Alien Syllables

To you, 50 years later.

2012-01-17T22:58:00.001+05:30

"The sun is watching us. We are late in waking up, again! I turn over to look at you as you sleep, with that slightly tired, slightly satisfied expression on your face. There are more grays than black on your head now. And your once smooth back is slightly wrinkled. I remember the first time I saw you; I felt I could never be pretty enough to catch your eye. It makes me smile still : the day you confessed you wanted to be for me as long as life allows.

You have always been good with promises. I wonder if there would ever be a time, when we would be able to go back to the past. Not to change, but to relive what we so fondly created together. When I was young, and had found you, things were not like they are in the movies; I did not simply get enlightened that you are, indeed, the one person I can always call my own. And I wondered if I made the wrong choice? Plato had me confused.

And this feeling took a long long time to subside. When you are born in the age where everyone is hurting each other, when there are more heartbreaks than the population of the country, your head is by default filled with thoughts you wish you never knew. But we all grow up. We learn to trust against our instincts. We learn that faith is the only way to happiness. And as you lay here, right by my side, and we grow old along with the things we brought new, I know you have already forgiven me.

Is love a lesson? I wouldn't know. Loving you hasn't taught me the way of life. It hasn't made me think or philosophize either. Come to think of it, it hasn't left room for anything but living each and every moment with you as it happens. There was a time when I craved to be able to spend as much as time as I can, around you. I guess I was afraid that if I don't, either you or I will grow used to the others' absence. And it used to scare me. There were so many insecurities, so much fear of failing, that I sometimes get surprised how was I able to endure so much negativity?

But see where life has brought us. To some, your juvenile video games and my unfinished poems would make no sense. They would expect us to be more involved in the search of God; to get above these worldly matters. I guess they have a different definition of everything than Us.

You still ain't awake. Not even a cup of coffee does the trick for your old bones now. I guess I'll just take a stroll, watch the neighborhood dog do his hopeless - chasing ritual. All my life, I complained about not being able to spend my time as I wish to, and now when I look back and think how would I spend it if given another chance, I can not think of a better alternative."

- Leela.

Leela S. lives with her husband in a rented cottage in Dharamshala. They recently celebrated their 50th Anniversary, and made a bet with their guests, that they will be around to celebrate a 75th. They travel too much for their age; as a result Leela has more souvenirs in her bedroom than clothes. And they both are messy : It would take them a good ten minutes to find the missing pair of a slipper. They claim that this is just to keep themselves from having too much of free time.

If you ever happen to visit this part of the world, and find an old couple trying to reach the highest peak of Dauladhar mountain, you have met them. They say that the day they finally conquer it, would be the day they'll be ready to die peacefully.

The Reality, the Magic, the Realization.

2012-01-08T04:08:00.001+05:30

When I was 8 years old, My mom read me a story about a girl who kept her coursebook under her pillow one night, and that night she dreamt about all that was written in the book. The next day was her exam on the same subject, which naturally went good. And I think it was the effect of watching too much Aladdin and my inclination towards laziness that I believed this to be true. I secretly kept my coursebook beneath my pillow for a week and waited for the dream. There were two things wrong with this :

1. Firstly, I did this secretly because I knew if Ma saw it, she would laugh at my sillyness. So I didn't really believe in it. I sure as hell wanted to!

2. Secondly, I hadn't opened the book once. So even if I had dreamt of it, I wouldn't have known.

Now these two things became clear to me many years later. Probably when I was about to finish High School. Though I stopped believing in these stories much earlier, It was a long while before I gave it a thought and cleared the thing in my mind.

And this was not the only realization; there were many like this : like the realization that I didn't think, like my grandma did, that praying and being a good girl would fulfill all my wishes. After reading many horrible real life stories, I was disillusioned. I started regarding all the wonderful and magical as crap. I snorted at people who believed in them. I thought I was so clear headed; that I saw things for what they are; I'm not caught up in nonsense.

Thus passed another couple of years : the last teenage years. I was just living in my view of the world : Everyone was expected to be outspoken. Everything was demanded to be shown as it is. No need for creativity, it didn't really bring any kind of joy. No need for smart words; they have a short life. I was not narcissistic, but I was practically living in a parallel world; as if there was a film covering my eyes and adjusting the view, muting the sounds, as and when I wished.

After college - the time when many things happen and force you to rethink and rediscover yourself, I have been in a neutral zone. Like a comma patient. Don't get worried already, it is a ill chosen, but apt enough metaphor. I am thinking about many things, I'm acting and reacting. I'm disagreeing with many, agreeing with many. But things are hazy. It's like trying to design an ideal system; it is impossible. And this is the only thing that keeps hitting me back. That perfection is imaginary. That if I decide to disbelieve in magic, I'll have to disbelieve in reality as well. Because nothing is clearly defined. Or maybe it is too complex for me to understand.

And this dilemma haunted me for a while. If right and wrong is ill defined, how do I draw a line? Because even if I disagree with the theories and teachings of religions, and decide to build up my own defintion, it always is destroyed by an irrefutable exception : a real-life experience. So what should I do? There has to be a code of ethics after all! If you are thinking I'm going to now conclude this post with wise words, and go all preachy, take a breath; I ain't. I think the day I find the answer to this seemingly mindless nonsense, would be the day I'll feel like Newton did when the apple fell on his head. Enlightenment can mean different things to different people.

Also, on a totally unrelated note, we often hear that the Universe is Expanding. But in what is it expanding? I mean, things expand in space, but universe itself is the space and everything in it. So the galaxies are drawing farther away from each other, but does that mean Universe is like a container where the galaxies are now occupying places unoccupied? I don't think I'm doing a good job of explaining my Query properly; I'm having trouble with the language. I'll come back to this some other time, But if you did understand what I'm trying to ask, then tell me, wouldn't it mean universe is finite? But that can not be, can it? So Zero has to be infinity and infinity has to be zero. No end, no beginning. Things are as significant as insignificance, then? The world is like a Java interface; Abstract.

The wistful sighs

2011-12-22T21:03:00.009+05:30

I am in a mood to ramble today. Well it ain't rambling to me, but it is probably what people who don't talk so, would call it. And so might you; but that's okay. All of us to ourselves sometimes.

Sometimes I feel I should cut all connections with the world, and just be rid of everything. Including thoughts. I understand now why some people think meditation is a good idea. Sometimes the chaos inside us, all the actions and reactions we exhibit, leave too much of residual, unorganized information. And it is hard to categorize it, or flush it, or make it inaccessible temporarily. Everything keeps swooshing in random directions like free atoms.

But disconnecting is not that easy. You can switch off the phone, kill the internet, but you can not physically go and live in, say a barren desert. Or a green green, dark forest. Because by the time you'll arrange for this to happen; pack your bags; the feeling would have subsided. Your humanness (excuse me for making up words) would have sucked you back to the here and now and the humdrum of everyday life.

Something on the same lines as happy places, but 'real', 'tangible', should be there. Like a personal home away from the shared home. Where you can just shut the door and be at peace, without having to explain to people at the other end why you are behaving as you are, and why do you want to be alone; The most irritating question is this very question : "Why alone? Why?" Why the fuck not? Why can I not be alone? You don't offer to accompany me when I want to go pee, so why do you or someone else find it problematic to leave me alone when I ask for it? Oh maybe the solution is a small bladder then.

Wanting to be alone is not a sign of depression. I'll make sure some scientist conducts the study and proves this if he/she hasn't already. It is a state of mind that is very common, but unknown, probably because everybody wants to avoid the damn questions. For some of us, it is easier than for most of us : The very very moneyfull (again, sorry for the made-up word) can take a flight and leave with DND instructions with their secretaries. And the mediocres (who bothers moneyless folks after all) remain without an option.

It maybe this very reason why people don't leave others alone; 'Nobody ever leaves me alone, why the hell should I!'. Am I being way too cynical? Sorry, as I said, this could well be pointless rambling,but it bothers me, so I write and write and vent it out.

I just think it'd be good if we were all given time for ourselves, away from co-workers, relatives, friends, the awards, and news, and movies, and taxes, and all these things man-made. It'll be real peaceful. And it'll make people less irritable and not wishing that their bosses, or in-laws were dead.

A green green, dark forest would be nice for a home :)

Alice without an adventure.

2011-12-20T17:48:00.005+05:30

See what I found in my old old poems! wrote this after I read Alice in Wonderland for the nth time.

It's the same feeling as with
a blank cheque in hand.

When you've been tied for ages
and now suddenly in Underland.

The cheshire cat loves poofing,
the hatter keeps losing his mind.

Can run in any direction,
I say the white-queen is a soul kind

***

The Jabberwock was dead,
and the throne lay wide.

But Alice is lost,
she can not decide.

Should the fantasy live,
or should she turn to go?

She writes her name all big,
on the sand with her toe.

The Red Queen wasn't red anymore,
The White one whiter than Snow.

The adventure was over,
And over was the show.

A mouthful of sugar

2011-11-29T00:32:00.003+05:30

A mouthful of sugar, and this breezy summer night.

I see the moon shining, and things seem just alright.

You say this will change, that bad times will come.

I smile at your worries, and hand you a bubble gum.

While I pen this rhyme, you play with a dime.

There is a voice somewhere, biding its time.

And I say I want to sit here, whole night long.

You shake your head, saying it would be wrong.

I then sigh and watch you go, and turn back to the sea.

There are people out there, who like me love fantasy.

Come next morning, I knock at the window all covered in sand.

You come out with a frown and say I do not understand.

I give you a salty kiss, and watch the frown melt.

I know you'll always remember, how my whispers felt.

In the last hour of light, there will be no music but me.

In the first hour of darkness, there will be no light but me.

In this hour of goodbyes, don't just stand there and weep.

Come sit by my side, come kiss me, make my heart leap.

And make a promise you won't dare break your whole life.

That after me, there would be anything but loneliness in strife.

So Far So Good

2011-11-25T23:22:00.013+05:30

The last street lamp flickered off too. It was 6 am. Sun's lazy winter morning. They sat looking as the train arrived. 'So far so good,' she thought. Nearby, a little boy fascinated with a rainbow colored umbrella in some stranger's hand had started following him, and was now in turn being chased by his worried mother. And life till now started rewinding in her mind.

Things used to be so clear some years ago; there was a simple, uncomplicated future. In the mirror all she saw was herself; not myriad possibilities, not undefined relationships, not seemingly impossible dreams.

The loudspeaker above came alive with urgency. He patted her shoulder to signal it was time. All around her people were now rushing into the empty bogies. She smiled and leaned back on the bench. He leaned back too, confused.

This was probably the last time he was seeing her in person. And probably the last time he felt the need to say something out of context. Something that will, as usual, annoy her. And he'll apologise as she'll shoot a look in his direction. What should he say? Maybe a line from some forgotten song. Or a jab at her loud appearance so like herself. Or just accept the fact that he'll perhaps, maybe, surely - miss her. And resents her for not belonging with him. No. That's not what he wants; it's a passing feeling. Comes with people becoming habits. Bad habits. Or...

She got up and remembered the last time she was here at this hour. With an entirely different person, for an entirely different reason. Then he faded with the tears and pain he himself had caused. Hatred is as strong as love, and even more passionate so. How they exchange roles according to her moods!

He watched her as she got inside and waved at him from the window. There was a past, there was a present. He was a part of neither. And yet, there he was, feeling a sense of abandonment for no apparent reason. Were moments, time spent together, nothing more than good company? Of course for him, no they weren't. But she was unlike him. She was the kind who hang on to something even after it is beyond repair. And only when destiny snatches it out of their hands, do they let go. Pathetic.

'So far so good,' she thought. She knew he wasn't going to stop her. Not that she wanted to stop, but it was just sad to leave someone you feel so...calm and happy around. Yes. That was it. As the train started moving, she was reminded of her destination. She couldn't have asked for more in life, what more can you get after all, if you have found that one missing piece that completes your jigsaw; the selfless other half as Plato defined it? And yet here she was, watching this man waving goodbye to her, with some unresolved grudges which against her reasoning bothered her.

Outside, the mother had caught the child, now wailing, and planted a kiss on his cheek to quiet him down. The umbrella lay open on the side: swinging on its tip - the rainbow colors appearing to be one unidentifiable shade.

This is just how things end. Friendships, end. If it was indeed friendship, or something much deeper and inexplicable. Or simply betrayal as not defined in books. He watched her crane her neck to look at him one last time and then shrink back out of sight as the train turned on a curb.

She played with her engagement ring while her phone beeped, and looking at the caller id smiled like a princess. She felt that what lay ahead was real, was true, and was all that was meant for her. Friendship it was then. Leaving a friend behind is always hard, she mused. She opened the book he gave her. A clumsily drawn face beamed back at her. She peered out of the window; into the darkness of the tunnel.

He pulled out the crumpled piece out of his pocket and undid it after all. Two eyes, and a curve for a mouth - a happy face, stared back at him. And in her flawless handwriting the meaningless words : Thank You. He put it back in his pocket and left without looking back.

The lament

2011-11-25T22:56:00.005+05:30

He was running up the slope like a wolf hungry to get as close as possible to the moon. His footsteps not waiting for the ground to catch up with them.

It was one of those nights when the sky was the deepest shade of blue, the blades of grass were the deepest shade of green, and his silhouette against the moon - the deepest shade of black.

Had the roads he left behind known speech, they would have aksed him Why, when the whole world was sleeping, was he awake, even though his bloodshot eyes begged for mercy? There's nothing they would have heard in reply though; an enchanted man is rendered speechless sometimes against and often of his own will.

He reached the top of the cliff at about the same time the river below decided to swirl like a tornado : so unlike a river, and shatter the moon's perfect reflection on her body. The wind was racing itself from every direction to reach the tornado. He waited with bated breath, trying not to let his awestruck gasps give him away. Then, without a sound, not even a warning, she materialised, wearing silver skin, inspecting every direction with her doe eyes and nodding in approval.

The trees were alive now and busy making way for all kinds and sizes of feet trudging softly along unmade paths in the forest. He knew the routine by heart and wondered why, even after watching everything so closely and transparently, is he still unable to understand?

The mynah began to sing in her customary soft voice. And after every beat a new voice joined hers. The doe stood listening and swaying to the music at the centre of the circle. His gaze followed every movement of this graceful creature, his hands torn between the urge to touch the silver hue surrounding her and holding his thrilled heart.

The doe looked up. Right where he was standing. Her gaze was not cold; nor welcoming either. It simply acknowledged his presence and made a conversation with his soul. And he, in answer to the calling stripped off his clothes and climbed down to join them. He had waited for this moment a long time now - to be invited, and imagined the surprise and elation and all other feelings he expected himself to feel. But all that was inside him was the chant: Reverbrating through his veins ever louder as he got closer to them.

The doe nodded at him and he started singing too. The prayer was a sad one. Lamenting the loss of many of their kins and requesting perseverance. They sang about the old times, when mother Nature sat with them and told them stories even older than old. And they sang about her leaving them, and pledging not to come back. He cried out of guilt and fell asleep without knowing. The road never heard his footsteps again.

The Perfect Joke

2011-11-01T23:51:00.009+05:30

There was once a courtier very witty and shrewd.

He took pride in his jokes, but never was rude.

For hours he would talk, and nobody got bored,

the King loved him so much, he gifted him a sword.

Delighted by the gesture, he made a wisecrack,

with weapons not much, but with words he had a knack.

So passed many happy days, until a morning gray.

The court was sad, there was no green hay.

The Courtier told a joke, but the King did not laugh.

He was worried about Silly - his dear pet calf.

The Courtier wasn't yet serious, thus he made a funny remark.

This angered the King truly, and he locked him in a dungeon dark.

Our jester now sat on the window, wailing to the moon every night.

Till one day claiming his half-room, in came a burly white knight.

The Knight did not talk as much, but he laughed and listened plenty.

What more could have our poor man asked! Except maybe a meal dainty.

Despite the good company, the courtier missed the court.

He always dreamed of the high chamber, and the mighty fort.

Sensing his grief, one day the Knight came to his side,

and murmured something that, made his eyes go wide.

The courtier was incredulous, and told the knight so.

'O man of sword, about mirth what would you know!?'

The knight smiled and named all the places where he had been.

'Without trying to see,'He said, 'You can not see the unseen'

Some days later, came the summons from the court.

The courtier wondered, if his life was running short.

The King was pensive, and did not offer him a seat.

'Tell me a great joke', he ordered in words of heat

'But be careful this time, or you'll be under the knife,

with your son, your daughter, and the lovely wife.'

The courtier shrugged and bowed to half his height,

saying 'ask the rat Sire, it ate my head last night'.

With this he pulled off, his dirty tattered hat,

And thus revealed, the bald masterpiece of the rat.

The King laughed so hard, some thought he might choke,

and the courtier realized, he had found the perfect joke.

He quoted the Knight's words, that he earlier found absurd,

that "The tragedies told lightly, are the warmest jokes heard."

I have my Reasons.

2011-10-08T03:01:00.008+05:30

Some people ask me why I never write about current affairs, and movies, and well, real non-fiction stuff. 'Cause, you know', they say,'it'll get your blog more pageviews and recognition and comments..' and this and that. And I pull my eyebrows together and go 'You know what, I'll give it a try, maybe that's what's missing!'.

I'm sure I'll never blog about anything pertainng to the newspaper headlines. You may think I'm way too delusional and fantastical (and that could be well true, given the nature of my, ahem, 'work'), nevertheless I would like to defend myself on the following grounds :

1. So the taxes went up. Yes, I'm upset that the money that could have been MY pocket money would now be the corrupt Govt. employee's daughter's pocket money. But there are already enough ink warriors fighting for my cause, with great unconventional ideas for Reform. Everybody has free advice.

2. Why do shitty Salman Khan movies make so much money? (Really!? Haven't u seen his body? And everything and everyone on it!?) Also, do I think Kangna Ranaut has father issues? (which, I give it to you, is a legitimate question given her choice of films). But Nobody's gonna pay me to write about all this. Though some might pay me to like what they wrote regarding the subject(s).

And I know nobody is paying me to write what I write too, but then again, If I have to waste time, I'd rather waste it writing about things which won't become hackneyed overnight.

3. WTF is with everybody being 'Sarcastic'!

Susanne : "Your Twitter handle?"

Dick : "SarcastJock. Oh, and About Me : I'm Really sarcastic about everything in life. Friend me only if you can handle me. And I have a blog too; it's sarcausticc.blogspot.com. Follow me!".

Susanne : Gee, that's a lot of sarcasm in there! If you don't mind, can I ask why!? I mean, did something bad happen?

Dick : Ohh My dear dear Susie! People don't get sarcastic because bad things happen to them! It's just how this world is!

Susanne : Err, is it?

Dick : Heck yeah! What do you do on the internet woman! It's everywhere: India, States, Spain, Greece; Everywhere!

Susanne : :O But Why!

Dick : Cuz that's just how the World is! You gotta swim with the stream, y'know. #HeNeverGotLaid.

4. There's this thing called Hypocrisy. It's like writing Blogposts with Save Electricity quotes, and leaving your cellphone on charging for the whole night. Just why would I want to add it to my list when I have enough faults of Being Human already there!?

5. Writing for meaning is one thing; and Writing for Pageranks, Likes & Followers is another. You need to know why you want to blog, and for whom you want to blog. It's perfectly fine if you blog about issues because it makes sense to you, but if it is for satiating the I-have-more-followers-than-you OCD, go back to Orkut. Only in Rome should you do as Romans do, you know.

6.Lastly, I have nothing against people who write/blog about burning issues and other relevant things, because there are many with a strong voice that resonates in the whole country, and they deserve all the support they get; but it's for the class of people who blog just because 'everyone else is', they are the reason why 'I have a blog' jokes exist.

Because.

2011-08-28T21:52:00.002+05:30

It'll rain again,

and windows, I will shut.
I'll lament the happening.
Yet, I'll let it evaporate My love.

For Life is in itself complete,
Without and Within.
For there is just One soul,
and it seeks itself in others.

Why then, should I grieve parting?
When what I lost is what I still have?
And why then, should you desire me?
When all you desire is all that you have?

The Storyteller

2011-07-29T01:35:00.004+05:30

So it happened like many other things you say 'yes' to without even giving a thought. The random things you end up adding to your most cherished experiences; to your very being. He asked, 'Have you read it? No? Well, I can read it to you if you wish'

And I said, 'That would be great!'

'Sure You Won't get bored?'

'Oh, No, I would love to hear it!', I said with all the enthusiasm I didn't feel.

So it started : the Story Three pages long. And I had no idea if I was getting bored, feeling sleepy, or enjoying it. It's like the odd sequined dress you pick up on a whim and take it to the dressing room, still trying to figure out why you want to try it.

Or when you order something from the menu, with absolutely no idea about what it is, and don't ask the waiter either. You just order it. And pass the time aniticpating what it could be.

Till this time, all these things amount to is an act of whim. You don't think it'll turn into something you'll always have in your closet, or the only thing you will order in that restaurant then on. But then they unfold themselves in some unrealistic way, and suddenly you notice each and everything about them in keen detail : the color's reflection in your eyes, the touch of the fabric on your fingertips; the smoky smell, the sizzling sound on the salad dressing; as if all senses are competing to make you like it.

And you always give-in with a smile. It wasn't the storyline that held me. It was the voice so deeply absorbed in the emotion of the story, and so honestly reflecting it. How while moving from one syllable to the next, it floated as effortlessly as a lightweight boat.

I was unsure if it's knowing the end that I cared for, or I wanted to fall asleep to the magic of the voice. What I knew with certainty was : That I should do something to freeze this experience in my memory. For, I believe that If something makes you feel this alive and grateful inside, you need to make it last. If it's a thing with weight give all the gold for it, and if it's something intangible, smuggle it with your senses and hide it so well, that age, change, time, love, bitterness, distance, and all those words Men made, could never reach it to foil it.

'How was it? You didn't fall asleep, Did You?' He asked.

'No', I said with the biggest smile my lips know :)

Writing to You

2011-07-06T23:10:00.004+05:30

Do you remember the ladder that ran up to the highest branch of the Mango tree in our backyard?And how it felt to stand at its top when we were young? It was the highest we had seen of the World then. And it was the highest we thought of the World to be.

You were the fastest climber, and when you flourished your hand in a motion that can be described as nothing but Regal, I remember I used to gape at you in awe. You were the King of our World : The King who didn't need jewels and ornate graments or even a crown to define Himself. Just the Attitude was enough; The sense of knowing was enough.

Now whenever I see you disheartened, all covered in grime when you come home from work, and talk to You about those days when You were a different, glorious verison of yourself, You just shrug and laught it off with a sly smile, 'That was ignorance Holly. I didn't know then that there was a world much higher than the top of that Mango tree, and people a million times more Powerful than me. I know now, and I know it very well.'

But have you ever realised, that just like you, the world around you : the little kids from our neighbouring houses, the gang of 3 feet talls from your school; didn't know that either. And they all accepted you as their King.

They accepted you because though like you, they all could climb the tree, but unlike you, none of them valued the experience as much as you did. And it amazed them. Why didn't they feel the way you did? What did they lack that disabled them from seeing what you saw? And they submitted to ignorance thinking You were 'different', You were to be respected.

My Darling, you need to remind yourself that,

No-one but You decide who You are, and then Everybody knows.

If you refuse to let life grow banal and value every experience you have, You'll still be the King.

Ignorance is ALWAYS bliss. Knowing too much : the only roadblock to Greatness.

Epiphany

2011-06-15T18:39:00.002+05:30

"The lanes which found me"

This guy maybe taller and stronger than me, but he is slow. Painfully slow! like the laundry work he does. And it has become a characteristic; just like the smell of soap which, take my word, will ooze from him indefinitely.

Three minutes and I was so far ahead of him, he seemed to have vanished like an apparition does! I looked around and was sure I was lost. The evil pleasure I derived from outdoing him vaporised.

There was an old man sitting on his porch, with his head bent backwards and perhaps scratching his back with one hand, and holding a beedi in the the other when a 6-7 year old boy came from behind him, soaked his beedi with water and scurried off with a partly wicked partly gleeful grin on his face.

I knew that expression so well! I had felt it on my own face a thousand times, even without a mirror. I wasn't scared anymore. Nor wanted to scream for help. It was Ok.

Epiphany

2011-05-31T14:55:00.002+05:30

The 'I would really really love to do' list

Writing about myself everyday makes me feel so important and useless as well! It makes me think more than I should, since I hate thinking and all forms of it. It makes me think why waste time writing when I can just steal money and go to awesome places!? Like the great Himalayas, or China.

My friend Sethu and I were discussing, as almost everyone does, what would we do if given a crore rupees!? He said cars and video game, I said - Bicycle and ropes and travel books!

I'm not much of a geek either, technology kind of scares me. I know it's weird for someone born in the age that I am. I guess I'm just retarded, unevolved geek-wise.

But what I really am good at is languages. My dad often proudly tells around how good I'm at Spanish, and French and English! For a 15 year old that is.

Nothing would interest me more than a bunch of foreigners eating, discussing and laughing in some exotic land. With me just sitting there, invisible, soaking it all.

Epiphany

2011-05-11T00:21:00.002+05:30

The meaningful way to spend a Saturday.

Saturdays are without a doubt the best thing God made! Mum has too many houseguests and Dad's presence to focus on me! And if I play my cards wisely, that mostly involves not making noises and face while eating less fortunate, tasteless dishes like porridge, I can always get away with NO Saturday - duty calls in the kitchen.

I wonder why Mothers have this strange inclination to always drag other people in their Culinary afflictions! And Yes, I have heard the wise saying about Misery loving company, but somehow, a mom doesn't fit the scenario.

The doorbell rang, as it always does on Saturday, 11 am without fail, and Lo! comes the Laundry boy! One may think my obvious excitement at his arrival is fishy, and it totally is! But most of the people usually crack a joke about Gayship and don't rack their brains further. As if THAT would make me want to defend and start talking!

The Laundry boy is no les than a coveted asset to me. This Lanky, extrememly tanned and extremely talkative perosn is by far the best company I have ever had. I like hanging around with him, because although we share no common grounds in any other thing, we both have an obsession for nuisance. And I totally mean the word I wrote! Nuisance!

So this Saturday, we decided to role-play. I'll play Calvin & he'll play Hobbes. Though the chracters would have suited better if he had won the argument, but I would always know more words no matter how many dictionary pages he flips! So, here I am! Hobbes!

Today was the 'Digging a hole till we reach the Antipode' day. And we were very optimistic. You know, people always discard us kids to be just, kids! 'But they forget where there is a will, there is a way!'

Epiphany

2011-03-19T23:53:00.032+05:30

"The unsolved query and the obvious frustration on my part."

I always wonder if I'll ever find a perfect sketcheable character. Oh you know what I'm talking about! Those long hours in English lectures where you have to sit and pick a person you know or remember, and write tediously long and sinfully boring passages describing them in fancy words.

Needless to say, I hated the activity and finished the earliest. My teacher tried a lot many times to make me 'see' the people around me - herself, the peon, our principal, the matron, and many, many more. But I never did.

At last she gave up and said, "Well, it will happen someday, I'm sure, but that isn't a good enough excuse to skip assignment submission. Go do something about it!"

During the whole walk from school to home, I was thinking about that which should happen. I was 14 and had no idea what she was talking about. Sure other kids knew what she meant. They wrote about their grandmas, the postman who was always in a hurry, their ever - changing crushes. But, you see, she said we need to write about someone who brings out a strong emotion in us : awe, fear, despise. It could be anything. And these people my friends wrote about, were not sufficiently influencing to me.

It's not like I did not try, I did! I watched my Maa cook for an hour without blinking (she can be really quirky if you behave weird in the wee hours), I concentrated more on my dentist's oblong, nose-less face than the pain he was causing, and I watched Mrs. Bhatt for, what seemed to be an eternity (History lecture). And I'm surprised how, after these painstaking efforts, could I miss it!?

Ehh well, I have better things to do.

Music, Soul, You.

2011-03-14T01:14:00.004+05:30

Who are you?

The melody of a forgotten song that leaves my lips every morning,
and through my heart re-enters my soul,
with the wishful cries of a wolf trying to woo the moon?

Or are you the poem I never wrote,
but heard over and over,
from between the syllables of every love song?

Maybe you are the smile who,
no matter how hard I try to unfriend it,
wins over me from corners unexpected!

And why is it I ask the same question everytime?
Words, Questions, Answers.
Water, Life, Death.
Music, Soul, you.

Helping them in becoming Independent, Self-respecting Individuals

2010-12-25T18:05:00.002+05:30

Whenever we used to visit a temple, or wait in the car for the traffic signal to open, little kids materialised out of nowhere, pleading and begging for money. My mother never used to give them any and I used to resent her insensitivity towards them. One day I asked her the reason. And she calmly replied, 'If you are giving a paisa to a begging kid, you are killing an individual. If everyone refuses to, they'll try to find other means of livelihood, they will seek jobs, try to 'earn' money. And you will see an individual getting born.'

I agreed with her. But I still wasn't convinced. Because there were more kids in the streets than in orphanages and being a 15 year old kid at that time, I couldn't think of something that I'll be able to do. I once again seeked my mother's advice, and she told me to buy anything and everything- balloons, flowers, plastic toys if a little kid comes to sell you. The smile they 'smile' when they count the coins in their pocket at the end of the day, is the most beautiful smile god has made. And it lets you know you have served the cause.

Ever since then, I have followed her advice religiously, and asked my near ones to do so as well. To see the transition in a person from a pitiful to a respectful human being, feels like Magic!

What Akshaya Patra is doing, by providing free lunch to poor students all over the world is like a fuel for their fighting souls. It makes them feel that- 'the world cares', and all of us should come forward and help in any and every way we can.

4 A.M.

2010-12-02T18:29:00.009+05:30

See, it was the weirdness of 4 a.m, that you and me happened.
the battery was almost dead, but the signals were not dampened.

How awkward that 'yes' felt, it must have known it wasn't meant to be said.
The ghosts of past were haunting already, but It was a moment willfully mad.

The oranges of November, they seemed sweeter than sugarcane.
For all you knew- it wasn't love; yet we felt we wanted to remain.

And, as I remember, uncertainty, then used to love me insanely.
It asked me to ponder and you remained silent, strangely.

20 summers made us think we were wise, when she heard us, destiny cried.
Hanging around, like paper lanterns in July, blinded by need, to mirrors we lied.

For whom? For what? The answers were never unknown.
For heartbreak and miracle, we had our reasons own.

We kissed and smiled, or I thought that you did.
In unspoken words, desperate insecurity hid.

For the kisses were long, yet they didn't bring you happiness.
they were hollow escapades, and they filled me with emptiness.

I asked, you asked, why strength hasn't yet taken my side.
you were colder than winter, that sunny day my faith died.

A brewed cup of coffee, I was ready to accept with submission to fate.
but I heard your words, and that was the night when frozen tears I ate.

It's November again, the third time since you became a person to me.
And here I am, smiling and mourning and wondering, how foolish I used to be?

Guest Blogger

2010-12-01T13:56:00.001+05:30

And it's You , and Me....

Look at the water , the shadow of the rising sun upon it , look how the water glistens , like a sea full of diamonds . The beauty of a little fisherman-boat , across the sea , watching the sun come up , it seems like , God painted this picture himself . The white sands , beginning to shine under the bright warm rays of the sun . The cool weather , with a few clouds in the skies above us. Pearly white clouds , taking shapes that remind us of the good times we have had and what yet lies ahead. The gentle morning breeze , rustling through the palm leaves , rushes through your hair.

The gentle waves slowly make the sand wet , the cool water touches our feet , and i look at you , see the cloud change their shapes in your eyes.You look back at me , you smile , gently , i see your sweet face , the love !! the love it reflects , how your sweet , yet so deep eyes , and your lips , as you smile communicate to my heart , it's like a protective spell that you put me under , and makes me believe that , i am safe.

In the darkest hour , when i have no clue of what is happening and how i am stuck in this moment , i think yet again , of your sweet lips , your deep eyes , your kind heart , and it trickles through me slowly , the warmth spreads through my mind and in my heart and i know now -

"That i am back , at this beach with the sun shining and and the waves gently touching my feet , and you look at me and i am safe ."

How do you do it? It is a mystery , a true life tale of how easily you have made me yours and how is it that you come to know all there is about me and how you can know when i feel how i feel. Many a times i think it's pure Magic , it's this super spell that you have put me under and , here i am , all yours. It's like I'd been waiting for you , and you with your magical skills , let me be without you all these years and found me and rescued me at the right time , I Love You . You are truly an angel , from heaven , and the way you make me feel is just like how it must be in heaven.

There's a broken Tree House , near the foot of the hills , we can just barely hear the waves crashing against the high mountains here , The stars are up now , and the moon casts a shadow across the tree house . The milky twilight , the moonlight floor , and the vision of the ocean on one side of us , the hills on the other side , it's the place God chose for the union of two souls. In this private world of mine , here not there , every endless night has a dawning day and every darkest sky has a shining ray , and through the broken roof of the tree house , it shines on you tonight , Baby , you're the only one , who can shine for me. Your beauty , is glorified with the moon's sweet light . You look at me , with a comforting look in your eyes , I come closer , It's a sweet feeling that runs through me now , I know I am going to a soothing , comforting place now , and as you move even more closer , I can see all my life in your eyes , and then it happens.

Sweet as a child's dreams , the waves flow through me , as your tender lips touch mine.......

It's a never ending moment , and a bright spark lightens up the sky as two become one , It only tells me that , this is where i want to be , with your lips on mine , my eyes closed , holding you close to me and feeling this Love.I never want the world to see us , they don't understand , how this moment belongs to us , how the constellations above us , stand still , witnessing the celebrations of our love , and it's you , and it's me .

.............And that's all that matters and that's all there has to be.

Happy Bits! :D

2010-09-27T15:49:00.009+05:30

Hullo,

I know this will come as a surprise, but I'm sorry, I couldn't spare you! I am sitting at 'The Green Mile', my only refuge in this town, reliving the first date I had with you. And, sitting here, I feel weirdly happy from inside. You will say, that this is what first dates are all about- the welcome awkwardness, the fleeting glances and the slight smiles! Then Why do I find it so worth mentioning? I have a very honest answer for you, that it's not every first date that one remembers, and cares to think about.

Just before you entered, I had a hundred things in my head- Like how am I going to smile? Should I sit facing the door?Should I start with a joke, a compliment or just mumble a polite greeting? and I sat imagining, how would you smile, how would you regard me- with casual interest or intense curiosity? Would you like my dress, my perfume? Will I like your shoes, your eyes? Would my talks be intresting enough? What if you were more inclined towards politics?It's neurotic! You would agree with me on that. And there was a silent fear- what if it turns out to be just another dead-end? You know, the kind which leaves you feeling like you were a roadside tree- The one everybody passes, but never really notices.

But when you were there at last, my mind wiped off of these thoughts, for at that moment, at that place, I knew I was where I was supposed to be. And I knew I'll take back a happy memory with me. The kind which'll make me smile mysteriously and confuse the waiter. Ah! I really do love first dates!

And who knows? I may never see you again, maybe it was just me, and not at all you who felt so! But all the same, I want to and I will, always remember how your presence felt even if with time, your face fades in my mind. I'll remember the way you tap your spoon on ice before sipping vodka off the glass, how when you laugh, you straighten up as if suddenly very conscious of the emotion. And I'll remember your fake German accent which you claim to have picked up when the spies abducted you!

The point I'm trying to make is, I felt a connection. And it's not something as banal as love, for people fall in and out of love all the time. But it's the kind, which leaves its footprints on your DNA. Like sometimes the whiff of a scent immediately takes you back to an earlier time zone of your life, when a certain way of speaking reminds of a chance conversation you had with a faceless somebody wearing a swiss watch with a blue dial, and you are surprised that you still have that fragment well-preserved in your memory; I'm talking about this kind of connection. It's trivial, I agree, but it is a 'Happy bit', it'll always make you smile when you remember it.

And that is why I wanted to Thank You , you gave me a 'Happy Bit' to savour for a lifetime :)

Regards!

"For as long" He says, "you recognize my pain"

2010-09-27T03:34:00.002+05:30

Of thieves of happiness and cannibalistic sages,
we are born in a world of turmoils and carnages.

Of traders of soul and souls trapped in cages,
we are born in a world of disquiet and outrages.

Of messengers of grief and viciously torn pages,
we are born in a world of fraility and rampages.

But the world isn't a mourner or a 'griever from lost ages',
He stands a proud soldier guarding living hermitages.

And I offer a shoulder, not warm but less colder,
He smiles like sunshine and claps like a toddler.

"For as long" He says, "You recognize my pain,
I know I will live, I know I will remain"

Haunted by the living

2010-09-27T02:19:00.009+05:30

She swabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue paper, wiping off the cranberry red of her lipstick alongwith the whipped cream from her Latte. 'That was very nice of you, Dr. Ramsey' She said with an awkwardly wide grin, revealing her perfect, slightly coffee-stained teeth.
'Is there anything else?', The large, dark green eyes shrank almost half their size. I think my poker face wasn't poker-faced enough.
'Uhmm, no', I managed with a shake of my head, returning her smile.
'Okay, then', she shook my hand, then embraced me. My fists clenched tightly inside my pockets. 'Neil liked you very much.', Her eyes shone with tear stained gratitude.
I stood in the parking lot, resisting a strong urge to shout out to her as I watched her go. The red mane of her hair bobbed up and down like a phoenix on fire as the Black Audi drove over speed bumps. A tear rolled down my cheek.

This was two months ago. But the memory of it still haunts me. I relive it everyday, in guilt, and regret. It's painful. Though I'm not sure if I can still feel these emotions. But then I can't dream or sleep either. So what do I call this...? I try to think about it, but get busy registering Madeline's unstoppable tears, as she puts two white roses inside the open Ebony casket. My soul screeches like a banshee. Asking me to do something. To stop her from from wasting her tears over the dead body of someone so cowardly, so unworthy. I start shouting. And I shout and shout. She doesn't listen.

Madeline Brown is the mother of Neil. Neil Arthur Brown. I won't ever forget his name. My youngest patient. And the only patient who died on my table, of my mistake. Neil came to the hospital with a severe stomachache, his red eyes brimming with unshed tears. But he didn't make a sound. I knew the pain must have been unbearable even for an oversize, exceptionally strong 11 year old him.
'You know, crying a little bit is OK, it will ease you.' Mona, the nurse had whispered in his ear.
'Crying is for sissies!', He had replied from behind a set of gritted teeth.

The operation was successful and a smiling Neil came to visit me 2 days later. 'Just a little stomach problem, sir!' He had said, winking at me, as an extremely concerned Madeline told me about his bloody vomits from the previous night. It was 11 a.m in the morning and I had just signed in. My head was throbbing due to hangover from the generous shots of tequilla I took at George's promotion party the night before. I greeted the sight of the worried mother and her smug child with a slight resentment.

I remember prescribed him a medicine the name of which I don't remember anymore. Come to think of it, I don't remember any of it- the medicines, the ailments. It all seems hazed. Fading more into nothingness with each moment I spend trying to recall them. Only the relevant facts. Only the things that matter. They seem irremovable. Not in-erasable, but thriving intentionally.

Neil was rushed that very afternoon with a bleeding colon. His sparkling blue eyes, so unlike her mother's deep green ones, remained shut tightly as we rushed him towards the ER. He wasn't moving at all.
3:30 P.M, half an hour after his admission, Neil Arthur Brown died. Madeline sobbed noiselessly. Tears streaming down her heart-shaped face.
'Madeline...', I started.
'Its OK, Doctor. I know you did all you could. Just let me be, please. Just...let me be', Part of me didn't want to let her be, it was too overwhelmed. The other part guiltily heaved a sigh of relief. 'I'll tell her later', I promised myself. But my promise didn't include a when.

I saw Madeline Brown on a lot of occasions afterwards; On my niece Sarah's wedding, In seven-eleven, buying cereals for Neil's younger sister Nora, and two months ago, when she requested me to hand her Neil's medical reports personally. 'I...just wanted to talk to you. You were with us till the end, and Neil liked you so much! It felt like it was more than a medical file waiting to be closed. You cared. I just wanted to tell you how much it means to me', She had said.

The priest was chanting. I glided over to where Madeline stood, murmuring prayers under her breath, looking sadly at the lifeless white face resting inside the casket. My face. It was my funeral. I died two days ago due to a major heart attack. I died without confessing my guilt to Madeline. And hence rewarded the honour of staring at my own dead face. I know they won't let me go ahead until I get this weight off my chest. And I tried, I did! But how do I tell her when she can't hear? How long will it be before I figure it out? Do I still have the sense of time? I tried closing my eyes. I couldn't. The graveyard was dissolving. I could once again see Madeline swabbing the corner of her mouth. It's the scariest nightmare. The nightmare of a ghost.

If Thou must Love me

2010-07-01T02:38:00.000+05:30

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
`I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way
Of speaking gently, ... for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.

--By P.R Samson

2010-07-01T02:37:00.000+05:30

I'm waiting for the sky
to be blue again
I'm waiting for the smile
to come back again

Sometimes things are not
the way you planned
Sometimes they go wrong,
sometimes you can't stand...

The voice of the wind
tells me it is within
The roar of the air
gives me strength in despair

Oh, the sound of the trees
can make you fly off your feet
But the sound of silence
can make you see...

An angel of hope, can you see again?
The journey of life, can you live again?
A city of glory, can you feel again?
It's the spirit of love, can you love again?