Baby can I hold You

04 baby can i hold you


It’s an old song track from Boyzone, a name many haven’t heard in this time of Linkin Park and Jal and the like. Boyzone was a boy band that sang pop love songs in the 1990’s. They disintegrated later on, and only Ronan Keating alone of that band sings today. I am not their brand ambassador, so don’t take me for that. I just like their songs.

I have a few of their songs in my computer, and I was listening to one of them right now, named Baby can I hold You.

They say music is the language of the soul. At first I took it for one of those meaningless things full of nice words that people say when they are moved. Well, now I know it’s not that. It has meaning, a logical, comprehensible meaning. Maybe I can explain it with the help of this song.

The guitar at the beginning of the song is soft, rhythmic and mellow, the sort that makes you feel happy and sad at the same time. The sort that reminds you of that little hidden stream in the mountain forests that you never before saw in life except once or twice with the inner eye. Then comes the voice, and the music takes on a more rhythmic tone, and believe me, it remains no longer a song for me. It becomes a sort of inner eye itself, a journey to my own internal universe and its seldom-visited little worlds, a pacifying medicine that I must have, a song I cannot stop. It tells me of things long forgotten, things that maybe I never saw or felt before, and yet there is an eerie feeling that this is a recollection from the past, fragments of some distant life I must have led somewhere. There are hazy, dream-like visions of a sepia landscape, a sepia road that winds down to a port, where there is a small ship or boat moored, its sails dim and sad in the dying sun’s rays. The images come as if they have been extracted from the distant and forgotten realm of some past time, with the scent of old memories in them. And yet, I can strongly say that I have never been in places like that.

The song reminds me of the time when my sister was given her own room, and she was so happy about it that she blared Boyzone songs in her room in happiness. It was an evening, as far as I remember. It has been a long time since this happened, and I won’t bet it really was evening, because all memories after a time melt and recreate themselves into sweeter images, and for me the evening is the best part of the day. So it might easily be the case that my subconscious mind decided to tune the image and bathe it in a softer glow of evening. Anyway, that is my first memory of Boyzone, and I faintly remember either feeling or telling my sister that the songs were good.

The cassette was hers. I played it a lot too, in the coming days. It was named Boyzone… by request, and it is till date the best collection of songs I have ever heard.

Anyways, as I was saying, I was listening to one of their songs, and well, it worked its magic once again. I was transported at once to a world that never was, a great field touching the unblocked horizon on all sides, and a single line of spaced-out haystacks running across that field, with the sun shining softly on them, making them glow golden-orange. Against one of the stacks stood a girl I love, a girl I have loved since always and will love forever, and she is none of the girls I have met in my waking life. She is just my mental portrayal of love, and she lives nowhere but my mind. The sun falls on her smiling face and a huge welling feeling urges inside me. All of life’s problems, little disappointments and anxieties are put to sleep for a few precious moments as I take in her beautiful face and the dying sunlight bathing it, and breathe easy after a long time.

Have you ever heard a song, or read some lines from a book, or smelt a smell or heard a name that arises in you some strong emotion for some reason, and you get a feeling that this specific element is associated with something bigger that has happened in life? As you search your memory, out pours from mind the song you heard on a cassette borrowed from a friend you liked a lot, the book you had to do a research on and got C- grade in it, the smell of perfume that a girl you once loved used to wear, a name that meant a lot to you in a time left behind years ago. This song creates images in my mind in much the same way. The wooden harbour, the girl in the golden field, all seem to have drifted to me from some long-forgotten phase of my life, maybe not this one, maybe some other life I had led somewhere, some other love I had experienced, all now reduced to fragments of mental images that shimmer in mind like a dream.



Is all that you can’t say

Years go by and still

Words don’t come easily

Like sorry


Forgive me

Is all that you can’t say

Years go by and still

Words don’t come easily

Like forgive me


But you can say baby

Baby can I hold you tonight

Baby if I told you the right words

Ooh, in the right time

You’ll be mine…


Three Wishes


Wishes are for forever.

Little desires, hopes and expectations of the mind.

Crimson sunset skies, sunny mornings and the patter of the rain.

Friends nestle in the second layer.

Everlasting photographs of familiar faces

And laughter echoing through lonely memory lane

Phone numbers the finger hasn’t traced for years.

The third layer, deep and warm, as in a homoeothermic animal,

Bears the wishes of a million hearts that have beat till now.

Each the same beat, but a different wish.

One for a movie, the other a date, the third will do with the telephone.

I will go for night sky stars. Quiet words etched over the velvet panel.

If the stars did not love each other, would they remain for so many thousand years?

Deep inside, the child knows it’s the moon cruising through the clouds.

The prison had taught the other way round.

So I shall stare into your eyes, two universes, underneath the quiet galaxies of this one.

Dim silver moonlight on the person I love so much.

And we shall never let go

That is my third wish.

And then I die happily ever after.


We are all here with a purpose

We are all here with a purpose.



n Me and my group, us, all of us, mankind, living world, the Universe.

We are one. Me, my group, my friends, us, mankind, living world, the Universe. All is one. It is a misconception to treat it as plural instead of singular. I separate into We at creation, Genesis, and merge into I at the End. Creation is giving a million different masks to the same thing, so that the different masks induce us to think of creation on the basis of multiple created things, whereas all created things, that is us, as well as the mask itself, is one, the mask-maker.



v Exist at present.

‘Conquer Time, and all you have left is Now.’ — Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Existence is infinite in space and time. It is unfortunate it has to be expressed through a word that denotes only Present, an idea non-existent in actuality. It may be how we perceive existence that is finite, for our vision changes with time, as all Wakers know, but Existence in itself shall not be bounded by Time, for Time is subordinate. Time exists because Existence does. For if Existence weren’t there before Time, how would Time exist?



pr Everything, each thing.

‘Everything is the manifestation of one thing only.’ — Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.

Every last thing you can think of, even your thinking, and yes, even you, is the same thing. Just as a dustbin looks like a circle, a rectangle and a cylinder from different angles, although all three are the same, so are All things a different angle of the same thing, the only thing.



pr This place, and not that.

‘Conquer Space, and all you have left is Here.’ — Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

When we shed the limitations of the body, all places are the same. We differentiate Here from There because the places are separated by the time it takes for us to be Here and be There, for we cannot be at two places at the same time, thanks to our limited body. The mind can roam all places at once, as all daydreamers know, and hence all places are Here, for thoughts can be everywhere always.



prep Association, togetherness.

To be with someone, I need to be different from that someone. Being close requires us to be apart in identity, whereas the higher truth allows only being so close that we cannot be with each other. So close, in fact, that we are each other. An indivisible single identity.



art One, single.

What was before Everything Happened, what remains after Everything has Happened. As Physics works towards unifying all with The Theory of Everything, it is oblivious of the fact that unity totally explained requires a higher medium than our language, our science. But with only one thing and none other, how would that one thing exist? For something to exist, it requires at least a second thing to know, at least believe, it exists. If Everything comes down to One, how can that be made possible? Is Existence the only thing that watches itself exist and hence keeps itself existing?



n What needs to be accomplished or fulfilled; reason for being

If All is One, and Everything is the same thing, if Past is Present is Future, if cause and effect are the same, and there is nothing to be achieved or accomplished or completed, where is room left for reason? Purpose, then, has no purpose.




Close your eyes now, and forget about this writing. Don’t be scared. Remember, we are all here with a purpose.



What You Never Knew


What you never knew






<Read each line carefully. Don’t breeze through it, and you will understand.>


<The colours are not here for fun. I do not believe in messing up the blog with colours without purpose.


Legend (Font information applicable in Microsoft Word):


Normal narrative (what I say)   

I used my normal formatting. Grey Arial 10pt.


What every common person says     

I used the commonest formatting. Automatic Black Times New Roman (the default) 11pt.


The Dream Lord       

The Sandman, Morpheus, Oneiros, whatever you choose to call him. The shaper of dreams – Greek mythology. Colour that of sodium street lights (sepia) – “The colour of dreams”. Orange Harrington 12pt.


The Sandman’s words

Following the format used in The Sandman series by Neil Gaiman. Remember that this is also Morpheus’ words because he is the same person. White Arial 10pt highlight Black.


The Realms, or the Worlds.

The Dreaming or Matrix, and the Waking or Real. Colours of the different worlds as distinctly portrayed by the movies. Watch any of the three movies, and you shall see green for the matrix, and blue for the real. Teal or Dark Teal Copperplate Gothic Light 12pt.  


From “Through the Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll

Tried to make it as “childish” as possible (courtesy Project Gutenberg). Light Blue Comic Sans MS 10pt Bold.


The Wakers

Humans. The ones who know they are Dreaming. The ones who know about the Beyond. My favourite group. Sky Blue Century Gothic 11pt.>




<This piece is entirely composed by me. Helpful sources:


Greek Mythology


Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll


The Sandman Series of graphic novels.>











Hollow breaths will mumble unknowingly the powerful words that once a powerful soul gave birth to. Peaceful, oblivious of the truth that glows from within the quotes, they hold the words as cultural banners in social gatherings.  ‘ “We are such stuff as dreams are made of.” Shakespeare said it. You know what it means, kid? It means we are as powerful as the dreams we dare imagine in our lives. Doctor, engineer, or even becoming an astronaut like you are going to be.’


‘I shall wait,’ whispered The Sandman. ‘I shall wait, and see if they can wake to the dream.’

The Sandman has had few visitors since eternity. Not all in Dreamland know where they are.


‘Man, did you hear his voice? So deep. It was awesome! It was like, wait… yeah. "The Matrix is a computer-generated dream world." ‘

‘Wo man, that’s an awesome impression! They will be taking you instead of Fishburne as Morpheus in Reloaded.’

‘Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure was real?’

Laughter echoed through the streets as the friends walked home after the movie.


The words, impressions fade away as all cheap dialogue in action movies like The Matrix do. Action movies. Yeah, ‘action’ movies like The Matrix.




The Greek god of dreams is named Morpheus.

Morpheus was the son of Hypnos, god of sleep, and he himself was the god of dreams.”


There have been visitors to The Sandman over the ages, of course, lone figures that stood the test of time and are still spoken of in cultural meetings. We have only understood and remembered the tips of the heavy, unknown icebergs they were. Da Vinci, Shakespeare, even Lewis Carroll, storywriter ‘for children’. The icebergs they were were often put into their works, subtly, so craftily you wouldn’t ever dare dream what they meant when they said:


`It’s only the Red King snoring,’ said Tweedledee.

`He’s dreaming now,’ said Tweedledee: `and what do you think he’s dreaming about?’

Alice said `Nobody can guess that.’

`Why, about YOU!‘ Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. `And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you’d be?’

`Where I am now, of course,’ said Alice.

`Not you!’ Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. `You’d be nowhere. Why, you’re only a sort of thing in his dream!’


And only the tips of the icebergs remain. ‘I wonder if ever anything so humorous as Through the Looking Glass was ever written. Why, I think it even surpasses Wonderland. Perfect children’s literature.’

Children. Those who believe in dreams. In more than one level. ‘Children’s literature.’ Jesus, if the grown-ups knew what growing up meant on a different dimension.


The Sandman shall wait.

The Wakers have had conflicts of their own, inside them. Identity crisis. The vacuum they unearthed Beyond the Dreaming has touched our lives too, in the library or in the movie hall, unnoticed, unrecognized.


‘Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him,’ said Tweedledum, `when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real.’

`I am real!’ said Alice and began to cry.


I am sure that Carroll has cried in his mind, if not outside, when he uncovered Wonderland and realized all that is Beyond is nothing. I know, because I have had stuff like that, too.

‘Wake to the desert,’ said Morpheus, a perplexed Neo to his side, ‘of the Real.’




– A Waker.






Another example for the same old rule

(You shouldn’t give up)


I was playing Need for Speed III. Ancient game, but I like it all the same. After a while, all the cute graphics and all become meaningless; all that is left is sharp right, slow left, brake hard and sharp left (let the tail swerve around, buddy), dodge that fiendish blue truck, and so on…

Anyways, that’s not the point. I was playing with my favourite Lamborghini Diablo SV against seven El Ninos on Atlantica, one of the faster tracks. The El Ninos were a lot better than me, but I tried my best to try my best. Halfway through the first lap, I hit a wall. I eventually groaned up to a decent speed, but by then, I was back by considerable distance, a downtrodden eighth among eight cars.

I thought of pressing [Esc]. I did, too. The pause menu showed up. After a quiet battle inside of me, I hit Continue. The once-race-now-turned-catch-up game started.

Halfway through the second lap, I had covered up a lot of the distance and even managed to barge into the group of proud Ninos. I was going sixth among eight when I hit a wall again. Five seconds later, as I groaned up to 100 mph again, the upper right-hand corner of my screen showed 8th of 8.

I didn’t press [Esc].

I ended the race with a podium finish, a broken, yet proud (if NFS III could show car damage, or user mental status) Diablo SV among much faster El Ninos, third among eighth.