Wednesday, October 29, 2008


For 6 months now I have discovered the great joy of listening to Norah Jones as I drive through the busy streets of Delhi. In the endless jams, born of the grand movement of VIPs this city is blessed with, I am now a happier person. Its just me crooning with Norah to Nightingale and Sunrise and Toes, much to the surprise of occupants of other cars around me. Its not everyday you see a woman singing her heart out in a traffic jam.

I truly find the songs delicious - slight twists here and there, like alleys down a quaint Italian town, that you learn to memorise the more you use them every day. No grand harmonics and incessant organs or pumping rhythm. No intricate melodies or mind-boggling percussion. Just simple, basic, uncomplicated singing. Every note is hit perfectly (much to my I spend most of my time cringing to western music when the artists fall short of those precise sounds) and her voice, louder than everything else - yet husky enough to embrace the accompanying guitars and piano.
I never thought I'd be a jazz enthusiast...but Norah's music is a flavour I decidedly like, and am going to savour for a long time to come.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Precious Light

The prettiest festival there ever was...I am so supremely happy to be able to celebrate Light. To truly feel there is enough light to dispel darkness and that the beauty of darkness is that it gives Light its powerful place.
The Light shine upon you and within you, always.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Dawn...

From "Anpao" - An American Indian Odyssey by Jamake Highwater

"At the place where all things began, there was first the black world. And Old Man, the all-spirit, lived in this void, silently and without emotion. For he was he.

The all-sprit was also her and all that exists between the her and the him, like the snail which from itself brings new life. For Old Man was without mother or father, being together something and nothing.

He looked around him, but there was nothing but himself to see. He listened carefully, but there was only silence. Nothing was born and nothing grew. Nothing was new and nothing old. There was only Old Man, alone in an unthinkable forever.

Because he was everything, Old Man was not lonely. But as he radiated through the endless time of nothingness, it seemed to him that something might be more interesting than nothing. Here and there within his immensity were specks of his power.

So he drew himself inward like a vast breath. And all that he was came together in one place, like the place in the acorn which imagines the tree. There he glowed with power until suddenly he was ignited by an idea of being. And from this mysterious center of the of the all-spirit came a light into the blankness which was so great that it illuminated all that had been in darkness, reaching beyond the farthest specks of him that is called everything. "

Need I say more?