A letter to music – gratitude and stories.

It has been a long time since I posted, huh? Needed a break, sorry. I am back, though. Let’s enjoy this! I hope you like this letter-format I’ve recently started trying.

To music,

From Ghazals to ‘Kiss me’ to ‘Dusk Till Dawn’, this has been a long journey, hasn’t it?

When I was six, I could barely speak English. My tongue fumbled when I spoke English because it was a foreign language that I still wasn’t used to but I could hum the tune of ‘Chand Sifarish’ and not miss a single note.

In my 10-13 year old phase, my all-time favorite memory that I often find myself telling people is how me and my family would go on long drives and have sandwiches and hot chocolate and listen to an endless number of songs. My sister and I had a playlist that we would listen to on our way to school every morning.

When two broken pieces clash, they break into smaller pieces. When I had my heart broken for the third time, the only leftovers of my heart was dust. With earphones jammed into my ears and a few fancy dance moves, music turned it into fairy-dust that I sprinkled onto everything and healed myself.

My point is that you have literally always been there for me. Be it in the form of a language, a memory or a magic trick. You’ve witnessed me grow up from when I was a few months old and my parents would sing me lullabies to today when I listen to ‘Girls like you’ on repeat.

I heard somewhere that old weapons are sometimes melted and musical instruments are made from the metal. I guess that explains the bullet wounds some of your lyrics leave behind, and it also explains why playing Antakshri when I was ten felt like going to war.

Thank you Music, for being my metaphorical shoulder to cry on and literal ‘always’.

Utsav Raj

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Related post: To all the #METOOs

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Blind hearts.

Blind hearts.

The blind man
Across the street
Sees more
Than the men around him
Who won’t lend him a hand.
He feels objects
With his fingers,
His ears,
And his anticipation;
And wonders more often
About how beautiful
This life is.
He knows no difference
Between red and blue
And yet tells his daughter
That she looks beautiful
In that black dress of hers.
He thanks you
For every little thing
Because he knows
More than you do.
He doubts himself
More times than not;
But he knows how to
Trust his gut.
He is blind,
And he is across the street.
A street you’d only cross,
If you were blind too.

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“Sometimes, happy memories hurt the most.” – Unknown

Memories can hardly ever be photographed. Will one picture and the thousand words it speaks be enough to justify what the memory means to you? It never will, for me. For the past three years, I have missed home more than it might have missed me. My friends have moved on and I’m stuck in a time loop of where I wish I was right now, and where I actually am.

As you might know, I shift a lot. Which also inevitably means I make friends a lot, but not for too long. I haven’t found that one friend that would last forever yet, but maybe one day? Until then, I make peace and sometimes get depressed, with the memories of these friends. Here is a small and brief glimpse into my memories.

  1. When I was in fifth-sixth grade, I made a friend in Dubai. We met every day and did crazy stuff (and also, stupid) like FunTrivia. We spent hours doing nothing except throwing a ball back and forth, and talking about things I barely remember. We played cricket in the corridors of buildings, and ran away just before someone could shout at us. Tried to throw stones at trees so that the Dates would fall off, and we could have the sheer joy of eating one this way. It was amazing, really.
  2. In India, I met three girls that I called the trio. They were best-friends long before I had come along, and still are now that it has been three years since I’ve left. Three extremely beautiful girls, with whom I share so many memories. Ice skating (and falling down way more times than I can remember), games of truth and dare, trips to crazy places or simply just strolling in a park. We became friends because all four of us loved reading, and also cause one of them came to eat the first packet of lays that I opened in school. I still love them so much, although they barely remember me.
  3. With the trio, was another person. He was one of the craziest and most optimistic person I have ever met. He still might be. We played cricket, football, tennis, basketball, and every other sport we could possibly find. We have stayed over at each others place more than a hundred times, to say the least. I was a vegetarian when I met him, he loved KFC, and the rest is history. I have had McD and KFC almost on a daily basis, and that guy still got abs before I did. Ughh. XD

My friends were not something out of a fairy-tale, because that would make it unreal and not fun. We weren’t something magical either, because that would make it too good to be true. We were normal, different, and a bit insane. I think they could make a good movie on the trio, me and the last guy. I promise you, it would be fun to watch.

This was another small attempt to let you see that I am as normal, if not more, as you. And I have a life that I love despite being the one that always has to let go. This is a part of the infinity that I am, the curve that makes me. Find your friends, make memories, and don’t be afraid to let go. Robert Frost insisted that life goes on. Be happy. Okay?

Bless this life ∞

Also, my domain is now myspirals.com. The old link will still work, but use this to make it easier. And go to the Contact page and tell me any changes you’d like, or anything you’d like me to write on. Thank you for your love.

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“We are like a snowflake. All different in our own little way.” – Unknown

  1. She wasn’t the perfect six-fold symmetry crystal. She had four white feathers spread throughout unevenly. She wasn’t a Polaroid. But she was what made you believe that you could be beautiful anyway. So when she walked towards him wearing a dress with flip-flops, no mascara and a messy bun, he fell in love. That was it. Love at first sight or whatever. He saw her and he just did. She was beautiful. She had small eyes, and a wide smile. She walked with heavy strides but her touch was soft. She was a beautiful paradox wrapped in glitter that spread.
  2. He was the ice crystal that you see in the pictures. Perfectly symmetrical and totally adorable. He had messy hair, the kind you want to play with. And deep eyes that you could look into and feel alive. His voice was music. He was the kind of guy that would hold the door open for you. He was perfect, really. Except he wasn’t for her. He had the perfect walk, and the right jokes up his sleeves, and long drives waiting for her. But it wasn’t it. He was the six-fold, and she wasn’t. Heart-break took a feather off, maybe.
  3. It was a six-fold. Because you know, dogs always are. So when I picked him up, and cradled him like a baby for the first time, I couldn’t help but name him Snow. “Woof”

A small letter for Santa from me. I have been naughty and it was worth it.

Merry Christmas. ∞

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Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞