The unsung band: Travis

Because my inside is outside,
My right side’s on the left side.
~Writing to Reach You, Travis

I should have been jumping up and down, heart throbbing in the presence of not just sighting but talking and interacting with the only band that I absolutely adore. Perhaps this ambivalence was brought on because our group had people who don’t quite love Travis like my sister and I do. And even as they converted to worthy fans post-concert, something still seemed amiss. I felt sad for Travis. That such a great band has been appreciated so little by the masses. I wanted it to be a full house yesterday, and it wasn’t. I wanted all the people to be head-over-heels into the music, and somehow felt that they weren’t. Adding to the situation was the sadness brought on by seeing Fran and the boys not relish their last gig in USA due to the souring of the mood by some assholes. And then there was time. I felt like I saw the end. The group hadn't aged considerably since 2007 and their music remained as good as ever, if not better. Yet somehow, when Fran mentioned coming back again, it somehow made me realize that sooner or later one of their future tours (whenever it is) will be their last. And I don’t want them to call it a day. I am selfish in that I want them to keep performing, with Dougie sexily strumming the guitar, Neil passionately drumming, Andy escaping into his own world of strings and melodies, and Fran pouring his heart out into each and every number.



Specifics:
*Saw my greatest band, Travis, front and center at the Boston House of Blues on April 26th 2009.

Simplicity of Worshipping…

Author's Note: My writings will be eclectic. This one touches on the topic of religion and idols.

About the entry: Thought about on an hour-long bus-ride from the NGO hospital that I volunteered in to Vadodara, India. Year: 2005.

***

“Buy these lovely flowers,” shouts a woman next to me. “No! Buy these beautiful garlands,” screams another woman sitting across from her. They are vying for the attention of the many pilgrims shuttling back and forth from the local temple up on the hill. Inside the temple itself are many signs that blatantly ask for one’s donations: Feed God this item and you will have success in your life; feed him this other item and you will have financial gains. And to make matters worse, as one enters the inner sanctum of the temple, their heart flutters when it sees the ornate, expensive decorations that adorn both the architecture and the idols. Their jaws open in awe as they are taken away by rich beauty and they come out “enlightened.” Funny that the enlightenment didn’t come from the actual reason why one made the trip to the temple—God.

Temples in India have turned into such commercial institutions that oftentimes the whole meaning of going to a temple is driven by buying the best of the flowers, the costliest prasad, and the prettiest of souvenirs. The whole message of going to a temple to be one with God is so easily lost amidst this wrongly situated bazaar.

However, one wonders whether this interconnectedness is more a result of attending a prettier building for services rather than an unselfish manifestation of one’s religious fervor. After all, is it really necessary in having showy, ornate decorations as part of one’s place of worship? Isn’t the opposite more rational—for gorgeously carved walls and gilded idols would in fact distract one from one’s religious mediation? Simplicity of area evokes rawness of one’s emotions and therefore a singleness of purpose.

The issue came upon me when I undertook a road trip between two Indian cities. Besides encountering quaint instances of farming life, expected potholes, and erratic driving, I also noticed quiet shrines staking their own claim in the diversity that is India. These shrines popped up every 15 minutes or so, either under a tree or next to a haystack, and would have been fairly indistinguishable from a nearby rock had it not been for the mass garlands and stubs of incense sticks that decorated their surroundings. Simple, naked worship in the strictest sense is what comes to one’s mind when such shrines are viewed. It also gets one thinking that honestly, people do not need the pomp and glamor to find religion—all they need and have ever needed is faith. So why spoil the temple-going experience by making it a churning business outfit? Why try to lure people to come to the temple created by your family’s patronage through precious artwork and gold idols? The worshipers will come if they believe—trying to buy their belief is undermining the whole concept of religion itself.

***

Tham ja, zindagi, tham ja. (Slow down, life, slow down).

Author's Note: Apologize for posting after such a long time. I didn't have a writer's slump--instead my writing had become more personal. Now I write for the pleasure of writing, to capture the joy I get in weaving words so that a visual image emerges. The brilliant capturing of emotions, colors, etc that only words can bring about. Hope you enjoy it. I will try my best to be frequent (at least one posting a month). Criticisms and Comments are very welcome.
***

Slow down, life, slow down. I am not ready to move on, I am not ready to move on. I cannot move on. Each moment is filled with countless sights and sounds and I want to taste every bit of it to my utmost satisfaction. Only then should you move. Only then do you have my permission. Otherwise, desist. Freeze. Like the game of “Fire N Ice” that I used to play in my childhood. Until I touch you, do not move.

Frozen raindrops. White droplets. Sparkling, shimmering. So light as they fall and yet so heavy on the foliage. Solid as they drop, liquid as they touch my bare skin. What a dazzling metamorphosis. Beauty. Precipitation. Nature. Smile. Love. Breathe. Experience. Feel. See. Touch. Taste.

A long road. Trees, white, form a canopy. Alluring, they reach out to me, beseeching me to travel the winding strip. I longingly look. Not a step do I take in its direction. I cannot see the end. It is hazy, vague. I cannot travel it. Fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. Risk. Too much. For now, I remain on its cusp, hoping that one day, I will have the heart to take that step. That I will give into the allure of the White Trees. That I will relent to Father Time. Until that moment, I wish to wallow in this moment, in this time. While the world around me freezes. And only when I say Fire does it melt and move.

***

About the entry: Composed on the Boston Subway after experiencing snowfall at its best.