Winds of hope and despair

The melancholy that springs in the heart over the loss of the golden olden days of music

Well, I am a Nineties child and unlike many in my cohort, I do not miss the songs I hummed in my childhood. Rather I have a melancholy in my heart for not witnessing the period before the Eighties — the romantic Seventies and the wary Sixties, when songs were musical expressions of the heart. August 1947 brought with itself the wind of hopes, which broke the chains of captivity in all senses that one could imagine. We became sovereign politically and individually. Individual freedom is what I want to stress upon. Our minds, our hearts were flooding with ideas and expressions and the pen became the most beautiful yet the strongest way of expression. For all the knowledge I have about writing, I know that it has no rules, unless it is an academic piece. All that a piece of writing must do is to touch another’s conscience and connect with the life of the other. The experiences of the men and women before the Eighties were so vibrant and their lives were so interconnected that they could actually feel episodic heats and colds of the changes in the world.