Relevant and some other stuff

Context brings depth to music and art. It points towards subjects that are often ignored. Recently, I watched the Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown, which introduced me to the state of music during the '60s and how Bob Dylan changed it. It also made me fall in love with Bobby’s music even more than I already had. So here are a few things I learned hopefully making your next listening experience of Bob Dylan’s work more meaningful. The folk genre was deeply rooted in cause and protest. Artists like Woody Guthrie (commonly accepted as the Godfather of folk music) traveled around America during the Great Depression, creating a community of people who loved folk. Though folk music had its own audience, it wasn’t bringing in crowds and sales like jazz or rock ‘n’ roll at the time. That’s when a new kid emerged on the scene—bringing poetry into lyrics, making folk music not just about protest and rights but also about himself and his own story. It was a breath of fresh air ...

1. The Death  The slow night is over, The new sun its brighter,  And you woke up late, Its the usual.  What if you get a phone call?  And they tell you about me,  You hear my name, reminisce about what we've been,  Would you cry a bit or break down to tears?  do you fear death or living like its over ? I wonder who would come to see me, A flawed man, fueled by hunger, Materialism and tangibility, Like on a lost pathway,  I know you missed me, The way i was, the way you perceived me,  Im scared my love, i wanna have a legacy, People forget, but will you cry, remember me ?  What if i was not whatever you say?  What if im dead now, and everyone forgets ?  Cause whats there to, truly remember then, I was a flawed man, i hurt a bunch of them,  I lost my battles and hid the scars when People asked me how ive been, What if i die now and you marry someone else ?  What if i die now, would you have stories to tell...

"Nothing is as healing as the human touch." - Bobby Fischer's last words  A little blue boy, lost in crowd, pushed around by all, he felt alone. Like a boat struck in Storm. People said they cared, but no one really knew, what he was going through. And betrayed, fallen, he rested with no hope at all, but hopes not dead, it never can be. The little blue boy saw a light, just as bright as the northern star shine in his sorrow, it saved him, or maybe gave him enough strength to fight it all. The little blue boy is still in the Storm, but can see the end and that's what he's fighting everyday for, not alone this time, but with a bright star.  Blue boy got a reason  - neil Colliding worlds meet, This room gets smaller day by day, I see sky in a different way, There's a lot of things in my mind, How my days had passed by. I was alone, how lonely it felt.  Even today I stand still, same room, Same humans filled with hate, Judging me so hard, Hating me for the bare,  ...

I. Parchayi   Ek shayar ki pehechan kalam sei barti jaye, Par shayari keh pehele kya woh insaan nahi?  Insaniyat sei dur jakey likha meine, Phir yeh awam pass kyu aney lagi?  Hai manzar bohot, Parchayi par ek hai, Kalam hai tez, Par shant shamei  aur andheri ratei kisine na giney.  Hai rasta lamba, Aur yeh shuruwat keh kuch ghadi, Hei dosti peh yaar wehem, Yeh jhoot paltei hum hei.  Na dikhta insaan, joh nafrat karey, Na dikhta kalah, joh akela barey, Toh kya hei hai hasil in shabdo sei ?  Yeh mujhe na pooch, Manzar peh dikhega tujhe bhi saboot.  Kalakar, ek kalam, Narfratei, pyar bhi, Par shant hei hum.  Shakti hai toh pyar bhi hai,  Jo mujhmein hai,  woh tujhmein bhi hai.  Shakti hai toh shama bhi hai,  Shama in sarein karmon sei bhi.  II. Pehechan  Yadho mei hei tu basi, Asal sei bohot hei alag, Nakal hai shayad meri, Ya pyar ka yeh ek wehem.  Parchayio mei na dekhu khudko, Joh tujko pehechan...

 My earliest memories of music was 9xm or MTV beats, earliest English song memories from VH1 when memorizing as a child watching Bollywood music videos on Girls like you by Maroon 5 and Shape of you by Ed Sheeran. As i grew up and had a device on my hand i had this big decision about what will be my music taste to be made. It came naturally, i was drawn to sad songs, lyrically awakening and emotionally driven. I liked when i could feel the vulnerability and relate to the artist. It slowly moved into Urdu rappers and hip hop giants like Jcole. But i never believed music could move a person to his core, make someone cry, make someone sit there just thinking on life, music that would take someone on a journey, that would change him. I never was much of a music listener but everything changed when an unaware me put on the earphones and set the album on play.    The original album cover Vernon was sick and tired looking for a way to escape his life and just be away f...

Humans are nothing but a culmination of every person we have crossed paths with. We were born as a single shade, untangled and untouched, but with every soul we encountered, they brushed against us, leaving strokes of color and threads tangled. Our souls are painted with these strokes, each one a story left by those we’ve met. Every stranger we cross paths with have their own story, their own greif. Humans are all paintings and looking closely we can see the brush strokes that have created us the way we are. The rude, the harsh, the kind, the sweet, all of us were the same and we all still are. We still all are same, going through everything the same way, everything with the same anxiety, the same fear, the same joy and same tears. We all are painted on a single canvas, just with different strokes. Disfigured embodiments cascading through life hiding to be normal, all made with different strokes, all vulnerable, all beautiful. 

Disfigured embodiments cascading through life hiding to be normal, all made with different strokes, all vulnerable, all beautiful.  In Seattle, Mohan used to see a tree everyday on his walk to his university. Peaceful, consistent strides with a whisper of singing as he used to plug in his walkman listening to music of back home. The tree was something holding his life together. He just liked looking at it, as seasons changed it used to shed leaves grow new ones but always stand as it did. Mohan had been seeing it everyday since the first time he came to Seattle as a collage student, young and energetic. During his early days in Seattle he had a girlfriend, a German woman he had met during the course. They used to sit under that tree and talk for hours just about random things. The girl ofcourse left after her course got over and the dreams and promises all became graffitis on the wall above which a layer of algae and plants had found a home, due to abandonment. But he still liked t...