Street musician....
It was not directly from Mozard nor from Beethoven, not even from Bach, not even from Elton John or even from Raman....but it was all from the Street of Nepal that touched my heart deeply in terms of Music. The trio of two boys and a girl otherwise, collegians....Madal, Sarangi and girl vocalist. The music blended with air and touched my heart like the fingers of beloved....madly, deeply and passionately in love......like the depth of Mariana, or the the chasm of Rabbit hole in Alice in the wonder land, I fell this never ending emotional touch. The girl of about Nineteen sang with passion with the smudges of typical Nepali shy laden maiden, squinting her eyes and busing like the red rose in the sun yet as continual to the rhythm and note of Sarangi. I watched her motionless....wanted to see her in her eyes but she never gazed on. Wanted to hug her and say, girl, you sing like angle but my rush was overpowering me. The dusty Nepali highway was quite an experience, more so with the sweaty enthusiasts and human ring growing thicker and trickier just to hear these band. I do not know, whether this is their profession or will or more so the temporal money venting charisma, but I forgive them for their follies. The echo of their sweet songs stuck in my ears and its a matter of time and age to replace them with another contemporary symphony but till then, they are the best. For the whole wheel, I contemplated, realizing that many many more are touched, just like me. Only difference is, they never know how much music they make....how many lives they touch. They are just the street musicians, lured by the need of the moment, ruthlessly beaten by time and space......
It was not directly from Mozard nor from Beethoven, not even from Bach, not even from Elton John or even from Raman....but it was all from the Street of Nepal that touched my heart deeply in terms of Music. The trio of two boys and a girl otherwise, collegians....Madal, Sarangi and girl vocalist. The music blended with air and touched my heart like the fingers of beloved....madly, deeply and passionately in love......like the depth of Mariana, or the the chasm of Rabbit hole in Alice in the wonder land, I fell this never ending emotional touch. The girl of about Nineteen sang with passion with the smudges of typical Nepali shy laden maiden, squinting her eyes and busing like the red rose in the sun yet as continual to the rhythm and note of Sarangi. I watched her motionless....wanted to see her in her eyes but she never gazed on. Wanted to hug her and say, girl, you sing like angle but my rush was overpowering me. The dusty Nepali highway was quite an experience, more so with the sweaty enthusiasts and human ring growing thicker and trickier just to hear these band. I do not know, whether this is their profession or will or more so the temporal money venting charisma, but I forgive them for their follies. The echo of their sweet songs stuck in my ears and its a matter of time and age to replace them with another contemporary symphony but till then, they are the best. For the whole wheel, I contemplated, realizing that many many more are touched, just like me. Only difference is, they never know how much music they make....how many lives they touch. They are just the street musicians, lured by the need of the moment, ruthlessly beaten by time and space......
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