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.
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..”
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.
If only we all took pride in thinking for ourselves.
And did not weave our entire lives in order to conform with what has been thought for us.
What if we could envision that this whole world is one big laboratory, the ‘Life’ laboratory, where each of us is born, and we conduct our own experiments, have our own little accidents, and come to our very own findings before we leave the laboratory, just as empty and wonderful as it was?
Continue reading “Freedom from…conformity (The Life Laboratory)”
Hey there fighter. Soon it’ll be brighter! 🙂
I’m starting off with a series of blog posts called ‘Freedom From…’. Posted twice a week, starting this Wednesday.
Watch out for it.
A huge, wide center-stage. The faint smell of jasmine and incense wafting in the silent air.
Men dressed in white, wearing white laced-caps, seated in a wide semi-circle.
Each one of them has their eyes closed, and the men in the centre
are seated with instruments before them; a tabla, a harmonium,
and then a couple of singers who hold their heads high and gaze within themselves with closed eyes;
breathing deep, before the first song of prayer and celebration is sung out from the depth of their hearts. Continue reading “The Song of the Sufi”
If you were ever 24, what were you like? I’m sure you were free-spirited, rebellious even, giving your dreams a wild chase and having the time of your life in every moment of it…
When Captain M. P. Anil Kumar was 24, he was a young man of many dreams, a fighter pilot, flying high, gathering accolades, having the time of his life.
Years later, on a bright Sunday morning, I was an ambitious college girl, walking across the huge lobby of the Quadraplegic Center to meet the young man. Continue reading “Fighter. Pilot.”