Stop Killing my Music

Sunday morning, one out of the two days of a week where alarms music wakes me up. And today it was I miss you who did the job of waking me happily up. It’s such a nice song and I really don’t worry about not knowing the Artist of that tune or the Album either. The day has just begun. The music goes wild and with time its gets wilder, both in my room and in my heart. “I show a great partality for my regional music”, Well,  I dont agree but thats what people around me say. Not even in my vague memory had my mamma or papa asked why I don’t listen to regional music, but our servant maid did, today. I felt no new to that question for the fact that I have had answered it million times in the past with million different answers As my task list was blank for the day I connected to the web to figure out the history of the music that woke me. It is from Blink 182, a United States Alternative Rock Music breed. Got no clue on what this United States Alternative Rock means . Neither have I a clue on how that music came to my PC. All I know is I how much I’m attracted to that piece of tune. I continued to browse the web while the question that the servant maid asked me was constantly running in my head.  Thus far I had never asked that question to myself, but today, someone was asking from within. Yes, I was asking myself, “Why I’m I not listing to my regional music?” As I started to wonder the Why factor, so came this write up.

Music should not be created under compeltion. Music should be created for selling. It is much more than a commercial product. It is an ART.  And the creators will always fail, if they intent to create a music exclusively for business purpose. At least they would fail to astonish me. Oh, I forgot to say this, Music should not be copied (biggest of all).

Having said my vision on Music, today’s objective in Bollywood and Kollywood music industries is to create a false impression. And why I say that is because I firmly believe that they create it under completion and they also copy sometimes. So why is this happening? Let me explain what I feel.

 More films are created and the business units of the film making company wants at least five songs in every of their film. Moreover, Musicians are forced to create their piece since the situation, the story, the mood and the characters are already decided. Can you find fault in the masterpieces created by the legendary Michael Jackson? It is Michael who decides his music. He is not been compelled to create anything. He does it because he loves to do it. More than that, the other ingredients like the situation, the story and the rest of all are based on the music unlike my regional music where every this is vice-versa. Shame. And what are they going to do by creating music under compeltion? They are going to sell it.

And thus my wondering came to an end. Now I know why I don’t listen to Bollywood and Kollywood songs.

Freddie Maize

Now learn to pay attention

First-year students at Veterinary school were attending their first Anatomy class, with a real dead pig.

They all gathered around the surgery table with the body covered with a White sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, ‘In Veterinary Medicine it is necessary to have two important qualities as a Doctor: The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the Animal body’. For an example, the Professor pulled back the sheet, touched his finger in the mouth of the dead pig, withdrew it and put his Finger in his mouth. ‘Go ahead and do the same thing,’ he told his students.

The students freaked out, hesitated for several minutes. But eventually took turns putting their finger in the mouth of the dead pig and tasted in their mouth.

When everyone finished, the Professor looked at them and said, ‘The Second most important quality is observation. I touched with my middle Finger and tasted on my index finger. Now learn to pay attention

The Window

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man  was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and   families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military  service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the  man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where  his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and  color of the outside world. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while  children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite  detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.  Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive  words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should hehave all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see  anything? It didn’t seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt  ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He   began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that  window – and that thought now controlled his life.

Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window  began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man   watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking  stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence–deathly silence.

The following morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away–no  words, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he  could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his   first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

I hate my country

I too have a computer @ home, Part II

It was Saturday morning. The start of a great weekend I thought because I have got a computer now. The main purpose of buying a computer for myself is to develop a website (not for blogging though). I have a plan to develop a commercial website from the scratch. I mean, I would be the coder, designer, tester, administrator, owner etc., and I’m going to host it in my computer itself. I’m going to use java. But, well I’ve not installed the necessary software and so I’m yet to begin with my work. Mean while my friend installed “NFS Underground” in my computer. The only game I have right now.

 

 

Saturday morning and I have started to play the game at 8 O’Clock itself. By the time it was 11 O’Clock, I was in the 14^th track out of 111 tracks. It was truly a nice racing game I though. After 12pm my mother wanted me to bath and have food. I quickly took a semi shower and had a semi lunch. I wanted to play NFS. Only that was there in my mind. My mother, father, sister (in short, except me) all started from the house to see my Athai (that how we call our Father’s sister) who was ill. I refused to go along with them. I wanted to play NFS. 2 pm, my mobile rang, “Aathi (my father’s elder sister) is serious, admitted in the Government hospital, come soon”, My father said. I half mindedly turned my system off and reached the Government Hospital.

She (my athai) was in the ICU. I was allowed inside the ICU to have a look at her. She had an oxygen tube running across her nostrils. She was finding it difficult to breath. I could feel. She could not. She was in Coma. There were around 8 patients in that ICU. Two were very serious. My athai was one among them. I was asked to leave the ICU by a nurse. My sister was allowed to be with her since she is aware of those medical terminologies. We were around 6 of us waiting outside the ICU. For every half an hour my sister used to come out and update us. 4pm, my sister came out and told us that athai’s health has gone further down and since there was no availability of ventilators in the hospital any of our family member has to manually pump a ‘Manual Ventilator’. That ventilator pipe will go directly to her lungs and on ever pump the oxygen will enter her lungs. It has to be done manually and stopping it will lead to death. I got shocked. It’s the work of the Doctor’s. They were asking us to do their job. It was a freak idea. ‘stop pumping, she would die’ I really cannot tolerate this. How can the doctors give us a pump and say that if we fail to pump she would die? I thought of starting a quarrel with the doctor but my father turned me off. My sister was there to guide us on how to pump. All of our family memner’s did the pumping in turn wise. My turn came. I went inside. I was very nervous. My sister started teaching me on how to pump. I was so afraid. She showed a nearby monitor which had number counts. It read 70. She told me that the reading was the pulse rate and if that goes down to 0 then it means that our athai is dead. I started pumping. 1,2,3, I looked at the monitor, 4^th press, the number in the monitor read 0. She is dead I thought. I got panic. Tears started to come. I felt cold, nervous, and afraid, tensed, pressurized… I looked at my sister. She asked the nurse to adjust the wires. The nurse came and shook few of the wires and the number picked up to 60. She was alive. “Loose connection in monitor wire”, my sister said. After the 4^th pump I said I cannot do that pumping job as I was so afraid. My cousin brother (my father’s sister’s son) came in for his turn. I came out. Moments later both my sister and brother came out. I peeped though the glass window. A doctor was doing something my athai. I looked back as my brother who was discussing about the eye donation of my athai with my father. Only my father has to decide, since my athai was unmarried. He said yes. My father and sister went inside the ICU again to speak to the doctor regarding the eye donation. I peeped through the door again. She was in the farthest corner of the ICU room. It was around 5pm. I saw my father and sister walking toward the door. My father came out first. I saw him crying a rare site. I could not control myself. I cried too. Everyone cried. My athai has died.

She was a woman of sacrifice. Since she was unmarried she used to give everything to others and keep nothing for herself. She was a selfless woman and lived independently till the end she was a government employee and lived out of the pension money. We all loved her. “We still love you Athai”.

Poor Government. They could not even purchase a ventilator. Poor us, we could not even take her to a good private hospital. For those who say that India is developing please take back your words. I could see a poor hospital with irresponsible doctors. I hate my country.

We took her back to my home. She was in the freezer box for the whole night. Many visitors came for her. Many cried. No one slept that night. Next day morning, after all the rituals, she was taken to the funeral for burning. My brother gave 1000 bucks to the undertaker for doing his job. As I came out to the entrance of the funeral I saw a big board which said “All burials/funeral service will be done for free – By the Government officials”. I showed the board to my brother. He said that he has spent over a 50,000 bucks in the last 3 days for her and spending another 1000 is of nothing to him. But what he has done is an act of bribe. He should not have given that money to the undertaker. But if we don’t give it to him, he would not do his job. Actually, we will have to file a complaint to the police who is another criminal according to me if he refuses to do his job/demand money but my brother was not in a mood to go to the police station and all.

I repeat, India will not be a developed nation, for sure. They bribe for birth, they bribe for death, they bribe of anything that is between birth and death.

Hours later we were given my athai’s ashes. My father, along with us, took the ashes to the Bay of Bengal and mixed it to the sea. “Her story is over. He is a history now”, my father said. Yes, she is a history, I accept, but her sacrifice will be overshadowed by the ill things that will keep happening in my country. I hate my country.

Freddie

I don’t accept comments pointing to my English or grammar. Probably I will not consider them.

 

I too have a COMPUTER @ HOME

Now I have a computer for myself. I’m so happy for myself All these days I used to blog from my friend’s computer or office computer.

 

I want to blog… I have many things to say… I want to get many hits … I want to be a successful blogger… BUT I had no computer for myself to do them…

 

NOW, At last, NOW, I have one… I asked my parents a computer when I was in my 10 Standard. Now I’m in my 2^nd year at office and only now I was able to get one. Difference is 7 years. I had to wait for 7 long years for this day.  So sad of me

 

Next, I will have to fight for an Internet Connection. Let’s see how long that takes… Please wise me to get Internet Connection sooooooooooooon. Please convince my mother… Please… Some one…… Please… 

 

Who is your Role Model??

WHO IS YOUR ROLE MODEL???

 

Try it without looking at the answers……

Please don’t look down until you do it; you’ll love it I promise.

GET A CALCULATOR, IF NEEDED, (YOUR COMPUTER HAS ONE ON IT).

1) Pick your favorite number between 1-9

2) Multiply by 3 then

3) Add 3, then again Multiply by 3

4) You’ll get a 2 or 3 digit number….

5) Add the digits together

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now Scroll down …………..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now with that number see who your ROLE MODEL is from the list below:

 

1. Einstein

 

 

 

2. Queen Elizabeth

 

 

 

3. Abraham Lincoln

 

 

 

4. Helen Keller

 

 

 

5. Bill Gates

 

 

 

6. Gandhi

 

 

 

7. Pope John Paul

 

 

 

8. Thomas Edison

 

 

 

9. Freddie Maize

 

 

 

10. Ronald Reagan

 

I know…I just have that effect on people….one day you too can be like me.. Believe it!

 

 

 

P.S.: Stop picking different numbers. I am your idol, just deal with it ;)