Leaving this space unattended was not intentional. It just happened. Perhaps, Facebook is to blame as it devours a bulk of my time; especially, I find posting quick and short film reviews, without much editing or thought, easier and convenient. Here, I’d labor over grammar and vocabulary and definitely a deeper thought process would be involved. Plus, most friends are there who read it immediately and give a quick comment.

However, past week or so I realized the downside. Leaving home unattended meant cyber-tramps barged in. Spam comments has shot up to an unbelievably high levels; the menace has reached a stage where I have to put my foot down, so here I am updating the site and hoping this will curb their barrage. Of course, the spam comments ranged from the hilarious to the fescennine but still I’d do without them.

Life’s been mostly routine, normal and hardly post-worthy. Or, and most likey that’s the correct reason, my life-vision has dimmed to not view it from that angle any longer. Picking up the thread from my last post, I settled comfortably into my new house. Err, much too comfortably, as my friend pointed out. Though I’d somewhat disagree. I have gone and seen (and rejected) a few houses (for buying purpose) but yes admittedly the effort has carried the same amount of urgency as it did at the beginning of this year. Which reminds me, 2011 is almost over. Strange, how time flies.

[...]

Finally, I found a house – albeit, a rented one, for now! But before I could reach here I had to undergo my share of the proverbial baptism by fire!

My search for a decent house to purchase went up right up to mid-April, when panic set in. Time had run out -I had to vacate the previous one by the month-end, and I was nowhere close to selecting, leave alone starting the cumbersome paper-work. Before I left for Delhi for a short-trip, I zeroed-in on a nice rental accommodation. On return, I went to pay the advance when the owner dropped a devastating bomb on my well-laid plans: the society will not allow bachelors to stay there. As he spoke those horrifying words the ground shifted beneath my feet, my mouth dried and I felt uncomfortably nauseous. Sitting in the owner’s obnoxiously claustrophobic office, I stammered some well-meaning arguments which fell with impotent futility on his iron-hard demeanor. The only words echoing in my mind were my promises to my then-current owner made just that morning, about vacating the next weekend, and they played relentlessly like a tape in an infinite spool.

Stepping out into the oppressive Mumbai humidity, I turned to my property consultant. I was too frustrated to even get angry at him who should have checked all these details beforehand. On his part, he apologized profusely and frantically dialed his contacts and lined up a few more.

The next few hours felt like a movie hurtled into a frenzied pace, without making any sense or logic – driving from one house to another, tiresomely waiting in the courtyard for keys to arrive, viewing some that befit haunted movies sets than living-in, negotiating with prospective owners (as suddenly I discovered I had to adjust my budget upward). And all this without having eaten either breakfast or lunch or having even a drop of water. Like a parched and shriveled leaf thrown into a gargantuan whirlpool, by the end of that terrifying noon I felt beaten and bruised.

In all this, the sun hammered with its unforgiving fury and the humidity sucked out the last of my waning energies.

Whoa! It’s this blog’s seventh anniversary. Seven is considered an auspicious number:  Seven Wonders, seven pheras, seven music notes, seven seas & seven colors.  Let’s wish the number’s luck also rubs onto this site & it gets more prolific.

Happy Anniversary Random Expressions!

I am on a house-hunt. Again. Last week, my landlady dropped the bomb that they needed the house returned; and this, after their broker had lulled me into believing the lease will be renewed. Apparently, that’s not the case. This, when (after all my doubts) I had actually started to love my current pad. I requested for a three-month buffer, and immediately dialed my regular broker. He all but groaned though nevertheless promised to help; after all, that’s his business.

I saw the first batch yesterday and like the previous two times, returned frustrated, grumpy & cribbing. Yesterday’s search added one more word from Bombay’s unique property lexicon: ‘converted homes’ ; and though I realize property is an unlisted but potent religion, still, the word flummoxed me, till the time I saw one such ‘convert’ . It means slicing an already tiny 1BHK into further two frustratingly tinier bedrooms; usually, the kitchen area is the sacrificial lamb in this sacrament, reduced to a mere apology of a sliver. In the first such house, I marveled at a family staying in this constricted space – consisting of a father, a couple *and* a huge dog!

I decided ‘Converted houses’ are not my cup of poison and I strictly forbade the broker to show me anymore such hybrids. Likewise, I also struck off any one-hall-kitchen; in one such home, I gaped with amusement at the kitchen (with a sink and gas stove) on one corner and the bed on the other. I crave my coffee cup early morning but to stagger sleepily out of bed and immediately face the gas-stove is stretching convenience even beyond my lazy limit.

[...]

Its that one album I had been waiting for which I could gush over without attaching any conditions. I had almost given up hope in the current dismal music scenario, though admittedly the past two months have been pretty interesting in an assorted manner. From Pritam’s oeuvre, I liked a couple of ditties from Once Upon A Time in Mumbai and Aakrosh; Vishal-Shekhar provided some good tracks in Anjaana Anjaani; I quite enjoyed Anu Mallik’s Laagi laagi milan dhun laagi (Shreya Ghoshal) from Hisss and of course, Lata Mangeshkar’s mammoth effort in Dunno Y: Na Jaane Kyun’s title track is worth its weight in gold.

However, it was always a song or two picked up and never the full album. Until I discovered Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey, composed by Sohail Sen, who had also done Ashutosh Gowarikar‘s previous film What’s Your Rashee‘s brilliant score. In fact, I had discovered What’s Your Rashee very late, when the film and its music had vanished from public memory. By then, I guess, it was too late and I confess that even though I had enjoyed the music, I couldn’t pay complete attention as some other newer stuff had churned out by then and plus old songs continue to occupy majority of my mind space. Now, having re-visited that album with more depth and much attention, I feel like kicking myself for not even including it in my year-end list.

Returning to Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey, it is a soundtrack that swiftly sweeps you off your feet and takes into an exquisite musical journey and finally transports you into a landscape where tunes are simple but exquisite and where instruments rule, like they always should in a soundtrack. The album has gripped me, mesmerized me and interested me to an impossibly high extent

Sohail Sen’s compositions are magnificent aural enchantment. His biggest USP (and holds true for What’s Your Raashee too)is his instrumentally rich interludes – music that goes between the words; and here it is pure music. If that is good, the song gains weight and warrants repeated hearings. I have always believed interludes should be tunes in themselves that link the antaras, and they should flow out from one into the other. His second strong point is that his tunes do not rely on a hook line ; these are real tunes given to fine words (Javed Akhtar). For example, in Nayn tere jhuke jhuke the tune effervescently ripples like a gurgling river, without obligation to return to a catch-phrase. This is how old songs were composed and this is precisely how melody is endurably created. Although I understand it doesn’t matter to many, but I am pleased he mostly uses the quintessential film song structure as well (at least for songs having two stanzas): prelude, mukhda (repeated twice), interlude1, antara, interlude2, antara2 and mukhda or main riff-repeat at the end.

On all counts, Sohail Sen has delivered masterfully. As I titled this post (which, incidentally, is not a review but more an appreciation post), Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey is a colossal celebration of sound where dollops of sitar, tabla, flute, whistle, accordions, percussions and a heavy strings section combine to seduce listeners into a delightfully satisfying and deeply satiating festivity. The tonal quality is deeply resonating, weighty and one that I absolutely adore (arrangers & programmers: Simaab Sen, Prakash Peters & Rajeev Bhatt) Sohail Sen weaves a musical rich shawl that grips, hugs and warms your heart. Mind it, it s not possible to select one song as the entire soundtrack is an impeccable intricate wholesome design as each tune or riff finds a refrain in another piece. Hence, my strong suggestion is to listen to the full album as it is laid out and do it on a good sound system.

Coming to the songs, the album opens with a splendid number Yeh des hai mera yeh des mera: the tune s stunning attraction lies is in its third line ( Jaan rahe na rahe dil toh ab yeh kahe ) which takes an unexpected but pleasant detour from the opening two lines, and you know you are hooked, and as it progresses the interludes (a soft humming chorus with santoor) and the antara flow like a balmy zephyr, with a dash of Vande Mataram audible in the second interlude. Sohail’s voice adds shine.

But Yeh des hai mera is a mere appetizer to the main course that succeeds it. Nayn tere jhuke jhuke kyun hai tu bata is a song that transports into a totally different era an age of simplicity and heart-achingly beautiful innocence where two friends could giggle about first flush of love, while going about their chores. Remember those Lata-Asha duets, with the heroines on cycle going for a picnic? Almost similar in flavor. And this has an outstanding flutes (especially in its main riff) and a distinctly Bengali flavor. Keeping in line with the same melody there is Sapne saloney hain sach toh hone, a porcelain fragile love duet, which includes lovely sitar pieces (and sitar is a personal favorite). When was the last time you really heard sitar in a Hindi film soundtrack?

Finally, we have the clarion call Ab humko roke na toke koi, a superb choral burst (Suresh Wadkar’s academy students sing with verve and vigor) and where the title words (Khelein hum jee jaan sey) are its lynchpin, and once again some more impressively done arrangements. The music has so much enthusiasm & energy that it can rouse even the dead.

Thereafter, the album is filled with an array of background instrumental pieces each one cross-referencing to one or the other song, and each having a distinct enjoyable sound. My favorites are Long Live Chittagong & The Teenager’s Whistle (back to back, they can be clubbed together), The Escape, Vande Mataram & Revolutionary Comrades.

In each of these, the music is so rich & evocative you can almost visualize & imagine the scene. I eagerly await Ashutosh’s on-screen interpretation(and going by his previous track record I am sure it will have some stunning cinematography & provide equal visual delight).

In all, it’s an album worth spending money on and listen to it with eyes closed deeply immersed in it’s music. And while you are doing so, please do also grab a copy of Ashutosh Gowariker‘s What’s Your Rashee to understand Sohail Sen’s continuum in music space. Hopefully, he will continue to create music in this way.

Overall: Must Buy

Sites to refer: On Facebook, On Twitter, On Youtube.

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Last month my HR manager sent a very sweet mail congratulating on three year completion in the organization. It struck me then that that meant three years completion in Bombay as well. Three years sped by and I didn’t even realize it. If time flies, then it most definitely has very large wings to brush under its span 1095 important life-days.

If reader’s recall one strong reason for opting for Bombay (I still cannot get over calling it by its old name) was to understand what makes the city tick; to comprehend & appreciate its pulsating energy; to feel that radiance which seems to make a Bombayiite so uncomfortable elsewhere; to unravel its various layers that compel writers & lyricists to pen novels & songs on it.

Honestly, I will confess I am nowhere close to grasping any of the above. Perhaps I allowed myself to be sucked in my work’s unavoidable vortex which left me very little residual time to mull & ruminate on the city. Or perhaps, I am now one with the city’s electrifying intensity so much so that I didn’t realize that three years have gone by and that is the sum total of my years of stay in Nepal and Agra put together. The gypsy in me seems to be finding a city anchor. Frankly, I do not like it.

[...]

Hey bloggers, how has it been all the while I did a Mr. India and disappeared from this space. I guess, blogging is passe now, with every one worth his keypad chirping away on twitter. Frankly, I never really took to this social medium. The space is too short to incorporate my verbose thoughts. Yes, I fell for the initial euphoria of cine-stars’ daily updates, but I soon figured out they are not really there to interact and make friends with us aam-janta, unless of course, there is a forthcoming release, when the charm is more than conspicuously visible. So twitter fell from my grace pretty soon.

Life has been so boringly routine that I really struggle to find something decent to put up here. Plus, my office shifted to far away South Bombay (though it beats me why they still call it ‘town’, and Bandra upwards ‘suburbs’), so I am these days spending quality time with my SX4.

Kerala

I paid two quick visits to Kerala, with the second one turning out to be mildly exciting. I reached Kochi airport past the counter closing time. A dour looking airline official rudely refused to take me and another late-comer in. It’s not a big airport, and it’s not too crowded either, and I still feel had he wished he could have bended a bit. The flight hadn’t even been fully boarded.

More than his refusal, I found his demeanor and way of speaking very arrogant, rude and definitely not customer friendly. You can’t summarily tell a customer to take the next day’s flight, especially when I cried out that I was on a day trip & wasn’t even carrying a change of clothes. Marie Antoinette and her infamous remarks on ‘if not bread let them have cakes’ from French history flashed across my mind.

[...]

Six months back, seeing me busy in a flurry of signing agreements & making fresh post-dated rental cheques, someone had remarked, “Oh, you are changing house?” I had laughed it off, “No, I am changing my landlord!” It was a good joke then, but it backfired quite soon. Looking back, I regret not making my own offer to the owner. The property prices were relatively low, and the house went off in what now retrospectively everyone sagely tells me in an unbelievably superb deal’. I was a fool. And more than that, scared. Buying a house in Mumbai is a Herculean task, and the thought of all those exorbitant installments & paperwork paralyzed me.

Ever since the house I lived in sold off, it was just a matter of counting days. While the new owner was magnanimous to allow lease extension, he had categorically stated that he ‘would need it back shortly’. The countdown had begun. But as the days went by, I slipped into a comfort zone.

[...]

I cannot believe six years have passed by since I started this page. Though I missed the 17th February deadline, it was always there in my heart & mind. I thank those few who actually remembered and sent me wishes for it. Coming close on heels to my own birthday, makes the short & sweet February even more special. Good I started it in this month only (honestly, more by chance than by design).

Yes, six years! That’s more than half a decade of writing, though erratic – mostly irregular – yet all there, ensconsed within this site, and its former avatar (on rediff.com); thoughts, stories, reviews and random other stuff enshrined on this nebulous but fabulous space called the world wide web.  Indeed the entire world and extremely wide – with readers from USA, Canada to Europe to Pakistan to India (mostly) to the far East, and one even from the far-flung Australia (though no longer here these days).

Of course, the blog has seen its very hectic & frenzied days, around 2004-06 peaking in 2005 when I was in Nepal, and seemed to have far larger time on hand. That’s when I reached my creative zenith, the highight being those stories that I churned out (if I may be a bit immodest) with superb elan and easy chutzpah. Many times, I go back to them, trying to reconstruct the moments when I wrote with a furious vigour.  Writing a story today looks well nigh impossible, though fragments of plots still crowd me. To give them shape & form requires much more (mental) free space than I have currently.  I haven’t given up. So I expect neither should the readers.

Random Expressions & I are grateful for all its readers for its sustenance & for all your love & affection.  A huge thank you!!!

I had skipped this compilation last year. But breaking traditions is not a good habit. Hence, this year I started to do this in November itself, so that I could complete it before year-end. Though, honestly & admittedly, I am not confident whether I am a good person to do this any longer. My listening to new songs is limited & restricted. The joy in finding a good song is absent because today’s music hardly fascinates me. The song structure has changed, mukhdas have elongated, interludes vanished and melody is on back-seat. Not my ideal situation.

Strangely, the songs that managed to excite me turned out to be ones that their music composers seemed to have abandoned mid-way (Jashn hai jeet ka, Bin tere marjaavan main, Ring ringa, Rafa Dafaet al).

Still, I will give it a shot from the small ambit that I managed to explore. As always, this list is in no particular order. And, this is a purely personal compilation, ingrained with my biases and prejudices.

Daata sun le Maula sun le – Jail – Lata Mangeshkar’s second foray this year into the recording room (other than Hanuman Chalisa), post her knee operation, was good in parts. I enjoyed the so-called ‘remix’ version better. It had a lilting tabla beat, and overall more cohesiveness than the ‘main’ version. Lata Didi, as usual, uplifted Shamir Tandon’s composition, which to put it politely, was a pretty ordinary composition. If this were Madhur’s answer to Ae maalik tere bande hum (Do Aankhen Barah Haath), it was a very weak reply indeed. Still, it was manna from heaven for Lata Didi devotees.

Otherwise, Jail‘s music held little interest. Sharib-Toshi’s Saiyan Ve burnt the dance floors for a while, but it’s longevity is suspect (especially since the film has bombed badly at box-office).

Tan ganga mann prem ki dhara and Krishna krishna – Umariya Kailli Tohre Naam – I welcome any musical serendipity. This time, in the form of a Bhojpuri film. From a chance ‘google’ search, I learnt that Lata Didi (Lata Mangeshkar) has sung one Bhojpuri song this year, under Raamlaxman’s baton. It took awhile to find the cd. And boy! was I bowled. As the cd unravelled – there was not just one or two but full three songs by the Diva! Krishna Krishna (in two parts; one, a duet with Bhupendra Singh; and second, a solo) sounded to my ears a nineties recording that seemed to have dug its way into this film. It’s purely in Hindi. Wonder which film it was originally recorded for. Tan ganga man prem ki dhara sounded newer. It’s a soft song, with lovely sitar and flute riffs and an effective chorus line.

(Incidentally, the mp3 I bought had hoardes of other Bhojpuri songs, which kept my interest alive. Will write on them later).

[...]

I have been quite bad. I start off with a ‘series’ and never really sit to pen its subsequent parts. So, let me rectify that immediately. Since eating out is more compulsion than choice, I guess it was easier to complete this.

So without much further ado, here is the second installment of this series:

Copper Chimney (Worli, Near Atria Mall) – I had tried Copper Chimney in Delhi, so I was very sure what to expect. Serves Indian cuisine. Am told it has good non-vegetarian fare (though I haven’t tried, since I visited only after converting to vegetarianism). Contrary to many other restaurants, CC in Bombay enjoys ample space, with lots of crevices and corners to enjoy a relaxed private meal. I had ordered pretty standard fare (Dal makhani, naan and paneer) and they were all good.

Vig (Chembur) – If you are in Chembur, and haven’t been to Vig‘s then you ain’t eaten anything. Like Crystal, Vig has small space, not very tidy and pretty ‘down-market’ look. But let it not fool you. The food is simply sumptuous and will have you literally licking your fingers. Serves veg and what we can call ‘snacks’. However, they are more than stomach-ful. The chholas are just amazing.

[...]

Number Plate

My car’s front number plate has become a joke. If it had been a chain mail, it would have got forwarded the world over several times over. And perhaps (like all chain mails) return to me.

Some two-three months back, the number plate decided to loosen all its ties, and hang out adventurously. Rather, hang down. Like a good car-owner, I reprimanded it and took it to the repair-shop (one decrepit one, near my place) and replaced its screws (at an exorbitant price for the job that size). Obviously, the number plate didn’t like to get screwed. Next day, when I reached Lonavla (for a review, darlings, not for holiday – just in case you start off on how lucky I am, which I am not) I found that the number plate had again broken free, and was gleefully swinging like a trapeze artiste in a circus.

I thought I’d just leave it. Let the poor kid enjoy it’s living on the edge. (Well, procrastination and laziness were two other reasons, but I am not really going to confess that up, no m’dahlings? )

[...]

With the sheer number of restaurants that Bombay has, one can devote an entire blog. If I go by the count, it seems people in Bombay hardly cook at home. Comparatively, Delhi has fewer joints. But quantity does not equate quality. So the law of averages catches up here too.

Here I present a small list of restaurants I have enjoyed visiting (and re-visiting) over the past two years:

[...]

Wishing all readers a Very Happy & Prosperous Diwali. As the Bisleri advt went…please play safe (and I mean in all respects).

Eighty years back Goddess Saraswati chose to bless mankind, She incarnated & gave it the most beautiful Voice ever heard. Lata Mangeshkar, born this day in 1929, turns 80 today. On this auspicious day, coinciding with Vijay Dashmi (Dashera) this year, I bow before her and once more pay my gratitude for the innumerable pleasurable moments she has imparted with her mellifluous voice and melodious songs.

[...]

Do Knot Disturb – Ever since I read Nadeem Shravan’s name on music credits in the theatrical trailor, curiosity gripped me. Hadn’t they split? From the film’s look, it hardly looked dated. So, were the composers – who ruled the nineties and then returned with some splendid stuff in early 2000′s (Dhadkan, Raaz, Pardes) – returning? I love their music. But one hear, and my enthusiasm wilted. This is hardly a comeback one would look forward to. Remember the scene in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, where a simple Kajol tries to apply make-up and be hep like her rival-in-love Rani Mukerji, with some absolutely disastrous results? Well, this album is akin to that scene. Nadeem Shravan’s attempts to sound modern descend in pathetically cacophonous consequences. They even get the current chart-topper Pritam’s regular singer Neeraj Sridhar to croon two utterly uninspiring numbers.

[...]

The Parsis celebrated Navroze on Wednesday 19th August this year. Till a few years back, I was quite oblivious of this festival, until I wrote a story which fleetingly had its mention. Then, I had done a bit of research to incorporate in the narrative. In Delhi, where Parsis are less than a handful, one never learns of this festival. Here, in Bombay, it is quite well celebrated, and we observe a holiday. Anyways, getting a mid-week off is always a welcome manna.

On this auspicious day, I embarked on the second phase of my Holy Grail’s quest – buying a record player. Having failed to find a good (and reasonably priced) three-speed player, I have finally settled to buy a Denon two-speed one, and had also learnt that the only shop that I could purchase it from is at Atria Mall, Worli – quite a distance from my residence (and a major reason for damning procrastrination). In between, I had bought a stand-alone Philips player, from a used-goods seller, but the sound quality turned out to be woefully pathetic, and I just packed it up, hoping to return it for whatever price I get to the same seller.

Before going to the shop on second floor, I parked the car at Atria Mall, and hailed a cab to check the shops at Heera Panna Shopping Center (near Haji Ali Dargah). I had heard much about it, but never could get time to pay a visit. The airconditioned market is a veritable maze of closely packed little shops selling electronics and leather goods and other trivia. In essence, it is much like Delhi’s underground Palika Bazaar – similar to the extent that both markets are known for their ‘gray market’ stuff, and were hugely popular in India’s pre-liberalizaton era. I walked the market’s criss-cross alleys taking in multifarious sights and smells, but I could discover nothing that held my interest.

[...]

We all know what it means. And I am sure no one can say they haven’t had their own small embarrassing moments – you know, the kind where you dash off a quick email stating ‘heartiest condolences’ at your friend’s uncle’s demise! Or, where you wish a person ‘Happy’ festival, when it is actually a martyr’s day of some prophet or guru!

In one classic instance, my ex-colleague G started to extol on the dumbness of a lady in front of an important official. As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew we were in serious trouble and kicked him hard on his shin below the table, and hurriedly broke in firmly stating that the lady was truly very hard working. She was now the wife of the official we were sitting with!

In another incident, a colleague called out to an abundant-attitude-charged peon as ‘Oye Vice President, come here’ – only to see our company’s Vice President alighting from the elevator from the opposite end!

[...]

Yesterday, poet, director & writer Gulzar celebrated is 73rd birthday. Thanks to his recent successes, he is one name who is still pretty reknowned amongst the young generation. These days, his Kaminey‘s Dhan Te Nan is quite popular. And earlier this year, he co-won the prestigious Oscar for Jai Ho (Slumdog Millionaire)

Due to this, every radio channel worth its airwaves played his songs on their daily ‘oldie goldie’ programmes. By ten pm, I was furiously switching between four channels, simultaneously sms’ing to two friends the favorite songs (multi-tasking, eh!).

Well, as the frenzy endied, I thought I had to list out a few of his songs that the Melody Queen Lata Mangeshkar has graced with her mellifluous voice; after all, both have immense mutual respect for each other. She has sung in most of his films. And he has directed her home production (Lekin). The association started right from Bandini, when a young Gulzar wrote a lovely lyric about a love-lorn woman, based on refrains from Radha-Krishna lovetale. Mora gora ang lai le continues to enthrall listeners, old and new; S D Burman’s frugal but fruitful music enchants.

(As always, this is a random list – not in any particular order, and since Mora gora ang lai le has been mentioned above, and deserves to be before any list, it is not mentioned below).

[...]

It’s like a wave – the water recedes, seemingly never to return, and yet, the very next instant the deluge rushes forward, callously erasing away any footprints imprinted in the soggy sand.

I had thought I’d almost given up this space (not literally, but definitely figuratively). Perhaps, the biggest sign being I visited London and Scotland this year, and did not even once feel writing about the trip. Yes, I had kept the space ‘artificially alive’, for no other reason than nostalgic value – the way one keeps a momento cleaned and polished atop a showcase. But clearly, I hadn’t meant to keep it a well oiled machinery, the way it was in 2004-2005 and for some parts of 2007.

Many old friends have moved on. Many blogs have slipped into a numbing silence. Many links are invalid. The comments have dried. The visitors have thinned. The thoughts have perished. In short, the wave had retreated. Or, so I thought.

Yet, it never does.

A few days back, like a shocking jolt, out of nowhere and catching me absurdly unaware, the entire deluge came gushing and hurtling and howling down; deafening me in its thunderous roar, sweeping me in its force and hurting me with its impellent impact.

The wave had returned. And how! I spent the entire Independence Day weekend browsing through my own writings – amused at some, ashamed at others, and proud of quite a bulk (especially the stories). And like a wave, it brought back its own residues – twigs and dirt and pearls and seashells…those memories! The posts (both on this site and my previous one) are virtual age-lines on a tree-trunk; through them I could chronologically trace my life’s past five years. The happiness, the sadness, the silliness, the intelligence, the highness, the lowness of all those years are so firmly etched in this supposedly nebulous cyber-space (and what a range! From a routine walk through Kathmandu rains to an oh-so-intelligent discourse on living alone, these pages carry them all). And, it brought back that recurring dream. A dream I knew I had strangulated. A dream I thought I had rested. A dream I believed I had buried.

I read these pages with happiness. I read them with sadness. I read them – and I hate to admit this – with regret. Because, the trace ends two years back, when I shifted to Bombay. Woefully, the past two years are practically lost from these pages (other than a few odd posts here and there).

The wave had also washed off the resolute resolution of keeping creativity in check, and concentrating on life/work in its mundane form, the way the majority do. My imprints in the sand. No longer there.

I should have seen it coming. I should have immediately built a dam around it. After all, I had mentioned this space, not to one, but to two people in a span of few days. That triggered the return. Suddenly, once more, yesterday I was looking at words the way an artiste does his pallette. I saw them dancing impishly, waiting to be created into intelligible sentences. I watched them playfully tickle me to arrange them to form a page of thoughts. I noticed them mirroring my emotions and feelings. As I have often mentioned earlier, It’s that urge to write. That irrepressible bug within me. It’s awakening. It’s alive. It’s not that (in past two years) I haven’t tried to write. Truthfully speaking, there are a few unfinished posts lying on my master word file. However, the fact is, the impulse never exceeded its defined limit, and I always managed to curb and hold it at bay. Till a few days back. Till this wave.

But…but…can I afford to carry on? Can I allow the bug to take control again? Can I permit that dream to be exhumed and still expect it to breathe and provide fragrance?

Questions, to which I have no answers as yet. I will allow them to rest awhile.