Love the mother as well

Very often these days, in the manic, fast-paced lives that we live, we find ourselves looking for something to hold on to; something structured, and visibly well defined. At such times, it is generally not easy, even thinking of relating to the subliminal and abstract. One moves from one goal to the next, leaving little time to pause, think, and wonder at the many little invisibles that embellish our bland existence.

In such a situation, it is perhaps natural to go for the quick-fix, finger-snap source of respite. The one that plays catch with you, and then feigns absolute ineptitude, just so that you feel better. The one that picks you up, without you having to ask for it, just when you think you are down and out. The one that can show you a thousand suns, on the slightest such wish from your very being.
He is the one that knows every rule in the book, and also how each can in fact be used to maximize your utility. He is the one ever prepared to throw the world at your feet; to lighten up a dark alley, hasten a dreary dream into oblivion.
He is, the father. Love him.

The times, being as they have been described above, tend to take their toll on our relationship with the other half of our universe. She is the one who, from the background, has been the single deepest influence on your life thus far, and onwards from now as well. Her contributions to one’s well-being and happiness are far less tangible, as compared to those by the father. While the father lifts one up in a twirl of ecstatic emotion, she chooses to caress you, and love you in a way that sets you afloat, on a journey that could take you across a thousand galaxies in the blink of an eye. While he gives you a near-numerically accurate solution to most things, she has the infinite power to paint in front of your eye, the answer to any question under or above the sun.
While he pumps you up in front of the enemy, she helps you on, when you bleed in despair, staring at your nemesis in the mirror. She is the one entity in this world, who knows exactly when it is time to switch from one shade to the next, just to keep you happy.
She is, the mother. Loving her takes a little bit of effort, unlike the case with the father. This need for extra effort, may be attributed to the aforementioned characteristics of our lives today, and is in no way reflective of any shortcomings in her unbounded love, of which there are none.
She wants to give you the entire universe, and all its limitless wonder. All that stands in the way, is the neo-uptight-ness that we have come to endorse.

“Samay pita, Shruti mata”
Time is the father, sound is the mother.
Rhythm and symphony form the root in everything.

Easier comprehension of one does in no way make the other less deserving of your love and respect.

To meet the father, feel free to browse through any of today’s contemporary music (Bollywood in particular). As stated previously. Today’s market conditions favour him to an obscenely partisan extent. A more genteel interaction shall perhaps be the 1st of the embedded tracks below. Do meet him there.

The mother needs a much longer introduction. Embedded is track 2 for the same; she awaits you in all her glorious solitude. Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream. Nothing remains incomprehensible.

Further, my views on the relative (in)significance of lyrics, may be gauged from the post here.

If you have been, thanks for reading. Listen to the tracks below, you deserve to know. Don’t be afraid.

The IIMC Effect

Its 4:05 in the morning.
I awoke out of thirst.
I opened my laptop and checked mail.
I then checked the campus notice boards.
I went on to check the kut as well.
And now I'm downloading music.

Enough said.
This, is the IIMC effect.

Cheers duniya!
Feels nice to be back.. (pretty much! ;-)