Childish notes.....

Living in the middle of nowhere is getting to me. Steadily and slowly, but it is. I am acting as a mirror to this bleak landscape and a conduit into the lifelessness for anyone who wants a glimpse of it. I guess, this is what they mean, when they say, "You must be losing your mind, boy!". I concur. Wholly and truly.

When social life is limited to near and dear ones who are projected onto a 15.6 inch screen and colleagues at office who are nanometres away from you, I think music has been the one true escape to sanity. A true rainbow of emotions and sounds start a conversation that you find yourself immersed in. You join along, adding words. Talking to the walls, in the sanest of ways. If any. 

Brings back memories from India. Warm and pleasant Kolhapur. Happy and care free me. Mates to play with and studies to contend with. Come summer holidays, all I wanted to do was play. Mother beloved wanted me to do something more productive. Maybe because I would learn something good, but mostly to get my ass out of the house and neighborhood. She needed her sanity too, you know.

So, one summer, I was on roster at a small music school nearby. Wasn't really a school, just a very learned old man, teaching music and making his last moments mean something of any worth. I went, I learnt, and when the old pendulum clock crawled its way from 4pm to 5pm, I would fuck off out of there and join my mates. No more harmonium notes, no more scales and no more old man telling me to "practice and be perfect".

Fast forward, to the dull reality of today. Actually it is just the weather. I am fine. Those days always bring a smile. I do wish for one more thing though. I wish that the teacher had locked me up for a few more hours everyday and made me practice. Learn more and better. Be a proper musician. I know it sounds like molestation, but I believe that kids are a bit like animals. They have to be treated as such, on occasions. 

Because, when you are left completely to your own mental faculties, a lot of things start to emerge. Your thoughts begin taking shape around you. And you want to present this being with a voice. Which can only be musical notes, to do it true justice. I disagree with my good friend Ameya Warade on a lot of topics, as good friends can often do. But I truly agree to what he said about the formalized language system."It is an imperfect medium. There is only so much you can convey. Sure,  you can come up with a new word, phrase and/or construction. But even then, it takes an entirely unnatural amount of explanation to translate your thoughts with any degree of accuracy."

Which is what music does with such melodious simplicity.  It fills in the gaps. And gives voice to the mute. I wish I had a companion in a musical instrument, that I could talk to. To understand the construction of my own thought pattern. Those meandering highways that connect the super-structural city that is the human brain. I have committed to commencing a physical journey that leads to such. Only time will tell, if I succeed. Till then, music made by others is where my sanity has sought and accepted asylum. 

(I wish to make clear right now, that I am strongly, even vehemently against pedophilia and wish all sex offenders and child traumatize-rs the most violent of deaths.I know it is silly and a little unnecessary to say it so explicitly, but unfortunately, there are alive among us, what I can only describe as a bag of righteous cunts who do not understand the following - irony, humor, sarcasm, satire and wit. That said, I do not wish to offend anybody who reads this.But sometimes, I just cannot help.)