Harish & The Gang
February 28, 2008 | Filed Under Goa, Travel, beatles, bob dylan, life's answers | 7 Comments
Post dedicated to Sidd, my closest friend, and he who introduced me to Bob Dylan
And to the woman, who held my hand when the Beatles’ sang “I wanna hold your hand” (missed you guys)
On our first day in Goa, we visited the Stone House Cafe, in Candolim on the road to Taj Aguada. We were a gang of 11 and we thought the music was amazing. The food was good too as was the cocktail called rocket fuel. We ate and drank and went back to our respective rooms.
On third day, some of us had already left, we decided to go back to the place. It was the beginning of a night that I won’t forget forever. Pasqual – the crooner and the master guitarist – was sitting in his seat, playing his songs. We fortunately got a seat right in front of him. He acknowledged us, and dedicated the next song to Harish and his gang. Harish – spikey – the wall nut – had his face filled with happiness. And the song was “Wish you were here.” There have been few better starts in the history of the evenings I have lived. And all of us were remembering all the people we have loved and shared a bond with, particularly in relevance to music.
Then he sang “Light My Fire,” I had been mouthing the song all along in Goa. It was probably some kind of happy intuition. Pasqual was in my head. Choosing artists and songs that I have loved and adored since eternity.
When we started making requests like Dylan and Beatles, Reginaldo, a friendly British man came up to us like an excited 20 year old and asked us, how we knew all these songs. And then we went on to bond on artists like Leonard Cohen and Rolling Stones. Soon everyone was mouthing the classic rock platter that was served to us. Pasqual had become larger than life and even if he stopped singing, everyone around was singing. Chris the bartender joined Pasqual for American Pie. Chris the gracious man gave us a huge discount on our bill.
But the two songs, that rocked the most that evening were songs by the Beatles. The da-da-da-da…. part in Hey Jude was sung over and over tirelessly. The Stone House had ceased being a cafe and had become a Beatles concert, which is an almost impossible event to witness today.
As the night was coming to a close – Reginaldo dedicated ‘Paint it Black’ for the Bombay gang. Looking at Reginaldo gave me a strange feeling of traveling in time and seeing how I looked and was in the future.
When Pasqual played, ‘Smoke on the Water,’ I realized that the evening (or for that matter life) couldn’t get any better, and I was ready to die. And boy and me realized that if there was a moment of beautiful death, it was now.
But it got better, the evening was polished of with ‘Yellow Submarine.’ Which for me signifies Utopia….
As we live a life of ease
Every one of us, has all we need,
Sky of blue and sea of green,
in our yellow submarine.We all live in a yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine,
We all live in a yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine.
There weren’t people, whom I would take in the yellow submarine. But there were a few whom I would love to be with on the yellow submarine, you know who you are.
When I look at back, I realize that I am not there.
Post also dedicated to all who I promised to see the Yellow Submarine (movie) with but which hasn’t happened yet.
Dissolved
December 3, 2007 | Filed Under Poetry, Travel, life's answers | 1 Comment
You can find me wandering at Rabindra Sadan.
Countless trains will come and go.
Not me.
I am not a train, neither a traveler, nor a passerby.
I have come home, into the shadow of poetry,
I seek refuge from the world of people.
Into the arms of a poet that God loved.
It isn’t a metro station.
It’s a giant painting. a painting that is alive.
The trains come and go, the people change.
Sometimes it is crowded, sometimes it isn’t.
It’s a painting that allows you in,
Let’s you be a part of the landscape, And let’s you go…
When you want to.
Not me, I am not you, I am forever here.
I swim past the words, the waves, the hills, the trees.
I swim in the rivers.
I disintegrate, and integrate as words.
The sketches, they imitate my form,
They know who I am, they smile at me.
And the people, they stumble, against me,
They walk past me without recognizing who I am.
They don’t know me, they have forgotten.
I feel offended but I forgive them easily.
They ask me for directions.
Of the outside world,
But I can’t help them, I never could.
It has been years but no one’s asked
For the direction to a poem.
No one has asked.
If someone did, I could take them there,
And show them my worth.
Sigh!
But do come to Rabindra Sadan,
Pay me a visit.
I will be waiting for you.
Right across the lines that say -
An unknown flower in a strange land speaks to the poet: “Are we not of the same soil, my lover?”
On my way to work today
July 3, 2007 | Filed Under Point of View, Travel | 2 Comments
I got into a rickshaw without realizing that I would be stuck in a traffic jam soon after. While my rick had stopped for a while, this dog came and stood around asking to be photographed. I instantly removed my K790i and took a pic.
The pic gave me an idea and stirred the journalist inside me. I thought that I should take pics about my journey to work and blog about it in. So here’s a pictorial view of my daily travel to work. (Most of these pics are taken from a traveling rickshaw and would not be the sharpest. Also I am not a very good photographer so please don’t mind them.) Read more