The Blogger has left the Building!

Hey folks!
As you can see, this blog isn't really what I was hoping it would be. I have lost interest in writing this blog, but I still want to continue writing. I'm starting afresh at http://hardlyexistential.wordpress.com
Please do come and visit. It'll take time to set up, esp since I have my exams going on right now, but hopefully it will be all that I was hoping Umbrellas and Leaves would be. That being said, I am not importing ay posts so this blog will still be here.

Thanks for being so nice to me. Please do visit my new place,

Love, Taurme

Label, Actually

NOTE: Sorry about the long break. I didn't expect it to last so long. I guess after a while laziness just sets in. Anyhoo, I'm back now. For good. Missed you guys :D

***

I have a story to tell. It's not fiction, but its probably not as non-fiction-y as I'd like it to be. So I'm gonna call it an Exaggerated Non-Fiction Account of Things that Probably Happened This Way But I'm Not Sure 'Cos I Have Bad Long-Term (and Short Term) Memory.

Once upon a time there was a girl who didn't belong anywhere. She was too bengali to be odiya, too odiya to be bengali. She was too old to hang out with her peers and too young to play with kids older than her. She wasn't as  nerdy as nerds are expected to be and she wasn't a big enough slacker to be called one. She was neither girly nor tomboy-ish. She was smart, but not the smartest. She had talent, but there were people much better than her. So basically, no matter what the clique, she felt like an outsider, hoping to be a part of something. 

Then, one day, an epiphany slapped  her across her face like a large, cold, dead fish. She came to her senses. That's when she realized the following:

a. Cliques sucked.

b. It was perfectly fine to not belong to anything.

c. People in some cliques seemed like mindless painted zombies.

d. Not being in any group = no stereotyping.

e. Adorable misfits are always make the best characters.

Thus, a new She was born. One that didn't care about what other people thought of her.

Being different was easier than she'd thought it would be. Mainstream entertainment, particularly music had never really meant much to her. She had an old soul and loved songs and movies that belonged to the bygone eras. When she discovered internet forums, she met people from all over the world. Most of these awesome people were in their thirties or older. So when her friends started listening to linkin park and coldplay, she was humming tunes by the Everly brothers and the Carpenters. 

Somewhere during that time she discovered indie cinema. Then she found Wes Anderson. She was in love. Wes introduced her to Nick Drake. More love.

And so it went on till October 2011.

What happened in October?

Well I (I'm bored of the narrative style) realized that the "hipsters" online articles kept referring to were more than just neo-hippes. 

I think I might be one.

Awh-My-Gahd.

My google image search gave me this:

SAAAVE ME BEFORE I TURN INTO ONE OF THEM

(BTW, Is that guy holding a man-purse?)

Aug. '11 #1

During my month long vacations,we (mum, dad and I) traveled to Kerela, a lovely state in the southernmost part of the Indian subcontinent. 

Bbay---> Kerela

My mum thought that it would be great to travel by train. She was thinking of lazy mornings and seeing the countryside through the large tinted windows while enjoying delicious food all day long. The train we had booked in was Duronto, an express that goes from one city to another without stopping anywhere in between.

That part of the trip wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Duronto is a terrible train. We were supposed to reach by 5.30. Instead we got there three hours later. The train also had a nasty habit of stopping every hour in the middle of nowhere.

When we finally reached Ernakulum city, it was almost nine. My mum was unwell and we all were tired. But our journey had just begun. We were supposed to take a car to the town of Munnar, a lovely little place in the hills that was three hours away.

Except that it wasn’t three hours away.

We thought that we would reach our hotel by midnight. We reached by two (That too because the driver was a maniac).

The roads were slippery and serpentine. They took us away from the sea-level with potholes and dangerous turns. They weren’t even wide enough to let two cars pass! It was pitch black and there was no soul in sight. The Eucalyptus trees that were growing on the slopes looked eerily sinister as the light from our car bounced off their slender bodies.

Our expectations were rather high

And if all this wasn’t enough, the driver was speeding! The car kept bouncing off the frequent potholes and the guy kept going faster and faster...that was the first time I got carsick in India. Somehow we managed to reach Munnar before two a.m. We checked in tired and terrified, made our way to our cottage and got ready to hit the sack. 

The first impression of Kerela wasn't exactly good. Would things get better or was it all downhill from here? Thinking along these lines I drifted off to sleep.

Realism.

During one of his famous dinner-time lectures, my father looked at me. A a small, sad smile touched the edges of his lips and he said - "you were talking about reality that day, I have seen reality. I know what realism is. My son died in my hands. Nothing in life perturbs me now."

I didn't know what to say to that.

Happy moments and fond memories

My two best friends came to my place Friday evening and stayed the night. Guess you can call it a slumber party - after all there were PJ's, ice creams, rom-coms, sort of junk food, boy-talk, general gossip and a fairly controlled amount of alcohol involved. Its funny how meeting old friends takes years off your actual age.

Yesterday we sat and talked, laughing and bitching about life, sharing the pain of uncertainty, reflecting on achievements too high and failures too low and simply catching up with each other, becoming active members of each others lives like we once were.

I've known one of them (the infamous Nirvana) for almost twelve years now and the other one (Lets call her Sera) for 9 years. We have spent most of our lives knowing one another and although all three of us chose completely different streams, even now when we meet, we feel as though we are still thirteen, rude, awkward and quirky. I'm so lucky to have friends like these two, I don't know what I would do without them.

When I woke up the next day, I looked up to see these two kids sleeping peacefully, a thought occured to me "Always remember this day and this time. You are the luckiest girl in the world. You have everything one could ask for - a loving family, good friends, a good college... this may be the happiest you will ever be. Cherish this moment."

Does that sound a little too lame? Huh. Seven months away from home are seven months too long I guess.

Later we went to Powai, had coffee at Aromas, where Nirvana very brilliantly used a wet tissue as her visiting card and filled the questionnaire under the pseudonym Peggy Lane. Somewhere over the rainbow, John Lennon must be beaming. Or freaking out.

It was a beautiful day. I've gone to Powai three times now and I have even clicked some pictures. Will probably post them soon.

In other news, Shammi Kapoor has passed away. Although I can't call myself a true fan, I must say, Shammiji, you were brilliant. The rebel of the Hindi cinema, you defined the 60's. You have given us many unforgettable movies and songs that will live in our hearts forever. Every time I hear chahe koi mujhe janglee kahe or baar baar dekho or oh haseena zulfon waali, I will remember you fondly, as the legend, the hero, the actor and the man that you were. No matter how many years pass, Shammi Kapoor will always be synonymous with the word Yahoo! :)

R.I.P Shammi Kapoor

Oh, its past midnight! Which means its 15th August -

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

New theme/design

Yeah, I was bored of the prev. background. I decided to go back to one of my favourite colour combos - black & white.

As you can see, I'm still going with TaurMe's Originals as backgrounds. I guess I'd rather have my readers see awful doodles as opposed to gorgeous photography by someone else.

Ah well, I was never known for my niceness :P

THIS BLOG MAKES ME SAD.

It needs a new look. Maybe an awesome background.

More pictures.

Better fonts maybe?


Huh. Now I'm just feeling lazy.

P.S. GOING HOME ON THE 6TH!!! WOOOHOOOO! AFTER SIX MONTHS OF well...I don't know, really...I'M FINALLY GOING HOME! Oh Mumbai, my baby, my love, I am so close! I coming! Yaaaay! I'm going HOME!!!

Well, had to get that out of my system.

Happy

I'm happy. Quite happy.

I'm the nothing-can-bring-me-down happy.

Agreed, its more of a "shut-'cha-cakehole-bitch-I-ain't-gonna-let-you-get-me-down" happy, but hey, its still happiness - I'm not gonna complain.

You know how there are Little happy moments and Big happy moments - today was one with a little happy moment which might, one day, bring Big happy moments.

Today started like any other. I was our last day of internship and I must admit, after two months of ridiculous college-work and uneventful work-work, I was ready to say goodbye and leave. About an hour into boredom, I got call from "De Boss" asking me to meet him.

Well, let me tell you something about De Boss. De Boss isn't really my Boss. My Boss (and by Boss I mean my boss's boss's boss) is on vacation - De Boss is the man who holds the same position in a sister company. As there are two interns working in De Boss's company and two of us in ours, we had to take our components together.

By components I mean these stupid evaluation thingies that our college is forcing on us - quizzes, presentations, group discussions and project reports - two of each. So we were supposed to do our report II and presentation II on a topic related to the work at our station. As our company is one that deals with logistics, I decided to do mine on the impact that transportation has on the environment.

Believe me, it was easier said than done. Knowing myself, I have to say, I hardly put in any efforts. I was making my powerpoint presentation during work and the day before the seminar, I attached an unsaved version of the ppt. So that night I had to slave away just trying to put a decent slide show together. Needless to say, I hardly practiced the speech that was supposed to go with it.

Next day morning I was very tensed. De Boss is a man with sharp eyes and he kept finding faults in everyone's presentations. I just kept praying for my turn to go all smooth sailing. When it did come, I went up there, worried and scared and somehow managed to fumble my way through the whole thing. Not too good. But hey, it wasn't horrible.

Despite my mediocre performance, I actually succeeded in impressing De Boss...

...which brings us back to the events of the day.

Mr. De Boss calls me to his office and says "I read your report, I am very impressed..." I don't remember exactly what he said, but I remember a few phrases, wonderful things like "bright future ahead of you", "many interns have come and worked, but you were different", "there is a spark in you, I expect to see your name in the papers one day", "what you did was great, keep doing work like this", "your generation needs people like you" ...

:)

I told all this to my parents and they were very happy. If only I could see the expression on their faces. Before keeping the phone down, my mom said "...we are very proud of you". Although they say this quite often (mostly just to make me happy), for the first time in a long time, I felt worthy of their pride.

And THAT's why I'm so happy :)

Where the mind goes to die

Lately I've been feeling a little discolored. I am doing things mechanically, just for the sake of doing them. I am neither interested nor uninterested. Its like boredom has seeped into every little corner of my world and is refusing to leave.

I want to do things, but I just don't think I can. Its not so much a question of ability as it is a question of end result. For what great goal am I doing what I'm doing? Everything is pointless.

I envy the generations before me, the era that had built my parents, uncles, aunts and teachers. Whenever I hear them speak about their youth, a little voice inside me begins to cry. Just quiet, silent tears of misplaced regret. Why wasn't I born in those days? Why did I have to be a 21st century kid? What keeps me in this world? Gadgets, gizmos and greed? Power play and pedantry? Self-obsession, self-image and selfishness?

Oh what's the point!

I wish I were a part of the groups my parents belonged to. The times when being in college was a chance to mature intellectually. When idealism would inspire sonnets and odes to flow from every cell of your body. You were not you, you were they. Utopia wasn't just a concept. It was your future. One that you would build.

Yes I know, they didn't really do what they had set out to. Many such generations failed miserably. They ended up doing what they wanted to change. Same old cities, same old desk jobs, middle-class family, two bratty kids, one car, one house etc.etc.

But at least they had hope. Even if they were just for a few moments of college life, they felt they could make a difference. That's a lot more than what I feel. Where there should be hope, there is apathy. I know the world needs me, the world needs anyone she can get to help save her. There are a thousand things I can do, a thousand things that I should do, a million things that I must do.But I just can't.

My love for the world is eclipsed by my love for myself. Not that I don't care, I do. The only reason why I chose chemical engineering as a discipline is so that one day I can be an environmental engineer. I do care. Just not enough. There are no idealist thoughts, no inspiration to change things. I know where my life is headed, the land of Same-Old Same-Old. And I know I need to prepare for it.

I wish I had the fire in me to change the world. All the personality quizzes I take tell me that I should be out there, healing the world. Instead I'm here, sitting on my bed, wrapped in a warm blanket on a Saturday afternoon because there's nothing I can do. Nothing I think I can do.

Voice.

I don't know how many people do this (or whether it easier to everyone does this) but I find to associate people with one feature they have. Not qualities; simply things you were born with/developed while growing up/developed by paying up etc.

When I picture my dad, for example, I first think of his warm hazel eyes. Then I see his hooked nose in my mind, followed by his shiny almost-bald head and sweet, indulgent smile. With my mum, it always starts with her cute button nose, one that I sort of got from her.Then I see her beady eyes hidden behind her gigantic frames, her lovely wheatish complexion and her long wavy, wispy hair.

I would start describing my oldest friend with her gorgeous, straight, raven black hair. Then I'd tell you about her nose, which turns up right at the end, like the roof of a Pagoda. My sweetest friend I would describe from her smile - one that captures the beauty and the joy of each ray of purest sunshine that falls on your face. One of my favourite uncles I would start describing by his Voice.

One of my earliest memories of him involve an untimely cough that resonated through the whole house. That's how we'd get informed of his arrival, the wind would carry his deep voice till the last room where we (the kids) used to hang out and we'd run to meet him. He has always been one of my dearest uncles. This very moment, I can hear his deep voice being lowered to a childish coo as he says my name while pulling my cheeks. "Tuntuni", he calls me by the nick name my parents have given me. Not the god-awful "tuntun" everyone has reverted to.

His voice has influenced me in more ways than he'll ever know. More ways than even I know. I love voices. At a young age, I developed a fascination with voices. You know how people enjoy good food, good wine and/or good music? I enjoy good voices. I love hearing them. And no, I  don't mean singing voices. I don't really care if someone can sing or not. But I do love a good speaking voice. I love orators, sexy articulators, just about any one with a rich luscious voice.

I try to go out of my to be a good speaker. It has become one of those things that I find attractive in a man. Voices have become such an integral part of my life that I can't imagine living without my own, living without listening to others. The first boy I actually liked liked had  has a beautiful voice. They mean so much to me.

And it all started with an uncle. "Do you know him? He has a very deep voice. No? He's tall too. And a deep voice...". That's how I used to talk about him.

That's the only way I know how to talk about him.

Imagine my shock when I found out that my uncle, due to some medical condition ( I don't know the actual medical details and to be honest I don't really want to know), his voice box would have to be removed (these are my mum's actual words). That was more than a year ago. He's visiting my folks tomorrow. I'll probably talk to him. Hear his new, mechanical voice.

not His Voice.

never His Voice.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that talking to my uncle will not be the same. I know there are things I should be thankful. "It could have been Life-Threatening" mum keeps reminding me. At least he's alive.

Maybe, like my mum says, I really do hate change. Maybe I'm just not ready to face the fact that something that shaped me doesn't exist anymore.

Tomorrow should be interesting.

Less than a month to Chowpatty!

Not that I'll be going too Chowpatty the moment I step on the muddy lands of mumbai.

Still.

I've been eating Mumbai street food on the streets of Dubai. They just don't cut it. Too hygienic I think.

Admitted, the last month hasn't been all bad. I got paid...that's good news. Plus I got a big packet of Dark Belgian Chocolate... another plus point.

Oh. And there's a Hot German in my office.

So yeah, things have been pretty good, if you see the 'whole' picture as they say.

At a personal level - I'm still stuck in a rut. Feeling very isolated, distant, detached. Its like every bond I ever made with anyone is snapping. I'm just too tired to be related (to people).

That can't be good.

I'm getting more reclusive, but I'm also turning into a better cook. I'm cooking stuff now. Pretty awesome stuff too.

I don't even feel like typing anymore.

Sheesh.

Not Chilling.

People irritate me. They get on my nerves. If I could, I would live an isolated life.

But then you already knew that.

Why am I telling you all this? Because my hatred for humanity has resurfaced. Not that I was ever (even close to) a convivialist. Still. I tried to downplay my misanthropy for the sake of my sanity. I thought that if I learnt to be more accepting maybe, just maybe, I would find mankind less irritating.

I don't think I've ever been this wrong. Humanity I just don't understand. The desperation to be happy, the obvious absence of any altruistic tendencies. The obvious presence of schadenfreude in every human heart (mine included, of course). And more than anything, the blatant hypocrisy we all indulge in. What's so great about us. About our existence? About life?

No, don't give that pitiful look. And don't ask me to chill. Oh for the love of all that is green and blue, do NOT say anything close to "Chill". I hate that word. I hate the way people use it. It is one of the thousand odd things human beans do that get on my nerves. The stupid condescending tone, the implication that the speaker is emotionally disturbed, the forced laidback-ness. I hate it! I freaking hate it!

Yes I'm passionate about things. About life. About making mine count. Forgive me if my rising voice and histrionic gestures are bothering you. I'm sorry, I can't cool down. I like talking eloquently, emotionally, from my heart and soul. It makes me feel alive. I can't do the whole cool dyood thing you seem to have mastered. I like feeling my blood rush through my veins as I scream, shout, argue and lecture. I like throwing my hands up in the air, feeling my voice tremble, my mouth go dry.

But why am I explaining all this to you? You equate passionate people with emotionally unstable ones. You, my friend, are an idiot. You talk about life being precious -  What the hell is so freaking precious about something that six billion creatures of the same species have? You know what is precious though? A life that is different, unique, interesting. But you won't get it. You're hell bent on following the same formula that your mom, dad, grandparents, great-grandparents did. You have it all figured out. So now you can chill.

Well, I can't. My parents broke the mold. They did things they weren't expected to do. And guess what - they made their lives interesting. The same blood flows in my body. And I need to respect it, give it the pride it deserves to gush with. I need to be myself, be passionate as I can be. Feel the world. Feel my life. Feel every second pass. Feel the colours, emotions, ideas, thoughts, drama, music, flavours, cultures - so many things to experience...

...so NO, I won't chill. I won't cool it, and I definitely won't calm down. For heaven's sake,  please stop asking me to. 

I need things to do

So, I slept at 3 am yesterday, just for the heck of it! Have moved into new apartment with two hostel-mates. Its a hotel-apartment, so we don’t get separate bedrooms or anything. Still, it has a little kitchenette where I’ve been cooking for the past three days.

My dad was in town for four days. Four awesome days. He has gone home now and I have to freaking work for two months.

T’sucks.

I must say, I’m enjoying cooking. I never realized how fulfilling it is to cook your own meal. Now I can make anything I want, whenever I want. Isn’t that great?

But what makes me really happy is the fact that I know my dad is proud of me. He is a great cook and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I made him happy.

I woke up late today, cooked, watched Parineeta and It’s Complicated (probably gonna write a blogpost about it soon), slept and am currently watching Its Complicated again. This time on T.V.

I need to find somethingto do.

On Words

As per our TRW (technical report writing) course, we are supposed to use simple words for effective communication. Of course, TRW is about reports, things that are inherently boring. So obviously I ignored the advice. Screw simplicity! The only words worth using are the wordy kinds.

What are wordy-words? Well, to me wordy words are the words that actually feel like what they convey, words that can be used to describe themselves. Take the word mumble for example. Say it. Aren’t you mumbling mumble? These are the words I like to use.

Take another example: disarming – Blahblah’s disarming smile... sure, its a pretty sentence and all, but does the word disarming actually disarm you? Now consider the synonyms: captivating, enchanting. They enchant you, they captivate you...it feels amazing to say such words. Another synonym is the word beguiling – there is nothing remarkable about it. Its flat and boring. It doesn’t hold you, It doesn’t make you sway.

Speaking of holding, think of the word mesmerizing – what a word! It mesmerizes you, grabs your attention and doesn’t leave it. These are the words I wish people would use.

And I’m not just talking about dramatic actions (captivating, mesmerizing), Take the word beg. I am begging you v/s I’m requesting you – Hey, if I was in the receiving end, I’d feel more for the person begging with the word beg. In fact, the phrase I beseech thee would work best with me J

There are so many other words, extravagant, flamboyant, tantalizing, scintillating, theatrical ... unfortunately, we use words such as wasteful, flashy, tempting, sparkly and over-the-top – so very uninteresting.

I’m not saying that I support big words and that I hate the simple ones – I don’t know enough words to end my alliance with easy language. I’m just saying that we should, at least once in a while, use wordy-words. Next time you wanna gossip about some poor "gifted" lady, don’t call her chubby or fat (it kinda hurts). Call her voluptuous – a beautiful word that still conveys pretty much the same thing.

A friend of mine loves collecting words. Seems like a fun thing to do, doesn’t it? I’m thinking about doing the same thing.

Wait.

No.

I’m not thinking.

I am contemplating.

I Growed Up

I just broke my favourite glass.

I was about to scan something when I accidentally pushed the poor glass off the table.

It broke into a million little pieces.

Had this happened at home, I would've screamed for my mum. She'd come, running, see me point at the ruins, tuck her pallu at her waist, pick up a broom and clear the mess. She would then console the whiney thing she has for a daughter.

Today, right after I broke the glass, I picked up the broom and cleared the mess. I removed every little shard whie thinking about the thousand odd times my mum had come to my rescue.

Sometime in near-past I grew up.

Such a strange, alien thought.


P.S. Between yesterday and today, I still haven't studied anything...

On Books

I love books. I adore them. I worship them. When it comes to me, you can put any synonym of  the word ‘love’ between the words ‘I’ and ‘books’. In fact, I’m going to go ahead and say something positively scandalous: I think books are sexy. Not sexual; no, nothing of that sort. But yes, they appeal to me just as much as tall reedy Italian men with smouldering eyes do. I could marry books. Agreed, a state such as that would probably be considered as an euphemism for spisterhood rather than an example of the institution of marriage. Nevertheless, I need and want books desperately, frantically, incessantly.

All that being said, I have a confession: I have hardly read any books in the past two years. Not even the ones I bought recently.I can see Les Misérables, Crime and Punishment, Jane Eyre, even Poe’s short story collection, looking at me reproachfully. Shantaram is pissed that I read him only once (he’s also pissed about the fact that he is kept on the same shelf as chick-lits). Wodehouse is wondering when I’m going to start the second Jeeves book I own. Arundhati Roy has given up on me (But then she also seems to have given up on writing). I’m afraid I have gone from being a super-reader to being a sloth-with-a-book *gasp*.

I don’t really know what happened. I just stopped reading. There is no proper explanation for it. I moved to T.V. Shows and movies (neither of which, I must admit, have the same effect as a good book). Nonetheless I kept buying books, just for the heck of it. Like I said, I love books; the idea of knowing, having, collecting, and sensing books makes me happy. I love the smell that comes from them, the texture of the paper, the small black print, the beautiful, beautiful covers, the joy that comes in cracking their spines, the feeling you get when you write your name in a book...I cherish these moments, I love reliving them... Anyway, now going back to the original topic - these days I don’t read like I used to. There was a time when I was a voracious reader. Now I’m the bibliophilic-equivalent of a hermit.

I wonder if there’s still hope for me. Can I go back to the original glory days? Can I get my reading streak back? Tough questions I don’t seem to have an answer to. Of course, like any pseudo-optimist, I like to think I can change. My friends – who are as shrewd as they are sweet – have, indirectly, taken upon themselves to get me back on track. They got two Stephen Fry’s and one Dahl (My Uncle Oswald – a book I’ve wanted for a long time) for my birthday. Even my lethargic soul cannot resist something so tantalizing.

Friends, I must say, are miracle-workers. I finished My Uncle Oswald today. Admitted, it is a slim book – but for someone who hasn’t finished a novel in two years, just finishing something is a victory in its own right.

Maybe one day I’ll read books larger than my textbooks. I just hope that doesn’t happen soon. I’m in the middle of my sem finals - I’m not even supposed to blog right now!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to cast forlorn looks towards my book shelf and then start studying. Sigh.

MY BIRTHDAY

33 minutes left for my birthday to end! I finally turned 20! Amazing day...alll thanks to the BEST friends anyone could ever hope of having! Girls: If you're reading this, just know that you guys mean a lot to me. I love you guys! I'm so lucky to have friends like you.

Great friends, amazing and inspiring parents, wonderful cousins, some great teachers, awesome seniors - boi, I do have it pretty good.

Here's to hoping that the coming year is just the same (if not better!)

Songs I love: Kahin Door/Amay Proshno Kore

The Hindi song, 'Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaye' has been one of my favourites for as long as I can recall.

Today, while listening to said song (for the gazillionth time), I remembered that the song had a Bengali version(Actually, to be fair, the Hindi one is the 'version'; the Bong one is the original). So I did some google-vestigation and found 'Amay Proshno Kore'.

I spent the whole day listening to both songs. Truth be told, they share nothing except of the tune. They have very different lyrics, different singers, they belong to different movie industries etc.

Also, the Bengali version is much, much better.

My mum says that the reason why I like the Bong version more is because:

1. I'm a Bengali (atleast 50% anyway)

2. Its the original

Although I agree with my mum, I'd like to add the following points:

3. The Bong version is more melancholic (and as you know, I live in melancholy)

4. I think Hemant Kumar had a better singing voice than Mukesh (personal opinion)

5. I understood the whole song - which is a big deal since I know very little Bengalii

6. The lyrics are simpler and more touching. I love the depth and the simplicity of the Bong version. In front of it, the Hindi version looks slightly decorated (whatever that means)

I won't bother translating the Hindi version (I'm sure a translation exists somewhere on the web), but I'm gonna *try* (and probably fail at) translating the Bong version.

Here are the original lyrics:

amay proshno kore nil dhrubo tara
ar koto kal ami robo dishahara
robo dishahara
jobab kichui tar dite parinai shudhu
potho khuje kete gelo
ey jibono shara
ey jibono shara ||

kara jeno bhalobeshe alo jelechilo
shurjer alo tai nibhe giyechilo
nijer chhayar pichhe
ghure ghure pori michhe
ekdin shey dekhi 
ami tumi hara
ami tumi hara
amay proshno kore........ ||

ami poth khuji nato potho more khuje
mono ja bujhe na bujhe na bujhe ta bujhe
amar choturpashe shobkichu jay ashe
ami shudhu tusharito 

gotihino dhara
gotihino dhara

amay proshno kore........ ||

Translation:

the blue pole star questions me

how much longer will I remain direction-less

 remain direction-less

(I am) unable to give any answer,  just

looking for a path (I) spent

this whole life

this whole life

some had, out of affection, illuminated

which is why the sun's light had dimmed

behind my own shadow

i wander, wander fruitless

one day I see

I am without you

I am without you

(If) I don't look for the path, the path looks for me

my mind doesn't understand what it understands; it understands what it doesn't understand

all around me, everything goes and comes

I am just an icy, 

unmoving stream

unmoving stream

Note: I tried to stay close to the lyrics (its not my interpretation - translations are bad enough, I don't want to ruin the song completely :) )

Here's the Hindi version:

Bong version:

Songs I love: Place To Be

Written and performed by the amazing Nick Drake, the song was first featured on his final alum, Pink Moon (released in '72, when he was around 24 years old). I love the album and this song is one of  my favourites.




 When I was young, younger than before
I never saw the truth hanging from the door
And now I'm older see it face to face
And now I'm older gotta get up clean the place.

And I was green, greener than a hill
Where flowers grew and the sun shone still
Now I'm darker than the deepest sea
Just hand me down, give me a place to be.

And I was strong, strong in the sun
I thought I'd see when day is done
Now I'm weaker than the palest blue
Oh, so weak in this need for you.

Blip Blip

How on EARTH did I manage to get this?

Who is Your Ideal TV Boyfriend?

More on Gossip Girl. Created by BuddyTV

Its never gonna work out - we're far too alike...

I'm gonna go and try to get Chuck Bartowski :P

Edit: Yaaay! I got Chuck...apparently all you have to do is select a different last answer!

Who is Your Ideal TV Boyfriend?

More on Gossip Girl. Created by BuddyTV