In unison

You pluck the strings

I press the pedal
You strum the chords
I caress the notes
You sing your heart
I mime the words
I pen my thoughts
I guard my dreams

You play your part
I act out mine
You know your lines
Mine are engraved
You never falter
I barely fail
You sail like the wind
I float away

You are the black
I am the pale (white)
We make the chord
We form the scale

You give a hand
I share a smile
You lay the flowers
I say the grace
You see the sun
I see the moon
We feel the love
We know it's true

Kurt Cobain: A personal tribute.

And they say Cobain killed himself. Certainly the evidence seems to tie into this claim; he was overly intoxicated, he hated what had become of his life and his music, he was against idol worshipping: an unavoidable outcome of being a legend, he shot himself in the mouth with a handgun. After all didn't he warn us about this through his music.... But consciously that is not what an avid fan would want to believe. Maybe there is more to it than meets the eye? Maybe he was murdered? And so claim the myriads of articles and websites and blogs disparaging Courtney Love and casting the blame on her shoulders. But does it really matter anymore? We all agree on one fact: he was a troubled prodigy. He gave us punk rock, he gave us the anthem of a generation, he gave us heart rending tunes, he gave us a passion. To some he opened an avenue to channel emotions in from anger to love, others he inspired from his journey from Aberdeen to the Billboard Top 100. To me he made me understand the pain he felt through his voice....

Having just read a collection of his JOURNALS, despite reading a commentary that I couldn't agree with more..."...and if Kurt were alive, this is the exact commercialization of emotions that he was against..." How true that claim is! To admittedly be a fan and to pry into his private life seems contradictory but I confess I just wanted to know more about the person encapsulated within his tormented soul. How would that make a difference, I dont know. Maybe getting an insight into the real Kurt makes fans like me feel a deeper connection with him or perhaps its merely to curb the insatiable hunger for extra information - an attitude that has become a stigma of our society today.

Kurdt hated rapists. Kurdt hated the KKK. Kurdt was anti corporations. Kurdt wanted to be a sincere artist. Kurdt suffered from a chronic GI condition. Kurdt was hooked on heroine. But perhaps the most significant trait to me is - Kurdt was a compassionate writer/lyricist/poet. He had an immaculate command of the language. He penned thoughts in such an abstract yet coherent manner. He had a sense of humor, he was troubled, he didn't trust the world as it was filled with fakers, he hated rock journalists.....

Reading a journal is no way comparable to a book. Uninformed are those who compare this read to that of a work of fiction. Rather this is an act of delving into another's mind and soul. Being one who gets personally affected after watching a provoking documentary, a true story inspired film, reading biographies, listening to heart felt lyrics or reflecting on poetry; I was deeply affected by this intimate collection of stories, letters, cartoon quips and lyrics that were jotted down by Kurt himself.

"Punk rock = freedom"

Sadly the founder or Nirvana himself never attained detachment or fulfillment or freedom.
Confounded by the perplexities of the music world - punk rock had been branded "alternative music" by then to increase its popularity - he thrived to alter negative images of him and his band portayed in megazines through these personal rantings. He had lost his passion. He was in indescribable pain. He branded himself a loser. Heroine controlled his life. He wanted to die and he did...

Remembering "Boddah" his childhood imaginary friend, we can't help but wonder what exactly he did, or was done to him. May his soul rest in peace, with our love and empathy.

No Reservations

It was one helluva hectic day. I had been to Buffalo, NY (3 hour bus ride, 1 1/2 hour plane ride) and back in 15 hours. The purpose of this torture: a 30 minute interview with my Pre Health Committee at my alma matter. You see I am applying for Medical School admission for the 07/08 intake and its part of the requirement for the Pre Health Committee to interview me prior to writing a cover letter to be sent out to all the schools along with my recommendation letters. To say the least, it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences. But the upside of my trip was that I had the chance to meet up with several awesome people in Buffalo. A hug and a kiss can make all the hours travelling worth it.

Back at home, dealing with all the criticsm bestowed upon me by the interviewer I just wanted to relax. No food in the fridge, but that's ok as I am not hungry. Satiated with the criticism mostly, I turn to my most loyal companion - the tube. HGTV has beocme my favorite hangout but the shows tonight are repetitions. As I scroll down the guide, I come across the TRAVEL channel. There was a show playing about Malaysia. Brilliant! I miss home awfully, so this should be helpful in reconnecting to all things familiar. As I tune in, I am not mesmerized with the place I call home but by the host: Anthony Bourdain. Standing tall and lanky, with a ciggarette in one hand, a wedding band adorning his thumb, and numerous tattoos ornamenting his body this is the host of the show. He is a chef, a novelist, a restauranteur, a travel enthusiast, unrepentant smoker and drinker and ex-heroine addict. And I am at awe with his persona. There's something about this person that is just so attractive. The balance of yin and yang you may say? His language is perfect yet flawed. His demeanor is respectful yet provoking. I watched as he explored Malaysia, its food, its culture and its natives. I have just found my new crush.

As I lay and think of you
All things cherished come into mind
Music
Love
Even coffee…
For that’s a love we share
An addiction we can’t deny

But it’s more than that….
Maybe you are my real addiction?

One that makes me happy
With a small gesture
A message
A smile
Enough to keep me going
Till I hear from you again
A smile
A sense of satisfaction....

But is this a heart shaped box I am trapped in?
My alcove of comfort and solace….
Hidden in the trenches of your sadness
My love emanates…
Innocently
Curingly
Until your pain and misery relinquish

But what if we never know what it means
And What if it isn’t what it seems
If we just kept it aside
It may one day be too late to decide…

As the seasons change
And pages begin to fade
I’ll remember the feel right now
As I lay and think of you…and explore our “when and how”?

A lesson to learn

Is it the end of an era or the beginning of something new?
Is the glass half empty or is it half full?
How can you smile when all you feel is sadness?
How do you embrace optimism when floating in a sea of pessimism?
How should you move forward when your shadow is lost in your past?

But you have to keep moving ahead for nothing lies in the past
It will taunt you, torment you and keep pulling you back….
Forcing you to cower in the comfort of all things familiar….
but at the end it’s a chasm
A pit of things that were and will never again be
Times that were and will never again be
Memories that were and will soon fade away, one fragment at a time
Until all that’s left is vagueness in the mind….

For even the sun, as it sets, doesn’t weep on leaving the horizon
He shines his rays, gloriously till nightfall
Hopeful, knowing
Tomorrow awaits my glow

But how do we move forward with chains in our feet?

Liberate yourself
Free your soul from all attachments for there only lies one truth
We came alone and so will we leave
One life, one soul, alone
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…