Einaudi is a fucking genius, and I still cannot believe I share the planet with such exquisiteness. I love listening to him, and I love the way he moves his fingers over the piano. His love for his music gives me hope.
So. Music does bring back memories — as most of us have known all along — and I hereby declare Primavera the theme song of my life. It reminds me of everything I have ever said, done, heard, seen, smelled, tasted, touched, thought, experienced. It brings back my entire history and yet manages to tease out a coherent story from the chaotic mess.
I want to die listening to it, and I want it to be played at my funeral. Can I pay someone to do that, or are best friends expected to take care of these things?
This sounds like the queen’s necklace on a balmy Bombay night, like all of Delhi’s ruins compressed into three and a half minutes, like the mango tree I planted in Dehradun when I was in kindergarten, like Clarke Quay tinged with sorrow and hope, like the smell of the books that are my childhood, like long morning walks, like the joy of rain falling on my face, like dancing with mum, like having long conversations with dad, like gossamer sunshine on a December afternoon, like the shivering leaf I turned into the first time I kissed.
How does he do it?
i am disappearing a little with each passing day.
i am being replaced by the exquisitely minimalistic einaudi’s compositions. they follow me everywhere, curl up inside of me, stick to the soles of my shoes and jump up when i lift them; they peep at me from behind people’s eyes, and burst from their mouths when they laugh.
i wore my longest string of pearls today and my flowy dress and tried to move through air the way i giorni moves through me.
someday, i will be just as magical and beautiful. i will slip away from my body, be reduced to sound; compressions and rarefactions; furious rains; radiant sunflowers; gossamer sunshine; gentle lapping of waves on the shore; skin bathed in moonlight; long eyelashes and long fingers; smiling faces and familiar voices; hibiscus tea and solitary evenings; paper boats.
i love experiences much much more than i love people.
is this something i need to work on? (do i even want to know the answer to that question?)
i wake up feeling scared most mornings, but the comfort of being surrounded with magic makes me feel glad about being alive.
these are the best days, honestly.
i will stay up all night swaying to i giorni and sipping hibiscus tea.
i am the happiest person alive.