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.

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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.

Have you met this friend yet?

The whole world, dear, just maybe your friend,
so don’t try too hard, don’t pretend,
don’t be afraid of every stranger…
not every darkness must mean danger…

Don’t be afraid to feel satisfied,
it’s alright to want just enough…
having a lot doesn’t always feel better…
unless it’s a lot of love…

Why walk on streets like you might be attacked?
Why hold a straight face? Why not smile back?
Why feel obliged to conform and agree,
when speaking your mind is what sets you free…

Don’t draw back the hand that your heart wants to lend…
For the whole world, dear, just maybe your friend…

We’re all here to wander, then why compete?
Why weigh ambition, why trap it in concrete?
Know that it’s ok to give up the climb,
And your heart’ll know where to land when it’s time…

Share while you can share, mend while you can mend,
Then the whole world, dear, just maybe your friend…

Be surrounded by things you love,
Or feel surrounded by things you fear,

And if love is what you fear, if you brace your dear heart,
Let it slip away, surprise you, lead you to embark…

On a love that is so clear, you don’t see an end,
Then the whole world, dear, walks with you, as your friend…

The Song of the Sufi

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”

In 50 words: Post 3: The dripping

An artist struggles all his life to empty himself. To die dry of every trickle of art.

He wastes his many years in synchronizing his feet and heartbeat with the world’s.

The stagnant pool of  art rises, chin-deep, eye-deep, then blinds him and he sees. Inside. And he starts dripping.

Music without music is still music

My best song, till date, is ‘Solomon Shoshanna’ from the Malayalam film that is making waves all over India, Amen.

For artists of most kinds, it is usually the flaws that they notice in their own performance. And I’m no exception. I used to hear Solomon Shoshanna, and think- well, its just OKAY- I could’ve done this here, maybe sung this way here, and so on.

Weeks later, I heard the final mix along with the teaser video. The music composer had decided to keep it without any music, just the vocals singing the melodic tune, and the background sounds of the sloshing lake water and the singing night insects. Continue reading “Music without music is still music”

The boy who never cried

There lived somewhere they say
A boy who never cried,
Through every loss he showed
His handsome superficial side…

They say he never cried
When as a young lad he had to leave home,
That’s when his older kin thought their boy,
would grow up strong, but with a heart of stone…

That might have kept him from weeping
Even on that dreadful unfortunate night,
When sitting ride beside his driver’s seat
his younger brother had died… Continue reading “The boy who never cried”