Metamorphosis

The end of fantasies,
The shattering of dreams.
Nothingness and darkness,
Engulf my senses.

The end of the world,
The beginning of another.
The dark era has begun,
The devil has shown himself.

The beast inside has come alive,
To prey on unsuspecting souls.
The furnace is boiling,
The agony inside is searing.

Pain stings like icicles on a winter night,
Blood flows like hot magma.
I am numbed and cold to feelings,
And I watch as all bonds are ripped apart.

Adrenalin surges through my veins,
As my animal instincts take over.
I feel the need for blood and gore,
And goodliness seems a distant cliche.

I loathe what I am turning into,
But betrayed I find only one way.
The darker path to salvation,
The way to peace with myself.

Of Music and Emotions

Have you ever listened to the music in horror movies? What about the music in inspirational or Disney movies? What kind of music do you listen to when you are sad? What kind of music do you listen to when you're happy? Since we are all human beings we all experience joy, anger, sadness and other feelings like those. We all have a ton of emotions that control how we act and what we say. Our emotions are triggered by many things. One of those things is Music.

Music has the ability to change the emotional and physical status of people, whether they are in bad moods, good moods, or sad moods.

There is a beautiful passage in a book called "Home of the Gentry", by Ivan Turgenev, where the protagonist of the novel listens to a piece of music being played on the piano that touches him to the core of his soul. I will quote part of this passage, since it describes very eloquently the almost mystical power that music wields over the human mind, a power which I find fascinating.

"The sweet, passionate melody captivated his heart from the first note; it was full of radiance, full of the tender throbbing of inspiration and happiness and beauty, continually growing and melting away; it rumoured of everything on earth that is dear and secret and sacred to mankind; it breathed of immortal sadness and it departed from the earth to die in the heavens."

The tremendous ability that music has to affect and manipulate emotions is undeniable, and yet largely inexplicable. As a musician, I will attempt to shed some light on music's ability to produce emotional responses in the brain.

One great problem that arises in trying to understand music's emotional power is that the emotional content of music is very subjective. A piece of music may be undeniably emotionally powerful, and at the same time be experienced in very different ways by each person who hears it. The emotion created by a piece of music may be affected by memories associated with the piece, by the environment it is being played in, by the mood of the person listening and their personality, by the culture they were brought up in: by any number of factors both impossible to control and impossible to quantify. Under such circumstances, it is extremely difficult to interpret what intrinsic quality of the music, if any, created a specific emotional response in the listener. Even when such seemingly intrinsic qualities are found, they are often found to be at least partially culturally dependent.

Several characteristics have been suggested that might influence the emotion of music. For example, major keys and rapid tempos generally cause happiness, whereas minor keys and slow tempos cause sadness, and rapid tempos together with dissonance cause fear. There is also a theory that dissonance sounds unpleasant to listeners across all cultures. Studies have shown that infants as young as 4 months old show negative reactions to dissonance.

One recent experiment measured the activity in the brain while subjects were played previously-chosen musical pieces which created feelings of intense pleasure for them. The musical pieces had an intrinsic emotional value for the subjects, and no memories or other associations attached to them. Activity was seen in the reward/motivation, emotion, and arousal areas of the brain. This result was interesting partly because these areas are associated with the pleasure induced by food, sex, and drug abuse, which would imply a connection between such pleasure and the pleasure induced by music.

These kinds of experiments show that music has the power to produce significant emotional responses, and they localize and quantify these responses within the brain.

Another quantifiable aspect of emotional responses to music is its effect on the physical aspects of human body. There is evidence that music can lower levels of stress, and is also good at inducing sleep (this of course depends on the kind of music). This is outwardly visible in terms of music's ability to relax, to calm, and to give peace. Music is often used in the background of hospitals to relax the patients, or in mental hospitals to calm potentially belligerent patients. It is also reported that music can cause the release of endorphins, and can therefore help relieve pain.

Love for and appreciation of music is a universal feature of human culture. It has been theorized that music even predates language. There is no question that music has grown to be an important part of human life, but we can only guess why. How does music succeed in prompting emotions within us? And why are these emotions often so powerful? The simple answer is that no one knows. We are able to quantify the emotional responses caused by music, but we cannot explain them.

May be, that is why music sometimes becomes synonymous to magic.

Businessman

Finally the long cherished dream of Sameer has come true. Sameer, a Civil Engineer and an MBA from a premier B-school of India, had the dream of starting his own business. Years of hard work and focus have finally borne fruit and just last week he has successfully launched his computer hardware manufacturing business with the inauguration of a small factory and a 800 sq. ft. office.

“I need to draw up a long-term strategy plan for Business Development”, he thought as he left his flat for office.

“Three clients, though big and confirmed, will take me nowhere,” “I need to bring in more clients asap.”

The huge traffic rush of the peak hour provided him some more time to think, “If I can get hold of a couple of medium sized clients, the company will break even in six months time.” “The investors have shown huge faith in my business plan and if I show a good ROI over the next two years, I will be able to bring in a lot more investment to shift up the business. In five years time, I will compete with Microtek and Ahuja.” “Then I will show the world, the spirit of a true entrepreneur.”

As he parked the car outside his office, he saw the interior constructors going in. The finishing touches are still going on in the office. His personal cabin is also not ready yet and as such he is using one of the tables in the main working area.

“Good morning Sameer sir,” said the receptionist, as he entered.

“Morning Neha,” he smiled back.

As he reached his table and started taking out his laptop, he saw a gentleman has come into the office and is talking with the receptionist. A neatly dressed middle aged man, with an attaché in one hand.

“Who that might be?” thought Sameer. “Holy shit!” he remembered in a flash, “He must be the prospect Aslam had talked of.”

Aslam is his old friend and works with a much larger firm in the computer hardware industry. He had promised to provide Sameer with some leads.

As he sat down and opened his laptop he saw the man coming towards him.

“Must bait the fish at all costs,” he thought to himself.

“A very good idea to make an impression,” he grinned in his mind.

He promptly picked up the telephone handset, pressed some random numbers and started talking in a bit louder voice.

“Yes, Mr. Brown, don’t worry a bit about the consignment. Its all set to go.” “No, I will be reaching LA on 28th of this month. Oh, what?” “The Senator wants to meet me?” “I am afraid I will not be able to meet him this time.” “I have a 15 million dollar deal to fix with Neosoft, you see.”

At this point, the man reached Sameer’s table. Sameer continued talking in the phone as he waved his hand and pointed the man towards one of the chairs.

“Yes, the Microsoft deal is already finalized.” “Yes, yes, don’t worry.” “You see, in another six months time, my company will reach the number one spot in the Indian computer hardware industry.” “Yeah, sure sure, don’t worry, don’t worry. Bye Mr. Brown.”

Finally satisfied that he has successfully created a great impression, he put down the phone.
Now, looking at the man, he said with a confident smile, “Yes Sir, what can I do for you?”
With a confused look on the face the man said, “Nothing Sir! I have come to activate your phone line!”

Jama Masjid – 14th April, 2006

Chotu.

That was his name. At least, that was the name he liked more. He had a better name though, but he was too small either to pronounce it or to understand its richness – Jamalluddin Muhammad. Chotu was 6 years old. His mother was a widow and begged all day outside Jama Masjid for a living. During the day, Chotu roamed around the Masjid gathering experiences; a few of them pleasant, most of them unpleasant and some of them shocking as well.

Just like Chotu, Jama Masjid has also had a good bit of experience. It has seen the downfall of the Mughal kingdom and the rise of the British rule. It has given shelter to innumerable freedom fighters during the freedom struggle, irrespective of their religious identity. Later still, it has stood tall the communal riot of 1992 when one of its predecessors Babri Masjid was pulled down like a paper house.

Jama Masjid is surrounded by a huge market. A market where you can get almost everything available under the sky. Starting from needles you have watches, key rings, bangles, bindis, motor-bike parts, peanuts, fast-foods, televisions, toothpastes, broomsticks, sunglasses and diamonds as well; you name it and you have it here.

One day, Chotu got attracted to the colourful sunglasses which were kept in the stationary shop outside the Masjid. He slowly went over to the shop, took one sunglass – bright red in colour, and started returning back – too young to understand the meaning of the word “Stealing”.

“Slap!” came the first blow from behind.

As he tried to get up from the ground and turned, another harder reddened his left cheek. By this time, he started crying, not because of pain or insult but mainly as a reflex action which God has given every child. Fortunately, his ‘Ammi’ was not far from the place and rescued him as soon as she heard the scream of Chotu.

After a few hot exchange of words with the shopkeeper, Chotu’s mother picked him up and took him away to the main stairs of the Masjid. Chotu was still crying. His mother took out a tiny paper bag untying it from the corner of her saree and started dangling it in front of Chotu’s eyes, with a meaningful smile on her lips. Like a flash, Chotu’s tears disappeared and the same smile appeared on his lips; with his eyes fixed on the paper bag.

“What is it Ammi?” asked Chotu, although certain of the answer.

“Moong-dal beta”, said she, “for you and yours friends”.

Now Chotu had some friends in the Masjid. The group of pigeons which used to roam around the big courtyard of the Masjid, were his best of friends. People used to feed them with yellow-rice and other stuff, particularly favourite to the pigeons. In comparison to those, Chotu’s ‘Moong-dal’ was neither a favourite nor fulfilling in quantity, but somehow these pigeons trusted Chotu more over others and easily came into Chotu’s small hands whenever he called them. Chotu even had all of them named.

“Pappu, see what Ammi had sent for you”, called out Chotu, “Munni, for you too”.

He took a handful of ‘Moong-dal’ in his right palm and spread it out for his friends. In an instant, his tiny palm disappeared among the group of half-flying pigeons and the next instant his palm was empty. Chotu felt amused. He started chatting with his friends, munching on his share of ‘Moong-dal’ and complaining about the ill-treatment that he had to bear a little while ago.

“That man there is Shaitaan. Beat me up for nothing”, he went on to his friends. “Ammi says Allah punishes all those who do wrong”, he said to his friends pointing towards the huge Masjid building. In his mind, he didn’t know the difference between Allah and Masjid. The great structure called for awe within him and he thought the Masjid to be Allah himself.

“Then why don’t Allah walk up to him and give him a slap?” he got lost in thoughts.



In 1656, ordered by Mughal emperor Shah Jehan, Jama Masjid, also known as Masjid-i-Jahan-Numa, was the result of the continuous, inhuman tedious effort of 5,000 labourers who toiled for 6 long years under the leadership of Ustab Khalil. Built on the Bho Jhala hill, the Masjid was constructed in the city of Shajahanabad keeping Red Fort as the prop. 25,000 worshippers can perform their prayers in the courtyard of this mosque. This mosque in Old Delhi, displaying both Hindu and Islamic styles of architecture, was built to replicate Moti Masjid at Red Fort in Agra. Legend says that the walls of the mosque were tilted at a certain angle so that if an earthquake occurs the walls would collapse outward. Not only do the Muslims come here to offer their prayers but also people of other religion to behold this great work of art. This huge pouring in of masses has resulted in this place as being one of the major targets for the beggars. The main stairs outside the Masjid can always be seen full of beggars of all ages and genders. Chotu’s mother was one of them.

Its been long that Chotu had gone to meet his friends and had not come back yet. Chotu’s mother was worried. Its almost 5 pm now and that lad had not come for lunch also. Chotu’s mother had been busy all day since it was a Friday and a lot of people had poured in to offer their prayers. Normally more people meant more business. Chotu’s mother set out in search of Chotu towards the main door of the Masjid. The Imam of Jama Masjid was coming from the opposite direction.

She asked him, “Imam saab, did you see my boy?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied with a smile, “he is near the pool.”

Chotu’s mother found Chotu observing intensely the people who have come to wash their hands and feet before offering their prayers.

“Ammi, why are they washing their hands and feet?” Chotu asked.

“Beta, these people have come to pray to Allah and they clean themselves before starting the prayer to show respect to Allah”, replied his mother.

“Ammi, I also respect Allah. Should I clean myself up too?”

“Of course, my dear. Someday I will teach you how to do that. Now lets go and eat something. You have not eaten anything the whole day.”

She promptly took him up in her arms and went back to the stairs. Making him sit on the stairs, she pulled out a packet of bread and a few sweets and started feeding Chotu, chatting with him incoherently. Few minutes later, Chotu started nagging.

“Ammi, not any more, please.” He went on, “I can’t eat anymore, please Ammi”.

“No beta, this last piece, please my dear boy, my little angel”, she tried to persuade him holding out the last piece of bread in her right hand.

Chotu stood up and started running towards the inner left corner of the courtyard, screaming, “Not any more! Not any more! Not any more!”

A sudden crash and a deafening sound pushed Chotu into the ground. He stood up seconds later, crying as his reflex action started overpowering him again. He turned back to find injured and bleeding people all around. He looked towards the stairs to see his mother, but only saw her right hand lying there, the last bread crumb still clasped in it. The Government later said that there were no mortalities and only thirteen were injured in the explosion. And there stood Chotu looking at the pieces of his mother’s dead-body. No… there stands Jamalluddin, looking at the stairs where pieces of his mother’s dead body laid twenty years before, planning to pay back. “How? By blowing away some temple somewhere perhaps”, he thought as he turned around and walked away…

Disclaimer: All characters, names and events depicted in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional and is not intended to hurt any moral, religious or sentimental feelings of any community, caste or person.