struck 8 and there were Prestorika, live on stage. They started with an Iron Maiden number and placing ‘Sycopanth’ on the second slot in the track list. The crowd was all receptive, whatever small quantity of youth we had. I decided to help Sidhu out in the console, for two reasons, he must have been lonely out there and I thought I would get a better view. It was no sooner than the third song got over than Vasav requested all the metal heads to come right in front of the stage. That’s where he defied all the rules and Prestorika created a crowd which was their own far away from the elite.

With their originals like ‘447’, ‘Fuck the Politics’ and some wonderful onstage chemistry between the band members, it was turning out to be a splendid evening, for music lovers like me at least. The life at Console was pretty okay but every now and then one or the other gentleman would come and request us to add some dance numbers on the stage so as to bind the crowd, perhaps they were new to a rock show, perhaps new to any band performance (exception-ABOB). Someone came and asked Sidhu to lower the volume on the PA, unusual demands and unusual responses, but the show did go on. Confetti and pyros going up - all at the wrong time. Despite of everything, the guys rocked. Wading through ‘Breaking the law’, followed by the same old set of ‘Thank Yous’ to the audience (was it worth, am still wondering) and the sponsors, they ended their slot with ‘Comfortably Numb’ by Pink Floyd.
After a small get together and some photo-shoots, it was time to say ‘good bye’ to my folks for the day and by the time we were doing that, ‘100 Octane’ took the stage but didn’t sound appealing that day. They couldn’t have made me stayed there any longer. The day was over for me but still the second band was having a hard time at the stage trying to figure out and how can we make people stay who were right in front when Prestorika was performing. Lots of pyros and some awesome effects garnished with lots of style and attitude was nothing more than a mere formality to end the day.

While I was on my way back, I felt as if things could have gone beyond if only my city could have known how to pay respect to this genre of music. Being more respectful within ourselves, we respect artists, but not the art. We have reached the moon but we don’t know how to walk.
Forever Yours
Piyush

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan

A Labour's Unknown Face

The Sun was out there waiting for me and as usual I was tossing from one side to the other on my bed. My dear partner wanted me to write on 'Child Labour' and I was just giving this topic a thought when... call it a coincidence, my cell phone remixed the regular beep and I was more than sure that Aaishwari must have messaged me reminding me about the write up, but to my extreme surprise, the sender’s name was displayed as 'Awareness' and it was in two parts. It went like:
Ban on engaging child as Domestic Servant or Servant in Hotel, Tea Shops, Dhabas, Eating Houses, SPA’s etc. (contd.)
Request you not to employ child below 14 years and help us make our State Child Labour Free –Commissioner of Labour,
State of Maharashtra.

I was just thinking about those mornings, which used to be relatively free. Being too lazy to cook something, I always landed up at the eating joints a block away. There is this joint which only served South Indian food along with added colours of ‘Gulab Jamuns’. When I moved to Kharghar, New Bombay, I wasn’t really keen on South Indian food. A year passed and when I settled more into the environment, I started observing things. my observation included everything, the food, utensils, tables and the chairs, and most important of all, the never fading smile on the faces working there. The only difference there was about the faces, the faces were all of boys who were under 14 and take my words, they were cute.

I didn’t even realize when I became so fond of them that the South Indian served in that joint became the only means on which I could survive. I would bank on every opportunity to rush there and see the daily happenings with a 'glass of coffee' in front of me. I would just watch them as they moved fast in between tables carrying the plates and the glasses as it was relatively a smaller place and most of the time it used to get so crowded that there were queues of would-be-eaters.

I became a familiar face out there. And as soon as I stepped in that place, all four of the boys would gather around me and with just a few exchanges of smiles they knew what I was going to order for food. Venkateshwar (one of them) would yell at Anna, “Ek mas-ss-aa-l-aa, ek ch-aa-i”. Sometimes when I used to ditch him with guesses, I would order ‘Uttapa’ and then he would yell “Mas-ss-aa-l-aa can-cel, ek Utt-a-pp-aa”. Then, if I was alone (that never happened), and if they were free as well (that also never happened), they will come up to the table where I generally sat and start a conversation.

There was this guy, who wore a T-shirt which was supposed to be of Ryan International School but only if he could know the meaning of the scrambled words written on his T-Shirt. I always found him cutest of the lot. He would come up to me and tell me tales about his days, and I would be no one than an active listener. He would tell about the girls he liked in my society, about the ‘off for a day’ he recently got but his favorite topic was to talk about my cell phone endlessly. Sometimes it would have been the Wallpaper or the ring tone or the sms tone, but he really liked them all. He would go out, click some good pictures and return the cell to me and then kept on reliving the memory till I give him my cell for the next time.

Way back in 1979, Government formed the first committee called Gurupadswamy Committee to study the issue of child labour and to suggest measures to tackle it. It observed that as long as poverty continued, it would be difficult to totally eliminate child labour and hence, any attempt to abolish it through legal recourse would not be a practical proposition. The Committee felt that in the circumstances, the only alternative left was to ban child labour in hazardous areas and to regulate and ameliorate the conditions of work in other areas. It recommended that a multiple policy approach was required in dealing with the problems of working children.

These are all words, written in black and white, I would rather go for the untold stories which he wanted to tell me, they sound much much sweeter and I am more than happy to listen to him every time. Even in my busiest of schedules I would try anything just to take out time and hang out there. Ch-aa-i after ch-aa-i, coffee after coffee, I started spending my holidays at that place, though I did not get much of holidays but I always made sure that 5 on 7 days a week, I land up there for dinner and I was always welcomed with a smile on those four faces, as if I was the remedy to their tiredness. Again the same miraculous tone and the yell ““Ek mas-ss-aa-l-aa, ek ch-aa-i”.

“The shackles are there on the body,
Dreams can never be tamed
The sky up above and the horizon unknown,
His wings can claim
The tears roll down and dry
With indifference in name
The murmur rises and dies
But it’s all in a game.”

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan
Image Courtsey: http://www.catholicsocialjustice.org/

Lucknow : Here's One For You

Incidents, more incidents and this life is all made up of incidents. Being a keen observer it has always been easy for me to grasp humour from small things which happen almost every day. Though, I can guarantee that these things are not supposed to make others laugh. It has been an uphill task to seek humour in every small thing, but it’s worth it. People in Lucknow can beat anyone in this game. So, this one is for you my dear Lucknowites.

Lucknow so far has been known for its Nazakat, Nafasat and Tehjeeb. Yeah, yeah, you got it right, I am talking about the same place where every pile (relatively as high as Mt. Everest in city’s context) of garbage had this statement written nearby which says “Muskuraiye ki aap Lucknow mein hain”. By the time your eyes get accustomed to the font and this greeting sign, the pollution grips them badly.

When you look around, you will be surprised to see over loaded autos (tempos, called Vikram in this part of country) flaunting the pollution norms. It’s still hard to decide whether or not they use the standard device or not. They do have the statement “Euro II” which is meant to convey that the so called vehicle is following the pollution norms but the spelling leads to innovation with words and devices like “EARO”, “AERO”, “ERO”, “URO”, what all and what not.

The wonderful people are proud of this city. They keep on living on new hopes and new dreams every following day and they are more than happy; trust me when I say this. Be it tuned ka Kebab which costs as cheap as Rs. 3 per piece or the Thandai or the respect they give you when you take out your slightly advanced looking camera. They can even cause a stampede when some super star turns up. Innocent people with innocent expectations.
Let it be the Sari distribution camp or the prestigious Lucknow Mahotsav stampede, you will always find the victims’ kin sitting at the road side tea-stall and gossiping it all out.

Though it’s all in the roots, Nawab Wazid Ali Shah, while in the process of construction of Imambara, used to get it constructed during the day and would come up with people to demolish in the night. Strange, isn’t it? He did so as to get everyone the job and room to earn something since the area was under a draught that time. The delicacy which has been ruling the taste buds of many celebrities, to the extent of serving as picturesque and comparatively cheaper locations to many blockbusters, Lucknow says it all. It follows the essence which can get you to believe that really these people are ‘Bade Dilwalla’

It has been serving as a panorama of moods and shades with its literary background sunken deep into the history along with the artistic and aesthetic appeal. Generations have walked through the same and dusty road, without a sigh and without a complaint. People know what to expect and what needs to be enhanced. Despite being an architectural wonder, Imambara still echoes with the ‘Azaans’ and hundreds of head bow down at one go during this month of Ramadan.

Feasting and Fasting cover the city with a whole new appeal when Navratra and Ramadan come together. The shops brighten up the evenings with the lights shimmering at every nook and corner. Seasons come and they fly away but they have always failed to nourish the seed of hatred among people and they together, hand in hand come forward for everything, right from fighting an evil to adding to the garbage pile which still proudly sports that, “Muskuraiye ki aap Lucknow mein hain”.

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan

Lucknow Jam-min'

Lucknow Jam-min’

It took me over a week to compile this article. Sorry, but I haven’t been keeping well, and I still am not well. Anyways, reporting back to the day when I was stuck in the jam. I was on my way to Charbagh to see off some of my relatives and I had to wind up an important task that day on my way back. I had to see my doctor who was kind getting bugged up of seeing me everyday.

We left at 4 and generally it takes around one hour to reach the station (Charbagh) but at 6 I had the so called appointment with the doctor. It was some ‘rally’ that day. Don’t worry, all the above text is just an invocation. Here goes all the happening things of that day:
Time: 5 PM
Venue: Gemini Continental Road (Still 6 kms away from Charbagh, thanks
to that traffic jam)
Meanwhile, signal received, cell phone beeped, who else she could be other than Aaishwari (hey you remember we were talking about something very interesting that day) and for those who don’t know, 70% of my inbox is filled with her SMSes. Anyways, that’s not the thing.

Suddenly a man on scooter next to our car reminded himself, “Oh aaj to Mayawati ki asthi-kalash yatra hain, fass gaya!” Perhaps he was too loud reminding himself. Another politically correct guy from somewhere (I just heard the voice) analyzed and corrected the first gentleman, “Arrey, Mayawati ki nahin, Kanshiram ki!” Overhearing this, a guy with her girlfriend glued to him on his bike retorted, “Saala Kanshiram, marne ke baad bhi pareshan kar raha hain!” A Neta Ji, who was keen on grabbing this opportunity (I am glad he was there in the cloud, because that species is highly explosive when mixed with crowd like this) and said loudly, “Agar Mayawati ek-do baar aur aisa kar de to iska to saara votva (UP word for vote) hi saffa ho jaye.” Ummm, certainly an opportunity captured.
It wasn’t about the woes only. It acted like a ‘Mini Kumbh Mela’. It is famous as a re-discovery spot, thanks to Bollywood. I heard a man on my right side screaming out to a man on my left, “Arrey bhaisahab, aap bhi yahan?” Wow, the best example of comment coated with surprise. The receiver, obviously embarrassed, “He-he-he (artificial one), aap bhi [go to step one] He-he-he (artificial one)!”, but I heard his heart saying it loud, “Ab yeh kameena pakayega”. The other question from the right side which was in the air went like, “Scooter? Zen kaha hain aapki?” The reply, “Arrey mujhe pata tha jam lagne wala hain aaj”. Great! Sir, kindly report to BCCI at the earliest. We need you there terribly. His heart yelled, “Amma, petrol kya u bharwayega?”

Some of them even enjoyed the Jam. They parked their cars and got something to eat from the near by bakeries, nice idea, indeed! It was never before when some volunteers came to the rescue (point noted your Honour, where was the traffic police?) and traffic started moving at snail’s pace. It was no longer that the snail transformed into a tortoise. One man came up to me and out of sheer sarcasm said, “Abhi tak aap yahi pahuche ho, I left you at the turn 15 minutes back”. I replied, “Oh now I know, aap wohi ho (as if I cared at that moment)?” Strange city, as if everyone knows everyone. I am sure, if we would have landed up at his bakery, he would have greeted us with some chocolate pastries. “Idhar kaato (turn), udhar nocho (word for scratch and dent)”, the voices were screaming these religious word all over. Thanks to my driver that I was familiar with this terminology otherwise I would have confused it with some horror movie starring Emraan Hashmi.
Anyways, everyone says, all is well that ends well. We reached Charbagh at around 6:30, my relatives missed their train and I missed my appointment. Got to know one more of city’s untouched face that day.

For the first time in 19 years I have seen that thing, rather, I was matured enough to enjoy that and trust me I have fallen in love with that face as well. However, I noticed that we stand united, at all times. It was heard everywhere and every mouth spoke about it. No matter the volume was low in some cases, but, every mouth (I mean it) said, “Saala Kanshiram, $*&^$#!&$#% Mayawati!”

P.S. : “I would like to pay my tribute to the debarred soul. May your soul rest in peace dear Sir. This was just what we all went through. It’s strange that you could not keep yourself away from the hands of some dirty politicians even after your death”

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan

Untitled

Date – 14th August 2006
Time – Around 10:30 PM

When I barged into my flat still glued on phone with Shikha, I saw my flat-mates in the other room trying hard to work out a party that night. It wasn’t too late to party if you are in NIFT and the next day being Independence Day. I moved to my room, as if least interested in the party, and asked Shikha to get back to me in sometime because I needed to slip into something more comfortable.

The phone rang and Coldplay’s Yellow (My ringtone then) ended too early to be Shikha’s. It was an unknown number but I wasn’t curious. Moreover I was quite enthusiastic since the number started with +91522…, Lucknow, that’s right! My mind started looking for similar phone numbers. I was just wondering that who could have called up from a landline in Lucknow other than my family members. I couldn’t even scan the complete memory and the phone rang again, the same number. And here goes the conversation:

Caller: Piyush?
I: Yeah, kaun bol raha hain? (That’s my peculiar style and accent!)
Caller: Arunima!
I: Haan…(Still trying to figure out which one she was but she clarified it before I could have asked)
Caller: Arunima, Poornima’s sis!
I recognized her immediately, for Poornima is the key. Poornima was the lady who had tremendous command over my life. She made me what I am, a major contributor to it. She was more than my real sister. It was just like that I wasn’t in touch with her for quite a long time because of professional ups and downs along with some personal turmoils. I hardly had any idea that the biggest one awaited me.
I: Haan didi, boliye, kaisi hain aap?
Caller/Arunima: Tumhe to pata hain naa Poornima ka…?
I: Kya pata hain? Mujhe nahin pata.
Caller/Arunima: She is no more.
I: Kya? Aap mazaak to nahin kar rahi hain naa?
Caller/Arunima: Tumhe kya lagta hain?
I: Kaise? Kab?
Caller/Arunima: 26th June 2006, she committed suicide (biggest shock ever) at her residence(In Noida where she was living alone).

The conversation didn’t end right there but there is no point putting up all of it here. It was strange that the lady who had been my strength and had been an example of courage could ever commit suicide. She was 8 years older to me but I always addressed her with her name without the suffix ‘didi,’ still missing. My biggest critic, biggest well wisher and when I heard this news, I felt as if some unknown hand had smashed me to the ground.

I still remember the very first letter I got from Poornima. It was about one of my very first poems published in Hindustan Times, to be more precise on 24th August 2002. I was 16 then. She was an expert at surprising me every now and then. Despite, I knew her long before the time she actually posted the letter all the way from Kanpur. Just like me, crazy, she went all the way to Kanpur and posted that letter from there. There were a couple of lines which she borrowed from a gazal and mentioned them in the very first letter:
Ban jayenge zehar peete peete
Yeh ashq jo peete ja rahe ho

Kaash yeh ashk sach mein zeher ban gaye hote Poornima. Life had changed since that day. Now I regret not talking to her when she was calling me up on 24th. I was shocked when I hung up Arunima’s call. I switched off my cell phone and stood in the verandah. Everything flashed by in front of my eyes. I made her wait at certain occasions and sometimes she had to drag green (now she must have said “dark green”) kinetic for kilometers and kilometers. She did everything for me, right from arranging psychology notes to every damn thing. I spoke to her about love, relations, poems, expressions and perhaps what all I am doing today is just a tribute to her.

She kept on craving for a treat. Every time she would call up and say “Please courier the cake”. Huh! Cake, gifts, treats, what all and what not. Your treat is still due Pornima. Please come back and I promise I’ll do whatever you say. Your treat is due naa, I' ll take you out to Aaryans, you always wanted to go there. I have so much to tell you now. You always listened to me patiently, let it be about Deepa, Sangeeta, in that case, anyone. Please come back, I want to tell you about Shikha, Aaishwari and Roli, wouldn’t you help me out now? Aren’t you going to make things easier for me to understand now? Please come back.

I hope she can hear my voice. Here I am, no one and all alone. Landed up at my home this vaccation to find the cutting of the news paper where I dedicated ‘Seasons in the Sun-Westlife’ to her on her birthday. I was still there and the sound of the party was getting higher in the next room in my flat. I tried to escape, my room all locked and I still stood there in the verandah. Somewhere around 3:30 in the morning, amidst the hells and the screams of the party, I heard some voice from far away singing –

Chitthi na koi Sandesh
Jaane who kaun sa desh
Jaha tum chale gaye….

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
This post required no Editing!

Here I'm, No One Again

I don’t know why but I find winters damn romantic and now, I think, is the right time to romanticise with my long lost ‘words’. People were wondering, some even mentioned, ‘Blog is dead’. It happens. I was getting into a shell and that’s when the most beautiful pearl is formed. The shell fades away from the memory but the pearl is there to stay.
Welcome you all, a whole new world of…..Naah, wait a sec. the world is same but the things related to me have changed. Coming to winter once again, I couldn’t help adding the adjective ‘romantic’ to it.

Despite of everything ‘odd’ that has been happening with me, I m having a good and pleasurable time with all the loves of my life - melancholy, pain, words and craving. It’s so easy for me to say that I’ll rise up again but at the bottom of my heart I know that I am defeated. Lets make the set of words more perfect – I am fighting a battle which I know I m going to lose.
Anyways, everything else apart. Since love is in the air, what?! Did I hear anyone say ‘No’? Whatever but the fact will be a fact, IT IS. Winter just acts as a catalyst to it. That’s my approach to chemistry, never mind! Winters were on the prowl, second week of January and temperature was 2ºC below zero that day in Kanpur. I borrowed my team mate’s cell phone to make a call since I wasn’t carrying mine. I knew she would be right there next to the phone waiting for my call.

I : Main Piyush bol raha hoon.
She : Pata hain, kahan ho?....Maine kabse khana bana kar rakha hain….
I : Aa raha hoon baba, abhi abhi free hua hoon.
She : Jaldi aao, maine subah se kuch nahin khaya hain, jab society mein entry marna tab call kar dena aur yaha tumse milne ke liye bahut log baithe hain…
I : bas aa raha hoon !

Within 45 minutes, I was there in her society and phoned her when I entered the gate. She said that she would be waiting out on the road as it was virtually impossible to find her house which was numbered 450 & 451. I was in my car which was comparatively warmer than the environment outside. There she was rubbing her palms together and clad in a white sweater. Dedication, I must say, at that point of time I wouldn’t have waited for anyone like she did out in the open. Now things have changed.

Smile on her face almost killed me and I wasn’t able to figure whether it was a dream or a piece of reality till her warm hands touched mine for a hand shake. She guided me to her house all the while holding my hand and I can see the joy flushing on her face while my chauffer and team mate followed. There in her house, her Mom was waiting for me at the door and her 5 or 6 friends waiting for me at the couch. I was greeted with aroma of fantastic food as well.
Its not that I hate crowd but for that particular day, I just wanted to be left alone with her for some time since she already made a soft corner in my heart confessing her love for me 18 days back to the day of our meeting. She kept me forcing me for lunch at 5 in the evening; we (I, my team mate and she) finally compromised and settled for some hot tea. Her mom went to the kitchen. She took me to her room while my team mate entertained her folks singing one song after another.

There at her table I found the most pleasing collection of my poems, my cards (which I have sent her as a friend) and letters (wherein I would tell her stories, a new one every time). I sat on her bad and kept on staring at the floor. She took a seat on a couch next to bed. Although, I couldn’t see her but I could feel her near me. It was me who broke the silence by asking her whether she meant what she said 18 days back and if she was serious. The answer was yes and I still have got that frame frozen in my mind. It was foggy outside, foggier inside when I felt the dew drops roll down her eyes and touch the ground.

The tea arrived. I took the glass and kept it on the table. No one spoke. Eternal silence. She was trying to hand over the glass to me and accidentally our fingers touched. I realized the warmth of love is far more better than any other thing in this world. I wanted to live that moment through out my life. I so badly wished for the first time in my life that the time would stop but it's always been a traitor to me. I sat there admiring her face when the yellow light from the bulb projected a glow on her face; it might be love which made her glow. I asked her for a photograph of hers and she obliged. Time flied away like anything and I had to leave. Those were the best 40 minutes and I could make out her silhouette till fog engulfed it all while she stood there bidding by to me and car moved.

It’s been four years since this happened and I still regret that I could never confess what I felt for her and I know I would never get an opportunity to do that. Every time I think about her tears would roll down and I seep in to an unknown world where all I can see and explore is that face. I am unknown eternity since she had gone and people came and changed me as they pleased. The winter is knocking at my door again and all it brings is the fragrance of that lady who is far and far away in a distant world, in a distant entity. I stand up here at the terrace with my arms open embracing the cold winds hoping that one gush of air would carry her warmth and hold it on to me.

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan

Suicide : My Remedy for Pains

Every other day starts as if it is just another day. You never know what is going to happen at the end of the day. You wake up normally but everything depends on the turn of the events. There is a condition to everything, whether the previous day ends or it never ends, it goes into eternity. This is said by me and you’ll get to know the meaning. Read it till each fragmented words sinks deep into your sub conscious mind and composes a image there.

So, all the days are same. Before going into the details, I would like to say that everything mentioned in this article bear no resemblance to any person living or dead (if dead, then it wouldn’t have been here), and if it does then its pure co-incidental. Just another day in my life. I never knew I would be so close to lady of my dreams (refer to: Getting familiar with Acme, www.cafe-xpression.blogspot.com) by the time clock would have struck 12 of the night. I still could feel her presence, sitting next to me draped in a black saree and sitting in the most gracious posture.

Her cold hands are holding down the pages of my diary so that they don’t bother while I am writing. I could feel her long black tresses flowing and falling on her smiling face as well as mine because of the gush of the wind which was trying to turn the pages of my life’s diary. I am not scared of her presence around me. For those who don’t know, she is Death, personified and what a beauty she is.

Aaishwari thinks and mentions that I am ‘insane’, but it’s just her perception. I am addicted to pains. Now, I can feel those pair of the prettiest eyes looking into my diary, as if she could read whatever I am writing down. This is my third meeting with her and she is not saying anything and I don’t want to look at her because all the stars embellished on her black saree are getting me momentarily blind on every single glance.

Psychiatrist will refer to my condition as ‘hallucination’ But, I’ll say that it’s just the portrayal of the picture your heart draws and I guess Suvarna agrees, heart to heart, right? Even if it is hallucination, I m in love with death. I know that it is a mere coincidence that when the freezing fingers of death are running through my hair, Aaishwari must be feeling the shiver run down her spine. Its all in your mind’s game. Addiction to pain is not really very painful as the pain is, addiction just makes it tolerable. In any case, I am not trying to influence the way other people think.

It’s been a couple of days since this incident took place. It’s about a guy; blessed with a wonderful sister, lots of love and everything he could even wish for. The smile he wears is a fake one, even he knows that. To put things better, I’ll place myself in his shoes (no objections please, Roli and Aaishwari). Here it goes. I sat there while a perfect set of songs was aired on the FM and those lines were fading into reality which went like:
Kehte hain sabhi
Yeh zindagi gam aur khushi ka woh mel hain
Par humko to aaya nazar
Ki yeh zindagi who khel hain
Koi sab jeete to sab koi haar de
Apni to haar hain yaar mere

Yaar….mere……. Sitting at dining table, I was all in a state trance and craving, craving for pain. Everything started fading out, the voices around me, the sound of the channels being changed on the television, the riffs and rhythm of the songs being played on FM, the vocals, everything. Eventually I could hear the ‘tic-tic’ of the wall clock and finally all I could hear was my own heart beating aloud and saying to me that I could do it. That was one heck of motivation. I picked up a knife from the table, placed it gently on my wrist and throughout I was flooded with self realization. Started dragging it with a little pressure and soon I was through with it after leaving a cut of about 2.5 inches long.

Even before I could have placed the knife back on the table, I could already feel the blood oozing out, drop by drop. It rolled down my palms, through my finger and landed up the white marble floor, smearing my fingertips and nails with a dark red colour. I sat there silently, staring blankly at those dark red (rather maroon now) drops of blood on the white floor. They were still accusing me of conspiring against them. Slowly my sight was turning black, everything faded and I couldn’t keep my eyes open for long. As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt the ‘thud’ when I actually fell down on the floor.

I don’t know but now I could hear some different voices and sounds all together. I heard some big machines on my left (that’s where the sound was coming from) saying regularly at continuous intervals ‘Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…’ I heard one familiar voice saying, “Abhi zinda hain, zaldi aao”. I gathered the courage to open my eyes against the white fluorescent lights and could see faces all around me nervous and crying, ‘What For?’ Before, I could have said anything my sight blurred again and black dominated the frame again. I closed my eyes and felt the voices fading away. I heard someone say, “He is sinking” and after that, I heard the machine beeping more ferociously, ‘Beep..Beep..Beep..Beep..’ and then an eternal ‘Be..ee..ee..ee..ee..pp..pp..pp..pp.’ which never seemed to have ended. I don’t know whether it did or it didn’t.

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
Editing Credits: Aaishwari Chouhan

Freedom : Pause and Play

Things are never as simple as they appear. It is a feeling euphoria that is seeing me through all these days. The official and the unofficial vote of thanks should go to a bunch of amazing musicians and add to that list an amazingly cool friend (Randeep) and perhaps the most enchanting song writer and vocalist, Sarab. Last two weeks have been damn good for me professionally while I am still trying to cope up with a lot of things personally. Let that stuff for some other post in the blog.

I read in one of the most famous and much hyped book called ‘The Alchemist’ that the most simple things in the life are the most extraordinary. It is so true. Two of my decent ‘friends’ rocked my city and my people while I was in the bliss of strange melancholic ecstacy. Prestorika was good, they performed better than my expectation and parikrama was even better. Catching up with the people, chilling out, setting up the drums, though I wasn’t supposed to handle that show but still couldn’t help assisting Robert and that poor soul was having tough time doing it all alone.

This time, the moments I spent with parikrama were more enriching than the ones I have spent earlier and somehow I was keen on experimenting with different genres of music. Couldn’t satiate my hunger with all that I had and the ‘heard over and over again’ type of songs so ended up asking for music here and there. Suddenly while refreshing my mail account I saw this mail by this guy called Randeep Singh and I was surprised to see that mail. He sent me song titled ‘The Doll Is Mine’ by some ‘Blonde Redhead’. That’s not the issue anyhow. The name of the person who sent me the mail did the trick and I recalled, Oh Cool! Even this guy has a band called Menwhopause (MWP) and I fortunately I had their first album Home on my PC. I have heard it several times before and I have conveyed my compliments to the band as well.

There was something strange that particular night. The breeze carried the fragrance of someone I love and then I felt my eye lids getting moist. I was at home but yet far away and all of a sudden a voice, mingled with melody started singing –

Home
Mother, I’m waiting
Patient, you’ve been so late
I’m alone
Son, you’ve been gone too long
I’ve been waiting
Say that you’ll be
Home again soon
Home, is where, where I’ll be
HomeIt’s been raining shadows
The sun’s out
It’s clear enough for me to see the light
And I know it’s right for me to be moving on
I’ve beenLosing the battles I’m playing
With my mind
I need to let it go
Let it go
Move on
Home, I’ll sing a song, I’ll write a tune for you my
Home I'll miss you, I'll miss you
So someday soon
My home
My home
Home
My home
My home

It was Sarab and I knew I have heard these words earlier but I just wasn’t getting them. I started listening to them and I was taken away by the same breeze itself. I landed up at some place which I don’t even know. That had no name and it was located somewhere with red walls around. All I could make out was that I am somewhere in my own heart and trying to recover. I was trying to recover from the hope, despair and melodies which added many unsung tunes to my memoirs.

The play list progressed and so the songs. I was lost in time and space. I wanted to move but sat there on the chair like a lifeless carcass. The music took over and I am perhaps the biggest admirer of the band now. I rushed through the trees, I swam across the biggest of the oceans, I jumped into the river and the music made me do it. Free, Sarab filled the vocals with soul and life and I never ever wondered ever before that free is such a powerful word. I then realized that even if I am nothing, the worst and the ugliest person, I know what I have got and I can cherish that for the lifetime and this is Freedom.

Receding down my own self and then I suddenly felt the pain which I knew that it has been burning deep inside me. With a Shotgun, I wish I would wake up one morning and would find myself dead someday dead. While she weeps on my side with a shotgun in her hand. The body that’s no where to be seen, with blood strained sheets of clothes is now flying high in the skies of eternity. I always knew that death is beautiful but Sarab made me realized that it has beautiful manifestations as well.

Things were going fine and then all of a sudden something come up which was so me and if someone deep with in me have been telling those things –

Little boy you've been dreaming too long
Don't you know I laid a path ahead for you
You're fooling with your funny dreams
Aim higherDon't you know I need you to

Born again, my little one
You're squealing but I got a song for you
Go sleep until you're fresh enough
Awaken now, you've got to face the blues

I, have I been wasting time?
I, have I been wasting time?

Been wasting all my time on you
Been hoping you would learn a trick or two
And now you're walking up to me
You're saying you don't know if I have you

I, have I been wasting time?
I, have I been wasting time?


I wish I can write the band’s name high on sky. I just feel like a flower in the desert rain and I know I can’t stay for long. The aura of the members speaks volumes and this is by far the best band I have heard and trust me, I have heard a lot of them. Parikrama is an exception though. Randeep has always been a good friend and he finally managed to get me tripping over the words like “Sahi Hain” and “Kaafi Sahi”. This is one piece of dedication I would like to put forth to these guys. I feel so helpless compromising at points when I want to paint the sky red and blue with their praises. I have mailed the song to over 400 people in last three days and I m still counting. The reason is that I cant help myself making others to listen to that awesome track.

Randeep thinks that I am helping them out with their PR, but this is just a token of respect, love and friendship I share with these people and all those basics Sarab taught me about the Ad World and ‘ideation’. I wish I can climb up the tallest building in India and scream out your name. These guys with their music have re defined my life and I dedicate my life to the feelings and attitude these guys have instigated into me. Way to go MenWhoPause and yeah, Randeep, as you say play and pause are the part of one single button. So now you know what to do, eh?

Writing Credits : Piyush Singh
Editing Credits : Aaishwari Chouhan
Image Credits : MenWhoPause