The Music

This page will have the links to all the music

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The destination does not matter

The destination does not matter. It is who you travel with that makes the journey worthwhile. We tend to focus too much on the destination and reaching the place. In our personal journeys we often fall in this trap, and we ask questions like, "what is the plan?" or "where are we going?" Perhaps there is no plan, perhaps what is going on is only about two bondhus walking hand in hand. Enjoying every step, making memories with every bit of distance covered, not worrying about where they are going as long as they are going together. How about the possibility that we have no destination other than making sure we hurt no one and trample over no one as we walk together. The point is not to focus on the destination but to make sure the journey is comfortable fulfilling and life giving. When we focus on the journey then we have no rush to reach, but we care more about the comfort in the companionship. This is when we worry about reaching out to the ones who might feel hopel
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I was waiting

I was waiting. To hear from you. This is a condition that we have all found ourselves in. Back in the days when we operated with postcards and aerogrammes the wait was expected and anticipated. There was no point in me getting impatient to hear from a bondhu or a parent because we knew that the wait will be long. It will take weeks for the letter to reach. Waiting was easy. Waiting was not accompanied with attributions where the delay had to be interpreted. So many things could cause the delay that it was not usually taken as an intention to ignore. The letter could have gotten lost, the postal system was slow, there was snow on the ground and the mail truck did not make it, or there was a flood somewhere. The systemic delay allowed for believing that even though there are good intentions, there may be delays that need not be interpreted as a signal of rejection. We assumed that there was good intention to respond but circumstances are coming in the way. It seems things have changed no
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Memories of Sounds

Memories of Sounds. The crows start cawing right around 3:45 am. The other birds start around 5:00 am. On the early spring morn as the fog rolls in over the lawn, and the screened porch is still dark, the bleating of the deer flows from the woods. And the early morning horn of the car that invariably blows its horn right in front of my bedroom at 5:45 am. The distant sound of the police car wailing away as the icy patches cause the invariable accidents on the main road duing the morning commute. The distant sound of the aajan (call to prayer) from a mosque whose location is probably across the canal. As I sip the morning coffee on the verandah the sound of the shunting trains at the train junction a couple of miles away resonate in the air. On some rainy mornings as the coffee maker rumbles the rain beats down on the chimney and the sound filter into the quiet living room. A little later the vegetable vendor calls out the ware followed by the voices of the day laborers flows into the d
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