note to myself, so i dont forget this time

To remind me of these good times in the company of ccr, abeeda parveen's ghalib, joni, herbie hancock, umphrey's mcgee (remember the triple wide, hurt bird bath, kimble...) ...this time of the 'underground' that is so velvet, PA's wooden book cabinet, his whiskey jar, my sitting on the steps under the sun watching that guy cover the walls with paint stroke by stroke, friends who are a blessing (remember a's 'coffee and conversations', jen's place, R's 'bright lights'), malika's musings under the trees in the university ground, the new road they cut through those hills that dont care, T playing the flute, grandma's hands, the mud on the village road, the wooden kitchen bench, the food i cooked over wood that had too much salt, the police guy i met with D, the red trekker, this house of memories and imagination, the sadness, the joy, the filling up, the reassuring voices and the blues, muddy, watery, bluesy . Remember in this time: I am in love with the whole world :)

Paul Rogers :

Walking alone in the rain

Water in my shoes

All I can feel is this pain in my heart

In theses muddy water blues

River weep for me

Got Nothing left to lose

Under the weeping willow tree

With these Muddy Water Blues (singing “Muddy Water Blues”)

Please give me some shelter

That’s something I can use

Way down here in the delta

With these MuddyWater Blues

Women and Whiskey will frame you

It’s no good lookin’ for Clues

You got them, who can blame you

Muddy-Water Blues

Try to get free from you baby

Oh… but I’m stuck like glue

Try to get free from you baby,

In these Muddy-- Water Blues

Ooh…. Muddy Water Blues

yearn

A yearning to go home..go to Guwahati..meet old friends, remember old 'certainties', relive old joys.
Nostalgia felt in the gut...but there's nothing to stop me really..

So there at the side of the road they came across another milestone. Just an old weathered slab driven into the soil with some faded paint. "Like a Lighthouse" thought one."Like some innocent deception" thought the other.
And the milestone muttered thoughtfully,'it doesnt matter,I'm not to be taken so seriously after all. I'm just a milestone'.

collectibles

Stars and stripes, kites and clouds
mice and boards, zen and fords

Rhymes that rhyme, names that dont
And reasons, sometimes they fit
sometimes they dont

time that flies, friends who drift
music that fades ,music that grows
fresh laughter, uncanny moments
sunday morning thoughts, monday morning blues
grow up! I tell my friends
YOU grow up, they answer back :)

Like prose, like poetry and something in between
coincidences, the law of averages
invitations, coffee and conversations

stranger who smiles , traffic that piles
different days,a moment that stays

Little storms that rage in littler teacups,
Little stars that twinkle far far away
moments of madness, moments of hope
friends that have changed, friends who wont

A little pull of the great beyond
now and then..
the sunlight that burns a golden coin in my palm
the rains that come and go like a saviour
And now and then, a little time to stand and stare.

anticipation

he wants to cross the river

..there are sharp rocks under the gurgling waters
there is sand on its bed that turn to gold in the sunlight
there are memories from a thousand years
of life and death

He is building a boat to cross the river
rough wood hewn from the woods
Hewing rough wood with his gnarled hands
he is building a boat to cross the river

The moonlight will turn its waters into a silver splash
and on its waves will splash little fish and mermaids
His oars will scatter little drops of silver
his bow will slice though scattered waves
When he crosses the river.

I believe he will make it to the other side...

Reveries

Like a train slithering into the darkness through longing patches of paddy
Here a familiar sight, there darkness,
The only certainty is motion;
When movement has become the reason and not the means

The darkness an uncertainty of possibilities
And not the simple fluid invisibility that it usually is

Its a caravan out there, its a riot of colors, its empty space out there
Its this face at the window, that voice through the wind,these hands on my lap

And piercing through all these,

The train whistling, piercing the night into two..

While looking at my diary of 1996, of so many years ago, I came across this unfinished piece ..it looks like I was struggling to put to words a certain specific stream of thought that would lead to an ‘understanding’..the reason I like it is because I remember in it the old familiar struggle. So what if I abandoned it long ago but cant seem to admit it to myself yet :)

:I like many things: colorful, muddy, green, reflecting, warm, woody, blue, far-away..so many things come away from their paces to mingle in my thoughts and hover just outside my grasp.i have certain feelings for some things that almost don’t mix together..yet, they are old friends and comforting mates.

I think as a child I would have been quite taken by magic. As an older person it breaks my heart to think that the red roses that the shiny-hat-wearing magician pulled out of the long thin black band was a sleight of hand. It disappoints me to think about the way he would have construed the entire trick and spent long, frustrating hours perfecting his art.
But for the child, it was an entirely wonderful thing without deceit, entirely magical.It was not necessary to think about the different ways in which a particular form of matter had to behave, to follow universal rules so that a shiny black band could not just turn itself into a bunch of red roses at will. To the child, this awareness was simply not necessary.

Another thing I like is looking at old black and white photographs, their grainy surface, the faded white and black, the situation. It is fascinating for me to think about how that exact moment might have been, just before the photographer had caught the moment inside his camera. Of how the different shades of black and white were actually different colors, among all the colors that we know of; to think of how they would have become the people in it. it is almost as if, by not betraying that moment in its full glory, it had somehow kept some things away from the time-weary paper texture…that by denying it of an actual representation, it was possible to keep the warmth of the flesh, the shine of the eyes, the small wrinkles and cracked nails alive…