good-bye good night

I feel nostalgic very often as I always reckon tomorrow on the basis of an unknown eternity. I deeply enter an illustrated illusion when I say a good-bye as yesterday dies off in the very epoch. But that comes back often so much in mind I feel puzzled and try to get some sleep walking back again. I see a breathtaking rain is taking place and my mother singing a Tagore’s song in her own world, standing in the balcony.

Well, few nostalgic trips bring smile, sometimes a good memory thrashes far much than the present.

Song of the day - Another Life, from the album Speaking of Now: Pat Metheny Group.

Until the End...

Sometimes I wonder how a simple song, a note or a tune can hook you up so strong, that you even forget yourself but carry on. This happens recurrently in my life in no particular or random order. I vibrate with the tone and swim across the song with tons of goose pimples. A friend mentioned there is no criticism from music and I am frightened to all kind of feedbacks.

May be it is foolish, but who cares? I don’t censor my tears.

This is a snap of Lake Pano in Adirondack Mountain range, NY, stolen from my friend Praveen’s shack. The lake is awaiting a ripple I feel.

Song of the day – Ripple, the American Beauty version.

For The Anniversary Of My Death

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveller
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what


W.S. Merwin

Between Appearances...

Mr. Y: How is it coming?
Mr. X: Hahaha, you took the accent bro 

Mr. Y: Well, how are you doing? Perfect?
Mr. X: Yeah, perfectly kept the imperfect hopes. The box of rain is suffering from claustrophobia.

Mr. Y: Its too much snowing these days, I see.
Mr. X: Yeah, but snow fall does not make ripple on still water my friend.

Mr. Y: You talk as you have faced the eternity already.
Mr. X: The eternity has approached me already; the roads are dusted with nostalgia.
Mr. Y: And, what do you feel then?
Mr. X: As Tarkovsky mentioned, nostalgia is a disease, an illness that drains away the strength of the soul, the capacity to work, the pleasure to living.

Mr. Y: It’s nothing but personal, what’s your wish right now?
Mr. X: Ami bari jabo..kolkatai…will walk mindlessly in the decaying streets of north Calcutta in dawn, phuchka, the drained face of a kite, the drowning face of durga thakur in bagbazar ghat..
Mr. Y: So you wanna wish a good world when are you dying! Huh.

Mr. Y: Any new dream besides imagine?
Mr. X: Sailing with a dolphin (hand in hand), however I don’t know how to swim. But does sailing need that?

Mr. Y: Your world, your writings are not kickin' my grays any more. You are so stranded.
Mr. X: Sometimes, it is better that way. Moving from coast to coast without moonlight is pain. And it is more pain after being deceived under a daily sun.
Mr. X: Hey but why you are always off, why you don’t spend a much time with me? Why are you running away as a nomad?

Mr. Y: (quickly changing the subject into the perennial one) What are you listening now?
Mr. X: Tongue and Groove, Steve Kimock. You?

Mr. Y: Ditto. Spirituality….

Lil. Xperiment..

Ripple in still water...

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It’s a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they’re better left unsung.
I don’t know, don’t really care
Let there be songs to fill the air....

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone...

~Grateful Dead

living in the past.......

Perennial melancholies have some positive feedbacks. Mr. X is grounded but a somnambulist, he does not miss every single night to confirm repeatedly his mobile for the unknown calls or the messages, which are never made, never typed; never meant for him. He has signed over a zillion free mail services to relish the flood of mails, yet an unhappy discover pauses his beats a bit. He repeats his mistakes, under the scorching sun or relentless snowfalls he mumbles a single name, undoubtedly without any reasons as the world turns.

Sometimes, feeling down has a colorful world, Mr. X is holding the brush to paint that a cloud nine.

Co-Existence and Conflicts

I was watching the cloud-clad sky today morning. The time was nearing dawn but alas, it was my perfect time to sleep; a freezing warmth (reckon the proverbial proclamation- in Buffalo it snows, so what?) was capturing my soul. I was smug in infancy, was watching the roots of the branches of the only tree in my view through the window. The leaves are all gone, but the pain lingers on. There is no conflict between swamp of dreams and famine of the sunrays. I was listening to the rumble of the wind, writing on the wall for my salvation.

In the other hand, I could here a nostalgic song was somewhere floating in my appt. Actually my roommate was working on matching in cohabitation market (toward his ph.d.) and listening Mohiner Ghoraguli.

"First thing god created was journey and then came doubt and nostalgia".

Why life is so conflicting?

PS- The statement is from the film Ulysses Gaze by Theo Angelopoulos (no wonder!!).
The word nostalgia makes me feel about Nostalghia, have to watch this classic of Tarkovsky tonight.

To Cry You a Song...

Its tull all the way! Got the 1970 Isle of Wight live album today! My 36th Tull album!
and yeah, also in the list Martin Scorsese's latest flick No Direction Home! If you are into Dylan do contact me :).

For a second thought, Mr. X knows the song Ballad of a thin man is actually based on him.