Music

It's 1.30am and I have just stopped working on a paper for the day (or night). I always like to end my day by listening to some music. "Music is worthless, unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry." I have laughed, smiled, felt happy, cried, felt sad listening to songs. I don't know how many of you know the song "Dumbing down of love" by Frou Frou (Imogen Heap). But its worth your time.

Well painted passion

You rightly suspect

Impersonation

The dumbing down of love

Jaded in anger

Love underwhelms you

No box of chocolates

Whichever way you fall

And if I tell you

Lover alone without love

What will happen

Lover alone without love

Will you miss him?

Lover alone without--without love

No, no I'll get this

I want to treat you

You're still not famous

And you haven't struck it rich

Underachieving

'Cause no one's receiving

This tunnel vision

It's turning out all wrong

And if I tell you

Lover alone without love

What will happen

Lover alone without love

Will you miss him?

Love alone without,

without love

Music is worthless,

unless it can

Make a complete stranger

Break down and cry

And if I tell you

Lover alone without love

And what will happen

Lover alone without love

And will you listen

Lover alone without, without love

Without love

Without love

.

Death. Even the word sounds what it means. How do you deal with it? I feel the tears stinging my eyes. I drift in and out of conversations. I don’t want people to look at me and nod. But I still tell them because I want to be able to drift in and out of conversations. I laugh because it’s funny. We talk about books, classes, and food. The Korean restaurant is nice, cozy. Someone comes in and there’s a draft of cold air. The tears come unexpectedly. I concentrate on my chopsticks. I remember talking to Aai in the morning, my morning. I had mistaken the call for my alarm. When I look back up, she cups my shoulder, “Are you ok?” I smile. I am glad I’m here. The food is delicious. We pay and leave. We make jokes about the cold. The wind hits hard when we open the door. Ten minutes to get to the performance. We find our seats, I’m excited. That thought creeps in again. I stay with it. The dancers start dancing. It’s beautiful. I feel emotional. I let myself feel it. The performance is over, smiles and hugs and out in the cold again. The walk from the T is painful… I let the tears stuck in my throat flow out freely, roll on to my cheeks. There’s no one home. Silence. I can only hear my breathing.
9.49am in India. They are probably driving to the crematorium. I remember the look of pure love in her eyes the last time I met her, Aji.

Cheers!

After a long day’s work, nothing seems to be as refreshing as the sweet (sometimes bitter) taste of alcohol. If that is combined with some ambiance and music, it’s even better. Today, after a rather unsuccessful field work session, my friend and I decided that we deserved to have a few drinks. She suggested a place called Cambridge Common. I hadn’t heard of it, and her pitch of “good and cheap” sold me. It’s a rather non-descript place right on Mass Ave, for those of you who are familiar with Cambridge. It’s on the main street and looks quite big. Even then somehow, I am a bit embarrassed to say that I had completely missed it.
Once seated, I faced a multiple choice phobia- too many beers to choose from! I went for tap- Newcastle brown ale. Being a beer ‘bhakt’, I have to make my choices carefully. Too light or too bitter doesn’t work. It has to be just right- a bit bitter, a bit dark and a bit thick. Five minutes later, we were presented with two glasses of beer, mine looked darkish. The colour satisfied me. There was some froth on it. Just the right amount. Not like ‘lassi’. I faced a sudden moment of trepidation, the one I face before the first sip touches my mouth and flows down my throat. Will it live up to my expectations? I pick up the glass and bring it closer, in slow motion. The first sip is in my mouth now- yes it’s good! Sigh of relief, of satisfaction. This night was particularly appealing; not only because of the very good beer but because of the other alcoholic beverages involved as well. Now let me tell you that we people in India, who are happy with one good ol’ draught beer, will be ecstatic to see the sheer choice. There are at least ten taps- Stella Artois, IPA, a variety of ales, lagers- to name a few. After a few beers, a bit of buzz and a stimulating conversation, we decided to finish it with a liquor and dessert. I could go into details about the taste of the dessert, but since I am talking about alcohol, I might as well not digress. So… the liquor; *chocolate martini. Ummm… delicious. Laced with chocolate, a clear liquor made of vodka and Godiva chocolate. By this time, I had begun to lose my inhibitions, so I can’t write in too much detail, and so I’m going to leave it at that. This was followed by sweetish tasting Baileys based liquor. Pure. Beautiful.
We will reschedule thing………
(no more coherent sentences are available because author has fallen asleep)



* http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink302.html

Pause

I drag my feet down the stairs and out the door. It’s rained all night and the air is crisp and fresh. I fill my nostrils and lungs. Smile. I am one of the hundreds who walk into the Davis Square T station every morning at 8. I walk down the escalator. I see the train coming in and increase my pace. The man in front of me taps the card the wrong way and walks through anyway. The train is now standing at the platform. I tap impatiently, but the machine refuses me. The doors close and the train moves on. Damn. I slow down. Walk down the stairs. I don’t hear any music. The rain has kept the musicians away.
Two stops and a coffee later, I try to get my head around the 2003 Budget Crisis of Americorps. Once again, that feeling of inadequacy in the area of finance. I wish it were easier. Two hours later, I climb up the stairs of Gutman Library, hoping my favourite seat is waiting for me. There is much to read.
I open the door to the second floor. It’s a different world. It’s shut off from the noise everywhere else. The land of the nerds. People come here only to seriously study or to seriously take a power nap. People glower if you talk. My couch is empty. It’s the one next to the window looking over the street. I make myself comfortable. Pull my notes out. I want to steal just one glance outside. I quickly do. Now I want more. I negotiate with myself; just for five minutes please. My mind gives me permission. My eyes take in all there is to take in. The big tree spreading its branches wherever it can. Its preparing for winter. The leaves are floating down to the ground one by one. Just a few weeks ago it was bright yellow. Just a few months ago, it was green. The leaves glisten with water from the rain. It’s drizzling. A few drops lose their way and hit the window. I shift my gaze downward to the street. The old, homeless man is not sitting on his bench. Probably, the rain. Probably, on his way. A truck stops for delivery. Professors rush to make it on time for class. Students run to catch up with the professors. Reflections of buildings and trees in puddles. A group of pre-schoolers tied together with a leash, led by their care takers on their day out. The world is a beautiful place for them- dogs, cats, leaves, people, cars, buildings. Their pace: a contrast. Slow. I breathe. Smile. The homeless man is still not there. It’s raining slightly harder now. I can see the world pass by. It gives me a high. Surreal. A woman steps into a puddle by a tree. The puddle is deceptive, looks shallow but isn’t. Curses under her breath and checks if anyone saw. She doesn’t see me in the window. I suddenly feel guilty watching all these people. They seem vulnerable and exposed. More so because they don’t know someone is watching them. One last look. The homeless man didn’t come. I hope he is fine. My five minutes are up.

To Blog or not to Blog

Being technologically rather challenged, I had earlier decided to stay away from blogging. But off late, I had begun to feel a peculiar restlessness which one might experience as a result of being drawn towards this phenomenon. And so, I spent days mulling over the prospect of blogging. I actually went through a laborious process of figuring this one out, which included thinking about the advantages and disadvantages, consulting a friend, who gave me some encouragement, and moving on to reading a few blogs. Stage one concluded in spending a significant amount of time perusing other people’s thoughts, their names and getting a general feel of blogs. I decided it was time to finalize a name for the blog that was due to be born. Unfortunately this was not an easy process especially because I generally lack the skill associated with mundane decision making. It entailed some careful thought, some sifting and consulting and then christening. I began to wonder if I was the only one or did people go through some kind of anxiety before creating something that would expose their life and worse yet, their writing. For I have realized that there is a higher level of empathy to other people’s experiences and life than for their (bad) writing. This thought led to another thought of whether the blog is for me or I am for the blog. No concrete realization came out of this questioning.
As it is quite apparent, the blog has won. I am for the blog.