Proud owner of: SonyEricsson W810i Walkman phone... know more
Monday, July 17, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Mumbai Rocked… Again!
After a year, Mumbai has been taken by shock but this time it is no ploy of Mother Nature; only some terrorists who tried to prove a point which they have not made. I personally saw it coming, like another friend did. What’s the most vulnerable region where security is minimum and potential damage, maximum? Local trains.
A lot has happened in 12 hours and there is no denying how heart wrenching these past few hours have been and still the spirit lives on and people are back to work. A sight we Mumbaikars are pleasantly surprised to see, even though we are a part of it. What I mean is, we all are back on the go and we all know we can not do much about the casualties and we will mumble under our breaths about the bad security and then in a few days, we won’t bother about it anymore. Clearly, the people who have been in the planning forum are not Mumbaikars. They should know that this is like a dent in the average Mumbaikar’s memory and no more. Terror? Hell no. It’s just one small glitch in the routinely running system which will continue to run in the same, unperturbed way. We all celebrate the spirit of Mumbai and say, “nothing can stop this city” with great pride. Is it really a matter of pride?
We get back to work like an unstoppable gear system because we know we have to. I will call Mumbaikars a sensible lot but they are not the “wow” that we make them out to be. They can’t afford to stop working. They can’t not go to work because they are scared out of their pants. If they do, the consequences are dire, leading to a dent in their income and hence in their entire lifestyle; too much of a price to pay for something as simple as being scared. So, the fear has been driven out of a Mumbaikar by his lust for a higher level of lifestyle and not because he has “the spirit to move on and not look back.” I’m sympathetic towards all those who have lost their family and friends in this unfortunate and rather meaningless mishap and with all due respect, even these people, after the thirteenth day, are going to move on to live their lives. Why should someone stop living because someone close to them has died? Unfortunate? Yes but not impossible or unbelievable. People die. I am just trying to look at this “spirit of Mumbai” thing in a rather realistic light. I feel it’s an overstated fact that can be proven wrong by an even worse attempt to make this city fall on its knees. The more we pat our backs, the more the incumbents will try to stick the peg into the gears.
May the dead rest in peace. May their families find courage to face their loss. I’m sure Mumbai definitely will.
A lot has happened in 12 hours and there is no denying how heart wrenching these past few hours have been and still the spirit lives on and people are back to work. A sight we Mumbaikars are pleasantly surprised to see, even though we are a part of it. What I mean is, we all are back on the go and we all know we can not do much about the casualties and we will mumble under our breaths about the bad security and then in a few days, we won’t bother about it anymore. Clearly, the people who have been in the planning forum are not Mumbaikars. They should know that this is like a dent in the average Mumbaikar’s memory and no more. Terror? Hell no. It’s just one small glitch in the routinely running system which will continue to run in the same, unperturbed way. We all celebrate the spirit of Mumbai and say, “nothing can stop this city” with great pride. Is it really a matter of pride?
We get back to work like an unstoppable gear system because we know we have to. I will call Mumbaikars a sensible lot but they are not the “wow” that we make them out to be. They can’t afford to stop working. They can’t not go to work because they are scared out of their pants. If they do, the consequences are dire, leading to a dent in their income and hence in their entire lifestyle; too much of a price to pay for something as simple as being scared. So, the fear has been driven out of a Mumbaikar by his lust for a higher level of lifestyle and not because he has “the spirit to move on and not look back.” I’m sympathetic towards all those who have lost their family and friends in this unfortunate and rather meaningless mishap and with all due respect, even these people, after the thirteenth day, are going to move on to live their lives. Why should someone stop living because someone close to them has died? Unfortunate? Yes but not impossible or unbelievable. People die. I am just trying to look at this “spirit of Mumbai” thing in a rather realistic light. I feel it’s an overstated fact that can be proven wrong by an even worse attempt to make this city fall on its knees. The more we pat our backs, the more the incumbents will try to stick the peg into the gears.
May the dead rest in peace. May their families find courage to face their loss. I’m sure Mumbai definitely will.
The new and (definitely) the improved
After much labor we have finally improved the sound of:
Nishaniyaan (click to be victimized)
Lyrics: Rakshit Doshi
Music: Austin D’souza
Vocals: Shaban Khan
(This song is dedicated to our boredom and creativity. We can’t decide which came first)
Nishaniyaan (click to be victimized)
Lyrics: Rakshit Doshi
Music: Austin D’souza
Vocals: Shaban Khan
(This song is dedicated to our boredom and creativity. We can’t decide which came first)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
What the hell?
One sits at home pondering over what shall be done about boredom. One reads a book and can’t stay up. One plays a computer game only to be frustrated with constant and persistent failure to kill random soldiers and some general as a mission protocol. Then the Lord said… let there be music… and one follows the inner voice to attempt making music.
Proud to present the very first attempt at home production in both, national language and English.
Anno domini
Nishaniyaan (guitars by Austin D'suza)
In case my willing victims have limited downloading problems with their ISP then this link will take you to a page which allows online streaming (for those technologically challenged, you do not have to download these torture-tunes, you can listen to it online by pressing the Play button)
Your feedbacks are NOT welcome... These musical works of art are strictly for the sake of ‘time pass’ and shall not be produced/distributed/copied by anyone in their own interest.
Word of Advice: Wear ear plugs.
Proud to present the very first attempt at home production in both, national language and English.
Anno domini
Nishaniyaan (guitars by Austin D'suza)
In case my willing victims have limited downloading problems with their ISP then this link will take you to a page which allows online streaming (for those technologically challenged, you do not have to download these torture-tunes, you can listen to it online by pressing the Play button)
Your feedbacks are NOT welcome... These musical works of art are strictly for the sake of ‘time pass’ and shall not be produced/distributed/copied by anyone in their own interest.
Word of Advice: Wear ear plugs.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Listen to the Unheard
So I waited there at the shore for a voice to call me. The sea was violent and there was no space between two raging white waves as they rammed the shore. I was geared for the Rain Gods to test me and I am sure, the boulders at the bottom of the ledge, where I stood, were geared for the wild oceans unforgiving rage; for they stood unperturbed by the brutal force on display. A million eyes watched the sea in awe. Two of them were mine. Little children felt their parents were divine as they hung on to them in fear and surprise. Couples bit on corn as they spoke of distant lands where they would build their quiet home. Umbrellas twisted in pain and the saree-clad ladies laughed as splashes of the sea playfully teased them. They were looking free and away from their mundane existence for a while as thy spoke of happiness to their friends. Now I was not sure if these people were watching the sea or was the sea witnessing the many colored clothes and more varied lives of people. A Million people who lived two or three lives each… how much more can the word ‘gamut’ mean to anyone.
Slowly, the voices around me started to ebb and I started listening to the sea. It said nothing. Nothing angered it. Nothing wanted to take any revenge on it. It spoke of no force that made it wild. It simply was having a nice time. It was excited with the rains setting in. It wanted to go unnoticed. In fact, it was tired of being watched all the time. It was fatigued with eyes judging it. It felt like a child who had a huge body but a tender heart. People who died in its huge form were not prey to its rage. It was their own fault; much like a monkey playing with the electric wire on a post. It was innocent. When it was done playing, it started to roll back into its natural calm and the clouds were done entertaining the sea. They, too, cleared the sky. The people moved away like getting out of a cinema hall, like they would, when the movie is over and the credits are rolling.
The tiled floor was now exposed to the few shadows of bodies that moved around and to the glimmer of the sodium lamps. A silent hum of the sea was broken only less often by the sudden violent wave, like a child’s coughing during evening mass. I still stood there. My legs felt no fatigue but they wanted to rest anyway. The silence was broken when my cell phone rang and the voice on the other side asked me where I was. I had no answer to the question for an instance but my voice cracked as I replied, “Worli Sea Face, you?”
Slowly, the voices around me started to ebb and I started listening to the sea. It said nothing. Nothing angered it. Nothing wanted to take any revenge on it. It spoke of no force that made it wild. It simply was having a nice time. It was excited with the rains setting in. It wanted to go unnoticed. In fact, it was tired of being watched all the time. It was fatigued with eyes judging it. It felt like a child who had a huge body but a tender heart. People who died in its huge form were not prey to its rage. It was their own fault; much like a monkey playing with the electric wire on a post. It was innocent. When it was done playing, it started to roll back into its natural calm and the clouds were done entertaining the sea. They, too, cleared the sky. The people moved away like getting out of a cinema hall, like they would, when the movie is over and the credits are rolling.
The tiled floor was now exposed to the few shadows of bodies that moved around and to the glimmer of the sodium lamps. A silent hum of the sea was broken only less often by the sudden violent wave, like a child’s coughing during evening mass. I still stood there. My legs felt no fatigue but they wanted to rest anyway. The silence was broken when my cell phone rang and the voice on the other side asked me where I was. I had no answer to the question for an instance but my voice cracked as I replied, “Worli Sea Face, you?”
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