Skip to main content

To endorse or not to endorse

It's a tricky question... For the past three days I find myself returning, every now and then to search for new tracks for my digital high. I have to admit it is quite addictive. Taking my curiosity to an all new high, I opened my sound cloud account today and VIOLA! discovered an entire community of people who have succumbed to the sound. It is the same feeling from earlier, just that now I don't have to worry about waking up with the stench of alcohol on me. I just sit in my office and punch a few keys and stay submerged in the sound. The problem is that like any other addiction, I cannot share this ecstacy with the world. I tried getting a colleague to hear one of the tracks but she didn't like its effects. Twenty continuous minutes of listening to the music and I feel so high. I feel light, I feel strange. I feel happy too. It's nice. I plan to get my music player and download some of the grub and carry it with me. Give it a listen for a few days and if it works fine, I'll get a few others to go through it, after explaining the phenomenon, only if they want to. Heads a little heavy now... I'll get back to quiet listening, no words to disturb the patterns now hammering inside my mind.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Introduction to the Journalism Pathway

My career in journalism started out with an internship at India's prestigious Indian Express newspaper in New Delhi. The office, which took me well over an hour to commute to, was even then, a formidable force in journalism in India. Still an wide-eyed undergraduate with a theoretical grasp of the field, my first and only project over 2 weeks for the organisation, left a huge impact on my career.  The idea of going into journalism came from my English teacher, Mrs Moss. One day, close to the completion of my 12th grade, she was suggesting career options for some of us to explore. She looked at me and said, "Given your love for talking, you should consider a career path in law or in media." To put this into context, I was a student with good grades in an English medium school in one of the most backward states of India, Bihar. Any further educational aspirations would take me outside the town that I had grown up in, as was the case for all my classmates. Most of my peers w

The Meaning of Love

Late in the night, I was sitting at my computer yet again (yes, production woes continue)when I see an ex-colleague online. We start having a mundane conversation and he asks me somewhere towards the end, "What is love? How is one supposed to feel when they are in love?" I couldn't give him an answer in complete honesty (he wasn't interested anyways) but I went back to re-feeling, if there is any such possibility, the feeling of being in love. The first time I actually felt love as a woman was on my first Valentine's Day with my husband. Since we spent most of our waking hours together, we had a pretty clear understanding of what we liked or disliked. Despite it being almost a year later, it was difficult to surprise each other. And yet, when he walked in through the door of the flat I used to live it, cake in one hand, flowers in another and a shy, reluctant smile on his face to let me know how bothersome the whole ordeal had been... I felt very special. He sat d

Age of Innocence

Lost (as always) by the window seat on the bus ride to office, I felt a little tug on my shoulder. Kids!! There's always those days when a screeching child is being fiddled over by the mother who is making a more sincere effort towards making it all look very appealing to the irritated fellow passengers than calming the apple of her eye. My flow of anguish was met by a pair of solemn eyes next to me belonging to a little girl no more than six years of age who muttered a very quiet 'Sorry' under her breath as she looked away. Her mother seemed unwell and had taken the only remaining vacant seat in the bus and her father stood protectively beside her. The little girl looked tired but knew better than asking for some space to sit down next to her mother. She had found a little space to squeeze into between her mother's knees and was trying very hard not to express her discomfit. It was not hard to see that she had learnt to adjust her requirements to the needs of those aro