Baby, you make me sing!

It is amazing how a little human being with tiny feet, pink cheeks and hair like strands of silk, can make a singer out of anyone.

The beauty of singing for a child is in its spontaneity. You have no idea whatsoever of what you’re singing; you just start ‘la-la’ing off to make the baby stop crying. And when it seems to work, when the frown is gone, and the eyes shift focus on to you, or close peacefully in slumber, you suddenly realize that the gibberish you sang was really a tune. And you sing it again and in loop. Right then, at that point, you become a singer. No matter how harsh a voice you think you have, when the baby in your palms will start to cry, you will sing. And that song will be the most beautiful, because you will have no idea of where the song came from, and you will want to sing it again and again, just to re-experience the joy of having relieved the divine little being of its restlessness.

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Wine and the other shine…

Tonight when I come home, darling…
we’ll switch off everything, save the darkness…
Two glasses of red wine,
your glowing eyes and mine,
will go searching in the skies..
For stars in disguise..

Then we’ll talk about the passing of life…
and how everything fits in perfectly fine…
Two more glasses of red wine,
your embrace and mine…
and we’ll beautify the skies..
With the stars in our eyes..

And the roots danced..

I rode to work in a vintage Indian chariot today.
Or at least, that’s how royal I felt in the cab.

The old cabbie was no extraordinary driver, the cab wasn’t a luxurious sedan, nor was the weather any better than yesterday. Continue reading “And the roots danced..”

Find yourself at home…

I got my first sneak peak into the Zen philosophy yesterday; just a soup in the food for thought.
And it was disturbing. And then marvelous.

Disturbing, because it is most inconvenient to fathom that all you are, and all everybody around you is, is mind-body – the co-existence of certain hardware and certain software.

Marvelous, because thankfully Continue reading “Find yourself at home…”

His soul. Not for sale.

In the car, I made a bubble with a bubble gum. On the street, he made a hundred with his bubble guns..

He didn’t sell any bubble guns, but he beautified the scene… And just as the traffic cleared, and I saw him walk by, I saw his last bubble.

And I burst mine.

What did you see?

“Do you know what plant this is?” I asked him, as we stood leaning against the wall.

How often do we try to figure what some plant next to us is?

He took a careful look, his eyes tracing the stems and leaves.

“It’s rose.”

“Good.” I said.

“How did you figure?” he asked me.

“I saw the bud. And how did you?”

“I saw the thorn.”

We chuckled. It pretty much summed up how we look at things.

I look at the good stuff that is hard to find, and he looks at the bad stuff that, though obvious, most people ignore.

“You should put this on your blog,” he said.

The thing about being an artist..

When a bird sings, it doesn’t sing for the advancement of music.

~ Alan Watts

 

Art is pure when it is created to express, rather than impress.

If we can train ourselves to find satisfaction in expression itself, then art is born out of peace of mind, and the sense of wonderment and freedom is never lost.