Wednesday, December 17, 2008

A muffled scream

What is there to love,
In me or anyone else
I grudge you not your indifference
I’d just rather you hate me instead

I’ve been lower before and I’m still here
This life wouldn’t give up, there’s nothing left to kill
It’s not because I think I’ll win, I don't give a damn
It’s just that giving up is harder still

What is there to love,
In you or anyone else
I hate not your scars
I’d rather love you instead

You like to laugh,
I don’t mind your jeers
But don’t cry for me,
I can’t ignore your tears

To you who still loves me
I’ll keep giving you reasons to not
You deserve a better prize at the end
But I’m afraid, I’m all I’ve got

To the rest, the doors have closed
There's nothing in my sould I want you to see
I'll hate you forever and walk into the dark
Would still be nice if you'd walk with me

Wednesday, December 3, 2008


I shivered, did I not
As the first drop fell
As the trees grew louder
And the earth grew a smell
As lightning burst overhead
I shivered, did I not
As I saw the place of horrors
Where I knew my body would rot

The tallest trees, with vengence full
The longest snakes, as black as lies
The cold night and the wet grass
My last resort, to close my eyes

I smiled did I not
As I saw her face
Remembered the girl I loved
Remembered better, lighter days
And in my mind the sun grew tall
And birds chirped on those magic trees
A river called out from far away
Like music through the golden breeze

I opened my eyes, it was still night
I spread my arms and looked up at the rain
I shivered and smiled and hugged the cold
I closed my eyes so she could find me again

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Just another song I wrote

Tomorrow, or maybe day after we go back to our lives. We make songs, tell stories, work on software, tally accounts. . . . . Today, people killed, people died. People who were willing to die died, people who were just living died. Tomorrow, we'll write songs.

There's something wrong.

There is a reason in this world that makes people want to kill. But they're not killing people, they're killing hidus, muslims, christians, Indians, americans. They're not killing people but people are dying.

There's something wrong.

We're watching on tv as a reporter comes, opens an ambulance and lifts a head to show us a mangled face. We comment but we keep watching. Here's a little girl's shoe with blood in it but no little girl. What a shot. Reality TV at it's best.

There's something wrong.

I do nothing. There's nothing I can do. I haven't lived my life well enough to. Perhaps one of the people who died would have done something if I'd been killed but who knows. Lives were cut short, their songs will never be sung, their stories never told. Unless and until they had lived their lives already all they are are 78 people. Six billion people will watch their dead bodies on the news and move on.

There's something wrong.

There will be calls of congratulations today. News channels will be watched with smile. The masterminds will smile. The killers will be heroes. There will be honoured by the only people they care about. They killed people who ran softwares, told stories, wrote songs.

There's something very fucking wrong.

It will keep happening. Because there's a reason.
Worse things have happened.
It's a part of the spectrum I'll never understand.
I'll keep writing songs.
We'll all keep wanting the high flat and the long car.
There's a reason.
Nothing I can do.
sevent eight people died.

Perhaps they were the lucky ones.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Apologies to the chinese general

For want of a look a smile was lost, for want of a smile a hello was lost, for want of a hello a hug was lost, for want of a hug the feeling was lost, for want of a feeling the soul was lost, for want of a soul my love was lost

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

And she sings

Wicked games on the six string, life can wait
I want to listen, let me go
Tell me time will stand still, and all will be forgotten
Tell me please, that it can be so

Like a little boy I knew in days gone past
I dream of love and try to believe
But a man I met just yesterday
Speaks of doubt and refuses to leave

Like two lonely hearts talking late into the night
I close my eyes and refuse to see
Like the morning sun, I burn, but only myself
Keeping a secret that should not be

Like a child who’s just learnt to talk
The heart knows what it wants and it tells me so
Like the parent who regrets teaching speech
I shake my head, but the kid just won’t let go

Wicked games, I can play no more
Time moves on and memories are still true
I shake my head, the heart will move on
And she sings “I don’t want to fall in love with you”

** Written after watching Dilana (looking back this post should probably be titled 'an ode to dilana') and Magni perform a cover of Chris Isaac's wicked games. Youtube. Go watch, while I try and find a way to depose Magni and be next to my love. Oh wait . . . no passport. Damn.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

A hug for a friend

Just when the perfect melody was about to come, the string broke. It stayed in my heart and I can hear it, . . . . almost. I put the guitar away and I looked up to the thousand stars and the two moons, to the little shape that didn't make sense and thought of life, that didn't make sense either. The tears came. . . . almost, they stayed right at the edge telling me, they were there if I needed them. But I didn't, I was me, I was strong. Visions of you on a motorcycle driveby and through the broken wave the voices say it will be allright. The voices care and that helps . . . .

Days have gone by. That perfect song is back, notes put together in a way that is so mine it almost spells my name. I look at the guitar in the corner and I realize maybe I don't even need it anymore. Can I sing, do I dare? My throat has been hurt before in its attempts to sing the songs that it thought it was meant to sing. I try. The voices around me whisper harmonies of encouragement and when I finally let go of my voice the song sounds like I always knew it was meant to. I sit down and the voices sit behind me facing away but looking at me through the mirrors of their wishes. I look up, all the little shapes make sense now. I cry, I don't need the tear either.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Maths and other issues

Times change
Here I am, I’ve forsaken my friend the pen for these twenty six letters in this weird arrangement
Ok, that was fun but I miss the pen, the paper, the possibilities. Pretty much same deal happening here but ..... you know. And now this mechanical electronic thing has becomea habit, and habits, as every blood coughing smoke exhaling chappy will tell you, are hard to break.
There’s another habit I have........ cribbing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m an optimist, I’m so much of an optimist that I want life to be perfect, I don’t see why it cant and so I carefully ponder the few twelve million or so things that stand between me and the perfect life.
Ah, issues.
I remember early issues, homework, balls getting lost, getting into above eighteen films, making the next level in contra, getting the one wheelie bicycle jump going (for the record, ouch, ouch, ouch and then…… whatever, I’m sure it looks cooler then it feels), making sure no one saw me as I air guitared away to swamp thing with my bat, making the school cricket team, making sure the school team was well hydrated as the water boy, wanting to make a huge score in the first match I got to play, wanting to learn black magic to get that pompous dancing twit who skittled our team for nine runs, I mean, what kind of name is sreeshant anyway. Then there was maths and I’m going to stop there because no issue tops that.
Ooh wait, girls.
Anyway, I remember as a kid I used to hate grown ups saying, “enjoy this time kiddo, these are the best days of your life” and I used to think “just wait you cheek pulling, cheap birthday gift giving fatties. When I grow up I’m going to know what a cool allowed to drive-can stay out all night-no homework phase of life it is."
Well, that’s partially true, guess am not really grown up but I dig this extended adolescence. Maths is still a big issue and I still don’t understand how I can work it out. The I-pod touch costs 17000, the mac air is 92000, the cool shoes are 5400, other stuff totals 94000 and I have 72 rupees left over after budgeting the ladakh trip..…….Never could figure out how to work those numbers.
Good news, the pimples are gone, dimples still didn’t come. Stopped worrying about the growing hair, now worrying about the falling hair. Stopped worrying about the height, now worrying about the slouch. The cracking voice grew sexy enough but it cant do sweet chaiaiai…aiaiaiai…ld of mine. . . . . ah well.
Hopefully, a few years down the line, with a cool job playing singing or writing or giving water to a cricket team, with good friends (ah God bless good friends), and with contra finally conquered I might just be able to fulfill the promise to self and proclaim that being grown up is the coolest phase of your life.
Now if only I could figure that sum out.
72 rupees log 22 = Packet of ultramilds + 8
Now maybe if we apply pthagorous and the integrate and then use a variable constant...........

………. Ah well, at least I got the number of letters right.
.........Please tell me I at least got the number of friggin letters right
.......... Ok I counted, I did, ha ha

Friday, June 27, 2008

So much love

Tainted hearts, broken souls,
Somewhere at the end the church bell tolls
The grave awaits, the after life
One wonders who will finally lay beside
The mummy had anak-su-namun
But, one love? What rubbish, I’ve had three just in june
And similarly, so many people there have been
Without whom heaven would lose its sheen
And I haven’t been their only love
They’d want others too, in their home above
The others would then have their own chain
Their first kiss, their flings, the hearts they’ve slain
The girls they’d bring along wouldn’t know me
So Like a good host, I’d say hi, and well, the rest is easy
So then I’m sure in heaven too
I’d fall again, for a maiden or two
Then they’d be hurt like there always is
So much then, for eternal bliss
Maybe hell with its eternal fires
Shall distract me enough from female attires
No dear devil, this is not a wish
But why bother with hell when life is such a bitch
Why did you create hate and anger and lust
When love itself is evil enough
Hmmm… love, evil? How did I get to this?
Love is divine, it’s pure, it’s is all there really is
I was wrong, love is incredible what can I say
Love, … ah, let me just tell you about this girl I met today

………………. We’re all doomed

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Smoking against the wind

So then, come October 2nd and smoking in public places in India is going to be illegal. A few days later on my birthday I am going to make this wish as I blow out the candles "Let there be no tide of luck against me, let my loved ones stay happy and let parasites eat Mr Ramodass from the insides starting with the most delicate regions of the male anatomy."

I've been trying to think of minority protection and how in the lose sense of the word, smokers form a minority and maybe if I was to start a religion of which smoking was an integral part the ban would have to be reconsidered. I would love to see parades outside the India gate, maybe even the taking over of a radio station or two but alas Rang de basanti is not meant to be about the teeth coloring effects of ciggarettes.

So then, what does an impassioned man like me do?

Answer - He starts thinking about quiting smoking

Problem- It's supposed to be the toughest thing to give up

Problem number two - Have been smoking a pack a day for two years now

Problem number three - I don't want to

Despite the issues it needs to be done. Despite my protests it probably does play a role in keeping my tonsils as inflated as the perfect girlfriend, it probably isn't going to help in my efforts to become a combination of Mohommad Rafi, Elvis and Axl Rose and I shall be making a lot of people very happy.

As my faithful readers would know, I tried quitting recently. The clever ones amongst them would have noticed the use of the word tries. The filtered nemisis is back. If only I could a substitute. Love would be nice but thats a whole other blog in there.

Either ways, mark my words, I shall overcome, the will shall triumph, the mind shall beat any addiction, sorry ITC but I have to look after my lungs. May God help me in my quest. Soon, I shall quit and you, dear reader, will be the first to know when it happens.

Anyway, have to go, now then, ...............where's the lighter

Thursday, June 19, 2008

With the lights out : Understanding Cobain through lyrics

Every time you recreate something, somewhere through the act you glimpse into the mind of the creator. You don't understand, you don't know, but you do. They say the words didn't matter to him, that they just came as consonants surrounding the syllable sounds that the song needed. Maybe that's why they form the clearest glimpse into his mind, for there was no attempt to disguise them. He worried over the sound, double tracked, made catchy riffs, changed drummers, did covers, screamed, whispered, blew his throat, insisted on layers, he did this all because balancing the musical genius was a mind that knew exactly what he wanted and what was needed to make Nirvana what it became. The words didn't matter. They just came.

1) Smells like teen spirit -

The title of the song came because a friend of his spray painted, "Kurt smells like teen spirit" on his room wall". She was referring to a deo called teen spirit but the joker and the prophet in him saw a deeper meaning to it.

The song was formed without words. When the words came they kept changing.

"Load up on guns and bring your friends" (Album)

"Come out to play, make your own rules" (First live performance)

"Load up on drugs, and kill your friends" (BBC, top of the pops, 91)

I personally think the line was always load up on drugs, guns was just a perfect sounding censor, discounting his later developed gun obsession. The second part makes the song larger than the individual, I think it's an important line in the song becoming an anthem

"It's fun to lose and to pretend"

Typical of the writer, lost, drug induced lyrics written by a completely clear mind. Brilliant, signature, meaningless, open to unlimited interpretation. Like most of the lines it seems to be written from the point of an observer, outside and above the world.

"She's over .............. assured", Dave Grohl said these lines had to be for his ex girl friend. What's incredible about that if it is true is the mans ability to bring in a line like that into a song that has nothing to do with the girl. That either shows brilliance or a lot of pondering over the lyrics. For this song the second might be true for he took a lot of time to give this song the words. Having said that, its probably not the best song to study his mind but since it is the most important Nirvana number here's a little more.

"Hello, hello, hello, howlow"

Brilliant, to be able to say hello so many times in a song, the subliminal effects that must have on a listener. Incredible. He probably got fed up of singing it though and I find this part of the song to be the weakest in his later live performances. Digressing from lyrics, what most people love about the man is his willingness to sing things that he knew would push him beyond his limits. He obviously understood them very well and managed to stay just inside. It wouldn't matter even if he didn't, you can't grudge a poor mother for not buying you what she can't, you know she's giving it her all, sacrificing herself for you. Kobain did that, every time he sang this or a similar pitched song. You know his soul hit the notes, even when his voice quivered. . . . . or so the brilliant showman/Pr person/ charmer inside the man makes us want to believe.

Getting back to the lyrics. In this song

"Here we are now, entertain us"

He becomes the crowd, singing to the band

"A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido"

For those of you who didn't know, a mulatto is a person with mixed black and white ancestry, an albino is a person or an animal lacking normal pigmentation, a mosquito is a mosquito, and my libido, well....... we all have our own definition for that one.

This is probably just random connection of words, but I think the acute randomness is attempted, it makes one think. The more about the song, the better for the band.

Interesting note. There was a book released about misheard lyrics. Excerpt.

-----One insightful listener, however, thought he heard something that sums up Cobain far better: "I'm blotto and bravado / I'm a scarecrow and a Beatle."Cobain, who blew his brains out in 1994, was indeed a blotto scarecrow. A junkie who suffered chronic stomach pain, the always scrawny rocker would waste away to as little as 105 pounds during his many futile attempts to kick heroin. He was literally dyspeptic: his stomach problems twisted his view of the world.----

Getting back-

"I'm worse at what I do best, And for this gift I feel blessed. Our little group has always been And always will until the end"

He sometimes substituted group with tribe but either ways.

The above line is what is normally understood, I would like to believe the line actually is "I wasn't what I did best". Makes more sense, but either ways, lovely connection with the audience, talk of forever, of God (being blessed), larger than life.

"I found it hard, It's hard to find, well, whatever, nevermind"

Word play that the most seasoned poet would be proud of. Disrespecting the rules of wordplay in the second line in a way a seasoned poet would never dare to. If anyone doubts Cobain's gifts as a lyricist this is the line I would shut them up with.

"A denial"

Hurt. Anger. Repeated. Sung till his throat gave out. A soul in tune with what would be best for the song. The clearest recipe for a great song. Can't picture another way to end the song and can't picture anyone else ending the song this way and I find the claims that the end was influenced by "anarchy in the UK" (sex pistols) silly. It's just s similar drawl in the last word.

So there it is, a song dissected, a person remembered, words that were never meant to make sense, understood. I say understood because in the end that's the greatness of his words, whatever you make of them, they are.

I see in them further proof of a brilliant mind that could not only make the most catchy pop sounding riffs but could also make a genre out of them with a new style and the realization of the power of cryptic, isolated lyrics. I'll love the songs, I'll keep trying to sing them, I'll never try and write like he did, I'll keep hoping we shall meet in the afterlife for a brief little jam where (forgive the blasphemy) we cover some songs of each other. Then we'll talk, without cryptic lyrics, or maybe we wouldn't, maybe we'll just keep singing the same old lines, say hello, how low, and maybe then, I'll truly understand.

Till then,

Just another Cobain fan

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Find a friend

This was in some Yahoo message board I saw recently

Q) How do I find a good true friend?
A) Be one

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Lost wisdom, clap on a slap and the end of an era

Had an eventful day, the highlight of the day was clearly the dreaded farewell the first wisdom tooth to leave me. It was painful for two reasons other than the usual. First, the name, losing wisdom tooth, losing wisdom. I don't mind, gives people an obvious joke to let them feel clever but losing any part of your body, even if it was called the sneezing tooth, would still have a melancholy attatched to it. Ooh.... since I'm taking anti biotics for the missing tooth I am allowing myself to have the only thing I can have forsaking the tonsilitis or larygitis or letsfuckhislifeitis or whatever it is I have. What else, met an old friend who's taken a path I could have taken very easily, it's interesting when that happens and gratyfying when there's no jealousy. Hmmm. . . . . . This is what I have against this blog diary concept, why would anyone want to read this...... If no one would why would I want to write it........ Ooh, that reminds me, here's the thing I really wanted to vent my feelings on.
Went to see a film "mere baap, pehle aap". There is a charachter of an oppressed husband in the movie who is dominated by his wife all movie long. Near the end of a film, in a scene that the two charachters were obviously built up to, he slaps her in front of all the other charachters. People clap. In a country where a large number of women are still abused, where its illegal to hit your wife, where women are still struggling to be accepted as equals, why was it made, why did the actors accept it, why has the censor board passed it, where are the womens rights activists and why does the fact that men clapped the only part that isn't surprising. On the other side, maybe I'm being oversensitive and the film maker was expressing a personal opinion.
I have to change topic.
I just remembered the real highlight of the day. Am using the tooth thing as a chance to quit smoking. It's now 806 waking minutes since I've had a drag. That's by far a record for the last three years. I guess it's time to put down in writing how serious I am about this. Guess I am. Makes sense to quit. Sense of loss. Like I'm betraying the ciggarettes I could have smoked. I have to wrap this up. Too much thinking about smoking. That's how I've survived the day, not thinking. Not thinking about smoking, not thinking about what the doctor was up to with sharp instruments inside my mouth.
I detest the concept of surgery. Doctors are pompous, the ones that perform surgery even more so and the one I went to was a highly skilled, very well respected, young, brilliant doctor so obviously he believes that he is above almost every living thing. And not in a bad way, it's in a condescending, I shall take care of you, don't worry it happens kind of way. He's also a friend I meet sometimes at the coffee place so that made it worse but like before I hated the........... can't find the words.... the command I guess.........authority......... It's actually more like an objection of supremacy. Let me put it this way, God mad man, man made a car. The way they look into you is like a mechanic looking into a car. Do the maths. But, swell guy.
Anyway, 812 minutes........ Gotta go.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Almost love

“Almost,” she said, I think she smiled as she said it, she said no more. It was almost love and it was almost lived. What is the distance that makes the word? Heaven and hell, an inch between two lips? It’s a big word.
“Love,” I finally said. I don’t think I smiled. I hadn’t heard the word for so long it was a miracle I still remembered how to say it. It wasn’t as the punch line of a joke, it wasn’t belittled with other words making it part of a sentence. I just said the only word worth being spoken, the only one that made sense. It was just a word but it was all I had.
“Truth, lies, sex, drugs, patience, sleep, tomorrow, now, then, later, why, how, heaven, hell, bibles, angels, comfort, poverty, famine, disease, space, war, terror, God”. People say these words. No one smiles. They’re not love and they’re not even almost. The words don’t matter.

Feels nice to ramble, haven't done that for long. No opportunity and no reason, this blog changes the no opportunity and as for reasons, ah well, they come when you want them to. So, a toast to begin this blog........... to free writing, free spirits, to reasons that come when you want them to and people that you stop wanting because you know they will never come. To a five month trip that is soon to begin and to a twenty three year old journey thats still going on. To such self indulgent lines, to everyone who has found this and is reading this. To not wanting to end a blog because it's your first and you realize you're enjoying this. To the smile you hope you just got. To wondering why you're referring to your own self as you. To realizing it's time to end. To love, to us, to forever, ........... to words.