Sound Therapy. Bengal Monsoon.

Sound Therapy. Bengal Monsoon.

Let’s talk about pleasant sounds.
Sound can work as therapy for the perched soul. It’s like a rain shower in Bengal after a long, hard spell of summer.
Sound can work as magic for the forlorn. Sound can soothe the sad and the depressed.
Pleasant sound is music. It’s the music of sound. It’s the music of soul.
But you must want it with all your heart — to make it happen.
Try it.
Soft sound. Subtle sound. Long-lost sound. Sounds you love to hear.
Sounds you always loved to hear.
Search with your eyes closed. Go back down the memory lane. Look in your heart. Listen carefully. Focus. Concentrate. Like Yoga. Breathe normally.
Get rid of all your stress and anxiety.
Can you totally detach yourself from the rest of the world and wait for the bliss to come back to life — one sound at a time?
Try it.
It works like magic. It is one of the best meditations you can ever buy — for free.
I do it often. Sounds that reside deep inside my mind. I look for them. I pray for them. I dream.
Here in North America. Sounds like gemstone.

Here in North America. Sounds like gemstone.

I pick up two pebbles from the sand — two beautiful-looking rocks — and softly hit one against the other. As if I’m chanting a mantra. Om…ting…ting…ting…
And then, they come back from those long-lost childhood days. Even grown-up days. My Kolkata days. My Bengal days. My India days. And then, my days in here in America.
Like, rain drops in early June — Prospect Park, Brooklyn.
They return, slowly, one beloved sound at a time. Like a quiet morning drizzle.
Think what you saw. Dream what you heard.

Think what you saw. Dream what you heard.

Try it. Try it with me.
You might want to thank me for this.
Nobody can photograph the sound you loved the most. Not even the best video camera has that kind of power. Only your mind has captured them and stored them — deep inside.
Your job is to want them to come back — with all your heart, with the best words to pray, with the softest yearning.
If you know how to want them to come back, believe me, they will come back.
Brazil v Italy -- in Kolkata. I was there.

Brazil v Italy — in Kolkata. I was there.

They come back to me. They return, slowly, with love.
Rain drops in a fish pond. Dark clouds. Thunder happened earlier. Now it patters. In lush green. Tops…tops…toops…trops…troops…
Football drops in a pool of gray slush. Splash…Splruch…splush…lots of giggles. Young boys laugh.
Sea waves breaking on the beach of Puri. High waves. Bathing in it. Stomach initially fears. Then relaxes. Gets ready for major fun. With family members or friends.
Lots of giggles. And some little coughs and screams too. Somebody drank salt water.
Remember. Try.
You shall reward yourself, richly.
Pleasantly Writing,
Brooklyn, New York
Memory. Sounds. Fun.

Memory. Sounds. Fun.