A World Here, A World There

In the busiest market of a city, Mumbai, lies my body but the mind and soul find solace in Ruskin Bond’s world. A world of tongas, wet red soil, foothills of the Himalayas and Doon Valley, the momentary, strange and yet sweet encounters of love. Merely reading his heavenly stories make time go so peacefully, with its original pace, not cut by the fence of city time. And moments after you start visualizing his world, feeling it, living it, the mind games that fancy cities play on you are revealed. A competition enforced, and that without it we lose or such are the illusions the city blinds us with. But looking around I realize how lost we are already. Achievers are those small town simplicities of Yamunanagar, resident pilgrims of Rishikesh, non-competitive or rather self sufficient students from Mandi. The modesty of a few thousand characters in these towns reflect nature’s beauty, while we rush in and out of metros inquiring for a beautiful person. Referring to a rather short story of The Traveling Philosopher if I had to describe those four days in Uttarakhand by the minute I would end up writing a book, a book flawed with spirits of youth, love and devotion, something like Ruskin Bond himself but unable to match his originality. This is what these humble towns give you; the gift of wanting to be like them without taking offense. Unlike the cities drowned in their pride, yet looking to progress and become the next New York or Shanghai at the cost of virgin rivers and rising mountains.

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My body is in a city which has its hands full and yet searches for purpose, the mind and soul in a satiated world of Ruskin Bond.

We Lead

In the wake of a tiring adulthood,
They innocently mistook for a disease,

What the child in us believed,
Was an inspiration that appeased.

They sought wisdom in expressing sorrow,
Thought we’d already lost the battle to follow,

Little did they know we sought the horizon,
Beginning of a hard-earned victory was livened.

An ocean of doubt in their minds ached their hearts,
For we were young to know that truth was harsh,

But we were living the truth and knew too well,
A tale which they’d wait to hear and WE WILL LIVE to tell.

While it was a trending fashion,
To measure knowledge in fractions,

We were reforming lives with strategies,
Achieving the balance on our biological sheets.

Yes doctors save lives, indeed,
Next to God they are, indeed,

But we know them as ones who nurtured us,
Like God, they helped us save ourselves thus.

Oh how this inspiration of a disease,
Changed our outlook towards life,

Families, we thought, asked questions,
But ours received answers & learnt through our lives.

Oh how the world pitied us,
Unaware of our strengthened gut,

Life for them was merely good and bad days,
For us it was the sweetness of Type 1 Diabetes.

With a purpose to live large and help live larger,
Today WE LEAD.

Walk On…Walk On…

Emre Can post EL defeat
Emre Can post Europa League ’16 defeat against Sevilla FC

“Miracles are Possible”. Words which echo even today from the Champions League victory in Istanbul, 2005,  not only in the hearts of Liverpudlians but football fans all around the world.
However, it wasn’t just any miracle but one that was driven out of the game spirit, the devotion and dedication towards the club, the sportsmanship to make those 90 minutes with your team count for life, the emotion behind YNWA anthem that bound the club and its fans, the pride we took in those magnificent wings of the Liverbird that lead us to a flaring victory that night.

Brendan Rodgers first win, 1-0, as Liverpool manager against FC Gomel in August 2012 Europa League and a home win against the same in the second leg had ignited in the team a fire to create miracles again. But our hopes were gradually defeated when this fire turned into cold blue flares with regular losses. After a few defeats, Rodgers stubbornness to prove his game plan right only worsened. While Sturridge’s skills could have been encouraged, Balotelli was struggling to be productive. Raheem Sterling was being encouraged under the wrong impression, and we know the rest. Mignolet, Sakho, Lallana, Can were some of Rodgers very own best signed deals and yet barely gave an up to the mark performance which they are otherwise portraying under Jurgen Klopp. A loss of chance at one league, got our hopes tied to another until the final whistle was off with a 4-5 penalty loss to Besiktas in the Europa League round of 32 last year in February. Every Liverpool fan, player and critics questioned our position.
It was the time to remind ourselves that miracles didn’t just happen, they were to be created. And so we did, gradually, in those small moments which make up for the big ones.

Despite all the odds, the one thing that I have learnt about Liverpool is that we have always risen. Need I remind Istanbul? Even with Raheem Sterling’s dropout, the team’s powerful performance explicitly expressed that we weren’t a one man show but combined talents. And not to forget the most talked about comeback in the 4-3 victory against Borussia Dortmund on April 14th leading Liverpool FC to yesterday’s Europa League finals.
The final ended in a painful loss, yes. But it has been the ride of a kind. Rising from the discouraging and tiresome performance in 2015 in round of 32 to playing for a much deserved victory in the finals speaks for the potential that lies in our Redmen. One might dismiss such details at this moment but comparatively maximum possession, more shots and shots on target than last year’s stats go on to show our skillful passion. Confidence and consistency which was lost in the last 2 seasons has been and has to be furthermore regained and this we must learn through the painful defeat this evening. The spirit of 2005 has to be brought back in the rightful meaning of miracle which LFC is known to create with amazing comebacks.

On the night in Istanbul we found clarity in our purposes which brought LFC together to share pints of victory; the defeat in Basel brought us together yet again to share the tears, the lessons and it’s only a matter of time until We Go Again. So in victory and in defeat, YNWA Redmen!

 

 

The Sound of A Musical Dream

I lay in bed, plugged in my earphones, and closed my eyes while listening to the Train of 3 Doors Down playlist in my phone. I was Here Without You but my music came Back To Me. Listening to those electric guitar beats was like Kryptonite to my restlessness. Soon I was flying away like Pages with the drum beats and orchestral feel of Landing In London. Such loudness In The Dark felt calming as long as it was musical. It had been a while, was time for Goodbyes now. Sleep had awaken Behind Those Eyes. Slowly, Away From The Sun, I slipped into a dream.

One minute it was Agnes Obel’s voice slowly echoing from beneath the water while I sat by the Riverside, and another minute Civil Twilight sang for me for I had received Hogwarts’ Letters From The Sky. As I looked up to A Sky Full of Stars , I could see them growing closer to me until they were a shining Paradise. I stood facing those mirror walls in the Castle of Glass and sang to myself. “I am gonna Fix You with A Whisper”, whispered I to the problems until they were all Lost in its loudness. And right after, I found Maps to the Maroon 5 treasure. It Makes Me Wonder as I write, how that music made me groove over sadness. Caught up in The Temper Trap, I gradually started losing hold of my dream Fading Fader. But it was not over yet, The Sea was(is) Calling me. There was a bigger world to see and add to this feeling of Sweet Disposition. Somewhere amidst these sounds I found A Place For My Head in a Castle of Sand. Before The Worst, I had to make it to The End Where I Begin, said The Script in The Dairy of Jane. My Hall of Fame chanted these names and I could let nothing Talk Me Down until I completed it. While it was really A Dream, it felt like A Thousand Years. Thank You For The Music, for my Stereo Heart did Breakeven but into pieces of everlasting hope, undefeated truth and purest of expressions. Fireflies were almost disappearing now but we were happy about The Time we spent for so long. We were glad about the Late Goodbye. This was The Call for many nights to follow this September. To get hold of another such Killer Joe dream ride, I realized must let go of one now even though While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

I woke up with my fingers clenched to my palm, like trying to keep a world Slipping Through My Fingers. I was Helpless When I(she) Smiled as I realized the playlist had been playing all night long. Clumsy, I got up Swaying to Michael Buble’s hypnotizing voice. Even the birds Saved the Last Dance For Me. I could hear those Airplanes calling, “Come Fly With Me“. I could feel it; another Maestro night awaiting The Tale of Viktor Navorski to lead it to the Seasons In The Sun and Requiem the beauty of the 40th Symphony.