Love Died

There was a love who died. No, it was not resurrected, not even on Easter. It died a sudden death. True, it was not doing well for a while. But its death was like that of a man dying of common cold. Shocking, mocking, almost comic.

P.S. This is just a random scribble. To me, this story is complete in itself. But if it inspires you take these words and create something more, I will be interested to read. Leave me a comment! :)




P.P.S. I am still on the 'break', and I am enjoying these days of refrain when blogging does not come much in the way of life. I have moved to a bigger, more airy house that overlooks a park, and I love it! Thanks for your love!

Letting Life Happen

It has been a hectic blogging spree for me for the past few days. I have met and made friends with a lot of amazing people in the blogosphere. These are friendships that transcend space and boundaries, because when art speaks to you, it speaks to your soul. It inspires you to create. To live. To slow down. To breathe. 

Art is alive. It is not the artist. It is more than what the artist is. Because it is also what the artist wants to be. The artist is human. Art is her attempt at things more celestial. It is her attempt to dream things that are somewhere above her, in a place more glorious and more beautiful than the world she lives in. An artist lives multiple lives, dies numerous deaths. Art is those lives and deaths that are not her own, but that she experiences every day. It is the dance she was too awkward to dance, the song she could never strike that right note of, the painting she spilled wrong colors on, the dessert with an extra pinch of sugar, the verses that never rhymed. Art is the artist's imperfection. It is what makes her go on. She loves what she creates, but it never satisfies her, because she has a taste. For utter brilliance. She explores and pushes her human limits expecting a new glimmer every time. She is always trying. Never, ever content. Art is her child. She suffers to give birth to it, and she is reborn when it is born. She protects it from mediocrity, and nurtures it in details. She knows it is not perfect, but she loves it none the less. Art is the mark of her affair with life. A passionate, ignited affair, the flames of which burn her soul and keep her thirsty all the time.

I am going to take a break. And allow an inspiration to engulf me, till I write my next post. I am going to lay back for a while and allow that inspiration to happen.

Old Woman In The Moon

As a child, I was very choosy about food. It was a pain to feed me. The only possible way to make me eat my meal was to distract me with stories. My mother was a wonderful narrator, and she had a rich stock of stories to tell me. My father, however, would have a hard time as I would ask questions when the stories did not make sense, and I could tell when he was making them up.
Once, when I had a stomach infection, I woke up in the middle of the night due to pain. My mother went to the kitchen to cook the only thing that I would agree to eat those days, and my father picked me up and took me out on the verandah. I must have been four years old then. My father wiped the tears off my face and showed me the moon and the pattern of an old woman in it. The memory of that night still transports me to that verandah with the cool summer breeze drying my tears, the sound of utensils clattering in the kitchen as my mother prepared my food, the moonlight washing the street outside, the comfort of my father's lap, the peacefulness of midnight with the knowledge that the world is asleep, and the pattern of a kind old woman watching over us from the moon.

Somewhere, something inside me had captured the beauty of it all, for me to cherish years later, on a similar summer night.

11.11.2010

Its easy to stoop, to be blatant and crass. Sometimes I feel trying to be right all the time is an onerous task. Its starkingly surprising how easy it is for a person to distrust, to hate, to criticize another.

Even though this blog is a place close to my heart, I have always tried to distance my personal life from it, since it is nobody's business. But there is so much to say at times, and its such an easy vent; hence, please forgive my outburst.

Everytime that I face a situation like this, a little something inside me breaks. I do not shy away from accepting that I still have that perfect-world picture in my head, I still believe in the basic goodness in every human being and I still start out by trusting people and making friends. But occasionally, my fairyland turns into a fierce, ugly battleground where no one is no one's friend. I am not perfect either. But I know what I am not. I never trample over someone to prove something. I never hate someone to the extreme of harming him/her. I might wish to at times, but I have never done that. I am not a hard worker but I try to be one. I try to learn, explore, question, but not at the cost of my basic principles of honesty and helpfulness. Beyond this, I really don't care what you think of me. I'm proud of the fact that I accept and acknowledge my mistakes and I think it takes a lot of courage to do that, as much as it takes to point someone else's mistakes to them and not talk about them behind their backs. This is and probably will be the most direct post I've ever written but I wanted the message to go across. I know in a few minutes, I will go back to being in love with the world, but right now, it stinks!

Confessions :)

Indulgence has been around for more than 4 years now. 4 years of predominantly silent observation interspersed with some outbursts of emotions and creativity. It stands witness to the creative and spiritual journey I have had from 1st year of college to a professional life. At times, its naive, over-simplified, at times, too impassioned, and at others, too dreamy. I always write on impulse, and that is the reason for the long periods of lull. Writing happens to me. I never review, re-write, or re-read more than once. If I do, its very probable I eventually wouldn't post it. However, I wish to change. I wish to be a more disciplined writer who starts with an idea, nurtures it over time, chooses just the right words and then embellishes it with better phrases and beautiful imageries before presenting it.

As I read through Indulgence, I have the urge to make minor alterations here and there. But there are a few things that I think will remain as its identity: the blog description and the 'about me'. They continue to be relevant even today. I still evolve. I still consciously try to improve on at least one count each day, I remain a perennial learner, head over heels in love with life, and I truly believe this relationship will remain as rosy :)

An individual's perceptios are subject to constant change. There came a point when I became content, truly happy and in sync with the world, it was peaceful and perfect. But thank God, it was only a phase! Perfection is boring. There has to be something that bothers you, irks you, stirs you and provokes you. Something to which you respond passionately, hysterically. Some cause to keep your mind ticking and your heart racing. Something that keeps you awake till morning, something that kindles and quenches a million flames inside you. Something that keeps you alive! Ignorance is bliss. So when life becomes too blissful, go out there and explore, live it a little more. Find reasons to celebrate. But also find reasons to complain. And change.

I have gone through phases of utter loss in self belief. At one point I felt, I couldn't write anymore. I tried to write a decent something and failed-many times. And then I realized where I was going wrong. I had started writing for an audience, unlike earlier when I wrote only for myself. In fact, I would try hard to hide what I wrote to keep anyone from reading it. May be earlier, when it was not this easy for mediocre talent to get published, people wrote with more honesty and fluidity, and worked harder for improvement. But then, it was upto me, to try and not hide. To not just portray some shades of my thoughts but to be able to be myself, entirely, the whole package- the lovely things and the not-so-lovely ones. I'll try to do that more. I'll try to be.

Open Diary - 27th October

I feel it too often these days-this strange déjà vu, this tendency to cling to sadness when I ought to be happy, to be celebrating. There’s something amiss in the picture of life, or may be there’s an extra piece somewhere that I can’t remove no matter how hard I try. The wind- it makes me so numb, so blue as if I’m not where I ought to be or I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. It brings with it such distinct, fresh memories that they refuse to register as memories- they become the here and now with every hollow breath, every single sensation alive. I dive deep into it, knowing it leads only to nowhere. Darkness has a strange charisma about it. It invites you with open arms and you somehow melt into them. There’s a certain glory, a liberation in every single tear you shed. Its as if you’re accepting, embracing, and may be even forgiving yourself for your mistakes. I just figured why life does not have a rewind button. Its something like a computer program with multiple threads. It takes different paths of execution every time you run it. So may be even if you had a rewind button, you couldn’t go back to exactly where you wanted to- the butterfly effect of life…

Open Diary-21st August 2008

The college has already started looking like a soon-to-be-past thing. Thoughts of the future have affected the present so much! I go down for a coffee and see a swarm of new faces, and it all appears like a big cycle that I’m a very minute part of. Not just the college and the passing out, but life on the whole. I don’t know why and I don’t know whether this is good or bad, but my mindset has suddenly become very spiritual. I try finding a purpose in things I do but I can’t see it. There is a big blunder somewhere in the whole equation of life that we’ve set for ourselves – all of us running this mad race and trying to work for ‘happiness’! sacrificing today’s sleep, rest, talks, smiles and laughters for a better tomorrow- I wonder where this recursion ends. Sometimes all I long for is utter peace, absolute beauty, pure nature and the ultimate solace of being in the company of myself. I wonder whether this phase will pass too; may be tomorrow when I have hordes of responsibilities scuttling up and down my priority queue, I’ll come to terms with the meaninglessness and obscurity of life. But right now, at this very moment, I find myself wiser, older and all the more inadequate and ignorant about the gift of life, breath and spirit that I’ve got.

On The Midnight Stroke of Independence Eve 2008

Its midnight and a wild crowd of students adorning expensive brands, riding expensive bikes and exhibiting an expensively rare surge of patriotism have come to celebrate Independence Day at kc. It’s indeed not often that you witness nationalism in one of the costliest engineering colleges of the country, where ‘sense of duty’ awakens, stretches lazily, shakes off the dirt on it and gets down reluctantly to work not more than ten days before sessionals, or 20 before end sems. Its amazing to see how events and occasions like the independence day transform mundanities like Indianness to stark realizations. I am a true Indian. My throat enmasses with awe at every reminder of the long tale of independence and the incredible sacrifices made so that I could be born into a free country, breathe free air, get the best education, have fun and try out my own little destiny in the crowd of a billion. We’re a very fast progressing nation- a young population: armed with unlimited technology, instant communication, clear cut visions and hoards of our ancestors’ mistakes to learn from. We roam around with plugged ears, lensed eyes, chemically straightened hair, electrically razored legs and a mobile database of everything we consider essential. But then when I look down the highest histogram of progress, I see a deep abyss, staring back with helplessness, still waiting to be filled. I see my counterparts in J&K trying to figure out a way to keep themselves and their families alive in yet another avatar of the age old communal tension. I see politicians playing an evil game of chess with innocent lives as pawns. I hear of an engineer like me believing in, dying and killing for the principle of terror. I read about heart-rendingly high figures of domestic violence. I question and I wonder. And I crawl into my bed and sleep. May be tomorrow, the newspaper will be a more heartening read. As Independent India turns 61, I know I’ll still swell up with pride and melt with humility before the flag of my nation. The white between the green and the saffron will still be there and it will definitely give me the promise of a day when we shall be free. After all, imperfection is what keeps the world going.

It is one of those nights, ah well its 3.30 in the morning, when the consciousness of your existence makes it impossible for you to repose in slumber, when the heart races very fast to keep pace with your thoughts, when you think only of yourself, your 'perceptions' of the world, your dearest domain of plan and activity where nothing challenges you, when you can look straight through the obstacles as if they are not there.
I am usually awe-struck at the thought of how amazing I am, or you are, or humans are in general- the intellect, the emotions, and above every other thing, the power of expression. I marvel with pride at a baby making its needs felt, or a patient of cerebral palsy, unable to speak or even move, expressing his joy, anger, disappointments and utter euphoria watching a cricket match.
Your inner world is the mirror of the outer world. How you perceive the world depends on how deep you have dug inside yourself. I might be a tiny speck in the universe, a conception of too few dimensions, or may be I am not even there, as followers of some schools of philosophy might claim, but the very fact, or illusion of my existence makes me question and analyze my thoughts and actions and thus those of the entire human race. My beliefs have changed as I’ve grown and they will continue to….without cease, but there is one thing that I’ll never stop believing in, and that is the power of man, because it reaffirms and exalts itself more and more each passing day. The more you try to tie him down, the stronger he becomes. We are inherently curious creatures and when our potential is challenged, the curiosity to see where the limit lies can work…..well….wonders- that’s what ‘impossible’ things are called once they are accomplished.

बचपन का वो आश्वासन

शायद था अंधविश्वास

दोषी भी तो शायद

है अपनी ही आस

स्वार्थ लिप्त इस दुनिया मे
भावनाओं का मोल नही
गूंगापन मंज़ूर यहाँ है
पर मन के सच्चे बोल नही

रह जाता है पंछी फड़फ़डा कर अपने परों को
तोड़ने को आतुर वो लोहे कि उन छड़ों को

एक एक कर ढहता है धीरज का हर स्तम्भ

आहत मन का दंभ है

या है साँसों का हड़कंप

आंखें जैसे खोयी हों
टूटे सपनों की समीक्षा मे

निगल ना जाये रात इन्हें

भोर कि प्रतीक्षा मे

फूँक कर रखने हैं कदम

कहीं छूट ना जाये संयम
और टूट ना जाएँ कहीँ

"सुसंस्कृत" समाज के

ये दृढतम नियम

ambition!!

silent creatures
silent skies
silent r these waking eyes
but thumps away the beating heart
all set to tear itself apart
and the active roving mind
oscillates far n behind...

when the world sleeps
they r wide awake
choosing to put
all at stake

its a constant drive
a blazing fire...
an unsatiable deep desire...
to keep the storm blowing by
to keep the tides rising high...

there r numerous embers in the urn...
still alive n ready to burn.


the anxious surge of blood n passion!
the strong emotion..tamed ambition..!

A Contrast With Life

All the while i struck

a contrast with my life

with tons of grief in my heart

I have learnt to smile

while I'm mum like a doll

and emote like a toy

I wonder whether its my sorrow

or my search for joy

To talk about all else

but keep shut my grief

to relieve others' cravings

and myself crave for relief

The distances are too long

its so hard to get ashore

not a glimpse of the land

and hurdles such galore

its a battle.....a silent one.

its a battle......that can never be won.

for i had dreamt of the sky

which was pretty much too high

and the nature's wierd rules

are too tough to defy

so I struck a contrast

with my beloved life

and amidst the looming darkness

I lit my torch alight

yes..life is a lost battle

but I prefer to fight

to enjoy the course of the strife

and go with all smiles..