A red veil hiding her face for the prying eye, a woman walks near a waterfall, her anklets chiming cheerfully. The wind whispers pass her, drawing the veil away from her face. Her heart skips a beat, lest someone should she see her. Her laughter is unbidden as she realizes she is alone to enjoy her walk. And enjoy it, she does. Joy all but a shroud around her.

A lady stands alone on a crowded path, watching as the world goes by. Her eyes speak of loneliness and sorrows, her heart cries of regrets. Broken by a false love, she bears the burden of long lost dreams. On a quest for happiness, she’d left her home only to know misery. People ask her why she has no words to offer. Unmindful, she moves on, a sad smile on her face. Her words are her own, as are her tears—spoken for her ears and understood by her heart alone.

Wondering what I am at? Well, nothing, really. Just relishing the old melodies! Read the above paragraphs again, folks. They aren’t a figment of my imagination . . . exactly. They’re a picture conjured by evergreen verses.


Music is magic, if you ask me. And the old melodies are magic at its pinnacle. They never, at least in so far as I go, fail to put me in a spell. The lyrics weave a scene in my head. When I listen to the wonderful melodies crafted in times past, the fifties to seventies in particular, they’re like chapters of a story to me.

The scenes above are conjured by two amazing songs. Can you guess them? They’ve been sung by no other than the voice of the millennium, Late Mangeshker. One is, as is apparent from the scene, a jovial one, whilst the other is rather gloomy. None the less, both are classics in their own right.

Haven’t guessed the songs? Duh! They are Hawa mein udta jaye lal dupatta malmal ka & Mohabbat ki jhooti kahani.

The latter is one of my all time favorites. The old songs aren’t just deep in meaning but also great works of literature, if you asked me. The lyricists of old times were poets and the verses they wrote are remembered still. The poignancy in the old melodies even the best of today can’t match. That’s but my opinion. Most people, the youth in particular, find them over the top and boring. You might think I am one of those who’d deem contemporary music as nothing but noise. You’d be wrong, and drastically so. I love contemporary. In fact, three quarters of my playlist is contemporary. I just like old ones, too.

I am a victim of chronic case of mood-shifts-without-notice-in-a-blink. I’ve got to be in a certain weird not-sad-not-happy mood to listen to old songs. If I have a coffee in hand, all the better!

I remember someone asking me what according to me would be a perfect day. I am one of those people who believe perfect is over rated. My idea of perfect changes every other day . . . I may enjoy something today and get bored of it in a week’s time. It’s rather common place for me. So, yup, to my mind, there’s nothing such as THE perfect day. But there are perfect days.

Most recently, my perfect day starts and ends with a cold coffee, two scoops of ice cream, a good book and of course old melodies. Curled up on the couch, a mug of cold coffee topped with ice cream in one hand and a book in another, listening to old songs playing in the background . . . that’s one hell of a day.

Since I’ve already babbled on and on about the songs, let me take on the other three.


Cold coffee lovers would know what I mean when I say it’s a guilty pleasure. It’s one of those rare treasures I have yet to get bored of. And ice cream speaks for itself I’d say. Who doesn’t like it?

A Good book . . . well, that’s something which is a part of all of my perfect days. Nothing better than reading a good story, and being just a little part of it, albeit as a spectator!


I am one of the crazy lots of book lovers who tend to get lost in a read, so much so, even a hungry, growling belly can’t break the spell. I am sure the book lover would know what I mean when I say reading a good book is like being put under a spell only broken once the book is over. My sister often complains I love novels more than I love her, which is of course nothing but talk and the little brat knows it, too. Though, I do have a bad tendency of ignoring her in favor of fictional characters. Then again, I’ve been known to put aside the book in favor of a pillow fight with the little brat, so the who gets more attention is better loved point is moot.

Anyway, that was all about one of my perfect days.

PS: It was a clam sorts, wasn’t it. Other are more, let’s say, volatile. Not in a bad way, though. Just lots upheaval and hours of wrecking hell. Perhaps one day I’d talk about them, too. Who knows?

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