I groove to my kind of music

By Sandhya D’Mello

I have learned to ignore the moods of my foolish soul as it often oscillates like a pendulum between my body and my spirit and tends to find solace in soothing music, and foot tapping beats. The sound of instruments and heart-touching lyrics stir our moods. To think of it, there is a song for every mood, but what you choose to keep yourself in high spirits is a point to ponder on.

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When the legendary Urdu poet Bashir Badr patted my back

By Tirtho Banerjee

Dusk was slowly tiptoeing and the zephyr gently swaying the gulmohar tree. Adeebah didi (as an older sister is referred to in Hindi), our landlord’s granddaughter, who I looked up to as my mentor then, was explaining to me an English poem from my intermediate (Grade12) book. It was either Sarojini Naidu’s The Palanquin Bearers or P.B. Shelley’s Stanzas Written In Dejection Near Naples. The year was 1987 or early 1988 in Lucknow.

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Here’s what made me tune in to podcasts

By Sarwat Nasir

If you spot anyone with earphones on and staring blankly into space, with not even a faint sound of music emanating from their earpiece, don’t immediately assume they’re depressed or withdrawn from the world. They could possibly be listening to podcasts.
It’s a lesson I learned last month when I asked my younger sister why she always had her AirPods plugged in and was zoned out.
“What you doing?” I had asked on a quiet Friday morning.

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A song-filled ode to a musical genius who’s ‘been’ there

By Tirtho Banerjee

When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I used to listen to Hemanta Kumar Mukherjee’s renditions of Rabindra Sangeet: Diner Sheshe Ghumer Deshe, Mone Robe Ki Na Robe, and so on, which my baba (father) would play on his record player. Some of the lyrics were unfathomable back then (and most of them still are), but there was something in his soulful voice that kept lingering in my consciousness.

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Miso soup: A bowl of regret to recall people

By Alvin R. Cabral

never liked miso soup — unflattering for someone who worships Japanese cuisine. Yet, here I was, in a downtown San Francisco resto, sipping away at the concoction I never got to like because I had no choice: There was no Wi-Fi, I didn’t have data and, most agonisingly, it would take 15-20 more minutes before my sashimi, katsudon and some weird deep-fried dragon roll would have the honour of being devoured by this worshipper.

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