Where peaceful waters flow...

Zindagi Se Badi Saza

2006-10-13T20:26:00.001-04:00

Today I was trying out a few songs on Guitar and decided to do some improv work on a poignant Ghazal by Jagjit Singh "Zindagi se badi saza". I only sang two verses and followed the D minor chord. Click on the play button to start (double click in Internet Explorer).

If you are having trouble with the player, here is the MP3.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

2006-10-10T16:41:00.000-04:00

Here is another collaboratory work from Nikhil and I from this last weekend. A George Harrison (Beatles member) classic, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" is more of a rock song, but we took it and converted into an acoustic ballad.

Nikhil played the picking on his Electric Guitar and I did the strumming on my Acoustic Guitar. Then I recorded the vocals on top of it and added my voice again on chorus stanzas.
Click on the play button to start (double click in Internet Explorer).

If you're having issues with the player, here is the MP3

Words:

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know why nobody told you
how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
they bought and sold you

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps

I don't know how you were diverted
you were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
no one alerted you

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at you all...
Still my guitar gently weeps.

Musical Weekend

2006-10-08T15:28:00.000-04:00

This weekend, my friend Nikhil had come over from Ohio and we surely had a musical ball.
We tried our hands at several songs and recorded a few. This one is a song from the Hindi movie, Swades - "Yuhin Chala Chal".
Nikhil sang the Udit Narayan's part and played the lead Guitar, whereas I sang (or tried to) Kailash Kher's part and did the chorus, and
I also played the Guitar (sliding part) for the Intro and Interlude.
Click on the play button (double click in Internet Explorer) to start the song.

If you're having issues with the player, here is the MP3

Jhuki Jhuki Si Nazar

2006-09-30T17:32:00.000-04:00

Here's an old Ghazal from the Hindi movie, Arth that I recently sang with Karaoke Music. I would be interested in learning this on Guitar. May be someday I'll do that.
For now, click on the play button (double click in Internet Explorer) to check it out.

For now, click on the play button (double click in Internet Explorer) to check it out.

For those having issues with the player, click here for the MP3.

Annie's Song

2006-09-24T18:03:00.000-04:00

Continuing learning John Denver's songs that I grew up with, the latest in my list is "Annie's Song".
"Annie's Song" was written as an ode to Denver's then-wife, Annie. The two had started to come apart following his sudden success, and had separated when he took a trip to Switzerland. While on a ski lift by himself, John started to marvel the beauty around, and, thinking about his wife back at home, penned the song in a few minutes.

Needless to say that only John could do justice to the high-pitched vocals, but I still gave it a try. I played the Guitar in a different way than how the original song goes.
I learned it from a Classical Guitar player out of Australia,
Sal Bonavita.
Double click on the play button to start.

For those having issues with the player, here is the MP3.

Words:

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,
Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms,
Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you.
Come let me love you, come love me again.

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

Hotel California

2006-09-22T18:36:00.000-04:00

After collaborating with Nikhil on the Rock & Roll Tune, here is our second song, Hotel California by The Eagles. Nik did the entire musical part by himself, recording the strumming, solo, bass and other parts on his electric Guitar in about 8 parts. I then sang (I'm no Don Henley!) the song with the music. Remember, we are about 400 odd miles apart, so a little miscoordination is inevitable.
I think Nik did a commendable job with his virtuoso Guitar skills in arranging the entire track. Kudos to him!

And here's the song. Double click on the play button to start.
To enjoy this song, I would highly recommend that you use headphones. Thanks!

Here's the MP3 for those who can't make the player work.

Awaaz Anjaane

2006-09-21T11:30:00.000-04:00

About a month ago, I received an email from the host of a online Radio Show/Podcast. She said that she would be interested in me sending some of my songs and asked me to send in a couple songs, which they would like to feature on their show. So I went ahead and sent in a Mohd. Rafi and Hemant Kumar song I had recorded a while back.
This morning, I found them both featured on their site. They were very kind in their introductions about me and and also my first book.

I'm hosting the whole show for everyone. Double click on the play button to start. If you have issues with the connection, you can download the entire show by clicking here. The show is also hosted at the Radio Show's site

I'm much thankful to Piya and Deb (hosts) for featuring me on their show.

Monday Rock & Roll

2006-09-18T20:00:00.000-04:00

This weekend after returning from the Gita Retreat, I practiced Heartbreak Hotel on Guitar and out of that I tried creating an improvised tune, which I tried to record this evening. I don't play rock & roll on guitar too much, but here's an attempt. Thanks to my cousin's Washburn Guitar, which I played on. Double Click on the play button to start.

Here is the MP3
A friend recorded his solo on Electric Guitar on top of my tune. Here's that version (just a raw attempt):

Here is the MP3

Memories Are Made of This

2006-09-15T20:18:00.000-04:00

Continuing the karaoke trend, here is a Dean Martin classic "Memories are made of this" that I had tried to sing a while back.
Hope you mates enjoy it! Click on the play button to start (double click in Internet Explorer). If you have trouble with the player, here is the MP3

Words:

Take one fresh and tender kiss
Add one stolen night of bliss
One girl, one boy
Some grief, some joy
Memories are made of this

Don't forget a small moonbeam
Fall in lightly with a dream
Your lips and mine
Two sips of wine
Memories are made of this

Then add the wedding bells
One house where lovers dwell
Three little kids for the flavor
Stir carefully through the days
See how the flavor stays
These are the dreams you will savor

With His blessings from above
Serve it generously with love
One man, one wife
One love through life
Memories are made of this
Memories are made of this

For The Good Times

2006-09-12T23:48:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I've updated the blog, so heres's another one of my recent recordings from couple weeks ago. This one is an old classic "For the good times".
When you're back home and I'm far away
I'd still be thinking of days that were..

Anyhow, click on the play button to start (double click in Internet Explorer). If you have trouble with the player, here is the MP3

Words:

Don't look so sad, I know it's over.
But life goes on, and this old world will keep on turning.
Let's just be glad we had some time to spend together.
There's no need to watch the bridges that we're burning.

Lay your head upon my pillow.
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops,
Blowin' soft against the window,
And make believe you love me one more time,
For the good times.

I'll get along; you'll find another,
And I'll be here if you should find you ever need me.
Don't say a word about tommorrow or forever,
There'll be time enough for sadness when you leave me.

Lay your head upon my pillow.
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops,
Blowin' soft against the window,
And make believe you love me one more time,
For the good times.

Lyrics by: Kris Kristofferson

Shaheed

2006-09-07T22:07:00.000-04:00

Picking up from my previous post on Shaheed Bhagat Singh, a revolutionary who gave his life to win freedom for India from the British, here is the ending of the Hindi movie, Shaheed, which features the ever patriotic song, Ai Watan Ai Waatn.
Jai Hind!

I Believe in Yesterday

2006-08-30T17:57:00.000-04:00

Brandon introduced me to a Karaoke site couple days ago that has tons of great Karaoke tracks. I tried my hand today at "Yesterday" which I like to play quite often on Guitar.
The Karaoke track is played exactly how Paul McCartney played it. However, I sang in the style of "Wet Wet Wet", a UK Band whose version, I personally find, much more emotional than Paul's. Click on the play button (double click in Internet Explorer) to listen.
If you have problems with the player, here is the MP3.

Click here to check out the Karaoke site.

Flying For Me

2006-08-26T13:23:00.000-04:00

I have been teaching myself a few John Denver's songs lately, which I'll put up here shortly. As a tribute to John, I am putting up the video of a song he wrote in 1986 as a Tribute to the entire of the Challenger Space Shuttle that disintegrated shortly after take off on 28th January 1986, killing all 7 crew members.
John talks about how he was going to be the first ever civilian to board a space craft...

For more on Challenger, click here.

Kuch Na Kaho

2006-08-21T21:42:00.000-04:00

Now that my Blog has turned more or less into a 'Musilog'; here is another tender ballad I recorded last week from the Hindi movie, "1942 A Love Story".
I just learned this song on Friday when I decided to test record it.
Click on the play button (double click in Internet Explorer).

If you can't make the player work, here is the MP3

Karaoke Nights

2006-08-17T22:53:00.000-04:00

Here is another Mohd. Rafi's song from the old Hindi movie, Aadmi. I think to sing this one, one really has to imagine the hapless, Dilip Kumar wandering by the sea-side on crutches. I gave it a shot on some people's request.
Click on the play button to start (double click if you're using Internet Explorer).

If the player above doesn't work, here's the MP3

Happy Independence Day

2006-08-15T23:23:00.000-04:00

Although there are only about 30 minutes left in the 15th day of August where I live, but I still want to send out Indian Independence Day Wishes to everyone.
Let's pray we live up to the future that all the brave men & women died for.
Here's a song from the old Hindi Movie, "Shaheed". "Sarfaroshi Ki Tamanna", was a revolutionary poem written by Shaheed Ram Prasad Bismil. Click here to read the whole Poem.
Jai Hind!

Tum Pukar Lo

2006-08-13T13:36:00.000-04:00

Here is a song that I recently performed for some folks and recorded. With Karaoke music in the background. It's from the old Hindi Movie "Khamoshi". Originally sung by legendary Hemant Kumar.
Click on the play button to start (may need double click in Internet Explorer).
Click here for the MP3 if the player below doesn't work.

For You

2006-08-04T00:09:00.000-04:00

I have been on vacation all week, so just feel like floating a John Denver song I had recorded a week or two ago. It's one of the most haunting ballads of John. It really is a Piano song, but I tried to do some justice to it on my Guitar.

Click on the play button (double click needed in Internet Explorer) to check it out.

If you're having problems with the player, here is the MP3

Words:

Just to look in your eyes again
Just to lay in your arms
Just to be the first one always there for you
Just to live in your laughter
Just to sing in your heart
Just to be everyone of your dreams come true
Just to sit by your windows
Just to touch in the night
Just to offer a prayer each day for you
Just to long for your kisses
Just to dream of your sighs
Just to know that I'd give my life for you.

For you all the rest of my life
For you all the best of my life
For you alone, only for you.

Just to wake up each morning
Just to you by my side
Just to know that you're never really far away
Just a reason for living
Just to say I adore
Just to know that you're here in my heart to stay.

For you all the rest of my life
For you all the best of my life
For you alone, only for you.

Just the words of a love song
Just the beat of my heart
Just the pledge of my life, my love for you.

All of My Memories

2006-07-26T18:53:00.000-04:00

Ever since I was a little kid, I have been listening to the eternal music of John Denver, one of the greatest Singers/Songwriters that the world ever saw.
This one is an Acoustic song that John did in 1971.
This is my humble rendition of this 'power-ballad'. This is the first song I've recorded where I used a plectrum and didn't use my fingers to play Guitar. Hope you mates enjoy it!

Click on the play button (double click needed in Internet Explorer) to check it out.

If you're having problems with the player, here is the MP3

Words:

All of my memories lay in the lights of the highway.
All of my nights in old motels and sleeping alone.
All of my days on the road with no one beside me.
All of my dreams of a place that I can call home.
Somewhere in the shade, near the sound of a sweet singing river.
Somewhere in the sun where the mountains make love to the sky.
Somewhere to build me a faith, a farm and a family.
Somewhere to grow older, and somewhere a reason to try.

'Cause I'm tired of big cities, and so tired of big city ways.
Scratching off sunsets, and walking around in the maze.
Some sweet taxi dancer trying to save me from being alone.
Ah, it's much worse than lonely, there is no place that I really belong, I want to be home.
I'm leaving this city life, and by night (in my mind??) I'm flying away.
I'm leaving tomorrow and all of the old yesterdays.
I'm leaving the trash cans, the bright lights, and telephone lines.
I'm leaving my sorrows and all of my memories behind to see what I find.

Somewhere in the shade, near the sound of a sweet singing river.
Somewhere in the sun where the mountains make love to the sky.
Somewhere to build me a faith, a farm and a family.
Somewhere to grow older, and somewhere to lay down and die.

Jan Gan Man - National Anthem

2006-07-23T15:22:00.000-04:00

I found a beautiful video of India's National Anthem created by the noted Indian musician, A.R. Rahman. Click Here to see the video.
It immediately inspired me to search for the chords of the Anthem, and I sat down to learn it then and recorded a first rendition. A better version will follow soon. Click on the play button (double click needed in Internet Explorer) to check it out.
If you have problems using the player below, you can listen here.

The Anthem was written and composed by globally famous Indian Poet, Artist, philosopher, and composer, Nobel Laureate, Shri Rabindranath Tagore. Click Here to read more.
Jai Hind!

Ai Watan Hamko Teri Kasam

2006-07-21T23:25:00.000-04:00

I watched an old Hindi movie, Shaheed (which means Martyr) this evening. I remember seeing this as a child. Easily one of the most patriotic movies to come out of India, it focussed mainly on Shaheed e Azam, Bhagat Singh, one of the greatest freedom fighters, who fought against British Rule. He, along with his fellow freedom fighters, once staged a hunger strike in his protest. The hunger strike lasted for 115 days.

He was hung (along with Rajguru and Sukhdev) by the British on 23rd March, 1931 - now known as "Shaheed Divas" (Martyrs Day) of India. Here is a beautiful song from the movie, "Ai watan hamko teri kasam", sung by Mohd. Rafi

Days That Were

2006-07-14T23:04:00.000-04:00

I wrote a folk song couple weeks ago about growing up and when things used to be simple. Here's my attempt to put it in music. I wanted to sing in 50s Baritone style. So I recorded this first version this afternoon. Reckon the guitar could have been better. Hope you mates enjoy it!Keep the volume up or use headphones.
Sometimes I look back and I wonder...

Double Click on play required in Internet Explorer

If the player above doesn't work, go here

Words:

Sometimes I long for days that were
Filled with simple things we used to do
Staying up at night, singing with glee
Songs that taught us all a thing or two

Granny would play her old violin
Mama, she sure could keep a beat
While us kids clapped to the tune
To that melody, oh so sweet

Growing up in old familiar lanes
Oh, through the seasons – without a care
Sometimes I look back and feel so strange
May be I’m just a child still living there

Friends, I had a few I’d call my own
But now it’s all a faded memory
Lost in photographs from long ago
If it were mine, I know just where I’d be

Back in those old familiar lanes
Searching for the faces from my past
May be sing a song that I once knew
That’s the place where dreams forever last

So I sit, oh wishing all the while
For the days that were and will be
A part of my very heart and soul
Oh, my friend, a part of you and me
Those were the days, yes they were.

Gautam Dhar
1st July 2006
Lansing MI

Peaceful Waters

2006-07-12T00:22:00.000-04:00

Today was a black Tuesday for India, especially Bombay - where up to 8 serial Bomb blasts in commuter trains tore apart the daily lives of many people and killed up to/more than 200 people. Counting is still on. Although God has a plan for the world and each one must play a part according to the Karmic Law, but it is a crying shame anytime an innocent life is lost. The least we can do is meditate and pray to the supreme force - for the ones that are gone and for the ones that must live without the ones that were once there...

May this world find a resting place...where peaceful waters flow.

A Call for Justice!

2006-07-06T16:36:00.000-04:00

The voice of Priyadarshini Mattoo, the law student who was raped and murdered 10 years ago, will reach hundreds of people this year on her 34th birth anniversary - 23rd July.

Priyadarshini's alleged killer, Santosh Yadav, was let off for lack of evidence in 1999. Amazingly, the killer is now a practising lawyer in New Delhi !!!
However, 10 years later in 2006, the movement for justice gathered momentum - especially in the wake of model Jessica Lall's murder verdict where the accused were let off for the same reason - lack of evidence against them.

On 23rd July, 2006, a group of youngsters are all set to give people another reminder of the struggle for justice by Priyadarshini's family.

The group - called Justice for Priyadarshini - will hold candlelight processions across the nation and musical events in an effort at a protest movement to seek justice for her.

Priyadarshini's father, C L Mattoo says, "After the Jessica Lall case, the public opinion has gathered momentum and cases where injustice has been meted out to the victim or the victim's family, are being pinpointed."
"The protest march on 23rd is an attempt to awaken people from their slumber, to shake the administration and justice departments in the country into understanding that they are simply putting up files on shelves and not doing anything about it," he adds.

The protests planned by the group are getting support from all quarters, including NRIs, NGOs and even political parties.

Theirs is an attempt to sustain a struggle for justice - to urge people them to raise a voice against injustice.

Please join your fellow people in this march towards Justice! If you can't be there, you can always pray!

This is an excerpt from a news article. To read in full, click here

Baby Can I Hold You

2006-07-04T14:21:00.000-04:00

I had been asked by some friends to record a Hindi song, which I tried, but couldn't do it. So seems like mates were saved from listening to my rendition of it. Meanwhile, I learnt and recorded couple other songs today. This one is a 90s pop number.
The song is called "Baby can I hold you", performed by Boyzone. This is my first attempt at it.

You might be able to hear some sparrows in the background, which reminds me I have to feed them their lunch. Enjoy the song! To check out other recordings, click here

Words:

Sorry-Is all that you cant say
Years gone by and still
Words dont come easily
Like sorry like sorry

Forgive me-Is all that you cant say
Years gone by and still
Words dont come easily
Like forgive me forgive me

But you can say baby
Baby can I hold you tonight
Maybe if I told you the right words
At the right time youd be mine

I love you-Is all that you cant say
Years gone by and still
Words dont come easily
Like I love you I love you

Vocals & Guitar: Gautam Dhar
Original Artist: Boyzone

Theme from Sholay

2006-06-25T13:30:00.000-04:00

After recording the love theme from the Hindi movie, Sholay (rather choppy version) on my Harmonica a few weeks ago, I tried recording the ending whistle theme from the same movie. I recorded the Guitar part first and then had to whistle on top of it, so the quality is so-so.
Click on the play button to start.

The Killing Fields

2006-06-19T10:01:00.000-04:00

I watched "The Killing Fields" last night, which is based on the civil war that killed almost 3 million people in Cambodia in the 70s.
Here is a clip from the end of the movie, which features the famous John Lennon optimistic number, "Imagine".
Haing S. Ngor, who played Dith Pran was a physician (obstetrics) and medical officer in the Cambodian army. He became a captive of the Khmer Rouge during the and was imprisoned and tortured; in order to escape execution he denied being a doctor or having an education. He moved to the U.S. as a refugee in 1980, and though he had no formal acting experience, he was chosen to portray photographer Dith Pran in The Killing Fields (1984) and won an Academy Award.

On 25 February 1996, Ngor was found shot to death in the garage of his apartment building in Los Angeles.

I also wrote a poem (which is still in its rough stages) right after watching the movie. It's written from a journalist's viewpoint, who feels helpless at not being able to look down the eyes of a child in the war-torn land.

The Killing Fields

'Twas just another day in the hills far away
As I walked alone in the war torn streets
Sky filled with smoke while a lone house burned
A lifetime lost in cries of a child

I knew the plight spread all around
Yet there I was from the civilized world
Penning down the sounds of guns and again
Cries of a child with eyes full of fear

No I've never felt the way I did
Staring at the people with no sign of hope
Living and dying in the shade of the gun
And I walked away with my head hung low

Just 'fore I left, I felt a sudden tug
A child at my steps clinging just to hear
"I was there to help - I was there to stay"
Would I be the one who'd show them the way?

I felt my heart drown in the little girl's eyes
As I stood there with not a word to say
No I wasn't the one, there's nothing I could do
I'd come just to write about the war torn land

So I said in all of my helplessness
"Help's on the way, dear child, do not cry"
But deep down inside, I knew 'twas a lie
The world wouldn't care for people who'd die
It'll just be a six’ o’clock story for You and I.

Gautam Dhar
18th June 2006
Lansing MI

Twelfth of June

2006-06-12T23:53:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to customize my laptop all evening and now that the Twelfth of June is almost over, I'd like to end it with a little ode to the very date that I had penned couple years ago.

Twelfth of June

It's a long way back to the Twelfth of June
Time when I sang just another old tune
But never in my dreams did I ever know
She'll say goodbye on this long afternoon

Days that I knew seem so far away
Down by the street in a no-name town
And if she ever comes my way
I hope she hears my heart's lone sound

I know my songs won't stop her tears
And she may forget down through the years
Oh, but I wonder if she'll ever know
Just how I long to brush away her fears

But times that I knew seem lost in the sky
Oh, by the hills where stars never shine
I'll never know where the time's gone by
Will she ever know what I'll never find ?

I know these rhymes can't make her stay
And all her sorrow on a day like today
If I could ever make a wish to the stars
I'd say it all what I couldn't say

Now the Twelfth of June will never come again
When I stood still singing in the rain
But my dreams may fade and this life may too
I'll sing for you, Summer, till you lose your pain.

Gautam Dhar
March 25, 2004

Sukhia and the Leopard

2006-06-07T08:22:00.000-04:00

During my visit to Ranikhet (a beautiful small town set amidst the Great Himalayas in India at about 6000 ft. above sea level) last summer, I met an old watchman, who told me how people live in the mountains. He said that he travels about 6-8 miles a day just to get to work through the mountain trails that a common person wouldn't reckon with.
I had a loose idea for a story after that meeting, which I'm presenting below. My father, who is an expert in editing short stories, is curently working on refining it, but here's my raw version.

Sukhia and the Leopard

Sukhia settled in for the night with his lantern, which kept him company on his nightly vigil around the old guesthouse. He came from a family of watchmen. His father had been a watchman in the times of the British. He had merely continued the family custom. The guesthouse had stood the test of time and its stonewalls bore an imperial identity. The tall pine trees along with oaks and deodars surrounded the hillside where the guesthouse was located.

Sukhia had never known the city life and seemed content to live in the hills where he was born. He knew that's where he would die. The place had shown some signs of wear over the years, but Sukhia had nothing to worry about. Who would want to venture into an old and languishing guesthouse in the middle of nowhere? Even the owners barely visited anymore.
The clock had just struck 11 and Sukhia tried in vain to find the moon. It was another moonless night with nothing but the darkness around. Somewhere down the hill, village folk sang their songs by the fire. He took a deep breath and set out for his rounds.

A puff of wind whistled through the deodars rustling leaves in its trail. He passed the monkeys who were unusually out at this hour. As he neared the outward wall, he saw two eyes shining in the dark. He took little time in determining that only a Leopard would venture out at such hour of the night. In all his time at the guesthouse, however, he had never before seen a Leopard. He stood still for a while at a loss of thoughts. He knew that as long as he did not disturb the creature on the prowl, he had nothing to be scared of. A Leopard would never trespass strange human territory unless he had a strong reason of self-defense.
The monkeys had sensed the Leopard's presence and Sukhia could feel the uneasiness in their sudden squealing. After a while - the eyes in the bushes disappeared and Sukhia knew that the Leopard had retreated. The night passed without any further excitement. A stray thought kept him awake all night. He thought about the Leopard - and other things.

He did not see the Leopard again for several weeks… before the sleek creature paid a visit again. It was again a moonless night with some stray puffs of wind blowing through the trees. The sound of rustling leaves was as clear as ever. Sukhia was passing by the front wall when he saw those eyes in the bushes again. Shining like diamonds with brightness piercing into the dark. Now Sukhia had grown up in the hills and had never known a thing such as fear. But the mysterious Leopard staring from behind the bushes had started to give him chills. He again froze for a few moments before the eyes disappeared into the dark. The trend continued for next few days. After a week had passed, Sukhia knew there was only one person who could help him solve this mystery.

Next morning, he found himself waiting for Das at the post-office. No one knew how old Das really was. He could have been sixty or even eighty. He had been the postmaster ever since the Britishers had left and he was still there. Perhaps he had taken roots like the old Deodar trees.
Das kept quiet after Sukhia told him about the strange Leopard. Perhaps he had gone back in time.
And then he lifted his gaze and spoke. Sukhia listened and he listened well. By the time Das had finished, Sukhia's jaw was half open in disbelief.
No one really knows what Das told Sukhia, but the local version goes like this…

There had once been a Leopard that was killed by a young British hunter. Some say that the hunter took the dead Leopard with him and disappeared over-night. But the popular version claims that the Leopard came back from the dead to hunt the hunter down. Some even said that they found the young hunter’s body a few days after he disappeared. It was lying by the river. There was a gun by his side and he still had his hunting hat with him. There were no injury marks, and whoever killed him was not interested in looting him. The only thing missing were his eyes. Instead, there were two empty sockets that looked more like holes in clay....
....A local guide who knew the hunter swore it to the people that the Leopard had turned into a devil and taken its eyes. No one ever found the dead Leopard nor was the hunter ever seen again. People say that on moonless nights, the Leopard roams in the forest still searching for something. Some even claim to have seen two eyes shining behind wild bushes in the forest.

Sukhia brushed the rather interesting story away and decided to solve the Leopard’s mystery on his own. But he knew he had to wait. He had to wait until there was a moonless night. He had never encountered the Leopard during any other time. Some days passed and he forgot all about the Leopard. For he had a guesthouse to look after. Even though no one ever came, he still had a job to do. A job that had to be well done.

Several nights passed and then the moon melted into the skies. It was a moonless night again. There was no wind and it was unusually quiet. Not even the sound of a pine needle. Sukhia felt thankful, for he preferred the calm of the night. And that’s when it happened again. He heard the monkeys squealing from a distance. A soft wind had suddenly started to blow. The scattered leaves were rustling as if someone walked over them. Sukhia clutched his stick and raised his lantern. Monkeys were still causing havoc as he passed them.
Right by the front stonewall, he saw the brightest pair of eyes hidden behind a wild line of bushes. All his resolve faded away and he heard his heart beating like a drum. Suddenly, he found himself inching back towards the guesthouse. Then the eyes started moving towards him. He knew he had to get away, yet his feet froze to the ground. He just wanted to get away - away from those eyes. Forever!
Farther in the distance the village folk sang and suddenly the night was awake.

Sukhia was never heard of again in the valley. No one ever found him. Not even a trace. The police did their formalities and closed the case. A person like him was hardly the cause of any official's concern. Some said he eloped with the daughter of a local merchant. The others, who knew the valley well, believed the Leopard had come back again. But this time it wasn’t just the eyes. It was more than that. It was Sukhia himself.

The Leopard has not been seen since. Officials like to brush it away as nothing but a village-tale. But even though the Leopard has gone away, some claim that Sukhia still looks after the guesthouse. Even though the owners shut it down long ago, he knows he has a job to do. A job that needs to be well done.

So what if he can only come out on moonless nights and his eyes sparkle like a diamond piercing into the dark!

Gautam Dhar
14th March 2006

Chalte Chalte

2006-06-02T09:57:00.000-04:00

I wanted to float this song that I recorded back in March. One of the many melodious songs by Kishore Kumar. This is the slow (sad) version. The chords were pretty complex for me, at least at that time, but I hope I did some justice to it.
Click on the play button to start.

If You Go Away

2006-05-26T11:42:00.000-04:00

After two Gloomy Sundays, I reckon I better post something non-suicidal before friends start to question my sanity. Here is a love song by Neil Diamond that I grew up listening to. I was finally able to find chords for this one and tried to see how I'd fare at it. The tune is based on the French composition, Ne Me Quitte Pas composed by Jacques Brel. Not a great recording. I just tried some minor picking without trying to massacre the melody.

Words:

If you go away on this summer day,
Then you might as well take the sun away
All the birds that flew in the summer sky
When our love was new And our hearts were high
When the day was young, And the night was long
And the moon stood still For the nightbird song
If you go away, if you go away, If you go away

But if you stay, I'll make you a day
Like no day has been or will be again
We'll sail on the sun, we'll ride on the rain
We'll talk to the trees that worship the wind
And if you go, I'll understand
Leave me just enough love to fill up my hand
If you go away, if you go away, If you go away

If you go away, as I know you must,
There'll be nothing left in the world to trust
Just an empty room filled with empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
Can I tell you now, as you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly 'til your next hello
If you go away, if you go away, If you go away

But if you stay, I'll make you a night
Like no night has been or will be again
I'll sail on your smile, I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes, that I love so much

But if you go, I won't cry,
The good's gone from goodbye
If you go away, if you go away, If you go away

Gloomy Sunday - It Goes On

2006-05-23T14:28:00.000-04:00

After posting my previous blog entry, a few people have contacted me about the song asking about it. I went back and did further research on the song and was able to acquire some other versions of the song.
The Original Hungarian song was written (translated) in English by two different people, Sam Lewis and Desmond Carter. Sam Lewis's version has been the more popular one - performed by Artists such as Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong and others including artists across the world in countries like Japan, China, Sweden, etc.

Here is another version of the song by Diamanda Galas. I found this version to be more melancholy at times than the one I posted earlier (especially the Piano part) and I'm saying it because it shook me fairly well.
Once again, listen at your own risk. Double click on the play button to start..

Words:

Sadly one Sunday I waited and waited
With flowers in my arms for the dream I'd created
I waited 'til dreams, like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken
The grief that I knew was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling

Saddest of Sundays

Then came a Sunday when you came to find me
They bore me to church and I left you behind me
My eyes could not see one I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers are forever above me
The bell tolled for me and the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved and I bless you forever

Last of all Sundays
-Desmond Carter

Gloomy Sunday

2006-05-21T18:41:00.000-04:00

Gloomy Sunday--popularly known as the "Suicide Song". I remember reading about it in an "Unsolved Mysteries" books when I was about 14 years old. I had forgotten about it in all these years until someone I know sent me the song recently. It was written by Rezso Seress, a Hungarian songwriter, in 1933.
The crushing hopelessness and bitter despair which characterised the two stanza penned by Seress were superseded by the more mournful, melancholic verses of Hungarian poet László Jávor.
Commonly known as the "Suicide Song", it drove many people of all ages to end their lives for an unknown reason, which included the girl-friend of the writer and in the end - the writer himself, who jumped to his death in 1968.

I don't necessarily believe in the claims, but there is something in the song, which will make you freeze and give goose-bumps if you really listen to it.
It happened with me yesterday. At the end of it, my eyes were moist for no reason what-so-ever. Play the song at your own risk.

Read this article for an insight into the song and this article for even more.
Here is the version by Sarah McLachlan.
Double click on the Play button to start this haunting tune.

Even though many artists have performed it over the years, all versions are banned on radio (due to releated suicides) in both US and parts of Europe. BBC has kept its ban since the 60s.

Words: (English version by Sam Lewis)

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad I know
Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go
Death is no dream for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you

Darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you
My heart is telling you how much I wanted you

Gloomy Sunday

Yesterday

2006-05-17T09:59:00.000-04:00

I did a rushed recording of Yesterday just to see how it'd sound. One of my all time favourite songs. You might be able to hear some sparrows in the background. Recording is not that great because I kept the voice low so my neighbors won't think I'm trying to be McCartney. Click on the little play button to start the song.

Words:
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as though they're here to stay,
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,
There's a shadow hanging over me,
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday, Love was such an easy game to play,
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday, Love was such an easy game to play,
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Vocals & Guitar: Gautam Dhar
Original Artist: Paul McCartney/John Lennon

Grow Old With You

2006-05-14T01:01:00.000-04:00

I recorded a few songs this evening and this one is from the movie, The Wedding Singer. I watched the movie too yesterday(thanks to Brandon). A friend, Meena recently asked me about this song, and ever since I'd been trying to learn it.
Here is my attempt at this simple, yet heartfelt ballad (originally performed by Adam Sandler).
Click on the play button to start. Comments/bricks are welcome!

Words:
I wanna make you smile
Whenever you're sad
Carry you around when your arthritis is bad
All I wanna do
Is grow old with you

I'll get you medicine
When your tummy aches
Build you a fire if the furnace breaks
Oh it could be so nice
Growin' old with you

I'll miss you, kiss you
Give you my coat when you are cold
Need you, feed you
Even let you hold the remote control
So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink
Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink
Oh I could be the man
Who grows old with you

I wanna grow old with you.

Human Beings

2006-05-09T08:13:00.000-04:00

I remember reading this article back in 2004 and it kept me disturbed for a long time. I even contacted the Editor asking of ways to help out, but never got a response. I found that email in my archives this morning and it just brought some things back. The Tribune is Haryana/Punjab's Newspaper in India.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004, Chandigarh, India

Bihari labourer, family in distress
Sushil Manav

Fatehabad: A teenaged youth lying in the general ward of the local General Hospital with both his arms amputated from near the shoulders and the sufferings of his aged parents tell a story of gross neglect and human insensitivity of those who matter.

Dhanraj, an 18-year-old youth from Muzaffarpur district of Bihar, came here with his friends in search of some work. He got a job in a rice mill on the local Sirsa road. While he was working in the mill on February 28, his both hands were trapped in the belt of a machine. He was allegedly made to work for two shifts in the night and the next morning and the accident occurred when he was working with sleepy eyes. He was taken to a private hospital where both his hands had to be amputated. He also received injuries on his vertebral bones.

Lying unattended in the hospital, Dhanraj asked his fellow labourers to call his parents from Bihar. His aged father, Jhakkarmukhia, reached here with his wife on March 2. As the bills of the private hospital were prohibitive and the family had received no financial assistance from the mill owner, Jhakkarmukhia shifted his son to Rohtak Medical College for treatment.

But soon the family fell short of money and with the compensation promised by the mill owner not coming, Jhakkarmukhia brought his son back to Fatehabad and admitted him in General hospital. The youth and his parents have been lying in General Hospital for the past 15 days.

What to speak of providing proper treatment to their son, the old couple do not have money to arrange for the meals of the threesome. Attendants of other patients in the hospital often provide some chapatis and dal to them, but when there is no such patient in the ward they have to pass the day without meal.

Talking to this correspondent, Jhakkarmukhia alleged that he had approached the mill owner many times for financial aid, but the mill owner told him that his labour was insured with an insurance company and he would get the claim as and when it was sanctioned. His repeated requests of some interim help had fallen on deaf ears of the mill owner, he alleged.

He said that he approached the District Red Cross authorities when he came here. The authorities did provide him ambulance for shifting his son to Rohtak but that was not sufficient to mitigate his woes. No voluntary organisation of the town has come forward to help the family in distress.

The condition of his young son and the plight of family have made Jhakkarmukhia mentally abnormal. While talking about the accident of his son and the plight of the family after the incident, Jhakkarmukhia goes in fits of madness and starts behaving in an abnormal manner.

Dhanraj needs a surgical operation of his spine once his wounds of amputation get healed. That also involves a handsome expenditure as the facility of neuro-surgery is not available at Fatehabad. He will have to be shifted to Hisar or Rohtak for the surgery. But poor Jhakkarmukhia wonders how it would be possible when he does not have the wherewithal to feed the three mouths of his family.

You're the Piano Man

2006-05-05T17:24:00.000-04:00

Justin, Brandon (colleagues) and I practiced some music during lunch hour today and recorded couple tunes. Presented below is our rendition of the famous Billy Joel song, Pianoman. I'm playing the Harmonica and Justin is playing the Guitar and Brandon is singing.

Here is the second version: I'm playing the Harmonica again and also singing (got a bit loud in the middle). Justin is on Guitar.

Words:
It’s nine o’clock on a saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There’s an old man sitting next to me
Makin’ love to his tonic and gin

He says, son, can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man’s clothes

La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Chorus:
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright

An Old Romance

2006-05-04T11:23:00.000-04:00

If you have seen the Hindi Movie, Sholay - there are times when Amitabh plays a sweet harmonica tune. I was fiddling with my Harmonica and tried to play it, however, I may have had one key wrong.
Listen at your own peril!

Stairway to Heaven

2006-04-30T19:46:00.000-04:00

I recorded a few tunes this afternoon on my Aunt's music machine. I did couple covers and three of my own compositions. Here is my attempt at this Led Zepplin classic, Stairway to Heaven. I only sang the first verse. Click on the play button to start.
Compliments/bricks are both welcome. Enjoy!

Words:
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed
With a word she can get what she came for

And she's buying a stairway to heaven

There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
And you know sometimes words have two meanings
In the tree by the brook there's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven

Forever

2006-04-28T16:01:00.000-04:00

I practiced some Guitar this afternoon with Justin and Brandon (colleagues), as the day was about to die down. Here is a Ben Harper song called Forever, which Justin did at the end of the session. Click on the play button to start. Enjoy!

Haromonican Birthday

2006-04-27T14:34:00.000-04:00

This is a little test recording I did today on a laptop that I purchased recently for my father. I couldn't think of any other tune to play, so I played Happy Birthday. I've never played this on Harmonica, but it sounds ok to me. It's in the key of G. Click on the play button to start. Enjoy!

Just Another Song

2006-04-23T20:54:00.000-04:00

I wrote Just Another Song back in 2004 on a summer day and it really gave a variation in my writings, which were more or less limited to one style until then.
I am floating an audio version of the song, composed and performed by an old colleague, Keith. Hope you enjoy it. Click on the play button to start.

Just Another Song

Just a little sunshine, just a little rain
Just another laughter and a little pain
Just another love song, oh but all in vain
And I know I've been there time and time again

If you ever need me if you ever cry
I'll be there for you till the day I die
I'll come home running if you ever call
And till my heart's beating I'll never let you fall

But here I go again with just another song
Oh I'll keep on praying until you come along

If you're ever lonely and don't know what to do
You know I'll always be there till my life is through
I'll hold you closer and set your heart aglow
I wonder if you know just how I love you so

But here I go again, it's just another song
Oh I'll keep on singing until you come along

So don't shed your tears when I'm long gone
It's just another song that did not belong
But if you ever see 'cross the line that was drawn
I hope you see, my love, I never did you wrong.

Gautam Dhar
June 19, 2004
Lansing MI

*Performed & Composed by Keith M., March 23, 2005.

An Evening with Capt. Lal

2006-04-18T18:31:00.000-04:00

This is another video from the same Sukhanfaham evening I spent with
Capt. Lal during my Summer 2005 India trip. Click on the play button to start the video. You may want to pause it until the progress bar finishes streaming and reaches the end. He recites a beautiful Hindi Poem in the beginning and wraps it up with an intoxicating Urdu Ghazal written by 'Khalish'.

Beete Hue Din Kuch Aise Hain

2006-04-10T19:33:00.000-04:00

This is Capt. Lal, our old time neighbor back in Rohtak, India, reciting a very old (may be as old as him) Urdu poem from his college days. The man is a World War II Veteran, a former All India Radio Director, a Lawyer, and a connoisseur of Urdu Poetry. I recorded this during my Summer 2005 trip to India. Click on the play button to start the video. You may want to pause it until the progress bar finishes streaming and reaches the end.

If you happen to be an ardent fan of Urdu Poetry, and by luck know who the poet is, be kind enough to leave a comment!

Kashmir - Paradise on Earth

2006-04-04T09:56:00.000-04:00

I found a heartfelt slideshow on Kashmir today on the Kashmiri Overseas Association site, which I'm a member of. If you wish to immerse yourself in the beauty of the Great Himalayas, check out this presentation of music & images on Kashmir and its images - prepared by Arun Koul.

Click here to view the show

Somewhere in Kashmir. Courtesy: flickr

Going to Scarborough Fair?

2006-03-30T09:39:00.000-05:00

In the middle ages, people didn't usually take credit for songs or other works of art they made, so the writer of Scarborough Fair is unknown. The song was sung by bards (or shapers, as they were known in medieval England) who went from town to town, and as they heard the song and took it with them to another town, the lyrics and arrangements changed. This is why today there are many versions of Scarborough Fair,

Vocals & Guitar: Gautam Dhar
Original Artist: Simon & Garfunkel
Composer: Martin Carthy (Inspired by Ewan McColl)
Recorded: 26 March 2006, Haslett MI.

Chura Liya Hai Tumne Jo

2006-03-26T16:18:00.000-05:00

Another weekend and me and my Guitar got together to work on some tunes, mostly old.
Here is an old Hindi song, which I mostly whistled on and did some vocals at the end. It's from the movie "Yaadon Ki Baaraat" and the song is called "Chura liya hai tumne jo". Here's a shot of the song from the movie.
If the song doesn't play, download it here.

Words

2006-03-18T20:11:00.000-05:00

Here is another song I recorded this evening. The song is called "Words", originally performed by Bee Gees, I think. But this version is by Boyzone (UK Band). Chords are pretty simple and my voice - that's for you to decide! The quality is so-so, as I recorded it on a tape on my aunt's music machine and then imported it onto the PC. Somehow the echo got added as well. If the song doesn't play click here.

||Alright, for those who raised a doubt - this really is me singing. I don't think Ronan sounds anything like this...much less the Guitar part.||

You & You Alone

2006-03-18T19:48:00.000-05:00

This is the song I wrote for my brother and sister in law on their Wedding Anniversary, which was this week. I wanted to sing it no matter how bad it turned out. If only I could play the B chord well! Audio quality is so-so and guitar part, I better not say anything about. Music was composed by Brandon (thanks Mr B!). If the song doesn't play click here.

Here are the lyrics:

So many years have passed since I
I held you close to me
So many days have passed us by
Still there's none like thee

We've come far since the day we met
And you said you'll stay
Forever and ever till the end of time
Till the stars all fade away

Though it's been so long
Darlin, this I know
When my eyes can see no more
You'd be there to show

The light in your eyes when shadows fall
When I've grown old and gray
And so I sing for you my love
You and you alone

There were times when we grew apart
Guess we were too young
Deep inside Dear, I knew it all
You are still the one

The beat of my heart - my everything
Yes, I swear I'll stay
By your side till the end of time
Till the stars all fade away
I'll spend my life just to be with you
You and you alone.

Gautam Dhar
7 March 2006

E7 Jam

2006-03-13T17:46:00.000-05:00

Last night I came up with this impromptu chord progression, which involves E7, Am, C, and E. I think E7 rules!! I'm going to give it a try and launch this little recording here.

And So We Sang

2006-03-10T14:19:00.000-05:00

Brandon and I did some practice during our lunch hour and he (without me knowing) shot some random clips while I was strumming along. Click on the Play button in the center to start the video.

Who's that!

2006-03-04T21:08:00.000-05:00

I went on a clicking spree this week on my lunch break at the Michigan State University's Horse Farm by our office. Here'a shot of this beautiful Belgian Horse.
Visit my collection to see other ones.

For F

2006-02-21T15:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you hear someone say something and it just stays with you. I remember this from a movie I saw once.
"The old dreams were good dreams. They never came true, but I'm glad I had them..."

Here is a poem called "For F" by Lord Byron (which I saw in the same movie). It has hung on my office wall for more than three years, so I decided to throw it out to the web-winds.

There's a pleasure in the pathless woods
There is a rapture on the lonely shore
There is society where none intrudes
By the deep sea and music in its roar
I love not man the less, but nature more
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before
To mingle with the Universe and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
-Lord Byron

The Accident (Instrumental)

2006-02-12T00:50:00.000-05:00

Here is the Instrumental only version of the song I recorded today. Click on the Play button to play the video.

The Accident

2006-02-11T19:19:00.000-05:00

After watching "The Accident" (The Wonder Years), a song came right out of me - which I have tried to justice to by my so-so voice and barely bearable guitar playing skills. Click on the Play button to play the video.

She lay there still, wrapped in her sheets
Everyone tried, but she couldn't sleep
I know she was hurting deep in her heart
I watched her cry, I watched her feel
Pain that was burning, no one could see
I know she was falling - falling apart

Holding back tears, longing to say
Wanted to tell her, "Love I will stay"

There by her door out in the cold
Standing and wondering why we let go
Oh, I remembered when we were one
Still there she was, girl I once knew
Deep in her heart, she loved me too
I knew we’d find our way in the sun

Though we had grown so far away
Wish I could tell her, "Love I will stay"

All through the night, I stood and prayed
That's when she saw - standing me there
Lord, I could feel pain in her eyes
And with her smile - I know she said
"Oh I remember love we had shared
True love's a feeling - it never dies

Come take my hand, promise you'll stay
Oh, till the stars all fade away."

Written & Performed by Gautam Dhar
Music Inspired by Bob Seger
Recorded: 11 February 2006, Haslett MI.

..."I wrote this song after watching "The Accident" (The Wonder Years). I grew up with this show just like millions of others in late 80s-early 90s. Please excuse the poor guitar play. I usually sing Hindi songs, but liked Bob Seger's tune too much that I decided to do my own song using his tune with a little variation in chords..."

From E to C

2006-02-08T18:07:00.000-05:00

I'm trying out this new Podcast service, which lets you record Audio to be shared as feeds and in many other ways. I recorded a simple chord progression on my Guitar to test it out. Please don't test my Guitar playing abilities on this (although I don't play too well at all) clip.
Let's hope the quality isn't too shabby. What do you think, Mr. B?
Click on the Play button to start and keep your volume "Max". Somehow, the recording volume turned out to be very low.

The Good Old Days

2006-02-07T07:32:00.000-05:00

Everyone knows that change is a must. It's about the only thing one can count on. Changes may be good or bad, but it's not something that we can bargain with. Of course unless you take a permanent leave from the Human Race and live away from the so-called civilized world.
But I have a dream. A longing to see the old times again. I reckon everyone feels that way one time or the other. And it's something I was thinking about. Meanwhile, here's a free-verse leaf from my Journal.

They've all gone away leaving just an empty trail
Now the whole town wails on moonless nights
While the north wind sails through the restless shores
An old memory conjures up yet again

There's a path that leads to an old stone-house
Where pearls of laughter still echo from the past
Some leaves that remind of a spring long gone
Lying on the ground so cold and barren

Though the air still holds promise of the rain
Heaven only knows where the clouds are gone
Seasons have passed while the town's stood tall
Weeping in the quiet of withering nights

I never knew I’d come this far
Just to see every wall crumbling away
Perhaps be a day when serenity calls
When the skies will sing to the nightingale's tune

This, I know, in my heart and soul
The good old days are sure to return
Birds and the bees, flowers and the trees
I sing just for thee and an old memory

The words are true, for the wise have said
People come and go, but the mountains remain.

-The Good Old Days

Gautam Dhar
6th February 2006

Love Story

2006-02-01T19:13:00.000-05:00

I was walking along the river while the evening commuters whizzed by me. The moon's reflection was shimmering in the silent waters just below the bridge. Someone was playing music farther away in a car. It was the theme from the movie, The Love Story. Story of how love can drive you to do things you could never fathom to do in your life.

I remembered watching the movie and completely breaking down after that. Whoever came up with the idea of making movies didn't think much of how much grief he was going to cause for all the times to come. Grief sweeter than wine. More tender than dreams.
Anyway, the car moved on and faded away the theme.
Leaving me with an awakened memory. Memory of the times when I didn't have much to call my own. I barely scratched a living. But I was happy. Happier than I'd ever be again. Because I was in love. In love with everything. For she loved me.
And when she died. A part of me died. And what's left now is merely a shadow of the man I once was.

Still I walk along the river. Trying to outrun the moon's reflection in the silent waters. But tonight there is darkness all around. Moon is hiding behind some stray clouds in confines of the sky.
The waters are silent. Silent as my heart.
Then a theme starts to play. And I know that even when the lovers are gone, the story would stay.
For it isn't time that's passing. It is you and I. It is you and I.

This is partly an anecdotal note from my journal.

Bygone Days

2006-01-31T11:27:00.000-05:00

I ran into a book called "Famous Poems from Bygone Days" and found this tender poem that was written by Marie La Coste after the death of her unnamed fiancée, a captain in the Confederate Army. Apparently in 1862, the young French teacher became nurse and visitor at local hospitals for wounded Confederate soldiers. Her poem, which is sung at historical events today, is a distinctive memorial to those soldiers.
Here is an excerpt from the poem...

Somebody wept when he marched away
Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;
Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay;
Somebody clung to his parting hand-

Somebody's watching and waiting for him
Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
There he lies - with the blue eyes dim,
And smiling, child-like lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear,
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,
"Somebody's darling lies buried here!"

Things That Never Die

2006-01-30T10:47:00.000-05:00

I always believed that I'd catch up on the pile of books I have when I would no longer be a student. And now when I am working full-time, student days seemed easier when I'd have tons to study, both for classes and for the enrichment of my soul. Of course I can't forget about the writing part.
Writing is something, I still do. I reckon the day I stop writing - that'd be the end of things for me.
But, sometimes I want to go back to the younger days without a care or foe in the world. Days when I'd stay engrossed in classics and short-story tomes when others would be out having fun.
This reminds me of a poem I once read...

Things That Never Die

The pure, the bright, the beautiful
that stirred our hearts in youth
The impulses to wordless prayer
The streams of love and truth
The longing after something lost
The spirit's longing cry
The striving after better hopes
These things can never die

The timid hand stretched forth to aid
A brother in his need;
A kindly word in grief's dark hour
That proves a friend indeed;
The plea for mercy softly breathed,
When justice threatens high
The sorrow of a contrite heart
These things shall never die

Let nothing pass, for every hand
Must find some work to do
Lose not a chance to waken love
Be firm and just and true
So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on thee from on high
And angel voices say to thee
"These things shall never die."

I have not been able to establish if these words are by Charles Dickens or Sarah Doudney (a lesser known poet from 1800s). If you know, kindly let me know.

Return to Delhi

2006-01-27T09:30:00.000-05:00

I wrote this back in August 2004. Some names and incidents have been changed, but like most of my writings - this one is more or less autobiographical. By the way Mozart would have been 250 today.

It had been raining all morning and I could still feel it in the winds. I had not been to Delhi in a long time. Where the time flew, I've never known. After spending what seemed like a lifetime in scratching a living, I took a trip and went back to my roots. A journey back in time to old and dusty lanes of Delhi. By the time I got off the Bus, it was already mid-day. The month of May could be brutal especially when you are not used to the scorching heat of North India. But Delhi without its summer wouldn't be Delhi at all. It's a place where anyone and everyone lives. I am not sure if I belonged to either one of those two. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't have left.
Although I wasn't as young as I used to be, I still decided to walk. Everything seemed different. Old houses had disappeared and skyscrapers had taken over. Old man Qasim's teashop was gone too. How many lazy afternoons I had spent there? It almost seemed like a faded dream.
I looked around as I strolled through. Perhaps I still hoped to find a landmark from the olden days. But nothing – not even a trace. It felt as if everything was out of place. Or may be I was.

Delhi - the land of dreams and aspirations. A place where hopes turn to dust. I had seen it all. May be that was the reason I couldn't stand it anymore. Now returning as a middle-aged man, I was searching for some shattered trail of my past. Not surprisingly, I still remembered the way to Pallavi’s house. Her laughter was still alive in my mind. I felt like the tide that reaches out to unseen shores of the moon. I wondered if she would remember me. Time, as I knew, had always changed people. Would she be the same Pallavi I knew? An old song suddenly found its way on my lips. Song about a love of long ago. I hummed it to revive some of the times I'd known. Delhi, I had known.
But it was all too far. All too vague.

On my way I met Bimal. For a moment he couldn’t believe his eyes. Was I the same struggling author? I am not sure if I was able to convince him that I was. He, however, seemed elated to see me after so long. I can’t recall how many stories I made up about why I hadn’t been to Delhi in all this time. Anyway, I managed to prove my point. I promised I would visit him before I left. A good lad that he was, I was glad he had turned out to be a promising young man. He barely reached my shoulder when I had seen him last. I wasn’t too sure of the purpose of my visit anymore. Old ghosts I had buried long ago had started to spring up again.

The trance ended when I found myself staring at Pallavi’s apartment. The usual flowers were blooming on the edge of her window. A young child’s clothes hung listlessly. Perhaps she had a daughter as beautiful as her. Time had taken its toll on my sight or I might have been able to tell if she still had a taste for Lilies. I must have been staring at the window for a while as I saw the guard come up. He asked me if I was visiting someone. Was I? How could have I faced her? There were too many questions that I didn’t have answers for. I told him something about being a connoisseur of old building designs. He probably didn’t know what it meant so he went away mumbling to himself. I looked up at the window again hoping to catch a sight of Pallavi. But the withering flowerpots were the only ones that returned my gaze. For a moment I almost thought she was staring at me. Just like she had once from the corner of her eyes.
So much had changed. If I only could have changed, this story would have been different. There was nothing left for me in Delhi anymore. It just wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be.

Catching the early morning bus from Delhi bus stop was not easy for a middle-aged man like me. I had to put up with quite a bit to find some room inside. I found some of my lost enthusiasm and barged in through the unruly crowd. There I sunk in my seat. Another journey back to the heights of Himalayas where I’d been living alone in a cottage. Only place I could call my own. All through the journey I asked myself the reason for my return to Delhi. I turned deaf towards the voice of my soul. I still haven’t found my answers.

Drapes in my room often cast shadows on my mind. They remind me when Pallavi looked at me in that crowded bus on that hot summer day of long ago. To this day, I can hear her laughter in my dreams. At times when there is a full moon, I look high up in the sky and hum a song I had written for her long ago.
Take me in your arms and never let me go…show me oh my love’s same old afterglow.

I am not sure if I would ever visit Delhi again. It’s not the same place I once knew. So what if I can’t watch Lilies bloom on Pallavi's window. She still smiles at me through the picture frame that rests on my desk. I’ve lived for too long watching her smile through the glass. But I know now that I must see her before the river of my dreams runs dry. Before my pen has said its last.
May be someday I will return to Delhi again.

Old Man of Rohtak

2006-01-22T12:25:00.000-05:00

This is just another page from my diary. A diary I haven't written anything in - for more than 5 years. This incident dates back more than 10 years.

Sometimes it's easier to recite in a room full of people than narrating something about your life to one person. You sit down with your pen and paper trying to think what to say, and how to say it. Not so long ago, I read somewhere a writer talking about his life, and he said, “my life’s just treated me like a kite and the more I write about it, more familiar it seems to me.”

I believe that growing isn’t hard to do, just stand against the wall. Once I was just two feet high, today I’m six feet tall - or so the song goes.
And now as I sit down, trying to write what I should write, life seems much more complicated than it seemed until today. Every time you flip pages of your heart, there is something staring right back at you. Always.
All the people we come across with in our lives, and the mark they leave on us, is just incredible. There is that one part that still makes me wonder. Well, I reckon that’s just the way it’s meant to be. One day you are a child fighting over a candy with your siblings, the next day you are a grown up working hard to pay your bills. If life were so easy, I wouldn’t be writing this today.
Sometimes I think how fast I came up to be 21 years old, and all the things I’ve been through. Just makes me feel that I’m much older. Good times in our lives are just like those spring breezes that fill our hearts with happiness, hope for the future, and the promise of tomorrow. It wasn’t very long ago when I was a happy-go-lucky lad without a care or foe. And that was when this incident happened, which I still look back on.

I grew up in a small town in India, and India is a country where you can meet just about anyone and everyone. From rich & famous to a street-side beggar. It was just another day in the month of May. Days were hot and humid, and nights were warm and muggy. There was an old man who would come to our vicinity almost every day and just sit by the street side. One could call him a beggar, but he never asked for anything. He’d just sit there in his own way and talk to the local vendors who sold their knickknacks under the hot sun. I knew that the old man took pride in who he was and never accepted any alms. But I always used to take something for him to eat once in a while, which he didn’t seem to mind. Over time I developed a liking for him and he did too, which meant a lot to me the tender age of 11. Once I remember, on a hot and lazy afternoon, some lady from our vicinity got irritated at him and started calling him names, which, I think, hurt him.
For he never meant to seek anything from anyone, but a little space where he could see different forms of life going about. That was the day when I was about to take a part of a dessert my mother had made for me. When I found out that he had left that place due to that lady’s unreasonable grudge against him, I raced on my bicycle and somehow caught up with him. I told him in all my innocence that I would miss him so very much. I gave him the dessert I had brought along, and there was something in his eyes, which I will never forget. It wasn’t a feeling of gratitude, but it was something unconditional. Perhaps he thought that only children could act like the way I did while the grown-ups were too busy with their lives.
He stared at me for a while and with a smile - he turned away from me and disappeared into the alley. May be it was tears welling up in his eyes. Or may be he realized that he was simply not a part of the modern society. Whatever it was, it was the look I'll never forget.
That was the last that I saw of him on that hot day in May. As years have gone by, I often look back and wonder. Perhaps he died soon of heartbreak. Or may be due to indifference of people.

Or may be he found a place where the sun shone plenty and the folks still cared. A place where he would sit down and dream upon the pictures that he painted of life, and of changes.
I’ll never forget you old man.

Maya's Story

2006-01-17T12:34:00.000-05:00

This happened about six months ago and I’ve often kept myself from writing about it. But here is it, anyhow. On an autumn evening, I was coming back from my stroll when I ran into her in the forest. She was standing under an old Deodar tree, as if waiting for someone. As I approached I noticed she was not carrying much, but an old bundle of clothes. Her dress had a certain charm to it other than the fact that it seemed heavily out of place and time. Considering the imminent darkness, I decided to play gentleman and walked over to her.

“Ah evening, Miss. Is there anything you'd like help with?” I asked. As I waited for her to answer I quickly noticed she wasn't wearing any footwear and she had the deepest green eyes I had ever seen. She slowly turned to acknowledge my presence and merely looked through me as if I wasn't even there.
“Can you hear the music -- can you? It's all over in the hills tonight.”
I simply listened as she spoke those words. Her voice wasn't less than music itself. It sounded like a lone bell ringing some where far away on the hills. It reminded me of a melody my grandmother used to sing while lulling me to sleep. Of course that was long ago and I was almost 63 now. “I'm afraid, I don't hear anything”, I said.

By now she had aroused my curiosity well enough. If her appearance hadn't amused me, her words had captured my fantasy and begun to mesmerize me.
“What makes you to be out here at this desolate hour? Is there somewhere you wish to go?” I asked her again, trying to make some sense out of the whole affair.
“I'm waiting for a friend of mine. He had promised to meet me here after the play. I will be all right, but how kind of you to be concerned”, she murmured softly.
After the play? I wondered if she was an artist – thus accounting for her attire, which had struck me from the start.
She kept looking through the dense forest while the shades of darkness began to fall. At times I tried to follow her gaze only to find wild mountain flowers staring back at me. It seemed as if the forest itself was clueless. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that a woman could be as brave to be out in the forest at that hour.
Mind you, I have never considered myself to be a meek fellow, but I would rather stay indoors and work on my book than be out at such a dark hour.

She kept quiet for a while and then she spoke again. Again that voice – as if someone was ringing bells on a hilltop, beckoning for someone – someone lost in time.
“I don’t expect anything, but do me a favor before you head on your way, kind Sir”, she said. I asked how could I be of any assistance. It seemed the least I could do for a lady in such an hour of need and desperation.
“Do stop by the theater on your way and inquire about Ameen. He is whom I have been waiting for, and it troubles me to think if something should happen to him.”
That really struck a chord in my heart, for in all of my 37 years in this town, I had never before heard of a theater being there. But I convinced her that I would surely check.
Before leaving, I asked her again if she would be all right by herself and even offered her to accompany me back to town. She gently turned it down saying that she would rather wait for Ameen lest he comes looking and finds her gone. With that assurance, I left here there.
As I was leaving, I nodded and she gave me the most enthralling smile I have ever seen. Her eyes seemed like a deep green ocean full of eternal waters. I broke off the gaze and set out to find the theater. It was almost half way when I realized I had not asked her name. But it was too late for that.

I have never walked as briskly as I did that night. It was almost 11 when I reached town. Old man Qasim’s teashop was still open and I was glad to see that.
He knows almost everyone and everything about the town. His family has spent almost 4 generations in town and one could rarely doubt what he knows. They say that people in the hills never age – they just grow with the mountains. At 79, Qasim was as swift as any 21 year old.
“Say, Mister, isn’t it late for you to be out. I assume you have finally finished your novel and I can look forward to recovering my unpaid bills”, he yelled out as I walked over to him.
“I’m afraid you are not that lucky”, I answered him meekly.
“Rather I need to ask you something very important.”
This ignited his curiosity and before he could comment any further, I explained about the girl I had met in the forest. I barely kept my breath as I spurted everything out. He listened attentively and offered me tea when I was done. Qasim’s tea – hot and sweet with lots of milk.
“Thank you, Qasim, but there is a lady waiting in the forest, and I must find that theater”, I said, turning down his offer of tea gently. By then few more people had gathered, mostly in their 70s. Qasim’s teashop was the only place where they could meet without any boundaries of time and subject. Sometimes I would look down from my window and still find them chatting at late hours of the night.

“It seems our author friend has met Maya tonight”, Qasim said loudly, as if addressing a rally. There were few gasps and soon enough people were discussing amongst themselves, as if I had been to a site of murder. Without paying any attention, I requested Qasim if he could tell me about the theater. I felt a sense of urgency to find Ameen.
“I’m afraid, my friend, but you have just come across Maya as we all know her”, Qasim said in an authoritative manner.
So that was her name – Maya. Indeed the name matched her enchanting persona and those deep green eyes. How could I forget those eyes? Just then, I realized Qasim was trying to say something. I broke my trance and listened to him carefully.
“Listen, dear author. Everyone has met Maya at one time or the other. Even my grandfather met her once while coming back from the hills.” His last comment really shook me and I could feel the hair on my arms starting to stand up. Qasim continued…

“She was a local girl who disappeared about 150 years ago, as some people would tell you. Her husband, Ameen was a local actor. He was captured by some goons as he was coming back from a play one night. They later killed him for a tiny sum of money. The theater you are looking for has been gone for more than a century. The site still remains bearing the marks of what once was.”
By now I was starting to lose my mind. The whole thing didn’t really make any sense to me. I was still concerned about Maya who was waiting for Ameen out in the forest. Qasim spoke again…
“It is said that Maya was so deeply shocked by Ameen’s disappearance – she went mute for several days. No one heard her talk and then one day she vanished in thin air. All efforts to find her were in vain. Some people believed that she plunged herself into the valley to be with Ameen – never again to be separated.”
No one spoke for a while. Qasim was surely troubled or so it seemed to me. I did not know what to say. I just sat there when some truckers arrived and Qasim took to his duties yet again – making tea for people who passed through the hills. I ambled back home quite disturbed and even thought about going back to the forest to find Maya. But then I shunned the thought altogether.

Since then, I have often passed by that Deodar tree where she stood waiting for Ameen that night. Sometimes I convince myself of seeing a glimpse of her.
You may not believe me, but as I was passing through the forest last night, I saw her again. There she was in her long rural dress under the same Deodar tree. She didn’t notice me and kept staring in one direction. Perhaps she was still waiting for Ameen.

I will never really find out the truth about Maya. But sometimes, I think of that dark autumn night when I met her -- And her words start to play back in my mind, over and over again.
“Can you hear the music, can you? It’s all over in the hills tonight…”

Gautam Dhar
17 October 2004

The Wonder Years

2006-01-15T21:55:00.000-05:00

I was watching the final episode of "The Wonder Years" tonight, which, for a few moments, took me back home to the streets I grew up on. Reminded me of my own Winnie Cooper (Roopal) I had when I was in first grade and hadn't thought of in a long long time. She lived right behind us in a big rental house.
May be some day I'll get to relive those moments. For now, I'll just hum to this ode I wrote to my childhood, the house I lived in until I was about 8 (which was later demolished to accomodate a new building), and to all chums that were separated long ago.

The Wonder Years

There once was a house, yes I still remember
Back in the days when I was a child
If I had a wish, I’d wish for the time
When I’d come home dreaming dreams so wild

Though it’s now come to a memory or two
I often think of the moments left behind
Playing in the sun, lying in the sand
Long summer nights and stars that were mine

They say growing up is more like a tale
You crawl till you cry ‘fore it all fades away
I look back with a glint in my eye
And wonder where the wonder years went away

Now I’m far away from the boy that I was
Who’d play till the evening shades turned to night
Sometimes I think I’m still just a child
Riding on dreams in the pale moonlight

And even after all the places I’ve seen
I never can forget that house that I knew
It seems I can feel the sounds and the smells
I wonder where those years just flew

Plays of my childhood still whisper in my heart
I’ve had my fill of laughter and tears
Sometimes I stop and stare at the stars
Wishing all the while for those wonder years.

Gautam Dhar
15 January 2006

I Met An Angel Today

2006-01-14T11:18:00.000-05:00

Saturday usually finds me going through my archives and re-arranging things. I found this little poem that someone had once written for me. Sometimes things don't turn out the way you want them to be, but later when the future unfolds, you sit back and think that everything happens for a reason. Or like Edward Fitzgerald interprets Omar Khayyam:
'Tis all a chequer board of nights and days,
Where destiny with men for pieces plays;
Hither and thither, and mates, and slays.

Anyways, here's the poem from Shikha , a dear friend:

Each moment of my lived life
I dreamt of him in my eyes
Open or close, he was always behind the doors
I wish I could peep behind the veil & have his gentle feel
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

Each moment passed by in a hope & a sigh
Where is he, here or there, I couldn’t see
Is he my dream’s narration or really a god’s creation?
Has god made one like that who’ll come & take me back?
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

I dreamt under the sky - of a place like paradise
Everywhere the fragrance so sweet that proved the love was so deep
Morning, noon or night he wouldn’t escape my sight
My SELF melts away when I see him a hand’s distance away
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

While dwelling all alone in my heart’s little home
I wait for him endlessly & spread my love’s symphony
With a hope that he passes by and on hearing my ceaseless cry
Steps in and makes me feel the much awaited zeal
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

I tread my way hopefully & to my surprise what I see
Here’s someone who’s just like ‘HIM’ & fulfills all my whims
I look at him with trembling eyes - with a fear he’d soon disappear
He smirks & my soul jerks, YES! He’s the one who’s my GOD!
With this thought my whole being applauds
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

I take a leap forward to have a closer glance
Alas! My eyes sparkle with tears & soul tempts to dance
I met my beloved under the blue sky
I wish I could fly
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

I saw the spectrum sing, the nature clapping with zing
He’s here! He’s here! I dance in the spring
I look at him with breathless eyes; he smiles away in surprise
My fantasy turns true; I come out of the blue
All day merry & gay I would tell everyone, I met an angel today

Soon there came a dark cloud that wiped the day off
I got up with a gasp & found him gone off
With shaking voice I cried his name, but I had lost him in the game
I looked out in search of him, found all his shadows had dimmed
My heart went down & nerves clinched
In that hour as if the whole world slinked
What a catastrophe had grasped me, I couldn’t do anything except sit back & think
I yearn to see him again though I go through this terrible pain
All day sad with dismay, I couldn’t tell anyone I lost an angel today.

Friends Forever

2006-01-12T11:05:00.000-05:00

"Friends forever," she said.
"Friends forever," he said.
Eight years old and they made the vow to remain friends forever.

"I need some room," she said.
"I'll back away," he said.
Ten years old and they made the vow to give each other space.

"Does Tommy like me?" she asked.
"I'll find out," he said.
Twelve years old and he made the vow to find out if Tommy liked her.

"He doesn't love me anymore," she said.
"He doesn't deserve you," he said.
Fourteen years old and he made the vow to love her forever.

"Nobody loves me," she said.
"I know someone who does," he said.
Sixteen years old and he made the vow to love her forever.

"I'm getting married," she said.
"I'll be there," he said.
Eighteen years old and he made the vow to forever hold his peace.

"I got divorced yesterday," she said.
"I'm here for you," he said.
Twenty years old and he made the vow to be there for her forever.

"Why doesn't anyone love me?" she asked.
"I have always loved you," he said.
Twenty-two years old and he made the vow to keep on loving her.

"I could never love you," she said.
"I could never stop," he said.
Twenty-four years old and he made the vow to never love again.

"I can never see you again," she said.
"I can never live again," he said.
Twenty-six years old and he made the vow to never live again.

"I'm sorry," she said.
Twenty-eight years old and he made the vow as he lay in an open casket.

Somewhere there is someone who dreams of your smile
Someone who finds your presence worth while
So when you are lonely reading this—Remember,
That there is someone, somewhere...Thinking of you.

Old Dreams Were Good Dreams

2006-01-10T23:20:00.000-05:00

I have a strong tendency to look back in life. I believe that you should never forget where you came from and what it took for you to get where you are today. Here is another old ballad I found amongst my tapestry of musings, written back in 2003.

Spare A Rose

You ever walk down the street
And find you're all alone
There's not a single soul to meet
And no one to call your own

You don't see the birds flying
Oh, the winds have gone away
And you hear a lone bird crying
On a dark summer's day

You ever look at the sky
When your day has come to pass
And you ever wonder why
About the days that didn't last

You don't hear the night's song
It's just the chill of the night
And the time that seems so long
Just like a lone bird’s flight

But I hope you're feeling fine
While you're sitting there at home
Oh, come see me one last time
Spare a rose for my gravestone.

Raincoat & A Poem by Gulzar

2006-01-08T22:13:00.000-05:00

O. Henry, who was known for his strong portrayal of simple things in his stories was truly a master story-teller. If you have read "The Last Leaf" or "The Gift of Magi", then you'd know. I watched a classic Indian movie tonight, Raincoat, which is loosely based on "The Gift of Magi". A simple story of two people who meet one rainy afternoon and reflect back on things that could have been. Due to my deep dwelling in the topic, I enjoy such story-telling movies with minimum actors and a feel of old-style movie making.
For those who know Gulzar (legendary Indian/Urdu Poet), here's his outstanding poem from the movie, Raincoat.

I'm presenting my own English translation for those who don't understand Hindi. This poem goes beyond any articulation.

'Twas a puff of the season
That shook the portrait that hung so listlessly
In the days of yore, the walls weren't so moist
Who knows why the moistness crept in
Don't know why the cracks came
And the moistness shows
Like the tears on a face so blank

This rain once sang on the rooftops
It used to write on the windowpanes

Alas it weeps away behind a cage now
And the afternoons are so
Like a chess without the pieces
There's no one to play, just no one
Neither the day breaks, nor the night comes
Everything seems still

Perhaps 'twas a puff of the season
That shook the portrait on this wall.

The Princess Bride

2006-01-06T21:02:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Brandon, tonight I watched a good movie, Princess Bride. I didn't fall in love with it, but I guess a writer like me can use any reason he can get his hands on. For those of you I know are reading, something little for you out of my unpublished stack of old sheets.

Something I was thinking about

This is not a sad song
This is not a glad song
This is not a poem either
It's something I was thinking about
And it has to do with you and me

No it's not a story, it’s not a folklore
But it's a fantasy where I find myself
Sitting for hours
Where all I see is you
And all I hear is some north wind breezing

I'd like to say that it's a song
Song for you, for two hearts
Beating only as one
But it's something I was thinking about
And it has to do with you and me
And let no one call me

For all I see is you
And all I want to see is you.

-July 2002

Red Roses for a Blue Lady

2006-01-04T11:25:00.000-05:00

Red roses were her favorites. Her name was also Rose.
And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows. The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said, “Be my Valentine”, like all the years before.
Each year he sent her roses and the note would always say,
“I love you even more this year than last year on this day
My love for you will always grow, with every passing year.”

She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear. She thought, he ordered Roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine. She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. Then she put the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair while staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.

A year went by and it was hard to live without him - with loneliness and solitude that had become her fate. Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, the doorbell rang. And there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then she went to get the telephone to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain. Why would someone do this to her, causing such pain?

“I know your husband passed away more than a year ago. I knew you'd call and you would want to know. The flowers you received today were paid-for in advance. Your husband always planned ahead and left nothing to chance. There is a standing order that I have on a file down here. And he has paid well in advance. You'll get them every year. There also is another thing that I think you should know.
He wrote a special little card. He did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here, the card should be sent to you the following year.”

She thanked him and hung up the phone. Her tears were now flowing hard. Her fingers, shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...

“Hello my love. I know it's been a year since I've been gone. I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely and the pain is very real. Or if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say. You were the perfect wife. You were my friend and lover. You fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve. I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness that we shared together, and how both of us were blessed.

I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on. You have some living still. Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I know you’ll find a way. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop when your door is not answered. The florist will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.
But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt - To take the roses to the place where I've instructed him. And place the roses where we are, together once again.

Sometimes in life, you find a special friend; someone who changes your life just by being part of it. Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop; someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world; someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting for you to open it. Somewhere in time, you’ll find out…

Love's labor is never lost

2006-01-03T16:30:00.000-05:00

True source of this article is Anonymous

My husband is an engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders.

Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons for me loving him before have now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings. I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love. One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce. ‘‘Why?'' he asked, shocked. ‘‘I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!'' I answered.

He kept silent the whole night, seemed to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times. My feeling of disappointment only increased. Here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? Finally he asked me: what can I do to change your mind?

Somebody said it right: it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him. Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered: Here is the question. If you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind -- Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death. Will you do it for me? He said: I will give you your answer tomorrow... My hopes just sank by listening to his response.

I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door. The note read: ‘‘My dear, I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further.'' This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading... ‘‘When you use the computer, you always mess up the software programs, and you cry in front of the screen. I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore those programs and wipe off your tears.

You always leave the house keys behind, so I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city , I have to save my eyes to show you the way. You always have the cramps whenever your ‘good friend' approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy.

You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom. You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails, and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the color of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your face...
So, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do, I could not pick that flower yet, and die...''

My tears dropped on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting. I continued reading... ‘‘Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside, like everyday, with your favorite bread and fresh milk.''
I rush to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread. Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone.
That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness.

Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms. It has never been a model; it could be the dullest and boring form. Flowers and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands. And that's reason enough to live.

Driving in India

2006-01-02T18:34:00.000-05:00

This hilarious article was written by an Expert from Baan, Netherlands who spent two years in Hyderabad.
For the benefit of every Tom, Dick and Harry visiting India and daring to drive on Indian roads, I am offering a few hints for survival. They are applicable to every place in India except Bihar where life outside a vehicle is only marginally safer. Indian road rules broadly operate within the domain of karma where you do your best, and leave the results to your insurance company. The hints are as follows:

Do we drive on the left or right of the road? The answer is "both". Basically you start on the left of the road, unless it is occupied. In that case, go to the right, unless that is also occupied. Then proceed by occupying the next available gap, as in chess. Just trust your instincts, ascertain the direction, and proceed. Adherence to road rules leads to much misery and occasional fatality. Most drivers don't drive, but just aim their vehicles in the intended direction. Don't you get discouraged or underestimate yourself except for a belief in reincarnation, the other drivers are not in any better position.

Don't stop at pedestrian crossings just because some fool wants to cross the road. You may do so only if you enjoy being bumped in the back. Pedestrians have been strictly instructed to cross only when traffic is moving slowly or has come to a dead stop because some minister is in town. Still some idiot may try to wade across, but then, let us not talk ill of the dead.

Blowing your horn is not a sign of protest as in some countries. We horn to express joy, resentment, frustration, romance and bare lust (two brisk blasts), or, just mobilize a dozing cow in the middle of the bazaar. Keep informative books in the glove compartment. You may read them during traffic jams, while awaiting the chief minister's motorcade, or waiting for the rainwater to recede when over-ground traffic meets underground drainage.

Occasionally you might see what looks like a UFO with blinking colored lights and weird sounds emanating from within. This is an illuminated bus, full of happy pilgrims singing bhajans. These pilgrims go at breakneck speed, seeking contact with the Almighty, often meeting with success.

Auto Rickshaw (Baby Taxi): The result of a collision between a rickshaw and an automobile, this three-wheeled vehicle works on an external combustion engine that runs on a mixture of kerosene oil and creosote. This triangular vehicle carries iron rods, gas cylinders or passengers three times its weight and dimension, at an unspecified fare. After careful geometric calculations, children are folded and packed into these auto rickshaws until some children in the periphery are not in contact with the vehicle at all. Then their school bags are pushed into the microscopic gaps all round so those minor collisions with other vehicles on the road cause no permanent damage. Of course, the peripheral children are charged half the fare and also learn Newton's laws of motion enroute to school. Auto-rickshaw drivers follow the road rules depicted in the film Ben Hur, and are licensed to irritate.

Mopeds: The moped looks like an oil tin on wheels and makes noise like an electric shaver. It runs 30 miles on a teaspoon of petrol and travels at break-bottom speed. As the sides of the road are too rough for a ride, the moped drivers tend to drive in the middle of the road; they would rather drive under heavier vehicles instead of around them and are often "mopped" off the tarmac.

Leaning Tower of Passes: Most bus passengers are given free passes and during rush hours, there is absolute mayhem. There are passengers hanging off other passengers, who in turn hang off the railings and the overloaded bus leans dangerously, defying laws of gravity but obeying laws of surface tension. As drivers get paid for overload (so many Rupees per kg of passenger), no questions are ever asked. Steer clear of these buses by a width of three passengers.

One-way Street: These boards are put up by traffic people to add jest in their otherwise drab lives. Don't stick to the literal meaning and proceed in one direction. In metaphysical terms, it means that you cannot proceed in two directions at once. So drive as you like, in reverse throughout, if you are the fussy type. Least I sound hypercritical, I must add a positive point also. Rash and fast driving in residential areas has been prevented by providing a "speed breaker"; two for each house. This mound, incidentally, covers the water and drainage pipes for that residence and is left untarred for easy identification by the corporation authorities, should they want to recover the pipe for year-end accounting.

Night driving on Indian roads can be an exhilarating experience (for those with the mental makeup of Chenghis Khan). In a way, it is like playing Russian roulette, because you do not know who amongst the drivers is loaded. What looks like premature dawn on the horizon turns out to be a truck attempting a speed record. On encountering it, just pull partly into the field adjoining the road until the phenomenon passes. Our roads do not have shoulders, but occasional boulders. Do not blink your lights expecting reciprocation. The only dim thing in the truck is the driver, and with the peg of illicit arrack (alcohol) he has had at the last stop, his total cerebral functions add up to little more than a naught.

Truck drivers are the James Bonds of India, and are licensed to kill. Often you may encounter a single powerful beam of light about six feet above the ground. This is not a super motorbike, but a truck approaching you with a single light on, usually the left one. It could be the right one, but never get too close to investigate. You may prove your point posthumously. Of course, all this occurs at night, on the trunk roads. During the daytime, trucks are more visible, except that the drivers will never show any Signal. (And you must watch for the absent signals; they are the greater threat).

Only, you will often observe that the cleaner who sits next to the driver, will project his hand and wave hysterically. This is definitely not to be construed as a signal for a left turn. The waving is just an statement of physical relief on a hot day. If, after all this, you still want to drive in India, have your lessons between 8 pm and 11 am-when the police have gone home and -The citizen is then free to enjoy the 'FREEDOM OF SPEED' enshrined in our constitution. Having said all this, isn't it true that the accident rate and related deaths are less in India compared to US or other countries!!?? All the people who Drive - What do you say about it? "
Have a very good day and safe driving.
JAI HIND!!

The Schoolmaster

2006-01-02T14:05:00.000-05:00

By Mabel Annie Chacko (India, 18/12/05)

In the days when you couldn't count on a public toilet facility, an English woman was planning a trip to India. She was registered to stay in a small guest house owned by the local schoolmaster. She was concerned as to whether the guest house contained a WC. In England, a bathroom is commonly called a WC which stands for "Water Closet". She wrote to the schoolmaster inquiring of the facilities about the WC.The school master, not fluent in English, asked the local priest if he knew the meaning of WC. Together they pondered possible meanings of theletters and concluded that the lady wanted to know if there was a "Wayside Chapel" near the house...a bathroom never entered their minds.So the schoolmaster wrote the following reply:

Dear Madam,I take great pleasure in informing you that the WC is located 9 miles from the house. It is located in the middle of a grove of pine trees, surrounded by lovely grounds. It is capable of holding 229 people and is open on Sundays and Thursdays. As there are many people expected in the summer months, I suggest you arrive early. There is, however, plenty of standing room. This is an unfortunate situation especially if you are in the habit of going regularly.It may be of some interest to you that my daughter was married in the WC as it was there that she met her husband. It was a wonderful event. There were 10 people in every seat. It was wonderful to see the ex-pressions on their faces. We can take photos in different angle. My wife, sadly, has been ill and unable to go recently.It has been almost a year since she went last, which pains her greatly. You will be pleased to know that many people bring their lunch and make a day of it. Others prefer to wait till the last minute and arrive just in time. I would recommend your ladyship plan to go on a Thursday as there is an organ accompaniment. The acoustics are excellent and even the most delicate sounds can be heard everywhere. The newest addition is a bell which rings every time a person enters. We are holding a bazaar to provide plush seats for all since many feel it is long needed.I look forward to escorting you there myself and seating you in a place where you can be seen by all. With deepest regards,
The Schoolmaster

The Woman fainted reading the reply...and she never visited!"
Courtesy: www.aparnaonline.com

Strange one

2006-01-02T14:03:00.000-05:00

I have no clue what this is...

Watch your nerves on my curves

2005-12-27T08:55:00.000-05:00