Pink Floyd

There is a certain magic to music. It speaks what words cannot. It says what the heart says, and not the brain bullies the mouth to!

It also adds that extra kick of adrenalin to express the most severe shocks of life. Period. This has always been the most popular genre of music. Yes, my favorite too. There's Pink Floyd, Metallica, Pink Floyd, Iron Maiden, Rammstein, Pink Floyd, System of a Down, oh, and did I mention Pink Floyd?

Below is a song from the masters of Rock, the Fathers of 'Psychedelic' music; Pink Floyd's "Time". The music is weirdly haunting..... wakes you up inside sort of. One cannot 'like' a Pink Floyd song. He is a devotee of the band. The lyrics in this one bring tears to my eyes everytime I listen to it.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time has gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

The mood is set perfectly in the first minute, where ticking of clocks is heard. Followed by gentle guitaring. Glorious.

jokes apart!

10000 dinars and a sentence was what a guy in Morocco earned after he posed as King Mohammad IV's brother on facebook.
The judge seems to have been mesmerized by what the virtual world can offer... and so am I.
Human rights activists from Amnesty International are saying, the sentence is inappropriate. The false image is a joke and is played by many.
Looking at the other side,
Does this kind of deceit in revealing one's identity, cause any harm to the society in general? Is there anything wrong about the new fantastical world that provides room to become 'another' , with a click on the mouse? Can one really 'network' through a false identity?
When we observe the number of relationships that internet can foster.. it is truly amazing. But what happens when the person you know does not know exist in reality? I believe, such a situation is just more than a dissapointment. I think it is equivalent to a feeling you get sometimes when you feel, this world we live in, is not real.
The way it looks,this sentence may soften one's appetite to be a celebrity by adopting another's identity in Morocco, though the punishment is harsh and difficult to digest.

A creed, some thoughts!

Australian resident Indians - confused, riches- loving, uncaring, wretched souls???
Not really. Of course, they are a creed of varied nature, like any. Yet, some characteristics are worthy of note.
My analysis reveals that they are still bound to India- each individual clinging to a different string. They take interest in sports, like the natives- to the extent that they personalize activities like fishing, camping, skiing, sailing- that which are unheard of, in India. Some even
follow rigid timetables which includes an ealy dinner ( 7:00 PM!!).
They are mostly hardworking. They do more than 1 job sometimes, to keep the big bucks rolling in. The women in the families face very little barriers. But the responsibilies do not depreciate. They are effecient, part- time homemakers, socializers and career- oriented individuals.
The kids, with their Australian accented English often overwhelm their parents with questions. Fortunately, the internet is at their disposal!
Thats a short description of the indivduals...nothing more!

Little daunting errands!

The other day, my mother needed me to buy her medicines. This of course isn't a tough task, given that i have a bike, and there are half a dozen medical stores within a stone's throw of my house. But here's the catch... she needed "womens' medicines" and she also wanted sanitary napkins. Now that's downright embarrassing for a guy of my age to walk up the steps of the shop and demand such things! Wearing my heart on my sleeve, like Gandalf in LOTR, I set out with firm resolve, quoting in my mind different versions of the dialog I'd have with the chemist. Well rehearsed, I strode purposefully up to him and made my request. Shockingly, he wasn't the least nonplussed with this, and treated this situation like any other. So much for all the fish!

Might of the Mirage

Behind their hooded faces of lies,
There is a facade of an evasive smile.
Can this their mirth idealize?
Life and lies they deem facile!

False hope they foster within;
The spark of light is no more bright
than the chance of fate; Ever in sin,
Yet they don't give in without a fight!

Thin lipped satire never awakens
to the need of want and lust.
The looming towers of greed and might
belittle the urge to lie beneath the crust!

Feigning death and glory they strive
to swallow the darkness of dismay;
Yes, darkness they need to bury their dread
More than they need the mirage to light their way!

LOTR: A descriptive dream

The Lord of the Rings is an exceptional series of books, which have long captivated peoples' fantasies. These were written decades ago, but still holds everyone in awe. JRR Tolkien has indeed created a masterpiece, which can never be imitated even, let alone paralleled.

Below is an excerpt from "LOTR: The Two Towers". Gimli is a dwarf, Legolas an elf. Dwarves and Elves were at war for a very long time, but these two are good friends. Elves are extraordinary beings, with long lives, fair skin and quick magic. Dwarves on the other hand are geniuses at handiwork. They are very good diggers, and own many of the world's precious stones and gems in their possession. They carve out entire cities from mountains, burrowing into the ground to create magnificent caves and tunnels,all richly decorated. I have picked out a slice of the book, which clearly places Tolkien above all others in descriptive imagination.

'Then that is the most perilous wood in Middle-earth,' said Gimli. 'I should be grateful for the part they have played, but I do not love them. You may think them wonderful, but I have seen a greater wonder in this land, more beautiful than any grove or glade that ever grew: my heart is still full of it. 'Strange are the ways of Men, Legolas! Here they have one of the marvels of the Northern World, and what do they say of it? Caves, they say! Caves! Holes to fly to in time of war, to store fodder in! My good Legolas, do you know that the caverns of Helm's Deep are vast and beautiful? There would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at them, if such things were known to be. Aye indeed, they would pay pure gold for a brief glance!'

'And I would give gold to be excused,' said Legolas; 'and double to be let out, if I strayed in!'

'You have not seen, so I forgive your jest,' said Gimli. 'But you speak like a fool. Do you think those halls are fair, where your King dwells under the hill in Mirkwood, and Dwarves helped in their making long ago? They are but hovels compared with the caverns I have seen here: immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight.

'And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities. such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm's Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.'

The Pleasures of Gardening

‘Darelle, thank you so much!’, aunty exclaimed. Fidgeting with a pin in my hand, I smiled graciously.
‘ That man is very hard working’, she continued.

Darelle was mowing the lawn, a few minutes earlier, while I was discovering the garden.

When I stayed in Banashankari in Bangalore, I had had a huge garden too. I remember a very talkative gardener unloading large amounts of fertilisers to enhance productivity. I also remember my parents incessantly complaining how the coconut tree would never grow in spite of the nourishment.
Except during the times when I had spent time holding a pipe, watering and removing jasmines or hibiscus flowers from the captivity of their parents, I had no emotional attachment with the vast space in front of my house.

Ironically, today, I spent admiring the lemons, mangoes and strawberries magnificently growing in their space in aunty’s garden. I helped her remove weeds, shift pots and jumped on the soft grass enjoying the rain. It was splendid.

Talking of Mr. Darelle now – He is not a gardener. He had not received any money for his work. Just respect. He works with uncle and drives a truck. Yet, he holidays abroad frequently and is apparently, a multimillionaire!!

I was stunned when aunty told me his story. He had worked for the government for forty years and after retirement, had received a lot of money. He did odd jobs, not for money, but satisfaction.
She told me, he even spends time in the church working in the garden there, when he is free.

She concluded her story with the most suitable conclusion – ‘ What he does, is truly, a form of worship!’